Wait Till Helen Comes Read Online Free PDF Page A

Simmons was backing up his own theories, Heather joined us. "Fire too," she said. "Lots of people died in fires, didn't they?"
    Mr. Simmons looked a little surprised. "They did indeed," he said.
    "My mother died in a fire." Heather dropped a dandelion on the baby's grave and walked away.
    Mr. Simmons watched her for a moment, then turned to us. "I thought she was your sister," he said.
    "No, her father married our mother." Michael nudged the dandelion away from the baby's grave with his bare toe. "She's our stepsister."
    "Her mother died in a fire?" Mr. Simmons asked.
    "When Heather was three. They were all alone in the house, and Heather almost died too. She was unconscious when the rescue squad found her," I told him.
    "Poor little thing," he said sympathetically. Turning away, he returned to his work, clipping carefully around each stone and whistling. The sweet smell of cut grass drying in the hot sun filled the air, mingling with the aroma of Mr. Simmons' pipe. A mockingbird perched on a tombstone and sang; butterflies flashed about, and for a while I forgot my fears and helped Michael scoop the grass cuttings into the wheelbarrow.
    "You haven't mowed under the tree," I heard Heather say suddenly. She was frowning at Mr. Simmons' back as he knelt at the base of the Berrys' marble angel.
    He squinted up at her. "Not enough grass under that old tree to bother with," he said pleasantly.
    "There's weeds though."
    "I just tend to the tombstones." Mr. Simmons returned his attention to the grass, but Heather didn't take the hint.
    "But there's a grave there," she said, her lip jutting out. "I saw it."
    Mr. Simmons straightened up and stared at her. "Couldn't be. Too many roots to bury somebody there."
    "The tombstone is lying down in the weeds," Heather insisted. "Come with me. I'll show you." She started walking toward the dense shade under the oak tree, and Mr. Simmons shrugged and followed her.
    Michael turned to me. "Aren't you coming with us, Molly?"
    I started to go with them, but I felt my goose bumps coming back. The cheerfulness of the day was gone, as surely as if a cloud had covered the sun. Something was wrong; I could sense it if no one else could. Staying where I was, next to the relative safety of Mrs. Perkins' shiny new tombstone, I watched the three of them step into the oak tree's shadow. Heather pointed at something in the grass, and Mr. Simmons bent down to get a better look.
    "Looks like you're right," I heard him say to Heather.
    "Come here, Molly!" Michael called. "This is really interesting."
    As Heather smiled at me over her shoulder, daring me as she had before, I forced myself to join them. Mr. Simmons was struggling to right a small, weather-stained stone. "Well, I'll be," he said. "I've been tending these graves for twenty-some years, and I never knew this one was here. Never even looked for it."
    With the stone erect, he scraped away the dirt and moss to reveal the inscription. "'H.E.H,'" he read out loud, tracing the letters with his fingers. "'March 7, 1879-August 8, 1886. May she rest in peace.'" He shook his head and set to work pulling out the weeds growing around the base of the stone. "Strange, isn't it?"
    "Why is it strange?" Michael asked.
    "Well, she was just a child. Seven years old. Where's the rest of the family?"
    "What do you mean?" Michael squatted beside him, staring at the gravestone.
    "Well, look around, son. Families get buried together," he said.
    "That's right. Like the Berry Patch." Michael nodded astutely.
    Mr. Simmons looked puzzled for a moment, but then he chuckled. "Yes, yes, the Berry Family. All together they are with their very own angel to watch over them." He relit his pipe and stood up, gazing about the graveyard.
    "The stones usually say 'Beloved Daughter of' or something like that," he mused, "but here's this child, all by herself. No name. Just the initials. No other grave close by. It just doesn't seem right somehow."
    "It's my initials," Heather said suddenly,