House on Ginny Jump Mountain
When Chase Hutchinson was studying to become an architect, he envisioned designing unique and innovative buildings, works of art that would enhance the neighborhoods in which they were built, but once he graduated and found himself in a position of having to support himself, his dreams took a back seat to more practical considerations. The market for architectural masterpieces was minimal, so Chase had to content himself with designing office buildings, medical parks, shopping centers, strip malls and middle-income housing developments. Submerged beneath the surface of a successful New York architect, the dreamer lay dormant for many years.
Not long after embarking on his career, Chase married his childhood sweetheart, and soon thereafter he and his wife had a daughter. The family lived in an upscale New Jersey community in a four-bedroom bi-level that Chase had designed himself. It was a roomy, comfortable house in a convenient location, but it wasn't a building that would ever grace the cover of Architectural Digest.
"Someday," he promised his wife, Tracy, "I'll design a spectacular house for us, one we can all be proud of."
"Maybe a weekend place at the shore," Tracy suggested, "or a retirement home in Vermont or Maine. I'd like to live in a huge Victorian-style house with a great view."
"Retirement home? I don't want to wait until we're too old to enjoy it."
Fortunately, the Hutchinsons did not have long to wait at all. A few months later, Chase was approached by the CEO of a New York bank that was one of his commercial clients.
"I've inherited a large parcel of property in Northeast Pennsylvania," the man said. "I plan on subdividing it, selling off some of the acres to a local housing developer and keeping a few for myself. I'd like you to take a look at the land and decide on the best location for a vacation home—that you'll design, naturally."
"What style of place are you talking about?" Chase asked. "One of those modern yet rustic-looking cabins?"
He knew that log homes were popular with wealthy city people who enjoyed getting away from it all two or three times a year.
"Hell, no! I want a big place. You've got creative genius. I've glimpsed it in the buildings you've designed for my company. I'd like you to let your imagination run wild and design a showcase where I can entertain friends and family for weeks at a time if I so choose."
There were a number of prime home sites on the client's land, consisting of mostly gently rolling hills and woodlands. Additionally, on the nearly one-thousand-acre parcel, there was a large lake fed by a mountain stream. Chase envisioned an estate-style house with terraces, docks and a boathouse. It was the perfect setting for a family vacation home.
A city boy with few opportunities to get out into the fresh air, Chase decided to take advantage of the perfect weather and walk along the stream. He followed it to the base of a mountain where, above him, the stream ran down through huge granite boulders, creating a picturesque waterfall. Wanting to be one with nature, he began to climb. After half an hour, he had to stop because the terrain was too rocky and steep.
"This spot is certainly beautiful," he mused.
Most developers, however, wanted flat land that could be divided into quarter- and half-acre lots, thus guaranteeing a solid return on their investment. No builder could put a string of raised ranches or Cape Cods on such a rocky slope.
As Chase sat in the cool shade of the surrounding trees, listening to the stream splashing on the granite boulders in its journey down the mountain, he was reminded of one of the twentieth century's most ingenious architectural accomplishments: Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater. Built in the 1930s for a department store tycoon, the multi-tiered mansion rose thirty feet above the rocks and actually spanned a waterfall.
Chase knew there were few pieces of property as picturesque and suitable to a truly unique design as the one before his eyes. But could he design a home innovative enough so that he would not be accused of imitating Wright's masterpiece? It certainly would be a challenge, and Chase had longed for such a test since he first enrolled in college.
* * *
"You're building a house where?" Tracy asked with disbelief when her husband told her the exciting news.
"Pennsylvania, about forty minutes northwest of the Delaware Water Gap."
"A weekend home in the Pocono Mountains," she said with relief. "Great! We can go skiing in the winter."
"No. I'm talking about a year-round place," Chase explained and proceeded to outline his plans for building a house over the waterfall.
Tracy had a dozen objections, chief among them that the commute to the city was too great. Also, she quickly pointed out, the interior of such a house was bound to be cold and damp.
"Since I do most of my work at home, distance isn't a factor," Chase replied, brushing her objections aside. "Also, there are several efficient heating systems that will keep us warm and dry. Trust me. You're going to love it when it's done."
The bank CEO was so happy with the finished design of his country estate that he agreed to sell the rocky parcel of sloping land with the waterfall to his favorite architect at an incredibly low price. Chase, who had already sketched out his ideas for his own home, dove into the project wholeheartedly once he closed on the property.
Aside from the fact that both buildings spanned a waterfall and blended into the natural beauty of their surroundings, there was little in common between Fallingwater and the house that Chase designed. Wright's structure was made of concrete and sandstone cantilevered decks, whereas Chase's consisted of glass and steel placed at acute angles. Yet despite its modern appearance, there was nothing cold or impersonal in the design.
"It'll be like living in a garden!" Tracy exclaimed when she saw the completed house for the first time.
"Do you like it?" Chase asked anxiously.
"I love it."
Her voice sounded hesitant and not too convincing.
"But ...?" Chase asked, expecting to hear another half a dozen objections.
"But nothing. It's beautiful! Now."
Here it comes, he thought.
"What do you mean now?"
"In the summer, with the green trees and the mild temperature. And I'm sure it will be spectacular in the autumn. The foliage here must be incredible! However, I'm not sure how comfortable this place will be in the dead of winter."
"We'll light the fireplaces and put some drapes on the windows and it will be very cozy in here."
Tracy made no reply, reserving her judgment until the first snow fell in December or January.
* * *
Eight-year-old Mackenzie Hutchinson came home from her first day of school, anxious to share a bit of local folklore she'd learned with her parents.
"Guess what Mrs. Hinkley told me today," she said.
Chase came out of his office when he heard his daughter come home.
"Who's Mrs. Hinkley?" he asked. "I thought Miss Parkman was your teacher."
"Mrs. Hinkley is our school librarian. Anyway, guess what she told me."
Chase and Tracy shrugged their shoulders.
"She said our house was built on Ginny Jump Mountain."
"That's an odd name for a mountain," Tracy mused. "Are you sure you heard her right?"
"The school librarian is correct," explained Hope, a local woman who worked as a part-time secretary for Chase. "There is an old legend attached to this site."
Tracy was fascinated.
"What sort of legend?"
"Over a hundred and fifty years ago there was a small farmhouse at the base of the mountain. The man who lived there had a nine-year-old girl named Virginia—Ginny for short. Ginny loved to climb up the rocks and pick the berries that grew wild beside the waterfall. It is said that one day the girl was high up on the rocks when a group of Indians came upon her. The little girl's screams brought her father out of the house. He knew there was no way she could safely make it down from so high a spot before the Indians got to her, so rather than see her fall victim to what he believed were savages, he told to her jump."
"Did she?" Tracy asked.
"Yes. She died when she hit the rocks at the bottom of the falls."
"You don't suppose there's any truth to that legend?"
"I doubt it," Chase replied. "The Delaware Indians were a peaceful tribe. Weren't they?"
"I believe so, yes," Hope answered with a smile. "At least that's what my grandmother told me, and she was a Lenni Lenape."
* * *
"I don't think we should have discussed that Ginny Jump legend in front of Mackenzie," Tracy told her husband a week later.
"Oh? Has she been having nightmares about being chased by Indians?"
"No. At least none that she's mentioned to me, but she has been acting very peculiar these past several days."
"I've noticed that she's been rather quiet," Chase said thoughtfully, "but I assumed it was because she was adjusting to her new environment. Have you asked her if anything is bothering her?"
"No," Tracy admitted. "I'll talk to her tonight after she finishes her homework."
Later that evening, Tracy went into her daughter's bedroom and sat down on the canopy bed.
"How are things going at school?"
"Okay," Mackenzie replied laconically.
"Just okay? Do you get along with your new classmates?"
"Yeah."
Normally, the child was a chatterbox. Responding with one-word answers was not like her.
"Honey is anything bothering you?" the worried mother asked. "You know you can tell me or your father if there is."
"I'm okay."
"You aren't afraid of that old Ginny Jump legend, are you?"
"No. It's a silly story, and most of it isn't true."
"Really? Did Mrs. Hinkley tell you that?"
"No. I know it's not true because the Indians wouldn't hurt anyone, especially a little girl."
"That's right. If a little girl named Ginny did actually die on those rocks, I'm sure it was an accident."
"I think so, too."
Mackenzie smiled and hugged her mother.
Chase walked into the room and asked, "Got a hug for your daddy?"
The little girl immediately shied away from her father, as though she were frightened of him. Tracy and her husband exchanged confused looks. What was wrong with their daughter, they wondered.
* * *
In the following weeks, Mackenzie crept further into her shell, especially when her father was around. The child's aloof attitude began to worry Chase.
"She either ignores me or she looks at me like I'm Charles Manson," he complained to his wife.
"Did you say anything that might have upset or frightened her?"
"No. I've barely seen her since she started school."
"Perhaps she's unhappy here and blames you. Let her have some space and time to work it out."
The matter came to a head when Miss Parkman, Mackenzie's teacher, telephoned Tracy about her daughter's conduct.
"I would like your permission to have Mackenzie speak with the school psychologist," the educator said. "Uprooting a child from her home can be quite traumatic in some cases. I believe talking to a trained therapist might help."
Tracy readily agreed to the teacher's request. She, more than anyone, wanted to discover what was bothering her daughter and hopefully help the child come to terms with it. However, the mother was not prepared for the psychologist's findings.
"Mackenzie's psychological tests show she has the classic symptoms of an abused child," the psychologist concluded.
"Abused?" Tracy echoed with horror.
"Yes, Mrs. Hutchinson. Tell me, do you or your husband ever use physical forms of punishment when disciplining your child?"
"I don't understand what you're asking me," Tracy said, barely able to hide the anger she felt toward the psychologist for suggesting either she or Chase would hurt their own child.
"I mean do you spank or slap her?"
"Certainly not!"
"Are there any other adults living with you? Does the girl have a babysitter or a neighbor she spends time with?"
"No one. My daughter has not been abused no matter what your damned tests show," Tracy cried as she stormed out of the psychologist's office.
On her drive back home, however, she pondered her daughter's unusual behavior. Why was Mackenzie suddenly avoiding her husband?
"This is ridiculous! Chase is a kind and loving father."
But the seed of doubt had been planted.
Three days later Tracy and Chase received a visit from a representative of Youth Services.
"Both Miss Parkman and the school psychologist reported finding suspicious bruises on your daughter's body," the county social worker informed them.
"Bruises?" Chase echoed.
"Yes, and I've been instructed to investigate the circumstances surrounding her injuries."
"What's to investigate?" Chase asked angrily. "She must have hurt herself while she was playing. Kids get cuts and scrapes all the time."
"These bruises are not consistent with accidental injuries, Mr. Hutchinson."
Tracy's heart sank. This was a wife and mother's worst nightmare.
"Does my daughter say how she got the bruises?"
"No. Like many victims of abuse, Mackenzie seems reluctant to discuss the matter."
Chase angrily jumped to his feet.
"My daughter has not been abused. If she had been, my wife and I would have suspected something ourselves."
Chase looked to his wife for support and was shocked to see only accusation in her eyes.
* * *
Tracy Hutchinson, fearful for the safety of her daughter, took out a restraining order against her husband, despite his protestations of innocence. Chase reluctantly packed his bags and moved into an apartment near their old home in New Jersey, voluntarily severing contact with his family.
In December Mackenzie celebrated her ninth birthday. Tracy threw her daughter a party at a nearby pizzeria and invited all the children from her class. With Chase out of the house, the little girl's mood improved, but shortly after Tracy and Mackenzie returned home from the birthday party, Chase showed up on their doorstep.
"You're not supposed to be here," Tracy said, hoping she wouldn't have to phone the police.
"I know," her husband replied sadly, "but it's her birthday. Can't I see her? I bought her a gift."
"Chase," she moaned in frustration.
"Please! You can stay in the room and watch my every move. Better yet, ask Hope to stop by. You can both see to it that I don't hurt Mackenzie."
Tracy faltered.
"Well, just this once."
Chase waited in the car until Hope arrived. Then the two of them went inside. The child took one look at her father and froze.
"Happy birthday, honey," he said, giving her a large wrapped package.
The little girl made no attempt to take it.
"What's the matter, Mac?" her father asked, using the pet nickname he'd given her. "Why are you so afraid of me? I've done nothing to hurt you."
As he drew nearer, Mackenzie began to shake and whimper.
"Chase, I think you'd better leave now," Tracy suggested.
"She's my daughter, too."
Suddenly Mackenzie shrieked and fell to the floor as though she had been struck. Her face swelled, and the red outline of a handprint became visible on her cheek.
"I didn't touch her!" Chase cried.
"I know," Tracy stammered with fear. "No one did."
Mackenzie's head jerked to the side and her lower lip split open and started to bleed. Tracy stifled a scream with the back of her hand.
"What's happening?" Chase shouted.
Mackenzie's vacant, staring eyes turned to him briefly. Then the terrified child stood up and raced for the front door. The three adults had been so bewildered by the mysterious injuries that had appeared on the little girl's face that they were slow in reacting to her flight.
"Mackenzie, where are you going? Come back here," her mother shouted.
Tracy, Chase and Hope went outside and saw the child racing up the rocks toward a high overhanging boulder known locally as Ginny Jump Rock, purportedly the same one from which the nine-year-old girl leaped to her death over one hundred and fifty years earlier."
"Come down from there!" Tracy ordered. "It's freezing outside, and you're not wearing a jacket."
Hope, who had remained silent throughout the ordeal, now spoke up.
"Those rocks will be slippery," she warned.
Chase's first instinct was to run after his daughter, to save her from a dangerous situation, but Tracy reached out to hold him back.
"For some reason, she's afraid of you. If you go after her, she'll probably keep running. Please, darling, go inside and let me try to get her down."
Mackenzie made it to the overhanging rock and stood at the edge, staring down. Tracy began following in her daughter's footsteps, but she was not as nimble as the little girl. Halfway up the steep path, she slipped on an icy rock and turned her ankle.
"Mrs. Hutchinson," Hope shouted up to her, "are you all right?"
"Yes, but I can't make it up to the top to get Mackenzie down. Can you call for help?"
"I will get someone."
"Just stay where you are, honey," Tracy called to her daughter. "Someone will be here soon to help you down."
Ten minutes later, an old pickup truck pulled into the driveway. Two people, both of Native American descent, got out and walked toward Hope. Tracy looked on in exasperation. She had thought Hope would have called 911, not members of her family, one of whom was old and bent with age. The younger man first helped Tracy down and then began to ascend the mountain again. Meanwhile, the old man had gone into some form of trance.
"Is he sick?" Tracy asked.
"No," Hope replied reassuringly. "This is George Thunderhawk, the oldest living member of our tribe and a powerful shaman."
"A shaman?"
"What you probably call a medicine man. He has powers as well as visions. He is trying to contact the spirit that is tormenting your daughter."
Tracy looked at Hope skeptically. She suspected that her daughter had emotional or psychological problems but had given no thought to supernatural involvement.
As George Thunderhawk chanted in his native language, Tracy turned from him to check on the younger man's progress up the side of the mountain. Then she looked up at the overhanging rock where she could see not one, but two nine-year-old girls.
"Look!" Tracy said, grabbing Hope's arm.
Mackenzie sat on the rock, oblivious to everything around her. Behind her was a little girl in an early-nineteenth-century dress. Even from the ground below, Tracy could see the girl's torn garments and the pronounced bruises on her face and arms.
"It's the spirit of Ginny," Hope said.
Chase, who had been listening and watching from the front steps of the house, went to his wife's side.
"No!" Ginny's ghost cried. "No, Daddy, no!"
Then she turned and tried to climb up the steep face of the mountain.
The Hutchinsons watched in horror as Ginny's ghost slipped and fell through the air, landing with a sickening thud on the rocks below. After several seconds, the little girl's broken body vanished.
Once Ginny faded from view, Mackenzie recovered from her daze.
"Mommy! Daddy! How did I get up here? I'm cold and scared. Should I jump down, Daddy?"
"No," Chase cried, "just stay where you are. There's a man beneath you who'll help you down."
* * *
With her daughter safe from physical and supernatural harm, Tracy gratefully invited Hope, her brother and the old shaman inside the house for coffee. Mackenzie rode on Chase's shoulders, laughing and demanding to know what he'd gotten her for her birthday. As they finished off what was left of Mackenzie's birthday cake, Tracy turned to Hope.
"I guess that old legend is wrong after all. Poor Ginny wasn't trying to get down the mountain to escape from the Indians; she was running up the mountain to flee from her father. What a terrible injustice to your people to blame them for what happened to her."
"Yes," the old man agreed. "When Ginny fell to her death, quite a few local white men blamed them and sought revenge. Many were ambushed and beaten."
"Without proof of their guilt?" Chase asked.
"The Lenni Lenape were not well-liked and often feared. Some vigilantes decided to teach them a lesson and give them a warning at the same time."
"I wonder whatever happened to Ginny's father," Tracy said.
"He took to drink and let the farm run down. Then one night the house was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. His body was later found in the ashes."
The adults abruptly ceased their talk of vengeance and death when Mackenzie entered the dining room.
"Mommy, mommy!" the little girl cried happily. "Look at what Daddy gave me."
She proudly held out a beautiful porcelain doll dressed in early-nineteenth-century clothing, very similar to what might have been worn by the poor little girl whose ghost they'd recently seen.
"She looks like the girl in my dreams."
"Really?" Chase asked.
"Yes. I think I'll name my doll Ginny after her."
Mackenzie then walked over to her father, hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek.
This story was inspired by an old New Jersey legend. Jenny Jump State Park and Jenny Jump Mountain are located in Warren County. At the Land of Make Believe family park, located in Hope, New Jersey, you can see the rock from which Jenny supposedly jumped and the house in which she and her father are said to have lived.
The image in the upper left corner of the page is of Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater.
Don't worry if Salem jumps. He's a cat and always lands on his feet.
