Time for Andrew Quotes

“For a moment, I thought I heard laughter, the click of one croquet ball striking another, a dog barking.
I stared at the empty yard, trying hard to see what Great-grandfather saw, but nothing shifted, nothing changed. If the Tylers were playing croquet, they were visible to him and him alone. The only dog in sight was Binky. Running across the lawn to meet him, I took the stick he carried and threw it as hard as I could. It sailed across the sky, and Binky dashed after it.
As the dog disappeared into the bushes, I looked up at the attic window and remembered the flash of white I’d seen the day I arrived--my first glimpse of Andrew. Funny to think I’d been scared. Nothing stirred in the attic now. No one watched, no one waited.
Deep in my pocket, I touched the red bull’s-eye, warm as blood and twice as lucky. The marbles were mine for keeps. They were safe, and so was Andrew.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Aunt Blythe went inside to check on Great-grandfather, but I sat on the front steps and watched the sun sink behind the trees across the highway. A little chill crept across my skin. Summer was almost over. Soon my parents would return and I’d go back to Chicago. There would be no more midnight meetings in the attic. No croquet games with Hannah, no boxing lessons from John, no fights with Edward.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Long before I was ready to say good-bye, Hannah rose to her feet and beckoned to Andrew. “We’ve had enough excitement for one day. It’s time to leave.”
After making sure Aunt Blythe wasn’t looking, Andrew pulled a leather bag out of his pocket. “She thinks you already have these,” he said. “They’re yours for keeps now.”
I clasped the marbles to my heart and stared at him through a blur of tears. “Come back soon, Andrew.”
He hugged me so hard he squashed my nose against his bony shoulder. “At my age, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to see you again, and that’s the truth. After all, Hannah and I aren’t that far away. With modern cars and highways, Riverview’s a sight closer than it used to be.”
Reluctant to let him go, I looked him in the eye. “No matter what happens, I’ll always keep you here.” I struck my chest with my fist. “Right here in my heart as long as I live.”
Andrew smiled. “I fancy you picked up that pretty notion from Hannah.” Hugging me again, he said, “I hope your heart lasts as long as mine has, Drew. I want you to have all the time in the world to do whatever you like.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“It must be a shock to see us so old,” Hannah said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t climb a tree or shoot a marble if my life depended on it. Neither could Andrew, but I doubt he’ll admit it.”
“If I put my mind to it,” Andrew said, “I could beat Drew with one hand tied behind my back. He was never any match for me.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “It seems to me he outplayed you once.”
“Pshaw. What’s one game?”
If Aunt Blythe hadn’t come back just then, I’d have argued, maybe even challenged Andrew to a rematch, but instead, I smiled and leaned my head against Hannah’s shoulder, happy to feel her arm around me. This close, she still smelled like rose water.
Turning the pages of the album, Hannah showed us pictures of Mama and Papa, Theo, herself--and Andrew.
“These are my favorites.” She pointed to the photographs John had taken of us in the Model T. We were all smiling except Theo. He sat beside me, scowling into the camera, still angry about Mrs. Armiger and the music lessons.
“We wanted Theo to come with us today,” Hannah said, “but he’s living down in Florida with his third wife--a lady half his age, I might add.”
Andrew nudged me. “He sends his best, said he hopes to see you again someday.”
I glanced at Aunt Blythe but she was staring at the photograph. “The resemblance is incredible. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was Drew.”
Andrew chuckled. “Take a good look at me now. This is how the poor boy will look when he’s ninety-six.”
I studied his rosy face, his white hair and mustache. His back was bent, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. Going to his side, I put my arms around him. “You’re not so bad,” I said. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could still beat me in a game of ringer.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“You didn’t marry?” Aunt Blythe asked Andrew.
He glanced at me. “When I was a boy no older than Drew, I had a close brush with death. It always seemed to me a miracle that I lived.”
Once more Hannah made an attempt to stop her brother with a poke of her cane, but Andrew went on talking, his eyes on my face, his voice solemn. “I often thought I’d been meant to die, so I decided to lead a solitary life. There’s no way of telling what one person might do to change the history of the world.”
Before he could say anything else, Hannah patted Aunt Blythe’s arm. “I brought along an old photo album. Would you please fetch it from the car?”
As soon as my aunt was out of sight, Hannah said, “If you don’t hush, Andrew, we’re going to leave the minute Blythe comes back. I swear I don’t know what ails you. You might as well be twelve years old!”
She turned to me then and took my hand. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Drew? He was an absolute imp when he was your age and he still is. All that’s changed is his outside.”
I stared into Hannah’s eyes, faded now to the color of shadows on winter snow. “He told you, didn’t he?”
“In some ways, I think I knew all along.” Hannah squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad we’ve lived long enough to see you again.”
I flung my arms around her. She felt as thin-boned as a bird, and I was afraid to hug her too tightly. I didn’t want to hurt her.
“It must be a shock to see us so old,” Hannah said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t climb a tree or shoot a marble if my life depended on it. Neither could Andrew, but I doubt he’ll admit it.”
“If I put my mind to it,” Andrew said, “I could beat Drew with one hand tied behind my back. He was never any match for me.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “It seems to me he outplayed you once.”
“Pshaw. What’s one game?”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Hannah tells me you’re an archeologist,” she said. “Drew’s father has followed in your footsteps. He spent the whole summer in France, excavating a Roman ruin.”
A spark of mischief flared in Andrew’s eyes. “Why, it could be the other way around,” he said. “Perhaps I got the idea from him.”
Hannah gave Andrew a sharp poke with her cane. Luckily, Aunt Blythe didn’t notice that either.
“You have the oddest sense of humor,” she said to Andrew. “It’s a pity you spent most of your life overseas. I’m sure I would have enjoyed knowing you.”
To escape his sister’s reach, Andrew shifted his position. “It’s strange,” he said to my aunt, “but I feel like I do know you.”
“Isn’t that funny?” Aunt Blythe stared at him. “Even though I’ve never set eyes on you before, I feel the same way.”
With a little guidance from Hannah, the conversation changed to Andrew’s years in South America. For at least an hour he entertained us with his adventures, which Hannah claimed were highly exaggerated.
“He never tells a story the same way twice,” she told me. “You wouldn’t believe how much more exciting they’ve gotten since the first time I heard them.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“At that moment, the back door opened, and Great-grandfather wheeled himself outside. Slowly and carefully, Hannah stepped through the door behind him. Aunt Blythe followed, balancing a tray loaded with a pitcher of lemonade and five glasses.
"Come along, you two," Hannah called.
“Tarnation,” Andrew muttered. “Am I going to have to see that jackass today?” Without letting me help, he levered himself out of the chair with his cane. “I bet Hannah woke the old coot up just to make me miserable.”
When we joined the others on the porch, Great-grandfather refused to look at us. Keeping his head down, he fidgeted with the blanket on his lap.
“This is a fine way to greet me,” Andrew said.
“Maybe he doesn’t recognize you.” Aunt Blythe bent down to peer into Great-grandfather’s face. “Your cousins are here, Father. Can you say hello to Hannah and Andrew?”
“It’s my house,” he mumbled. “They can’t have it.”
Andrew looked as if he wanted to give his cousin a punch in the nose, but Hannah intervened. “We know the house is yours, Edward,” she said. “Don’t worry, we haven’t come to take it back. Andrew and I have our own home.”
Great-grandfather raised his head and stared at Hannah. “You never liked me. Neither did your brothers. I wasn’t welcome in this house when you lived here. Now it’s mine and you’re not welcome.”
Ignoring Aunt Blythe’s protests, Great-grandfather wheeled himself toward the back door. “You and your Roosevelt,” he muttered before he disappeared. “Too bad you women ever got the vote.”
“Please excuse Father,” Aunt Blythe said. “He’s having one of his bad days.”
Andrew snorted. “All of Edward’s days have been bad, every blasted one of them.”
Hannah rapped his fingers. “Don’t be so ornery, Andrew. What will Blythe think of you?”
“I say what’s on my mind. Always have.” Andrew shot me a grin. “Isn’t that right, Drew?”
Hannah frowned at her brother. “How on earth can Drew answer a question like that?”
My aunt didn’t notice the warning tone in her cousin’s voice, but I did. From the look she gave Andrew, I was sure Hannah knew everything.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Why, I never!” Waving a letter covered with spidery handwriting, she said, “What a surprise! After all these years, Hannah wants to pay me a visit. She’d love to see the house she grew up in.”
At the sound of Hannah’s name, my heart beat faster. Speechless with happiness, I listened to my aunt chatter excitedly.
“She says John died last winter and she’s staying in Riverview to straighten out his estate.” Aunt Blythe paused to scrutinize the letter. “Listen to this, Drew: ‘You’ll find me a bit long in the tooth, Blythe, but, never fear, I still have my wits about me. You might warn Edward I’m not a jot sweeter than I was the last time we met!”
Aunt Blythe laughed. “In other words, Hannah hasn’t changed a bit!”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Reaching out, Andrew crooked his little finger with mine. “If I live, I’ll find a way to let you know, Drew,” he promised. “I owe you that much--and a whole lot more.”
After a little silence, Andrew’s face brightened. “You don’t suppose you could stay, do you? Just think of the fun we’d have playing tricks on Edward and Mrs. Armiger.” He laughed at his own thoughts. “Why, we’d make their heads spin, Drew. They wouldn’t know one of us from the other.”
For a moment, it seemed possible. My mother and father were away, they wouldn’t miss me. As for Aunt Blythe--well, we’d think of some way to let her know I was all right. We were bouncing on the bed, singing “Yip-I-Addy-I-Ay,” when the door opened and Mama appeared. It was Andrew she looked at, not me.
“Why are you still awake?” she asked. “I told you to go to sleep.”
As Mama approached the bed, Andrew flung his arms around her. “You can see me, Mama,” he cried. “Oh, thank the Lord! It’s me, your own true son, back again for keeps.”
She stared at him, perplexed. “What nonsense is this? Of course I can see you. Of course it’s you. Who else would it be, you silly goose?”
I slid off the bed and ran to her side. “Me,” I shouted, “it could be me.”
When Mama didn’t even blink, I tugged at her nightgown. “Look at me,” I begged. “I’m here too, we both are. Andrew and me. Can’t you see us both?” I hugged her, but all she did was shiver.
“No wonder this room is so drafty,” she murmured. “The attic door is wide open.”
Andrew and I stared at each other, his face reflecting my disappointment. He was visible, I was invisible. Like the design on his quilt, the pattern had reversed.
Sadly I released Mama. As I turned away, Andrew whispered, “We’ll meet again, Drew. I swear it.”
Mama looked at him. “What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing.” Hiding his face from his mother, Andrew winked at me and said, “I was just talking to myself, Mama.”
I took one long last look at Andrew. Much as I wanted to stay, it was time to leave. When Mama reached out to close the attic door, I slipped through it like a ghost. The door shut behind me. I was alone at the bottom of the dark stairs with nowhere to go but home.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“In the sudden silence, Andrew grabbed my hand and shook it. “I’ll miss you, Drew. You’ve been a regular gent.”
It was hard not to cry, but I was determined to show Andrew I could be as tough as he was. “I’ll miss you too,” I admitted. “And Hannah and Theo and Mama and Papa. I never had a brother or a sister or a dog of my own before.”
“But you won’t miss Edward. He’ll be there waiting for you.” Andrew meant it as a joke, but neither of us laughed.
Suddenly serious, I gripped his shoulders tightly and stared into his eyes. “How will I know what happens to you?”
“Look in the graveyard,” Andrew said in a melancholy voice. “If you don’t see my tombstone, you’ll know I didn’t die.”
He laughed to show me he was joking again, but death was even less funny than the old man in the wheelchair.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“When Mama leaned over to kiss me, I hugged her so tight she could hardly breathe. “I’ll never forget you,” I whispered.
Mama drew back. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “I love you, Mama.”
She smiled. “Well, for goodness sake, you little jackanapes, I love you too.”
Smoothing the quilt over me, she turned to the others. “What Andrew needs is a good night’s sleep. In the morning, he’ll be himself again, just wait and see.”
“I hope so,” Andrew said.
Papa frowned. “No one will get any sleep, good or bad, with Buster making such a racket. I don’t know what ails that animal.”
While we’d been talking, Andrew had gone to the window and whistled for the dog. Though the Tylers hadn’t heard the loud two-fingered blast, Buster definitely had. His howls made the hair on my neck prickle. Even Andrew looked frightened. He backed away from the window and sat quietly in the rocker.
“Edward told me a dog howls when somebody in the family is about to die,” Theo said uneasily.
Papa shook his head. “That’s superstitious nonsense, Theodore. Surely you know better than to believe someone as well known for mendacity as your cousin.”
Muttering to himself, Papa left the room. Taking Theo with her, Mama followed, but Hannah lingered by the bed.
I reached out and grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave yet,” I begged. “Stay a while.”
Hannah hesitated for a moment, her face solemn, her eyes worried. “Mama’s right, Andrew,” she said softly. “You need to rest, you’ve overexcited yourself again. We’ve got all day tomorrow to sit in the tree and talk.”
When Hannah reached up to turn off the gas jet, I glanced at Andrew. He was watching his sister from the rocker, his eyes fixed longingly on her face. A little wave of jealousy swept over me. He’d get to be with her for years, but all I had were a few more minutes.
In the darkness, Hannah smiled down at me. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Go to sleep.”
“But I’ll never see you again.”
Hannah’s smile vanished. “Don’t talk nonsense,” she whispered. “You’ll see me tomorrow and every day after that.”
In the corner, Andrew stared at his sister and rocked the chair harder. In the silent room I heard it creak, saw it move back and forth.
Startled by the sound, Hannah glanced at the rocker and drew in her breath. Turning to me, she said, “Lord, the moon’s making me as fanciful as you. I thought I saw--”
She shook her head. “I must need a good night’s sleep myself.” Kissing me lightly on the nose, Hannah left the room without looking at the rocking chair again.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“What’s the meaning of this?” Papa strode toward us. “You’ve disturbed the entire household, Andrew.”
Mama gripped his arm. “For goodness sake, Henry, don’t frighten the child. Haven’t you done enough damage? I told you not to whip him!”
Papa made an effort to calm down. Taking a deep breath, he squatted in front of me. “What’s troubling you, son?” he asked. “Surely a spanking didn’t cause this.”
Aching with sadness, I put my arms around his neck. I’d won, I’d finally beaten Andrew. I’d thought I’d be happy, but I wasn’t. “I don’t want to leave you and Mama,” I sobbed.
Papa held me tight. “Now, now,” he said. “Where did you get such a silly notion? You aren’t going anywhere.”
While Papa comforted me, Andrew climbed onto his father’s shoulders, piggyback style. No one saw him but me. No one heard him say, “Hush Drew, you’re shaming me in front of everyone.”
Ignorant of Andrew’s presence, Papa shivered. “Fall’s coming. Feel the nip in the air?”
Hannah and Theo were waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. “Mama,” Theo whispered, “is Andrew sick again?”
Mama shook her head, but Theo looked unconvinced. Slipping his hand in Hannah’s, he watched Papa lay me on my bed.
On the other side of the room, Andrew took a seat in the rocking chair. It was obvious he didn’t enjoy being invisible. Staring at Hannah and Theo, he rocked the chair vigorously. When that didn’t get their attention, he sang “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” at the top of his lungs. But no matter what he said or did, he couldn’t make his sister or his brother see or hear him.
I knew Andrew was sad, but I was even sadder. When Mama leaned over to kiss me, I hugged her so tight she could hardly breathe. “I’ll never forget you,” I whispered.
Mama drew back. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “I love you, Mama.”
She smiled. “Well, for goodness sake, you little jackanapes, I love you too.”
Smoothing the quilt over me, she turned to the others. “What Andrew needs is a good night’s sleep. In the morning, he’ll be himself again, just wait and see.”
“I hope so,” Andrew said.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“You must go back to bed.”
“No,” I shouted. “Not yet! I have to finish this game.” I couldn’t leave Andrew, not now, not when I was finally winning.
Hannah released me so suddenly I staggered backward. “I’ll fetch Papa!” she cried.
Andrew threw himself at her. “Hannah, stop, you’re ruining everything!”
I grabbed his arm. “Let her go. We don’t have much time!”
Casting a last terrified look at me, Hannah ran downstairs, calling for Mama and Papa.
Andrew turned to me, his face streaked with tears. “Quick, Drew. Shoot four more marbles out of the ring!”
Holding my breath I aimed. Click, click, click. An immie, a cat’s-eye, and a moonstone spun across the floor, but I missed the fourth.
Andrew knuckled down and shot at the scattered marbles. Of the seven in the ring, he managed to hit two before he missed.
Downstairs I heard Hannah pounding on Papa and Mama’s door.
“One more, Drew,” Andrew whispered.
It was hard to aim carefully. Papa and Mama were awake. Their voices rose as Hannah tried to explain I was in the attic acting as if I’d lost my mind. My hand shook and the first marble I hit merely clicked against another.
Andrew took his turn, hit three, and missed the fourth. “Send me home, Drew,” he begged. “I don’t care if I die when I get there.”
Two marbles were left--a carnelian and an immie, widely separated. Neither was close to my aggie. Even for someone as good as Andrew, it was a hard shot.
Holding his breath, Andrew crossed his fingers and closed his eyes.
I knuckled down and aimed for the carnelian. Click. As Papa tramped up the steps with Mama at his heels, the seventh marble rolled into the shadows. My aggie stayed in the middle of the ring.
Andrew let out his breath and stared at me. I’d won--what would happen now?”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Andrew, what are you doing out of bed? You’re ill, you need to rest.”
I crouched beside the ring, speechless with surprise, but Andrew jumped to his feet. “Hannah,” he cried, “Hannah.”
Although he was right in front of her, Hannah didn’t see her brother. She walked through him as if he didn’t even exist.
“I’ve been lying awake worrying about you,” she said to me. “When I heard noises, I thought you and Theo were up here. But you’re all alone.”
Andrew clung to his sister. “He’s not alone, I’m with him. Look at me, Hannah, please look at me.”
Unaware of anything but the cold, Hannah shivered. “Lord,” she whispered, “I’m freezing. You’ll catch your death in this draft, Andrew.”
When I neither spoke nor moved, Hannah dropped to her knees and gazed into my eyes. “You’re in a trance,” she whispered. “For heaven’s sake, wake up.”
Finding my voice at last, I said, “Can’t you see him?”
“See who?” Pale with fright, Hannah stared at me.
I pointed at Andrew. “He’s standing right in front of you!”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Hannah grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “There’s no one in this attic but you and me.”
Andrew was crying now, hanging on to his sister, begging her to see him. But Hannah was too scared by my behavior to see or hear anything but me. Deaf to Andrew’s sobs, she pulled me to my feet. “You must go back to bed.”
“No,” I shouted. “Not yet! I have to finish this game.” I couldn’t leave Andrew, not now, not when I was finally winning.
Hannah released me so suddenly I staggered backward. “I’ll fetch Papa!” she cried.
Andrew threw himself at her. “Hannah, stop, you’re ruining everything!”
I grabbed his arm. “Let her go. We don’t have much time!”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“What happened at the trestle?”
“Edward fell,” I said. “He almost drowned.”
Andrew grinned. “It’s a pity he didn’t.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“We reached the bushes beside the porch without being seen. Crouched in the dirt, we were so close I could have reached up and grabbed Hannah’s ankle. To keep from giggling, Theo pressed his hands over his mouth.
Sick with jealousy, I watched John put his arm around Hannah and draw her close. As his lips met hers, I felt Theo jab my side. I teetered and lost my balance. The bushes swayed, the leaves rustled, a twig snapped under my feet.
“Be quiet,” Theo hissed in my ear. “Do you want to get us killed?”
We backed out of the bushes, hoping to escape, but it was too late. Leaving John in the swing, Hannah strode down the porch steps, grabbed us each by an ear, and shook us like rats. “Can’t a body have a second of privacy?”
Theo and I begged her to forgive us, but Hannah’s dander was up. If she hadn’t noticed the fireflies under our shirts, I don’t know what she would’ve done to us.
Snatching my jar, she gazed at my captives. The flickering glow lit her face. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, I wanted to tell her I’d love her forever, but all I could say was “These are for you, I caught them just for you, Hannah.”
“Poor things,” she said softly, her temper gone without a trace. “I’ll have to let them go, Andrew. They’ll die if I don’t.”
Before I could stop her, she removed the lid and held the jar high over her head. “Fly away, fly away,” she cried. Like sparks from a bonfire, the fireflies escaped in a sparkling green mist.
Theo handed his jar to Hannah. “Set mine free too.”
In moments, Theo’s fireflies rose and scattered across the dark sky.
“They’re going to the moon,” Theo shouted. “They’re going to the stars!”
“I wish I could send the pair of you with them,” Hannah muttered. “Maybe I’d have some peace and quiet then.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“You aren’t worried about tomorrow, are you?”
“What do you think?”
He propped himself up on his elbows and studied my face. “You told me last spring it was the easiest thing in the whole wide world. You could hardly wait to jump. Why, even when you got sick you worried you’d die without having a chance to do it.”
“I must have been a raving lunatic,” I muttered.
Theo scowled, but the sound of a Model T chugging up the driveway stopped him from saying more. Its headlamps lit the trees and washed across the house.
“It’s John again,” Theo said. “Papa will start charging him room and board soon.”
Hidden in the shadows, we watched John jump out of the car and run up the porch steps. Hannah met him at the door. From inside the house, their laughter floated toward us as silvery as moonlight, cutting into my heart like a knife.
“Hannah has a beau.” Theo sounded as if he were trying out a new word, testing it for rightness. He giggled. “Do you think she lets him kiss her?”
I spat in the grass, a trick I’d learned from Edward. “Don’t be silly.”
“What’s silly about smooching? When I’m old enough, I plan to kiss Marie Jenkins till our lips melt.” Making loud smacking sounds with his mouth, Theo demonstrated. Pushing him away, I wrestled him to the ground and started tickling him.
As he pleaded for mercy, we heard the screen door open. Thinking Mama was about to call us inside, we broke apart and lay still. It was Hannah and John.
“They’re sitting in the swing,” Theo whispered. “Come on, let’s spy on them. I bet a million zillion dollars they start spooning.”
Stuffing his jar of fireflies into his shirt, Theo dropped to his knees and crawled across the lawn toward the house. I followed him, sure he was wrong. Hannah wasn’t old enough for kissing. Or silly enough.
We reached the bushes beside the porch without being seen. Crouched in the dirt, we were so close I could have reached up and grabbed Hannah’s ankle. To keep from giggling, Theo pressed his hands over his mouth.
Sick with jealousy, I watched John put his arm around Hannah and draw her close. As his lips met hers, I felt Theo jab my side. I teetered and lost my balance. The bushes swayed, the leaves rustled, a twig snapped under my feet.
“Be quiet,” Theo hissed in my ear. “Do you want to get us killed?”
We backed out of the bushes, hoping to escape, but it was too late. Leaving John in the swing, Hannah strode down the porch steps, grabbed us each by an ear, and shook us like rats. “Can’t a body have a second of privacy?”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“You aren’t worried about tomorrow, are you?”
“What do you think?”
He propped himself up on his elbows and studied my face. “You told me last spring it was the easiest thing in the whole wide world. You could hardly wait to jump. Why, even when you got sick you worried you’d die without having a chance to do it.”
“I must have been a raving lunatic,” I muttered.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“To tell you the truth, I’m beginning to forget things too. The more I learn about you, the less I recollect about me. It’s as if your memories are crowding mine out, there’s no room for them in my head.”
I nodded, agreeing with him. “Every day I get more like you, less like me.”
“Lord A’ mighty,” Andrew said solemnly. “I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll become a total pantywaist.”
The thought of such a dreadful fate seemed to revive him.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Brandishing a green mallet, Hannah grinned at John. “We’ll take sides. You and me against Andrew and Theo.”
Hannah went first. Theo and I watched her knock her ball through the first two wickets and aim for the third. She missed and stepped back to let Theo take his turn.
I leaned on my mallet and waited. It had taken me a while to understand the game, but once I learned the rules, I’d become a pretty good strategist. As soon as I had the opportunity, I planned to knock John’s ball clear off the court, maybe all the way into the poison ivy at the bottom of the hill.
In a few minutes, I saw my chance. My ball rolled through a wicket and hit his. To keep mine steady, I put my foot on it and whacked my ball hard enough to drive John’s into the poison ivy.
“It’s dead,” I crowed. “I got you!”
Hannah gave me one of her vexed looks. Turning to John, she said, “I swear he’s getting more like his old self every day.”
At the same moment, Buster went tearing into the poison ivy and emerged with the ball in his mouth. Waging his tail proudly, he ran off with it. He’d lost Mrs. Armiger’s hat, but he wasn’t going to give up the ball. Ignoring our commands to drop it, he dashed under the rose trellis and disappeared behind the hedge.
“Drat,” Hannah said. “That stupid dog must have buried a dozen croquet balls by now.”
I glanced at John, hoping he’d be a bad sport. Maybe he’d say I cheated. Maybe he’d say it wasn’t fair. Maybe he’d disgrace himself by refusing to play. Instead, he slapped my back and said, “Well, it looks like you’ll win this game, Andrew.”
Hannah glowed with admiration. Frank Merriwell himself couldn’t have been a finer gentleman.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“You’ll never be the heavyweight champion of the world,” he said, “but you should be able to duck anything Edward throws at you.”
Theo wanted his turn, but John said it was too hot for more lessons. He looked up into the tree where Hannah sat swinging her feet, and smiled. “Maybe your sister will come down from her perch and offer us a nice cold glass of lemonade.”
Hannah gave her hand to John and allowed him to help her. “Not that I need your assistance,” she said. “I’m merely practicing my manners.”
We watched John and Hannah walk away, still holding hands. “He’s as bad as diphtheria,” Theo muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Diphtheria made you into a perfect gentleman,” Theo said, “and John makes Hannah into a perfect lady. I’m sure I don’t know which is worse--being sick or falling in love.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“I told you before--you mustn’t let Edward scare you. He’s a bully and a coward. What would Frank Merriwell do if he were you?”
Frank Merriwell--I was thoroughly sick of hearing that name. “I don’t care what some dumb guy in a story would do. I’m not going to fight Edward.”
“Fight me then.” Hannah raised her fists and danced around on her bare feet, bouncing, ducking, and swinging at the air around my head. “Pretend I’m Edward!”
I ducked a punch, and she swung again. “Put up your dukes,” she ordered, “defend yourself, sir.”
This time Hannah clipped my chin hard enough to knock me down. Her shirtwaist was completely untucked, her face was smudged, her hair was tumbling down her back and hanging in her eyes.
“On your feet, sir,” she shouted. “Let’s see your fighting spirit!”
Hannah was making so much noise she didn’t hear John Larkin push aside the branches and enter the grove. When he saw her take another swing at me, he started laughing.
Hannah whirled around, her face scarlet, and stared at John. “What do you mean by sneaking up on us like a common Peeping Tom?”
“With the noise you’ve been making, you wouldn’t have noticed a herd of rampaging elephants.” John was still laughing, but Hannah was furious.
Putting her fists on her hips, she scowled at him. “Well, now you know the truth about me. I’m no lady and I never claimed to be one. I suppose you’ll start taking Amelia Carter for rides in your precious tin lizzie and treating her to sodas at your father’s drugstore. I’m sure she’d never brawl with her brothers.”
Theo and I looked at each other. We were both hoping Hannah would make John leave. Before he came along and ruined everything, we’d been having fun.
To my disappointment, John didn’t seem to realize he was unwanted. Leaning against a tree, he watched Hannah run her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what you’re so fired up about,” he said. “Why should I want to take Amelia anywhere? I’ve never met a more boring girl. As for her brothers--a little brawling wouldn’t hurt them. Or Amelia either.”
Hannah turned away, her face flushed, and John winked at me. “Your sister’s first rate,” he said, “but I wager I know a sight more about boxing than she does. Why not let me show you a thing or two?”
Happy again, Hannah smiled at John. “What a grand idea! But go slow, Andrew’s still weak.”
When John took off his jacket, I edged closer to Hannah. “I like your lessons,” I said to her, scowling at John. He was rolling up his sleeves, probably to show off his muscles. Next to him, I was nothing but a skinny little baby. He’d knock me flat and everyone would laugh at me.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“I told you before--you mustn’t let Edward scare you. He’s a bully and a coward. What would Frank Merriwell do if he were you?”
Frank Merriwell--I was thoroughly sick of hearing that name.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“I have to ask you something.” Stumbling over words, I described my encounter with Edward. “I have to meet him at the railroad trestle next week. I’m supposed to do something when I get there, but he didn’t say what…” My voice trailed away. The expression on Andrew’s face told me he knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Drat,” he muttered. “That low-down skunk. I was hoping he’d forgotten.”
Andrew hesitated. Without looking at me, he picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing a little train on the floor. Concentrating on his sketch, he said, “Before I got sick, Edward dared me to jump off the trestle.”
My heart beat faster. “Is that what I’m supposed to do? Jump off?”
“Now, now, don’t get all het up, Drew. It’s not as bad as you think.” Carefully, Andrew added a curlicue of smoke to his drawing. “You walk out on the trestle and jump in the river. Then you swim to shore. It’s a simple as one two three.” He tapped the chalk three times for emphasis.
My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. Lying down between the rails or dynamiting the train might be better than this. “How high is the trestle?”
Instead of answering my question, Andrew said, “It’s a test of manhood. Lots of boys have done it.”
I wasn’t interested in testing my manhood or hearing about other boys. I just wanted to know what was going to happen to me. Me--a boy who was scared to jump off a diving board into eight feet of crystal-clear chlorinated water.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“That night, I startled Andrew by striding right up to him in the attic and shoving my face close to his. For once, I was too angry to be scared of him. “You didn’t tell me Papa beat you!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Do you mean to say you finally earned a whipping?”
“It’s not funny--he hit me with his belt!”
“Oh, horsefeathers. If Papa thought you deserved it, you probably did.” Andrew studied my face. “I hope you didn’t cry.”
“Of course I did. It hurt!”
Andrew cradled his head in his hands. “How will I ever face Theo,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine what he thinks of me.”
Stung by his lack of sympathy, I glared at Andrew. “My dad never hits me. Never! When I do something wrong, we talk about it. Fathers who beat their kids go to jail for child abuse.”
“Truly?” Andrew smiled. “That’s one more reason to keep winning--my rear end could do with a nice, long rest.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“I trudged home by myself, worrying about the trestle. What was I supposed to do there? If Andrew had dreamed it up, it was sure to be terrible. Maybe I’d have to lie down between the rails and let the train run over me. Boys did that in stories, but I wasn’t sure it worked in real life. It seemed to me you’d be gouged to death by things hanging from the bottoms of boxcars.
I thought a little longer. Maybe it had something to do with explosives. Andrew had blown up an outhouse once--he might want to dynamite a whole train.
I kicked a stone so hard I almost broke my toe. There was no way of guessing what went on in Andrew’s fiendish mind.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“After a while, Hannah said, “I heard Papa and Mama talking last night. Mama told Papa she thinks John Larkin is fond of me.”
To my annoyance, a little smile danced across her face. “I’m fond of John too,” she admitted, “but Papa--”
Hannah bit her lip and frowned. “Papa said a girl with my notions will never find a husband. He told Mama I’d end up an old-maid suffragette. Those were his very words, Andrew.”
Forgetting everything except making her happy, I said, “No matter what Papa thinks, you’ll marry John. What’s more, women will get the vote and drive cars and do everything men do, even wear trousers and run for president.”
Hannah sucked in her breath. “The way you talk, Andrew. I could swear you’ve been looking in a crystal ball.”
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I stared at her. Whatever had made me say so much? I didn’t even want to think about her marrying John, and here I’d gone and told her she would, as well as revealing a bunch of other stuff she shouldn’t know.
“Do you see anything else in my future?” Hannah was leaning toward me, her face inches from mine, gazing into my eyes, her lips slightly parted. “Will John and I be happy? Will we have lots of children? Will we live a long, long time?”
I tightened my grip on the branch. I was drowning, losing my identity, speaking words that made no sense. “You’ll be old when I’m young,” I whispered, “but I’ll remember, I’ll never forget, I’ll always love--”
“What are you talking about?” Hannah reached out and grabbed my shoulders. “Are you all right?”
For a moment, I was too dizzy to answer. I wasn’t sure who I was or where I was or what we’d been talking about. Feeling sick, I clung to the tree. Gradually, things came back into focus, the world steadied. Birds sang, leaves rustled, the branches swayed slightly. The strength in Hannah’s hands calmed me.
I took a few deep breaths and managed to smile. Hannah relaxed, but she was obviously still worried. “Will you ever be yourself again, Andrew?”
“I hope so.” I said it so fervently Hannah looked at me oddly. If only I could tell her the truth. She’d understand everything then. But would she believe me?
Hannah sighed and wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her hand. “I reckon the heat’s enough to give anybody the fantods.” She smiled at me. “Come on, Andrew, I’ll race you to the pump for a drink.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“Catching my eye in the mirror, Mrs. Armiger said, “Your mother tells me you’ve forgotten how to play the parlor organ, Andrew.”
I began to apologize, but Mrs. Armiger hushed me. “It’s all right, dear. I understand.” She paused to adjust her hat. “In the fall, we shall begin your lessons again. We’ll get along famously this time, won’t we?”
Not daring to meet Theo’s eyes, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Armiger smiled at Mama. “I can’t believe he’s the same boy. Do you suppose some other child put that glue in my metronome after all? Surely it wasn’t this dear angel who drew a mustache on my bust of Beethoven. Nor could he have been the rascal who climbed out my window on recital day and hid in a tree.”
She squeezed my shoulder just hard enough to hurt. “No, no, no--not this sweet little fellow. It must have been some naughty boy who looked just like him.”
After she and Mama shared a chuckle, Mrs. Armiger hugged me. “I believe I can make a perfect gentleman out of this child.”
When Theo heard hat, the laughter he’d been struggling to control exploded in a series of loud snorts. He tried to pretend he was choking on his phosphate, but he didn’t fool Mama.
“Music lessons are exactly what Theodore needs,” she told Mrs. Armiger. “The discipline will do him good. Suppose I sent both boys to you every Wednesday afternoon?”
While Mrs. Armiger and Mama made plans, I stirred the chocolate sauce into my ice cream, appetite gone. Beside me, Theo seethed. He was blaming everything on me--the scolding, the music lessons, Mrs. Armiger. It was all my fault. He hated me.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“As Mrs. Armiger drew near, the fountain clerk put my sundae in front of me. “Here you are,” he said. “I made this one especially for you, Andrew. Plenty of chocolate sauce and whipped cream--just the way you like it.”
Glad Andrew and I had at least one thing in common, I scooped up a big spoonful of ice cream. My mouth was watering for chocolate, but before I had a chance to taste it, Mrs. Armiger pounced on me. “How wonderful to see you up and about, dear boy. I was just plain worried to death when I heard you’d come down with diphtheria.”
Her perfume hung around me in a cloud so dense I could hardly breathe. “Yes, ma’am,” I stammered, trying hard not to cough. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Laying a plump hand on my shoulder, Mrs. Armiger smiled. “Why, Andrew, I believe a touch of the dark angel’s wings has improved your manners.”
Theo gave me one of the sharp little kicks he specialized in. Blowing through his straw, he made loud bubbling sounds in his drink.
He expected me to do something outrageous too. They all did--the whole family was watching, waiting for me to mortify them. I could almost hear Mama holding her breath. I knew Andrew would never have sat as still as a stone, ears burning with embarrassment, but, unlike him, I couldn’t think what to do or say.
“That’s a very rude noise, Theodore,” Mrs. Armiger said.
Mama snatched Theo’s glass. “If you want to finish your phosphate, apologize to Mrs. Armiger.”
Without looking at anyone, Theo mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
Mama wasn’t satisfied. “Sorry for what, Theodore Aloysius?”
Theo kept his head down. Trying not to giggle, he said, “I’m sorry for making a rude noise, Mrs. Armiger.”
Mama gave him his phosphate. “That’s better.”
Theo kicked me again, harder this time. From the way he was scowling, I guessed he was mad that he’d gotten into trouble and I hadn’t.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

“In Riverview, we stopped at Larkin’s Drugstore for a cold drink. Leaving the rest of us to scramble out unaided, John offered Hannah his hand. Although I’d just seen her leap out of a tree as fearless as a cat, she let him help her.
At the soda fountain, Hannah took a seat beside John. In her white dress, she was as prim and proper as any lady you ever saw. Quite frankly, I liked her better the other way.
I grabbed the stool on the other side of Hannah and spun around on it a couple of times, hoping to get her to spin with me, but the only person who noticed was Mama. She told me to sit still and behave myself. “You act like you have ants in your pants,” she said, embarrassing me and making Theo laugh.
While I was sitting there scowling at Theo in the mirror, John leaned around Hannah and grinned at me. “To celebrate your recovery, Andrew, I’m treating everyone to a lemon phosphate--everyone, that is, except you.”
He paused dramatically, and Hannah gave him a smile so radiant it gave me heartburn. She was going to marry John someday, I knew that. But while I was here, I wanted her all to myself, just Hannah and me playing marbles in the grove, talking, sharing secrets, climbing trees. She had the rest of her life to spend with stupid John Larkin.
“As the guest of honor,” John went on, “you may pick anything your heart desires.”
Slightly placated by his generosity, I stared at the menu. It was amazing what you could buy for a nickel or a dime in 1910.
“Choose a sundae,” Theo whispered. “It costs the most.”
“How about a root beer float?” Hannah suggested.
“Egg milk chocolate,” Mama said. “It would be good for you, Andrew.”
“Tonic water would be even better,” John said, “or, best of all, a delicious dose of cod-liver oil.”
When Hannah gave him a sharp poke in the ribs, John laughed. “Andrew knows I’m teasing. Come on, what will it be, sir?”
Taking Theo’s advice, I asked for a chocolate sundae.
“Good choice,” John said. “You’d have to go all the way to St. Louis to find better ice cream.”
― Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story