The Whispering Chimney

By Jane Ellen Freeman

   Eleven-year-old Bethany’s life implodes when her mother buys a farm in West Virginia. In the move, Bethany loses her supportive grandmother, her best friends, and the excitement of living in a bustling Ohio town. At the small school she is forced to attend, the sixth-grade girls are friendly at first. Then, led by a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eagle Gate Publishing
• Release date: Nov 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781734248012

Jane Ellen Freeman

Biography -Jane Ellen Freeman grew up in northeast Ohio's Ashtabula County. After college, she taught middle school in Morgantown, West Virginia, where she had a home on Cheat Lake. Jane Ellen writes for children, teens, and adults. Many of her stories have a touch of fantasy: a ghost, a time shift to pioneer times, a guardian angel, and in her teen novels--parallel universes. A recently released historical fiction ghost story BEYOND THE STONE EAGLE GATE (October 2019) has received positive acclaim from both teen and adult readers. Jane Ellen is a member of West Virginia Writers, Florida Writers Association, and the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. Two chapter books, JEREMIAH LUCKY AND THE GUARDIAN ANGEL and JEREMIAH LUCKY FINDS PUPPY LOVE, are Jane's first published books for children. Jane Ellen is pleased to debut THE WHISPERING CHIMNEY with Ingram/Spark. She now lives in the eastern panhandle of West Virginia where she enjoys the strong community of writers near Shepherdstown and the many programs offered by Shepherd University and Four Seasons Bookstore.

Book preview

Chapter One

I search the skies for the hawk, holding my breath, my excitement rising like a gust of wind on the ridge. Will today be the day I solve the mystery of the whispers? See the strange boy who appeared like a ghost? There! My hawk soars and dives. Is he an omen, signaling a rip in the curtain of time? Will I know who speaks in loving whispers, who warns of danger to come?

Bethany jerked open the door of the closet and stared into gaping, dark emptiness. It stared back. Bare. Hollow. She searched for a light switch. A chain hung from the single fixture. She pulled, flooding the closet with light. She pulled again. Blackness.

The lemony cleaner her mother used to freshen the wood floor and shelves tickled her nose. Her breath exhaling in a groan, Bethany backed away from the closet and tripped over one of the boxes crowding the center of the room.

Crap. Double crap! She kicked the box, denting one side. Then she read the label: Horses.

Midnight! If I broke him, I’ll curl up and die.

Sinking to her knees, she ripped off the tape that sealed the box containing her horse collection. A rearing circus horse, Snow Drift, rested against the inside edge of the dented box. Bethany loosened the bubble wrap. Snow Drift was okay. The stallion Dad had given her two years ago for her ninth birthday—before he left, before the divorce—lay deeper in the box.

Her fingers dug through the wrapped horses, searching. She found Midnight, buried and safe, and her heartbeat slowed to normal. She tucked the packing around him and rewrapped Snow Drift, thankful she was resin instead of ceramic. Her eyes blurring with tears, Bethany pushed the box into the closet.

She and her friends back home, Maddie and Chloe, had collected horses ever since third grade. What were her friends doing now? Probably swimming. Diving off the floating platform at the lake, or braving the high diving board at the pool. Or maybe they were meeting other kids at the movies. Were they there now, without her?

Charles, her mother’s boyfriend, staggered into the room. Whew! Last one, Bethy. Laughing, he put down a box, pulled a red handkerchief out of his jeans back pocket, and mopped his forehead. Big boxes are great for light weight stuff. Books, not so much.

She started to answer, then stopped, her words sticking in her throat.

I’ll get your bed set up in a little while. Then we’ll bring up your shelves. He tucked the handkerchief, gave her a wink, and left.

Footsteps thundered on the stairs and her brother Jon stuck his head in the doorway. Bethy, come on. We’re all going out to the barn. Then up the hill. Alan’s going to show us the ridge.

Barn? She snorted. Figures. What else could be on a farm in West Virginia?

Jon stood there a moment, bouncing up and down, his excitement hitting Bethany like a slap.

She shook her head. Nope. Not coming.

Jon scrunched up his face and opened his mouth. Wahwahwah.

Bethany stuck out her tongue. Jon stuck his out too and wiggled his ears. She couldn’t help it. She giggled.

Jon laughed. Come on, sourpuss. You’ll be sorry if you don’t. He whirled around and thundered back down the stairs, his steps pounding, then fading to a distant drumbeat.

She sank to the floor in the corner and covered her face with her hands. This whole summer had been one goodbye after another—goodbye to her school, goodbye to Maddie and Chloe. And Grandma. The image of Grandma wiping her eyes with the handkerchief she always carried in her apron pocket flashed into Bethany’s mind. How could she not live next door to Grandma? Bethany wanted to crawl in bed but she couldn’t even do that. Her mattress leaned against the wall with the headboard and footboard, the side railings beside them on the floor.

Bethany, Mom called from downstairs. Come with us, please.

Bethany sat in silence, counting Mom’s footsteps on the stairs. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. When Mom appeared in the doorway, Bethany said, Not coming.

We really want you to come. Mom’s voice was tired. It’s been a long day. The fresh air and a walk will do us good.

Bethany folded her arms around her knees and put her head down. Don’t want to.

Sitting up here by yourself won’t make you feel better. You’ve always loved the outdoors. Please.

Her voice muffled by her long, dark hair, Bethany mumbled, No.

Mom sighed, waited in the doorway a moment, and then she left, her steps a whisper on the stairs. A springing twang and snap of the kitchen screen door broke the quiet, and the emptiness of the house fell around Bethany. Then Jon yelled her name. She got up and walked to the window. Down in the yard, he waved his faded blue baseball cap, motioning for her to come.

Okay, funny little bro. For you.

Bethany took a last look at the mess that was now her life and clomped down the stairs.

Twang. Snap. More clomps on the rickety porch steps. Mom, Charles, Jon, and that red-headed neighbor kid, Alan, stood in front of a huge barn, twice the size of the white farmhouse Mom loved so much. If the house was old, the barn was ancient. Gray, weathered boards lightly feathered in a dusky red, some curling and ready to spit out their rusty nails, rose above the flaking foundation stones.

We had a barn like this when I was growing up, Mom said to Jon. When the realtor showed us the house, we didn’t come out to the barn. Can’t wait to go in. Her face lit up as she spotted Bethany.

Jon grinned. Ignoring both of them, Bethany bent down and retied her shoe.

The kid, Alan, appeared to be between her age and Jon’s. The immense barn door squeaked and groaned as he pushed it open. I know this barn like the back of my hand.

Bet you do. Charles smiled at Mom and put his arm around her. I’ll put on a few drops of oil. Should be easy to fix those hinges. Mom’s face glowed as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss Charles on the cheek.

Bethany rolled her eyes. Get a grip, Mom.

Mom had a small garden and lots of flowers back in Williams. Their house next door to Grandma Barrett wasn’t really new, but it wasn’t as old as this one. And it was in a neighborhood for gosh sake—a neighborhood with lots of other houses and kids. It was a perfect place to live. Why wasn’t that enough for Mom?

No neighborhood here. No other houses in sight. Not even a paved road. This morning they’d passed two or three dumpy houses with big barns. Alan must live on one of those farms. He’d followed the rental truck on his bike down the dusty road and into the driveway. Jon’s excitement for a new friend practically had him doing backflips.

But what about me? Then another thought struck her. Maybe Alan has an older sister.

She pictured a girl her age, red-haired and a little chubby just like this boy who was quickly becoming Jon’s best friend.

As they all walked into the barn, she cleared her throat. Uh, Alan. Do you have an older sister? She held her breath waiting for his answer.

Alan shook his head. Nope, a younger one.

Well, that door slammed shut. Nothing here for me. Friend possibilities—zero.

Alan was playing tour guide to the max. Dad and I helped Mr. Morris when his wife died. The milking stanchions are down below. You guys gonna have cows?

Charles and Mom laughed. Probably not, Charles said.

Alan pointed toward the rear of the barn. This part has horse stalls, a loft for the hay, room to get a tractor out of the weather. Great, isn’t it?

Jon started to climb some boards that made a ladder up to the loft. One of the boards creaked and wobbled.

Wait, Jon. Mom grabbed his red, high-top shoe before he could go any higher. Charles will need to re-nail those.

And check the loft floor. Charles gave Jon a hand down. A barn is a great place to play—if it’s safe.

The barn seemed even bigger from the inside. A big barn to play in when it was raining would be cool. Maddie would love it. It would be even better than the hidden place circled by trees in Maddie’s backyard.

Maybe Charles could rig up a rope swing and we could drop into a pile of hay. Kids did that if they lived on a farm, didn’t they?

Stacks of hay bales peeked over the edge of the loft. The dry, grassy smell drifted through the still air. No cows or horses were left. Maybe her family would get farm animals. Cute baby goats. Horses to ride.

Alan headed back outside. Charles closed the creaking door, and he, Mom, and Jon trooped after their pudgy leader. Bethany stuffed her hands in the pockets of her shorts and pushed her unwilling feet to move. The flat area in front of the barn door sloped down on the side to a kind of basement entrance underneath. Ahead of her, Alan said something and Mom, Charles and Jon burst into laughter.

So, Alan is a comedian as well as a tour guide. Barf!

Sheep pen. Cow shed. The milking room is in here. Alan pushed open a door the color of pea soup. Bethany flicked a large flake of the curling, peeling paint with her finger, then another. They fluttered to the dirt floor like dead butterflies. Cobwebs out of a horror movie hung from the stanchions and dust and bits of straw littered the cement floor.

Creepy, Jon said.

Didn’t used to be that way. Alan’s voice was low and sad.

Outside in the pen, animal hoofs had churned up the dirt, creating patterns of dried mud ridges. Despite the openness of the pen, the sharp smell of animal waste made Bethany hold her nose. What a stink!

Mom laughed. It’s not fresh, but it’s still pungent.

Alan said, My dad took the cows to the auction barn for Mr. Morris when he went to a nursing home. His kids came and took the furniture and hired that realtor lady. His voice dropped to a whisper. Guess he won’t be coming back if he’s renting to you all.

Maybe he’ll get well and ‘un-rent’ it. That’d be good for him and good for me, but not so happy for Mom, who’s still acting like she won the lottery.

Alan opened the gate to the pasture. There’s another gate halfway up the hill. So we won’t have to crawl through the barbed wire. Too rocky on the high part for good pasture. And the path is a bit steep.

After all that time in the car, we’re up for some exercise. Charles took Mom’s hand.

Bethany hung back.

Mom looked around. Please, Bethany, let’s see this together.

Jon grabbed Bethany’s hand and pulled her along. Cut it out, she snapped, jerking her hand free. Leave me alone.

She stood there, kicking at the clods of dirt where the cows had trampled around the gate. She half-turned to go back to the house. Remembering all the boxes, the mess, she changed her mind and trudged up the hill.

She was a few yards behind them when she heard Charles say, She’ll be okay. As soon as she makes new friends, she’ll turn back into her sweet self.

Mom sighed. I know you’re right, but she’s never been like this before, not for this long. She’s always been especially loving to Jon. I just wish I could make it easier on her.

A tear escaped and rolled down Bethany’s cheek. Please, please call Charles’s brother to bring back the truck, load up all our stuff, and drive back to Williams.

They continued to trek up the hill until they reached the upper gate.

I need a breather, Mom said.

Sweat trickled down Bethany’s back and her legs felt like rubber. She sprawled on the grass next to Jon and Alan.

Whew! Steep! Straight up is more like it!

Mom and Charles leaned against the gate, taking in the view of the farm below. Beautiful. Mom rested her head against Charles’s shoulder.

He put his arm around her. A farm like you’ve always wanted. Like we’ve talked about. We’re finally here.

A few minutes later, Alan jumped up and gestured at the rocky path leading to the top of the ridge. We don’t have to go all the way, but the view is pretty awesome. If you want, I can show you where the property line is.

I’m ready, Mom said, and she and Charles held hands again and followed Alan and Jon.

The upper path zigged and zagged higher and higher. When Bethany didn’t think she could take another step, the trail smoothed into a gentler slope. She gazed out over the valley. Alan was right. From this viewpoint, she could see mountains rising in the distance across miles of green forests and brown, tilled fields. Her breath caught in her throat.

Those mountains—the way they’re shaped, their color. I’ve seen them before. And those big rocks. I’ve stood here, right on this spot. How can that be?

Chapter Two

Her thoughts scrambling—searching for understanding—Bethany gazed from the ridge above their rented farm to the blue-tinged mountains spreading over the distant horizon like a painting. She shivered. A memory tried to crawl from deep inside her mind. A hawk flew high above, then dipped and soared again, its whistle sharp and piercing. A strange thought popped into her mind: Flying Hawk—my friend.

What’s wrong, sweetheart? Mom said. You look pale. Was the climb too much?

No, it’s just that… Bethany’s voice trailed off. I have a funny feeling—that I’ve been here before, seen those mountains.

And the farm below? Charles asked.

No. Bethany’s voice was a whisper. Not the farm. Just this spot. Those big rocks. She pointed to several boulders that spilled from the ridge top down the hill. And the mountains. I’ve seen them before.

Mom was silent a moment. Déjà vu.

Déjà what?’ Bethany asked. What does that mean?"

Déjà vu. It’s a French phrase. It means ‘something seen before.’

When a person goes to a place and it feels like they’ve been there, even though they haven’t, Charles added.

Bethany nodded, then tucked the