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Hochelaga.
”
    Okay, I didn’t get any of that exceptCartier and hosh-uh-laka. There was no way for me to communicate this to the ghost without
talking out loud, which Ben would naturally assume was me talking to him. But I was going to have a very hard time talking
to Ben if this ghost couldn’t take a hint and shove off for a while. What could I say to both of them?
    “Nope,” was what I came up with.
    “But he was here,” said Ben.
    “Hochelaga,” said Britches.
    “Was he right here?” I asked. Oh, please.
    “I guess nobody really knows,” Ben says. “There must be archeological evidence, though. They must have found some trace of
him after all this time. Maybe there wasn’t a camp, though. They would have stayed on their ship.”
    “
Aidez-moi. Répondez! C’est loin, Hochelaga?
”
    Maybe Britches was mistaking Ben for this guy Hochelaga, which could be a problem. Ghosts could be very stubborn. The no-longer-living
medium I had encountered at the Mountain House, Madame Serena, had persisted in believing for some time that she was alive
and I was the ghost. Madame Serena had glommed onto me like icing on a Hostess Cup Cake. All I needed was for Britches to
attach himself permanently to Ben. I would have a snowball’s chance in the desert of ever having a regular conversation with
him then.
    “You should ask Sid. Both of you should,” Jac said.
    I couldn’t process comments like “both of you” right now. I was losing track of who could see whom.
    We walked in silence for a moment. I shot Jac a desperate look. She looked at what toher must be the empty space between
Ben and me and raised her eyebrows. I nodded a little.
    She understood the problem, but what could she possibly do about it?
    “Okay, guys, so we’re gonna come up to the overlook,” Sid was calling. I tried to get Britches’s attention.
    “Ask that guy,” I muttered to Britches, gesturing toward Sid with my head.
    “Ask Sid about Cartier?” Ben asked.
    Rats. He’d heard me.
    “Oh, no. Well, if you want,” I corrected. “I mean…”
    I made a sudden decision that the current situation could not be salvaged.
    “I better check on my… mother,” I said.
    “Oh. Okay,” said Ben.
    “Why?” asked Jac.
    “
Hochelaga
!” insisted Britches.
    I turned abruptly and headed for the rear of the group. My mother and Mrs. Gray were walking together, though they didn’t
seem to be talking at all.
    My mother’s face broke into a smile when she saw me. She hadn’t expressed any anger about me ignoring her, nor did she now
look surprised that I was talking to her.
    “Hey, Kat,” she said. “You okay? Need a Band-Aid?”
    She was giving me an opportunity to stop at the side of the path with her. I’m sure she was perfectly aware of the fact that
a ghost was up there with Jac and Ben. She’d been figuring out what the dead wanted for so long, I had no doubt she could
understand what Britches wanted and have him dispatched in minutes.
    But Britches had attached himself to Ben, and I didn’t want my mother going and doing her stuff where Ben could see or hear
it.
    The irritation I felt at my mother the night before resurfaced. If she had been born normal, after all, then I might have
been born the same way. Was that so much to ask—that a person’s mother be born normal?
    “A Chap Stick—I just need a Chap Stick,” I muttered.
    She fished around in her big, faded bag and produced one. Cherry flavored. Not my favorite.
    “I know you don’t like the cherry stuff, but it’s all they had,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile.
    I took it silently, coated my lips, then gave it back to her.
    “Everything okay?” she asked.
    “Of course,” I said, aware that a little frown had crept over my forehead. “I should get back up there. With Jac.”
    “Sure, sweetie.”
    Mrs. Gray said nothing. Her forehead was creased and her expression bleak. She walked gingerly, favoring her right foot.
    “I think Mrs. Gray might be able to