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Yankee Girl at Fort Sumter

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<h2 id="id00365" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VII</h2> <h5 id="id00366">SYLVIA SEES A GHOST</h5> "It was splendid," declared Sylvia as Grace and Flora dismounted and the three little friends entered the house. Flora's black "Mammy" was waiting for them on the piazza. "Thar's some 'freshments fur yo' in de dinin'-room," she said; and the girls were glad for the cool milk and the tiny frosted cakes which a negro girl served them. Sylvia wondered if Flora ever did anything for herself; for there seemed to be so many negro servants who were on the alert to wait upon all the white people at the "big house." "Come up to my room, girls, and rest until it's time to dress for supper," said Flora. Flora's room was just across the hall from the one where Grace and Sylvia were to sleep. Instead of a small white bed like theirs there was a big bed of dark mahogany with four tall, high posts. The bed was so high that there was a cushioned step beside it. The portrait of a lady hung over a beautiful inlaid desk, and Flora pointed to it with evident pride. "That's my great-grandmother; and her father built this house. My mother says that she was Lady Caroline, and that she was so beautiful that whenever she went to Charleston people would run after her coach just to look at her," and Flora looked at her companions expectantly, quite forgetting that she had told them the story before. "Oh, Flora! Every time I come out here you tell me about your wonderful great-grand-mother," said Grace, "and you used to tell me that her ghost haunted this house." "Well, it does," declared Flora. Sylvia had never heard of Lady Caroline's ghost. "Do tell me about it, Flora," she urged. There was a wide cushioned seat with many pillows beneath the windows, and here the girls established themselves very comfortably. "Yes, tell Sylvia the story," said Grace, piling up several cushions behind her back. "Of course it isn't true, but it's thrilling." "It is true," persisted Flora. "My mother says that her own governess saw Lady Caroline's ghost. And that she had on the very hat she has on in the portrait, and the same blue dress and lace collar. You know there's a secret stairway in this house. It leads from one of the closets in your room down to a closet in my father's library and out-of-doors, and Lady Caroline's ghost always comes in that way." Sylvia looked up at the beautiful pictured face with a little shiver. "I guess that the governess dreamed it," she said. "Of course she did," declared Grace. "I think you look like that picture, Flora," she added. "Well, whether you believe it or not, everybody knows that this is a haunted house," persisted Flora. "Why, there is an account of it in a book." But Grace shook her head laughingly. "Flora, show Sylvia your lovely lace-work," she said. Flora nodded, but Sylvia was sure that she was not pleased at Grace's refusal to believe in the ghost. "Mammy! Mam-m-e-e," called Flora, and in a moment the black woman stood bobbing and smiling in the doorway. "Bring my lace-work," said Flora. "Yas, Missy," and Mammy trotted across the room to a little table in the further corner and brought Flora a covered basket. She opened it and set it down in front of her little mistress. "Do's yo' want anyt'ing else, Missy Flora?" she asked. "If I do I'll call," replied the little girl, and Mammy again disappeared. The basket was lined with rose-colored silk, and there were little pockets all around it. In the centre lay a cushion on which was a lace pattern defined by delicate threads and tiny circles of pins. A little strip of finished lace was rolled up in a bit of tissue paper. Flora took off the paper. "See, it is the jessamine pattern," she explained. "My mother's governess was a Belgian lady, and she taught my mother how to make lace and my mother taught me." "I wish I could make lace," said Sylvia. "It would be lovely to make some for a present for my mother." "Of course it would. I'll teach you this winter," promised the good-natured Flora; "let me see your hands. You know a lace-maker's hands must be as smooth as silk, because any roughness would catch the delicate threads." Sylvia's hands were still scratched and roughed from her fall in Miss Rosalie's garden and her scramble over the wall, and Flora shook her head. "You'll have to wait awhile. And you must wear gloves every time you go out, and wash your hands in milk every night," she said very seriously. "Now I'll show you my embroidery. Mam-m-e-e! Mam-m-e-e," and another basket was brought and opened. This basket was also lined with rose-colored silk, but the silk had delicate green vines running over it. On the inside of the cover, held in place by tiny straps, were two pairs of shining scissors with gold handles, a gold-mounted emery bag, shaped like a strawberry, an embroidery stiletto of ivory, and a gold thimble. Flora lifted out the embroidery frame, and putting on her thimble took a few exact, dainty stitches in the collar. "What lovely work you can do, Flora!" exclaimed Sylvia. "Don't you ever play dolls?" remembering her own cherished dolls in their small chairs in the corner of her room at home. "Oh, I used to," replied Flora, "but since I began school at Miss Patten's I don't seem to care about dolls." "Flora can play on the harp," announced Grace. "Oh, only just a little," responded Flora quickly. "I think Flora can do more things than any girl I ever knew," declared Sylvia admiringly; "and I was just thinking that the servants did everything in the world." Flora laughed. "You never lived on a plantation, or you couldn't think that. Why, my mother works more than Mammy ever did. She has to tell all the house darkies what to do, and see that all the hands have clothes, and that the fruits are preserved. Why, she's always busy," replied Flora. "And of course ladies have to know how to do things," she concluded. When Grace and Sylvia went to their own room Flora went with them. "I'll show you where that secret staircase is," she said, and opening the closet door pressed on a broad panel which moved slowly. "There," and Flora drew Sylvia near so she could look down a dark narrow stairway. "But that isn't seeing a ghost," Grace said laughingly. It was rather late when Mrs. Hayes led the way back to the house, and Grace declared that she was almost too sleepy to walk up-stairs. But Sylvia was not at all sleepy. After the colored girl had helped them prepare for bed, blown out the candle, and left the room, she lay watching the shadows of the moving vines on the wall. She wished she was at home, for who knew but that Estralla's master might sell her before she returned. Sylvia wondered what she could do to protect the little girl. "I might hide her," she thought; but what place would be secure? Suddenly she remembered something that she had heard Captain Carleton say when she was eating luncheon on that unlucky trip to Fort Sumter. "This fort could make South Carolina give up slavery," he had said. Why, then, of course Estralla would be perfectly safe if she was only at Fort Sumter, concluded the little girl, with a long sigh of relief. "I must get her there just as soon as I get home," she decided. Then suddenly Sylvia sat straight up in bed. The closet door had swung softly open, and a figure with a big hat and trailing dress stepped out. Sylvia was not frightened. "It's the ghost," she whispered; and leaning across poked Grace, exclaiming: "Grace! Look quick! here is Lady Caroline!" In an instant Grace was wide awake. "Where?" she demanded, in a frightened voice, clutching Sylvia's hand. "Right there! By the closet door," said Sylvia. "Oh! she's gone!" For as she looked toward the closet the figure had disappeared. "There, you waked me up for nothing. You dreamed it," declared Grace. "Oh, I didn't! Truly, I didn't. I haven't been asleep," Sylvia insisted. "It is just as Flora said. There is a ghost." Just then both the girls heard a startled cry, and a sound as if something had fallen in the room under them. "What's that?" whispered Grace. "Oh, Sylvia, do you suppose there really is a ghost?" "Yes, I saw it," declared Sylvia, with such evident satisfaction in her tone that Grace forgot to be frightened. "Well, I guess it fell downstairs," she chuckled; but in spite of their lack of fear both the little girls were excited over the unusual noise, and Sylvia was sure now that Flora had been right in saying the house was haunted. She wished it was already morning that she might tell Flora all that had happened. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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