What the Nanny Said

I rise early in our weather-beaten house on Cranbury Road, listen to a blackbird sing. We had moved in last week and are finally unpacked. My daughter sleepily rambles in, asks if I believe in ghosts. Of course not I reply. She insists that ghosts are real. She is five. The nanny told me our house is haunted, she adds. I don’t know what to say. We do not have a nanny.