At this point, there was a long silence. The three of them stared out at Lake Clara. The water glittered
“There’s a lady who drowned in this lake,” said Raymie. “Her name was Clara Wingtip.”
“So?” said Beverly.
“She haunts it,” said Raymie. “In my father’s office, there’s a photo of the lake from the air, and
you can see Clara Wingtip’s shadow under the water.”
Beverly snorted. “I don’t believe in fairy tales.”
“You can hear her weeping sometimes,” said Raymie. “That’s what they say.”
“Really?” said Louisiana. She arranged her barrettes and put her hair behind one ear and leaned
in toward the lake. “Oh,” she said. “I hear it. I hear the weeping.”
She heard weeping, too.
-- Kate DiCamillo, Raymie Nightingale