Page 40 of The Witch

No, he is definitely not in the 41 percent.

“Look,” I say, “I’m not a spiritual person, but when I was a little girl staying at Pemberton, I…” I hesitate, not sure if I want to admit to him what happened when I was a little girl. But if I don’t tell him, he’ll never believe me. “I heard a woman’s voice whispering in my ear clear as day. And I could feel her breath on my neck.”

Henry pops another fry in his mouth. “What did she say?”

“She said See like there was something important she wanted me to see.”

“Maybe,” he says, “she was saying ‘sea,’ like a body of water? Maybe she wanted to go swimming?”

I stare at him.

“Or,” he adds, “maybe she felt like you needed to study more in school and that your grades could be better. You know, like ‘C’? Like the grade?”

“I get it,” I say tightly.

He winks at me. “Just saying…”

“Also,” I add, “the next morning, the hair at my temple had turned white.”

I pull back my hair to reveal the white patch on my left temple. Henry inspects it for a moment, a pensive expression on his face.

“You know,” he says, “stress actually triggers the release of norepinephrine, which can cause pigment cells to leave hair follicles. If you had an intensely stressful experience, it makes sense your hair could have turned white.”

“Overnight?”

“Maybe you’re an overachiever.”

“Look,” I say, “I know you think this is ridiculous, but I swear to you, there is something in that house. Something…from another world. I heard her. Not just when I was a kid but the last two nights.” When he looks skeptical, I clarify, “I heard a woman crying in the middle of the night.”

“So it was your grandmother,” he says with a shrug. “Or your aunt.”

“A young woman.” I squeeze my hands together. “And there are strange noises coming from the attic. I saw a light under the door.”

“So someone is in there. Someone human.”

“Nobody was in there.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Henry lets out an exasperated sound. “I don’t know what is making those noises, but I know it’s not a ghost.”

“You can’t know that for sure.” I pause. “Ethel hears it too, and she says it’s gotten worse lately because Caroline’s worried about the museum destroying her home.”

“Julia.” He gives me a hard look. “I don’t know what nonsense your aunt is telling you, but believe me when I say that the ghost of Caroline Eldridge is not angry about the museum preserving her home. She should be happy.”

“Are you telling me that there are no instances of museums displaying items that were improperly acquired or displaying them in a misleading context?”

“Fine. Yes, there are instances.” His gaze does not waver. “But that’s not what we’re going to do. I intend to treat Pemberton and the memory of your ancestors with nothing but the utmost respect.” He lays a hand on his chest. “You have my word.”

“And is that why you want to dig up Caroline Eldridge’s grave?”

His mouth drops open. “Dig up her grave? You can’t be serious. We’re not going to dig up any graves.”

“You might if she’s buried in the backyard. I’m sure you know what became of her.”

“She’s not…” He looks like he’s struggling to come up with a way to refute what I think is a very good point. If he’s an expert in colonial witchcraft accusations, he must know what I’m talking about. “We’re not going to disturb her bones. If we find anything like that, we’ll leave them alone.”

“You can’t promise Caroline that.”

“I can’t promise her anything because she’s been dead for over three hundred years.”