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course not!" I stared at him, shocked. Surely he knew that Michael and I had promised not to talk to Heather about the fire. Did he think we would go back on our word?
    "I thought something might have stirred up her memories." He tugged on his beard, gazing at me as if he weren't sure I could be trusted to tell the truth.
    "It's what happened in the graveyard," I said. "There's something bad under the oak tree; I know there is! You should make her stay away from it. Even Mr. Simmons told her not to go near it because of snakes and poison ivy."
    "Snakes and poison ivy are one thing," Dave said slowly, "but don't you ever start scaring her with stories about 'bad' things in the graveyard."
    "Molly thinks the graveyard's haunted," my loyal brother said. "She's sure some ghost is after Heather."
    Mom and Dave both turned on me then. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Molly," Mom said, and Dave agreed.
    "No more talk about ghosts," he said. "Especially not around Heather. I don't want you scaring her. No wonder she had a nightmare."
    "But I didn't tell her, she told me! " I pulled away from Mom, feeling betrayed first by Michael and then by her. "And, besides, you didn't see her, you didn't hear her!"
    Michael laughed. "Molly didn't scare Heather," he said. "Heather scared Molly."
    Dave sighed and put his arm around Mom's shoulders. "Well, no sense standing here all night arguing about it," he said. "Just don't inflict your own fears on Heather, Molly. You've been fretting about that graveyard ever since we moved in here. It doesn't bother anybody else, so forget it, okay?" He reached out and gave my head a pat.
    As I started to go back into my room, he added, "I see Heather's visits to the graveyard as a way of coming to terms with her mother's death. It's probably good for her. As long as nobody scares her." He looked at me again, leaving no doubt about whom he meant.
    Closing my door, I tiptoed back to bed. Before I lay down, I peeked at Heather. The moonlight shone on her face, and I was sure her eyes were open a tiny slit. "I bet you lay here and listened to every word we said," I whispered, but she didn't answer. Turning my back to her and the window, I switched on my tape player and fell asleep listening to West Side Story.
     
     
    The next morning, after Dave had disappeared into the carriage house, Mom into her loft, and Michael into the woods, I sat at the breakfast table with Heather, watching her poke at the cereal in her bowl.
    "What are you going to do today?" I asked her.
    "Nothing." She carried her bowl to the garbage can and dumped most of her cereal.
    "I bet you're going to the graveyard again."
    She looked at me over her shoulder, tangles of hair almost hiding her face. "Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. It's none of your business, is it?"
    "There isn't really a ghost, is there? You were making it all up."
    "You heard what Daddy said last night. No more talk about ghosts or trying to scare me. I'm going to tell him you're still doing it." With her hand on the screen door, she added, "You better not follow me or spy on me either. You'll be sorry if you do. Helen doesn't like people who bother me."
    Before I could say anything, she was gone, leaving the screen door to bang shut behind her. Running to the window over the sink, I watched her saunter across the yard and disappear through the graveyard gate. Just once, she looked back and scowled at me.
    Since it was my day to wash the breakfast dishes, I filled the sink with hot, soapy water and watched the bowls and mugs and glasses slowly fill and sink beneath the bubbles. While I washed them, I wondered what I should do about Heather and the ghost. If there were a ghost. In the morning sunlight, it seemed almost likely that I had imagined the presence of something inhuman under the oak tree. Maybe Mom was right about the poetry I'd been reading. Especially the Poe.
    After I finished the dishes, I made my bed, trying to ignore the tangle of sheets,