Ghost on Black Mountain Read Online Free PDF

Shoot, on most days on the mountain, I could have crawled back in the bed after Hobbs left and stayed all day. Nobody cared. All I did was wander around that big house all day, dusting a few trinkets, sweeping a floor, and cooking supper. There wasn’t even any mending to be done or a book to read.
    The icy air bit my arms through my thin sweater. But walkinghelped warm me. When I reached the church, folks had begun to stroll through the door. The sound of the bell up in the tower vibrated through my body, bong, bong, bong. The boy ringing it swung into the air with each pull on the rope. I closed my eyes so tight my church back home appeared. Bong, bong, bong.
    “What are you smiling at, Mrs. Pritchard?”
    My eyes fluttered open and Jack stood before me, grinning.
    “I like the bell.” I didn’t even know his last name.
    “I wondered how long it would take you to visit our little church.”
    “How’d you know I’d come?” I tried not to look into his green stare.
    “You struck me as a churchgoer the first day I met you.” He took off his wide hat. His hair was sparse in the front, which made him look older than Hobbs. “Hobbs ain’t going to take to you visiting the church.” He winked. “But I’m sure he’s still sleeping off his work emergency, right?” He looked at the people passing us. “You don’t have to worry about these folks. They’ll keep your secret.”
    Again my cheeks went red. “I’m not going to hide my churchgoing.”
    Jack laughed. “Mrs. Pritchard, you got some guts.” He guided me through the door. He smelled like fresh soap.
    Folks turned their heads as we scooted into one of the shiny pews. “These are nice.” I ran my hand along the silky wood.
    The church was filled slap full of people. Most I recognized from riding with Hobbs on rent-collection day. If they looked at me—most of them avoided that—it was with a frown on their face. One of the women was dressed better than the others. She held her back straight and her head high. Her dress was store-bought from a city bigger than Asheville. Her daughter could have worn rags and still been beautiful.
    “That’s the preacher’s wife. She fancies herself a writer.Never read anything she’s put on paper. She don’t fit in too good,” Jack whispered. My ear tingled with his breath.
    The choir began to sing, and I lost myself in the words of those old hymns that I’d been hearing every Sunday since I could remember. The pastor stood at the pulpit, handsome in a city sort of way, and began to preach. Though he screamed with passion, his sermon was as dry as three-day-old bread. That was a true shame because he was telling my favorite story about Lot’s wife looking back and turning into a pillar of salt. Mama always said that woman should have looked into the future and not back over her shoulder into what was gone for good.
    At the end of the service I accepted the offered ride from Jack and stepped out the back door. Maynard Connor stood next to a small rise. For a minute we looked at a stream of clear water shooting from a small pipe. Folks were talking, going on about their after-church socializing.
    Maynard picked up a beaten tin cup and let the water splash into it. He held it between us, and for a second I thought he would place the rim to my lips. This was one of those moments Mama had talked about, where time stood quiet and glowed gold around the edges. But then he placed the cup to his own mouth and drank deep. The spring water splashed from the pipe. When Maynard was finished, he wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve.
    “This here is a special spring. I’m sure Hobbs ain’t never told you about it.” The water sent ripples in the small puddle on the ground. “It’s blessed by God.” His face was calm and handsome.
    He placed the cup back where it belonged. “Even Pastor Dobbins has to admit the miracle he saw.”
    “What miracle?”
    “Shelly Parker. Ask her sometime.” The water sparkled in the