Date: 1990-06-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Young Adult; Fiction; Halloween; Paranormal; Mystery; Thriller; Adult
Description: The victim of a car accident in the Ozark hills, Pamela Westbrook awoke to find herself in the care of the Whittakers, a quaint, hard-working family on an isolated farm. Charmed at first by their gentle customs, Pamela soon discovers the eerie rituals and dark traditions behind their old-fashioned ways.
Publisher: Open Road Media
Rights: (c) 1990 by Richie Tankersley Cusick

Scarecrow

Richie Tankersley Cusick

for Mary Jack
and friendship
and wishes made on corners…

They really do come true.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

A Biography of Richie Tankersley Cusick

Prologue

SOMETIMES THEY REMINDED HER of the dead people, propped up on sticks, their arms outstretched in silent, eternal pleading that no one could hear but her. But mostly she just liked to play among them and use them for her special kind of magic.

“Come,” she said now, and the scarecrows stared straight ahead, their faded features as blank and beaten as the endless Ozark hills that enclosed them from the whole rest of the world.

No one had ever told her the story behind the scarecrows, but somehow she knew what it was. She’d seen it all happen before…all her life, in fact…in her own mind…Dreams of savage scarecrows in ragged tatters that filled her heart with terror and with pain. She never understood how she knew these things; she just did.

“Come,” she sighed again, a long, deep sigh like the back-hill wind, a sad sound that always made her feel so lonely.

Maybe it would work this time.

Maybe…if she wished real hard…

The little girl’s wide eyes swept over the fields…the woods…the sagging porch…

Sometimes the scarecrows seemed just like the dead people, lost and wandering around, looking for a way out they’d never find.

She watched the crows settle down among them, black wings beating back the cold, deep night.

She wished the scarecrows could keep all the bad things away.

But there were already too many shadows sliding softly over the old house…

And a chill of death in the autumn twilight.

“Come,” the little girl whispered. “Oh, please…come.”

Chapter 1

“SHE’LL HAVE TO BE watched,” the voice said.

It came like a dream, and floating deep…deep…I sensed it rather than heard it. It was a voice I didn’t recognize, yet somehow it was pulling me, on and on, up through black, silent layers of sleep.

“You understand, don’t you?” It spoke again. “What I’m saying?”

Through the twilight of unconsciousness, I seemed to see two figures moving like ghosts, talking in whispers, and I’m dead, I thought, I’m dead and these are angels and soon they’ll take me to see Brad and Kerry…

“Please,” I mumbled, but my own voice, like that other one, was eerie and faraway.

“Watch her,” it said again. “Watch her close.”

And as the last thin veil of shadows peeled away, I felt my eyelids open to a curious brightness.

I was in a bedroom, but it wasn’t my own.

I was lying in an unfamiliar bed, staring at an open window I had never seen before.

As panic gripped me, I tried to sit up, falling back almost immediately with a cry of pain and surprise. My hands flew to my forehead, feeling the bandage there, then lowered slowly, coming to rest upon a nightgown I knew I’d never owned. The long sleeves, mended in several places, had worked themselves partway up to reveal more bandages on my arms. Frowning, I ran my fingers over coarse sheets, a faded patchwork quilt—and I realized that my sensation of floating came from the thick feather mattress beneath me. A hospital? Surely not…

This time I eased myself up on one elbow, pressing my other hand against my head. For a second everything spun around me, but then, as things began to settle, the room came together into one uncomplicated picture. It was small and sparsely furnished—other than the bed I occupied, there was only a small table beside it, a plain wooden trunk against the opposite wall, and a straight-backed chair standing solemnly beneath one window. As I squinted against sunshine, my heart clutched in fear. But it was dark, darker than this, I remember it was much darker than this and raining…As I tried to raise myself higher to see, a chilly breeze crept in over the sill and trailed across the foot of the bed. Shivering, I glanced toward the open doorway and saw the tall figure who stood there watching me.

His presence filled the room. As I drew back in alarm, I felt my eyes helplessly drawn into his, the steady intensity of his gaze both awesome and frightening. His lean, tanned face was streaked with dirt and sweat, yet his cheekbones were high, his nose straight, and his dark mustache flowed softly into his short beard. His brows sat low and stern over his dark eyes; his beard, tracing up angular jaws, joined a thick cascade of hair swept back from his forehead.

Releasing me at last, his eyes began to move slowly down from my face to the blankets bunched at my waist. “So you’re better.” His voice was harsh and authoritative, and I detected displeasure beneath the impassive mask of his face.

“Are you…a doctor?”

That look again, stern yet peculiarly wary. He stared at me several long minutes, as if trying to reach some decision. “You don’t remember,” he said at last.

Yes…yes, I do…I tried the pills but they didn’t work and—no, that’s not right, I’m confused, that was months ago, and now I’m on a trip…my car…

“My car. I had an accident.”

An almost imperceptible nod. “You have some bad cuts and bruises. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“The tree,” I mumbled. “There was a storm…I got lost.” Again I fingered the bandage. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

“You shouldn’t move, it’ll only hurt worse.” He shifted his weight, melting momentarily into the half-light of the hallway behind him.

“Don’t go!” As my voice rose, he reappeared again, expression unchanged. “Please listen to me. I have to leave, I can’t stay here—”

“Try and rest. I’ll tell Rachel to bring you some food.”

“No, wait—” My hands pressed to my throbbing temples. “Where am I? I need to get—”

The doorway was empty.

Trembling, I eased myself deep beneath the covers, clenching them tightly to my chin. I could still see him, even though he was gone, his dark image leaning there in the doorway, his dark eyes sliding over me. Glancing round the room again, I forced back another wave of panic and tried to think rationally. Maybe if I held onto the furniture, I could make it to the door and find my way out, get to my car and—

I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, as if someone were climbing stairs, then coming down a hall toward my room. No, not just one person, I guessed now, and as my heart began to pound, there was a light tapping on the door frame and they walked in.

“So you are better! Seth said you were awake and—why, look at her, Rachel, she’s—”

“Hush now,” came the soft reply, and as I stared, the two women paused a respectful distance from the bed.

They looked as if they’d stepped from another time. As my mind groped to place them, I was struck with a whirlwind of images—photographs I’d seen of the Depression…of Appalachia…of the Amish…yet these women didn’t exactly fit any of these categories, only pieces taken here and there, patched together like the old quilt I was holding around myself. The one who had spoken first looked to be in her late teens, her calico jumper hanging nearly to her ankles, just brushing the tops of clumsy, laced-up boots. Her hair was straight and shoulder-length, the color of straw, and her green eyes twinkled mischievously as she grinned at me, a grin so contagious that I couldn’t help smiling cautiously back. That broke the spell somehow. As our smiles met, the other woman moved forward and held out a tray for me to see.

“I reckon you must be hungry,” she said quietly. “It’ll do you good to eat something.”

I couldn’t stop staring at her, the contrast was so striking. While the first girl was all sparkle and light, this woman in her baggy dress and crumpled bib apron seemed more a pale shadow. She was older than the girl—probably in her thirties, nearer my own age—but her eyes, glancing at me both shyly and curiously, were those of an old, old woman. Her forehead was high and wide, her mouth an unsmiling line beneath gaunt cheeks. Her black hair was pulled back unbecomingly, knotted at the nape of her neck. Like the girl, she wore no makeup. But it was the left side of her face which caused me to first drop my gaze and then steal another look in morbid fascination. A jagged scar split her cheek, puckering its way from her chin to a spot just beneath her eye. It looked painful and grotesque on that plain, sweet face, an accident that should never have happened. Yet despite her whole appearance of poverty, despite the horrible disfigurement of her features, there was something so beautiful there—so tragically and hauntingly beautiful—that I found myself wondering what could possibly have happened to her in such a short lifetime. I could identify with that kind of pain.

As my mind focused back, I heard the woman say, “Franny, I forgot the bread. Fetch it for me, will you, please?” And then we were alone, just the two of us. I watched her place the tray on the nightstand, noting how thin she was, her work-reddened knuckles. A dull gold band hung loosely from the third finger of her left hand.

“Please listen to me,” I said, and she jumped a little as if she’d forgotten I was there. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where I am and—”

“You’re safe,” she said gently. “Just rest your mind.”

“But you must listen to me! I was on the highway and the colors were so beautiful and I turned off and followed them and…and…it was like I had to follow them, don’t you see? Like they wanted me to follow them…and I couldn’t find my way back to the road, and I kept getting more and more lost….” I heard my words tumbling out, helpless to stop them, fear and terrible confusion pumping through my brain. “You think I’m crazy, I know. You think I’m crazy, but I’m not. It was like—”

“You have to eat something,” she insisted, in that same quiet way. Her voice had a soft, slow drawl which was strangely comforting. She patted my wrist, her fingertips lingering there. “You’ve been lying here these three whole days without a bite of food in you.”

Three days! “That’s not true. I don’t believe you. I can’t have been here that long.”

“Don’t you remember?” she asked worriedly. And when I looked blank, she added, “Seth found you out on the road. It was raining and that tree came down right on your car.” She thought a moment. “Lightning can do funny things.”

“My car. Do you know where it is?”

She shook her head. “I reckon you’re just lucky to be alive.”

“You mean…I almost died.”

She nodded. “You surely had us all scared.”

“Died…” My lips moved soundlessly, my face draining, as all the memories of the last ten months flooded back in a relentless rush. Brad…Kerry…A shudder went through me, and before I even thought, I heard myself say, “But I should have died. Why didn’t you let me die?”

There was a long silence as she looked at me with those tired, sad eyes. I watched her hands again, quick and capable, tucking the covers around me as if I were a child. “Why do you wish that?” she asked at last.

My head sank back upon the pillow, tears welling up in my throat, choking me. “I should have known better. I should never have left on my own. I’ve never done it before, you know. Brad always took care of those things. But he’s not here now, so I have to. I don’t want to. But I don’t have a choice.”

“Rest easy now. We can talk about all of it later on.”

“But you don’t understand—no one understands.” Oh, Brad, I can’t, I can’t do anything without you, why did you have to die and leave me so afraid of living…My eyes snapped back to her face. “I’m not crazy,” I said defensively, yet part of me seemed to be standing apart, gazing in mute horror at the wild-eyed, rambling patient in the bed. “I’m not. I acted like it before, but that was a long time ago, and I’m fine now. You’ve got to believe me.”

“But I do believe you.”

“Someone was here. A man. I didn’t dream that.”

“No. That was Seth.” She said that name as if I should have recognized it.

“Then I’m not in a hospital. He’s not a doctor.”

“Seth,” she said again. “Why, he’s hardly left your room since he brought you here.”

I stared at her, reality struggling slowly into my thick brain.

“I’m Rachel Whittaker,” she went on, pouring a strange-smelling liquid into a cup. “And Franny—she’s gone to get the bread. You’re in our house. And you don’t have to be worried about anything, cause there’s nobody here who’ll hurt you. There now.” She handed me the cup, steadying my hand with her own. “Drink this nice and slow. You have to get your strength back.”

I hesitated, but she guided the cup to my mouth. Whatever it was tasted terrible, but it did succeed in warming a path to my empty stomach. For a minute I thought it might come up again, and I shook my head, pushing the cup away. “What is that?”

“Just some herb tea. Now, don’t you fret. I know how to make lots of things to help you feel better. Just a little more,” Rachel coaxed, and as I steeled myself for another swallow, Franny bounced back into the room.

“Oh, Rachel, she looks mighty awful—”

“Shush!” Rachel cast the girl a withering look, and my fingers crept cautiously up to my head before Rachel could gently lower them.

“Do I? I feel like I do. I’m sorry…I feel so strange.”

“No need for you to be sorry,” Rachel chided good-naturedly. “I reckon Franny was under the porch when they passed the manners.”

“Sorry,” Franny grinned, not looking sorry at all. “So what are you doing wandering around out here all by yourself?”

“Franny,” Rachel sighed and passed me a half-filled bowl of broth. “Just try to eat as much as you can. And this bread—just try it.”

“I really don’t think I—”

“Please.” Her voice was so kind that I found myself trying to eat, just to please her. The broth was rich and golden, and after the first forced mouthful, it was easier to get down.

“So what’s your name?” Franny demanded. “You do remember your name, don’t you?”

Rachel gave her a warning look, but I spoke up tentatively. My head suddenly felt very heavy. “Pamela. Pamela Westbrook.” They stared at me with no sign of recognition and I stared back. But why should they know the name…Brad’s reputation as an artist was mainly on the West Coast…

“Well, you surely don’t look like you’re from around these parts, Pamela Westbrook,” Franny cocked her head at me.

“No. I’m from…” The room seemed to sway a little, and I gripped the edge of the bed to steady myself. That’s not a hard question, I know the answer to that…“I’m from California.”

“California!” Franny’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ve surely heard of that! What on earth are you doing way out here?”

Rachel didn’t say anything, but busied herself smoothing the covers at the foot of the bed.

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” I said earnestly, trying to sit up, wincing from the effort. “I’m supposed to be in St. Louis. I’m surprising my sister in St. Louis, only I got lost, and I couldn’t find the highway—”

“The highway? Well, you are off the track,” Franny giggled. “You’re not even close to where you want to go.”

“Then where am I? You haven’t told me where I am.”

“Mercy,” Rachel sighed. “You’re just about as far from anywhere as you can be. It’s a wonder you even got yourself found at all.”

“Ozarks,” I mumbled. “I was driving through the Ozarks.”

“Yes, that’s right. See, you do remember something, don’t you?”

“He always said it was beautiful…that’s why he wanted to paint it someday…he said it was beautiful…”

“Who, honey? Who said that?” Rachel’s face swam before me, and I swallowed hard, trying to follow her with my eyes.

“Why, Brad. Brad said that before…” I frowned. “It was my doctor’s idea, to take a trip. Not mine. I’ve made a mess of things…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Rachel said. “Everything’s just fine. Just fine.”

“Only I wanted to come through the Ozarks because he always said it was so beautiful this time of year…” But you never want to get stranded there, he’d said, you never want to get stranded in the Ozarks because there are back-hill places you’d never find your way out of, ever again…

I glanced up guiltily as Rachel’s kind voice brought me back. “What did you say? Someone’s name?”

“Brad,” I said, my throat tightening, that choking, dying feeling I’d lived with since the funeral. “I must have said Brad. I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

Rachel and Franny exchanged looks, and I blurted out, “But I thought I was on some sort of main road. How could I have gotten lost that quickly?”

“Oh, there’s lots of back roads around these parts that folks don’t know about,” Franny nodded wisely. “It’s easy to get lost before you realize.”

A chill crept up my spine. “But I didn’t feel lost, not at first, I felt like…didn’t I tell you? Like I was being led…” I looked toward the door, my breath coming out in a gasp. “Can you get me my clothes now? I have to go.”

“You’re still too weak to be going anywhere,” Rachel said matter-of-factly. “And you shouldn’t be up doing too much too soon. That bump on your head needs time to heal itself up. And those scratches, too.”

Once more I groped at my bandage. The room was moving again, a faded merry-go-round of old furniture and calm, watchful faces. “But if it was really that serious, I’d be in a hospital.”

Franny looked up, eyes bright. “But we don’t have hospitals around here. No doctors, either. It was Girlie who said you’d come around in three days, and you did.”

I stared at her, her words disappearing down a long, echoing tunnel. “Girlie?”

“Girlie,” Rachel said. “She’s my little one. She’s the one who saved you.”

“But you said…someone named Seth—”

“Rachel’s husband,” Franny finished. “He found you. But it was Girlie who told him where to look. She just had that knowing again about somebody in trouble. No, we don’t have doctors here. Don’t need any. Girlie takes care of all that.” She glanced toward the hallway as a door slammed downstairs. “There’s Micah—I gotta go help.”

“Don’t be late for supper,” Rachel called after her, then turned back to me. “Micah won’t care if you use his room while you’re here. He can have the storeroom downstairs.”

“Wait…about Girlie…I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Course not,” she smiled apologetically. “But it’s really simple. Girlie has the Knowing. The Gift. It’s God-given, you see. She’s always had it. It’s what she was born for.”

Her face flickered before my eyes…half scar, half shadow. I felt myself sinking into darkness, every limb strangely detached now and free from pain.

“It’s the tea, isn’t it?” I murmured. “I have to leave…”

“But you just got here,” Rachel smiled.

And my eyes sank heavily…opened again to find the room dusky and very still.

“Someone…” I pleaded. “Is someone there?”

“Watch her.” came the whisper, stroking at the delicate edges of consciousness. “Watch her close.”

It was the same thing I’d heard the doctor say…after Brad and Kerry’s funeral…after I’d taken the bottle of sleeping pills…

“Brad?” I forced my eyes open, terrified, sensing again that someone was very near. “Who are you? Who’s there?”

But the figure in the doorway was shrouded in darkness and watching…just watching as I sank into blessed oblivion.

Chapter 2

“RACHEL?”

It was my own voice this time, not a dream, and as I struggled out of sleep, there was a rustle in the darkness that slid along the wall and out through the door, even as terror jolted me fully awake.

The room was pitch-black now, save for one pale moonbeam wavering in from the window. It was like being suspended in that last, lingering uncertainty of a nightmare, and as I gathered my wits about me, I realized that I actually had called out, and that my own cry had awoken me.

I’d been dreaming that someone was in my room.

With shaking hands, I pulled the quilt off the bed and drew it around my shoulders, hobbling to the window. A sickly yellow moon hovered above the trees, transforming them to skeletons clawing their way from foggy graves. I could see the muddy outline of hills all around, shapes shifting themselves in the darkness below, and from the deep, surrounding silence came the hollow call of an owl. The night had turned my room absolutely freezing. Shivering, I lowered the window and leaned for a moment against the ledge. How long had I been asleep this time? And where was everyone?

Oh, God, what am I going to do, how am I going to get out of here—

I stiffened, clutching the sill.

There—just off through a tangle of foliage—I could have sworn I’d seen something just then. A figure. Tall. Silent. So still that I’d mistaken it for a tree until it lengthened and became one with the bottomless shadows beneath the branches.

I leaned forward, trying to pierce the darkness.

Nothing.

Wrapping the quilt tighter, I moved cautiously out into the hall. For one split second I was filled with a wild hope that I really had been dreaming, dreaming everything that had happened, and that when I stepped out of my room, I would be in my own house, in my own familiar hallway, alone with my memories. But I didn’t know this hallway I was in now, and after groping along the wall for several minutes, I gave up trying to find a light switch and concentrated instead on where it would lead me.

The passageway seemed endless. Every creaking board underfoot stopped me in a cold sweat. Was it me making that noise—or was it someone else I couldn’t see? An invisible someone who had just been in my room, watching me as I slept?

“Rachel?” The hall was an icy black tunnel. I extended both arms out to my sides, guiding myself between the walls. As I took another step, my right hand slid into nothingness, and after one heart-stopping second, I realized I’d found another doorway on the same wall as my own.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned slowly forward, craning my neck around the door frame, terrified that someone might be looking back at me. But the threshold was empty, and the one tiny window in the room was so poorly illuminated that all I could make out was a small cot beneath it.

I continued down the corridor, pushing back the darkness with my hands. Without warning, I clutched air again, nearly falling into another open doorway to my left, but catching myself quickly and moving on. Gratefully I saw a glimmer of light ahead, and as I walked toward it, realized that someone had left a chimney lamp burning on a table beneath a window.

I was at the end of the hall. As the muffled sound of voices drifted up behind me, I spun around and saw that I had actually sidestepped a stairwell, had just barely missed the yawning hole in the floor. It was a miracle I hadn’t fallen right down the steps.

“Rachel?” I called softly, but the voices below were laughing, and my call went unheard. As I hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to risk the stairs, there was a sigh from beneath the window, very near the floor—and as I watched, frozen, a low shadow began moving toward me.

It touched my hand.

And as it turned to the light, my heart tore in two.

It was a child.

Not Kerry…don’t be silly…Kerry’s dead…some other child…someone else’s child…And yet as I stared down in mingled fear and relief I had to keep telling myself a child, a child, for it looked like no child I had ever seen before.

The little girl’s head seemed almost too large for her delicate body, yet at the same time too small for her huge, round eyes. Her hair was chopped at different angles around her face, as if someone had haphazardly taken scissors to it in the dark. As she gazed intently up at me, her eyes were dark oversized saucers in her pale face, her brows drawn worriedly together as if she’d just been scolded and couldn’t quite make up her mind to cry. There was a soft pout on her mouth, curving the corners downward, but her upper lip protruded slightly and she hardly had a chin at all. Her fingers were curled in the folds of a baggy shift that hung to her ankles, and as I looked from the child’s bare feet to her solemn expression, I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of frightening her. “Girlie?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer, only tugged at my hand which she still held and began leading me slowly down the stairs.

We came out into another hallway, the stairs facing a large door that I assumed was the front door to the house. From somewhere down the hall behind us drifted the warm, fading fragrance of food. Just ahead of us and to the left was where the voices were, and as we paused in the open threshold, the talking gave way to startled silence.

At first I couldn’t see anything at all. The flickering light and shadows were such a contrast to the utter blackness of the hallway that for a moment all I could do was blink and put up my free hand to fend off the glare. Wishing I’d never left my bed, I turned to go, when Rachel’s voice stopped me.

“Why, Pamela, you shouldn’t be up out of bed—you’re not strong enough yet to be taking those stairs!” Capable arms circled my shoulders at once and despite my weak show of resistance, guided me into the room.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said. “I thought I could find my way, only there wasn’t a light—”

“Why, bless you, we don’t have electricity. You could have hurt yourself for sure.” Rachel smoothed my hair back, smiling. “I would have let you sleep, but now that you’re up, I’ll bring you some supper.”

“Please don’t bother,” I mumbled. “I don’t mean to be any trouble.”

“Why, mercy, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all. You just sit down right here, and I won’t be a minute.”

As I felt myself being settled into a chair, my eyes finally adjusted to their surroundings, and I chanced a timid look about the room.

He was here somewhere—Seth. I could feel him, hidden, watching me, and I pressed my hands together, trying not to shake. I seemed to be in some sort of parlor, not very large, but crowded with odds and ends of furniture. An old pump organ stood against one wall. A fireplace took up most of another, and a blazing fire added cozily to the smudged glow of oil lamps set about on low tables and windowsills. Besides my chair and several other wooden benches and stools, there was an old-fashioned loveseat near the hearth. I didn’t see anyone else in the room who might possibly be Micah, but I did recognize Franny, sitting at a round table that was covered with a lace cloth. She leaned forward and shoved away a wad of knitting, looking delighted to see me.

“This here’s Girlie,” Franny said, snatching the child up against her. “But I reckon you figured that out for yourself.”

“We…met upstairs,” was all I could think of to say.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Franny went on. “I mean, she can talk, but she just never took to words very good. Except with her having the Gift and all, that’s a whole different story.”

“Franny,” snapped a voice from the corner.

The girl glanced over her shoulder into the shadows and shrugged. “Well, shoot, Seth, she knows all about it anyhow. I mean, Girlie did save her.”

A lean shadow disentangled itself from the gloom. “I’m sure she’s not interested in Girlie or any other family matters. I’m sure she’s tired. So don’t tire her out any more.”

Seth moved out from the wall; his face seemed to hover, disembodied, above the lamplight. Franny grinned and turned back to me.

“Don’t mind him. He hates everybody.”

“It’s all right,” I said meekly. “You’re not tiring me out.”

“I didn’t think so. I figure you’ve had plenty time to sleep—I mean, three days is a long time!”

“Yes,” I nodded, my eyes flicking to the door and back again. “Yes…yes, it is.”

Seth cast me a look I couldn’t read and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, anyhow, it’s cause of him we live so far away from everything and everybody,” Franny grumbled. “I’m real sorry you got hurt, but I like having you here. It’s nice having company.”

I forced out the words, trying hard to sound grateful. “Thank you. I mean…thank you, for saving my life.” But why didn’t you just let me die…I glanced up to see Girlie’s eyes, full and solemn upon me, and my heart caught. My God, that child knows exactly what I’m thinking…I dropped my eyes in confusion, nearly missing what Franny was saying.

“—from California. What’s it like out there, anyhow? Oh, I reckon it’s just wonderful!”

“It’s…umm…” My fingers plucked nervously at the frayed hem of the quilt. “It’s…busy, I suppose. You know…busy…”

“But I don’t know,” Franny protested. “I’ve never even been to a city. What are the people like there? Different from us, most likely.”

“Well…” I avoided Seth’s stare. “I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it. I don’t get out very much,” I finished lamely and Franny wriggled in her chair and laughed out loud.

“Are they rich? Oh, but I bet I know why you never get out—you probably have servants to do things for you, right? I bet you have everything you could ever want!”

“I don’t,” I said, more sharply than I intended, but before I could go on, Rachel called and Franny hurried from the room. Girlie stayed beside the vacated chair, studying me, and I glanced at Seth, mumbling more to myself than to him. “I don’t, you know. It’s nothing like that—you shouldn’t think that it is.”

He fixed me with a dark stare that made me even more uncomfortable.

My eyes fell to the wedding ring on my finger. “I don’t have anything,” I said quietly. “Nothing.”

Silence stretched between us. When I finally looked up again, Seth was still staring at my left hand.

“You don’t believe Girlie saved you,” he said at last. “Or that she has the Knowing. You don’t believe any of that.”

I pressed one palm to my forehead where a fine sheen of sweat was beginning to break out. “I know I’m alive…other than that,” my voice sank, “I don’t know what to believe.” Had he nodded? Pulled back as he was again into the shadows, it was so hard to tell. “I guess I owe you a personal debt of gratitude,” I murmured, “since you’re the one who—”

“You don’t owe me anything.” His tone was cold as he straightened and moved across the room. “You shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t have brought you.” As he reached the hall, he collided with Rachel and stalked out the front door. Rachel looked from the door back to me, her face softly troubled, and then she set a plate of food down on the table.

“Eat this,” she coaxed. “He’ll be all right. He’s just not used to people.”

“I’m so sorry.” My eyes burned from unshed tears, and I stared down miserably at the food. “I know I wasn’t making much sense earlier upstairs. I…I haven’t been well and…now I’ve upset everyone and—”

“You haven’t done anything to upset anyone. That’s just Seth’s way. Don’t pay him any mind.”

“If my car’s not too bad, I’m sure I could leave in the morning.”

Rachel paused, giving me a sympathetic look. “It caught fire, Seth said. It was a miracle you got out—”

“Got out?” I stared at her. “But I don’t remember getting out. I remember…the tree coming down across the hood of the car…but then…”

“Eat,” Rachel urged me again, and she pushed my hand gently toward a fork. “What matters is that you’re all right. That’s all that matters now.”

“Is there an airport very near here?” I nibbled reluctantly on some boiled chicken.

Rachel’s glance was surprised. “Airport? Why, no.” She poured some tea, nodding at me to drink it. “See, Seth, he doesn’t take much to people. He wouldn’t be happy living close to anything, I expect.” She thought a moment, the teapot poised over the cup. “I reckon the closest neighbor is twenty…twenty-five miles from here. That’d be Dewey.”

“Twenty miles?”

Rachel nodded. “Dewey’s a cousin on my mama’s side. He gets over about once a month to bring supplies and buy eggs and maybe a chicken now and then. I wish I saw him more, but it’s so hard to get way out here to the farm—we’re that far back. I expect the next closest thing after Dewey would be Cranston. That’s a town. But not much of one—more like a spot in the road.”

I could scarcely swallow over the lump in my throat. “And where’s that?”

“Well, it’s a day’s trip there and back, that’s why we hardly ever go. I reckon it’s hard for folks like you to realize, but we’re so far from everything back in these hills. We don’t get visitors much—folks just can’t find us way up here.”

“Then…how did you find me?”

“I told you,” Rachel smiled. “Girlie. Girlie knew. She just knows things.” She crossed to the mantel and brushed softly at some dust. “I’m real sorry about your car.”

But you never want to get stranded there, Brad had said. How many times had I heard him say that, how many times…

“May I use your telephone?” I whispered.

Rachel glanced back over her shoulder, her concern deepening. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid we don’t have one.”

My hands clenched together in my lap, squeezing back growing panic. “But what…what do you do in emergencies? How do you get help?”

“We have Girlie.” Rachel’s kind eyes rested wearily on mine. “We don’t need to call anybody else.”

“Yes…well…but surely you have a car?”

Rachel shook her head slowly. “No, just the wagon.”

“Then there’s no problem, is there?” I said hopefully. “You can take me into town, can’t you? And I can use a telephone there?”

As I anxiously watched Rachel’s face, the scar twisted along the length of her cheek, her mouth tightening into a half smile. She’s so pretty when she smiles, I realized again with a start, but it hurts her…it’s painful for her to show happiness…like it’s painful for me to feel it.

“Oh, now, don’t you even worry. We’ll work all that out when you’re better. But right now till you’re well enough to do anything, there’s no safer place you can be. I’ll take good care of you.” She glanced down as Girlie pulled out of the firelight and laid a tiny hand on her knee.

“Rachel, please?” I whispered.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she smiled. “There’ll be lots of time for talk tomorrow.”

“But…I can’t stay here…”

“You probably have a real bathroom at home, don’t you?” She cast me a sidelong glance, patting Girlie’s fingers absently with her own. “With a fancy tub and hot water that runs out when you turn a handle…” Her voice sounded almost wistful as she stood and began collecting the dirty dishes. Girlie reached up and hung silently onto one long tie of her apron. “All we’ve got’s the privy, and that’ll be a real change for you, I reckon. Too bad it’s so late in the fall, the nights get frosty and dark as all get out. But I’ll send Franny with you so you won’t lose your way.”

I bit back another plea, knowing it was useless. Franny reappeared a second later, wiping her wet hands on her skirt, and I followed her out through the kitchen and onto a porch, down some sagging steps, and across a dark, ragged stretch of ground.

“Don’t we need a light?” I asked timidly, stumbling along as I trailed my blanket underfoot. I still felt unsteady, but my head wasn’t aching nearly as much as when I’d first woken up.

Franny put an arm around me and forged confidently ahead. “Course not. Been this way a million times. No—a hundred million’s more likely. Just watch yourself. Never know where those pigs have been.”

Just as she said it, soft mud oozed up between my toes, and I bit back a groan. We went past several squat buildings, then up a short incline and along a well-worn path to a wooden outhouse.

“You’ll get used to it,” Franny promised, as I inched my way fearfully into the drafty old structure and stared in disbelief at the catalog I was obviously expected to use. “Why, after a while you’ll be able to find it in your sleep.”

“Well,” I said, hurrying to rejoin her after I’d finished, “I’ll be going tomorrow, you know. You’ll be taking me into town.” I shoved on the door and nearly fell out onto the path as Franny caught me.

“Whoa! Take it easy now!”

“I’m afraid I still feel a little lopsided.” Trying to wipe my feet on the cold ground, I added, “Is there somewhere I could wash off? Maybe take a bath? If I’m leaving tomorrow, I’d feel a lot better if—”

“A bath?” She looked slightly incredulous, then quickly remembered her manners. “Oh, sure—right back there off the kitchen.”

“You mean that porch? Outside in the cold? But…but there’s no privacy!”

Franny’s bubbly laugh echoed back through the darkness. “Silly, who’s there around to see? That’s one thing about being so far from everybody—we don’t need curtains or locks on the doors.”

“But aren’t you ever frightened?”

Her look was clearly baffled. “Of what?”

And it was then that I remembered the movement I’d seen earlier from my window…that single stealthy shadow pulling back into the trees. In the dark Franny saw me shivering.

“Why, you’re plumb frozen,” she fussed, hurrying me along. “We’d best get you back to bed.”

We were almost to my room again before I finally voiced my fears.

“Franny, it’s not possible, is it—I mean, that you could have prowlers around here?”

“What? Around here?” She shook her head, nudging me into bed. “Not likely. Why?”

“It’s just that…I thought I saw someone earlier, from my window, and—”

“Oh,” she chuckled, “that’s most likely the scarecrows.”

“Scarecrows! But this was moving, don’t you see—”

She pushed me back against the pillows and spread out the quilt, unconcerned. “Tomorrow I’ll take you out, if you like, and you can see them up close. Oh, we do make a fuss about our scarecrows!”

“But I’m leaving tomorrow,” I tried to tell her, clinging to the thought like a life raft. “You’re taking me into town and I’ll be leaving—”

“Course, Seth thinks it’s all foolishness, but what does he know anyhow? Yes,” Franny nodded emphatically, “that’s just what I’ll do, take you first thing in the morning. If you feel like going, that is—why, Rachel would skin me alive if you weren’t up to it, and I hauled you outside.”

I opened my mouth again, but Franny was halfway out into the hall.

“You get a good night’s sleep, you hear, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

I waited to make sure she’d gone before I crept to the window and looked out. The hills were moon-washed gray against a black-death sky, and I covered my mouth with my hands to keep from crying. No, I won’t cry, because if I ever started, maybe I’d never, ever be able to stop…

Like Franny hadn’t stopped talking, just rambling on and on, not really hearing me, almost as if she hadn’t wanted to really hear me.

Scarecrows.

But scarecrows weren’t real. They couldn’t move.

And something had moved down there below my window.

As if suddenly realizing I had spotted it there in the dark.

Chapter 3

A PILE OF UNFAMILIAR clothes lay on my chair the next morning—sensible underwear but no bra, a plain brown jumper and a faded cotton shirt with long sleeves. I pulled them on slowly, wondering what had happened to my own things, gritting my teeth against the room’s chill and my own light-headedness. The shoes I’d been given were identical to the ones I’d seen Franny wearing—clumsy old clodhoppers that looked like men’s boots—but after stuffing my feet into a pair of thick knitted socks, the shoes didn’t slip around so much, and I guessed I could get used to them. Lacing them as best I could, I scuffed over to the window, raised it, and looked out into the new day.

Everywhere, as far as I could see, there were hills—hills bristling with forests, glinting amidst bald, gray boulders and crags, hills blazing with scarlet and gold beneath the early fall sun. Their steep sides formed a deep hollow, and here, in a wide clearing ringed by dense clumps of trees, sat the house and a barn and various other smaller buildings I couldn’t identify. Just beyond the circle of woods, stubbled brown fields and lush green pastures stretched themselves unevenly away before finally meeting the scraggly slopes in the distance and angling upward. As I leaned there on the sill, a burst of wind shook the trees, sending whirls of leaves into the crisp air. I heard the, muffled lowing of cows, glimpsed the silver thread of a stream glistening along the curve of a low rise, smelled the pungent tang of wood smoke.

From the location of the sun, I gathered that my room faced west, and from the outbuildings scattered below me, I surmised that I must be at the back of the house. There was no lawn to speak of—just patches of bare brown earth as dull as the split rail fence that wove along the tangled tree lines. Off to my left the barn was overhung by low-sweeping maples, and several yards behind that sat a dilapidated and very noisy chicken house. There were pigs grunting somewhere, the soft plodding of hoofs, an occasional bleating that could have been sheep or goats. A broad, flat tree stump squatted in one corner of the clearing, an axe imbedded firmly in its stained surface.

I turned away with a sinking feeling. The first thing I had to do was try to find a way out of here. If I could only find out where here was,

The house lay quiet around me, a pleasant, friendly calm. All the rooms stood open off the hallway, and daylight shone through windows on both sides of the house, illuminating what hadn’t been visible to me last night. Now I could see a room directly across the hall from my own, and I wondered who it belonged to. Taking a cautious peek inside, I guessed at once that it must be Franny’s, for there were several dresses and a nightgown tossed in a tangle across the carelessly made-up bed. The room next to mine was obviously Girlie’s, but the last bedroom across the hall from hers was so neat and yet so empty of belongings that it had no personality of any kind. I stared at it for several moments and wondered if it belonged to Seth and Rachel. All the rooms were furnished like mine: bed, night table, trunk, straight chair. There were no closets, only wooden pegs on the walls. In Girlie’s room an old sock doll and some wooden pull-toys littered the floor; other than that I saw no other toys or decorations or pictures of any kind. Remembering Kerry’s room at home made me sad—all his stuffed animals and building sets, the games and books and miniature cars and trucks—all the faithful playthings still sitting just as he’d left them. Forcing back the memories, I went downstairs.

I was surprised at how good I actually felt this morning. The more I moved about, the steadier I seemed to get, and the dull, persistent aching that had plagued my whole body yesterday was nearly gone. I even felt hungry. I pushed at the bandage drooping above my eye and called to Rachel as I made a quick search of the lower hall. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and as I hunted, I soon discovered two more rooms which I hadn’t noticed last night. The first, in the front of the house and directly across the hall from the parlor, appeared to be a larger, more formal kind of sitting room. Inching open the door, I was at once struck by its coldness—not only its temperature, but also its stiff, somber furnishings. A fine patina of dust told me the room had been shut up for some time.

Rubbing the chill from my arms, I left the room as before and made my way to the back of the house. I could see now that it was constructed on pretty much of a square plan—four rooms above, four below, each level divided east to west by a central hall. Opposite the kitchen and next to the small parlor, I found the last room, its door slightly ajar. Tapping softly, I waited for a response, then peeked inside to discover a tiny, cluttered storeroom. Barrels and boxes were stacked about—huge bags of sugar and flour, shelves of empty mason jars, piles of old boots and coats, a treadle sewing machine, several broken chairs, a rolltop desk. In one corner a pile of blankets served as a makeshift pallet. There were also several shirts and a pair of jeans hanging from wall pegs—definitely male clothes, but not so tall or large as Seth might wear. I guessed right away that this must be where Micah was staying. Backing out quickly, I started into the kitchen, then paused, smiling, as I looked around the room.

Sunlight streamed through the open windows, checkering the worn wooden floor. There were no built-in countertops; a pie safe and a small table stood against one wall. Near the back door there was a washstand with two full buckets of water beneath it. A huge planked table took up the very center of the room, chairs placed neatly around. A tin coffeepot simmered fragrantly at the back of a black, wood-burning stove, and dirty dishes stacked to one side told me I’d missed an early breakfast.

Going out to the porch I peered across the yard. The place seemed deserted, but from somewhere in the distance I could hear a woman singing and tools clattering. I crossed the yard to my left, bypassing the path to the privy, and followed the sounds through a well-trampled barnyard. The air was autumn-crisp, pungent with straw and manure, mud and animal sweat. As I entered the barn there was a soft whirring of wings and dust as birds fluttered high into the rafters.

It was so dim that at first I didn’t see the boy bending over the corncrib at the back of the barn. He looked younger than Franny, and the way the light filtered down hazily over his blond hair made it seem as if a halo rested there. I moved forward slowly with a smile.

“Hello,” I said. “You must be Micah.”

I wasn’t prepared for his reaction.

He glanced up, startled, and went instantly pale, his mouth dropping open as he stumbled backwards into the corner.

“Girlie…no—” he said, and thrust out one hand to steady himself against the wall. That’s when I saw that his other hand was missing.

I stood there helplessly, not understanding what I’d done to upset him so, only knowing that the poor boy wanted so desperately to escape that I thought he might bolt for the rear door behind him.

“I’m…sorry….” I stammered. “I shouldn’t have come up on you like that—I’m really so sorry.”

“Micah!”

To my relief I recognized Franny’s voice right outside, and a second later she joined us.

“There you are! I’ve been wanting you to meet Pam here. She’s a lot more fun, now she’s talking and moving around.” Franny’s burst of laughter stirred up the birds and the dust and a chicken in the hay that I hadn’t even noticed. “Micah? You hear me?” She stepped forward with a frown, and Micah, as if pulled slowly from a trance, looked at her in bewilderment. “Oh, I swear! This boy here!” Franny gave him a playful shove. “Always daydreaming, never hears a thing you say half the time.”

Micah still seemed disoriented. He wiped his hand on one grimy thigh and flashed me a glance before looking away. “Pleasure,” he mumbled.

“He’s shy,” Franny sighed. “That’s probably the only thing he’ll say to you the whole time you’re here. Him and Girlie, two of a kind. Well, those clothes sure do look good on you, don’t they? Rachel said the ones you came in were such a mess, they couldn’t even be mended. And you’re looking better, too.”

“Yes, I feel better.” I stole another look at Micah, but he was backing away into the shadows.

“That’s real good. Come on with me. We’ll go out to the field while Rachel’s getting your breakfast.”

“But I really don’t want her to go to any trouble. I saw you’d already eaten, and I can certainly wait—”

“Don’t be silly. Rachel, she loves to cook, it’s no bother. Come on.”

I smiled at Micah who gave a nod in my direction and went distractedly back to his work. Franny was chuckling as we went out into the sunshine.

“He’s impossible, won’t even look you in the eye. Course, he’s never seen many girls way up here. Guess you can’t blame him for being bashful.”

“But there’s you and Rachel—”

“Why, we’re not girls, we’re just family!” Franny laughed. “And if you don’t think there’s a big difference, just ask him.”

“So Micah’s your brother?” I asked and wondered why Franny looked so amused.

“No, no.” Franny giggled at my look of dismay. “You got it all messed up now, see?” She began to count on her fingers. “Micah—he’s my nephew.”

“Nephew!”

“I know, it’s real mixed up, being that we’re only five years apart. But no, he’s Rachel and Seth’s. I’m Rachel’s sister.”

My mind was racing to catch up. “And Micah’s five years younger than you?”

“Yep. But we were raised like brother and sister. He doesn’t act like my nephew, and I sure don’t feel like any old aunt.”

“Then, Girlie—”

“Is Rachel and Seth’s. She’s six.”

I knew I looked surprised. “There’s quite an age difference between Girlie and Micah, then.”

“I don’t know why they never had more kids,” Franny shrugged. “Rachel and me, we came from a big family—twelve kids. When she got married, she didn’t want to leave me, so I came with her. Course, this is all stuff she’s told me—I was pretty little, so I can’t remember everything.”

I tried to picture Franny as a little girl. “Your mother must have missed you terribly.”

“No, she died when I was born. So I was the youngest and a girl and not much use to anybody. Rachel, she was ten years older, and she was always like my real mama. If I’d been a boy, I reckon they wouldn’t have let me go with her, I’d been needed to help out on the farm. But this way, it just made sense for Rachel to take me off their hands.”

“And do you see them now? Your family?”

Franny gave a skip, plucked a dead weed and tossed it carelessly into the air. “Never seen any of them since. Never heard from them. Reckon they didn’t remember us once we left. Not that it matters. They’re all dead now anyhow.”

My glance showed my shock. “Oh, Franny, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happened a long time ago.” She looked away, walking a little faster. “I think there was a fire or something in the night. We never talked about them. Seth never wanted us to.”

“But still…it’s such a tragedy.”

“I never really knew them, though, so I never thought much about having a daddy. I just turned eighteen this year, but you’d think I was still like Girlie, the way Rachel and Seth try to boss me. Oh, Rachel, she’s not so bad—Lord, you never hear Rachel raise her voice—but Seth!” She linked her arm through mine, starting to say something more, then waved instead as Rachel came out the back door. “Hey! We’re gonna see the scarecrows—wanna come?”

“Pamela should eat something!” Rachel called back.

“Oh, don’t do that now!” I insisted. “Please come!”

Rachel hesitated a moment, nodded, then hurried across the yard to join us.

Together we started up the first rise behind the house, threading our way over a narrow path through the trees. I couldn’t help being relieved as we broke through the woods at last—the memory of that figure I’d seen below my window was still unpleasantly fresh in my mind. Rachel and Franny each took one of my hands, and we chatted as we walked, lazily swinging arms and laughing as the grazing cows stared at us with mild annoyance.

“Not too far,” Rachel cautioned as I slipped unexpectedly on some loose stones. “Don’t overdo your first day.”

“Oh, now, she’s okay,” Franny muttered. “Mother hen—I swear! Watching everything a body does every single minute—”

“She’s still weak,” Rachel said firmly.

“Really, I’m fine,” I insisted.

“See? She’s fine.” Franny made a face which Rachel ignored. “I told you so.”

“Is that your garden over there? I’ve never seen one so big.”

“No, I reckon you wouldn’t,” Rachel said, almost sympathetically, I thought. “We grow just about all we need here.”

“And if you don’t think forty or so quarts of green beans—and tomatoes—and pickles—and a million other things don’t get boring to put up!” Franny rolled her eyes, and I chuckled.

“But where do you get your other food? Things you can’t grow yourselves?”

“We butcher some cows and hogs,” Rachel said. “And we got plenty chickens.”

“But you don’t have electricity. How do you keep it all from spoiling?”

Rachel and Franny looked amused at my ignorance. “Well, there’s the cellar,” Rachel nodded. “And things always keep better once the weather turns cold—”

“We smoke the meat,” Franny broke in. “We bury cabbages and stuff in straw. Don’t you city folks know anything?”

“Franny!” Rachel scolded, hiding a smile. “It’s a real good feeling knowing you’ve done all this yourself, Pamela.”

“It’s hard,” Franny said flatly, her eyes going dark. “Back-breaking hard. And you can never be sure the land’ll come through for you.”

Rachel looked displeased. “You know that’s not true. Seth always says if you’re true to the land—”

“I know, I know,” Franny waved her hand as if she’d heard it all before. “If you’re true to the land, then it’ll be true to you. But we do take care of it, and there’s still rainy spells and droughts and windstorms—”

“Now, Franny,” Rachel teased, “you haven’t starved yet, have you?”

“No, not yet, but I reckon I could most anytime. Next year maybe.” Franny was stubborn. “I don’t think the land gives two hoots about what we want. Why should it? It’ll always be here. We won’t.”

“Is that the scarecrow?” I tried to distract them, and Franny cheered up at once.

“Oh, yes, but you can’t really see it good from here—wait till you’re close up!”

As she broke free and bounded ahead of us, Rachel shook her head apologetically. “She’s restless. High-headed. All she talks about is what she can’t have.”

“Which is?”

“A new life somewhere else. Something she doesn’t know anything about at all.”

“And you…don’t approve,” I guessed.

“It’s not me. I had dreams once….” Rachel looked almost sad, then added, “It’s Seth. He’ll never let her go.”

“But surely he can’t stop her.” I looked at her, surprised. “She is eighteen, and—”

“You don’t know Seth,” Rachel said simply. “What’s right where you come from doesn’t mean a whole lot here. Even if she could get away, how would she live? We got no money. Nobody out there to look after her. She’s not smart—never had any proper schooling. She can’t do anything.”

“Well, there’s lots of ways she could get help if she’s really serious about—”

“Oh, Seth, he means well,” she went on as if I’d never spoken. “He thinks he’s protecting her from the big, bad world…they argue all the time.”

I nodded slowly, glancing up as Rachel gave a soft laugh. She was so pretty when she laughed…that slash of puckered flesh on her cheek not quite so horrible somehow…and yet her lips tightened, steeled against old, old pain. “Franny’s so silly sometimes—so high-strung—I do love her, but it’s nice to have another woman to talk to.”

I pressed her hand, deciding I couldn’t bring up what I’d been thinking all morning—that I had to get home.

“Come on!” Franny called, and we came up to where she stood in the middle of the garden, arms straight out at her sides, futilely trying to hide the figure leaning over her shoulder. Then with a triumphant laugh, she stepped aside, revealing the scarecrow in all its pristine glory.

It was an angel.

At least that’s the first thing I thought as I gazed at it, but after a split second of wonder, I chuckled in appreciation. Two stakes had been fastened together in the form of a cross, and draped from the horizontal limbs was a long gown, once white, now dingy and tattered and immodestly threadbare. And yet in the morning breeze it did almost look like fragile wings folding and unfolding around the frail figure. It had no actual head to speak of, but a delicate wreath had been woven with bits of white ribbon and remnants of lace, and this, like a holy crown, hung around the scarecrow’s slender neck.

Franny took one of the scarecrow’s outstretched arms. “Well, what do you think?”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Why, it’s wonderful! How did you ever think of it?”

“Rachel did. She’s Rachel’s scarecrow.”

Rachel blushed with pleasure. “I like to think of her as my guardian angel…you know, watching over my garden.”

“An avenging angel, then.” I smiled. “Really, she’s just so clever.”

“Oh, but wait till you see the others,” Rachel said modestly. “They’re lots better than mine.”

“It’s a real contest,” Franny giggled as Rachel nodded in agreement. “We spend all year thinking of what we’ll make the next time. We all try to outdo each other—”

“Except for Seth,” Rachel clarified.

“No, he thinks we’re all silly for doing it,” Franny sighed. “But we do it anyhow. We always have. I mean, I can hardly remember coming to live here, but I can surely remember all those scarecrows all the years I was growing up.”

“Yes, it’s been a long time,” Rachel said.

Franny tugged on my arm for emphasis. “Why, every spring, Rachel would say okay now, we gotta get the scarecrows put up. And we’re still doing it—it’s still just as much fun.”

“So what do you do exactly? Just go through old clothes and scraps and put them all together? And then they scare away the crows, right?”

“Well, they don’t always scare the crows,” Franny admitted. “I reckon now they’re for good luck, more than anything else.” She skipped ahead, slowed down, came back. “Look—there’s Micah’s over there.” She pointed to another scarecrow farther away, and I nodded.

“And over there’s the truck patch,” Rachel explained. “Where we plant potatoes and sweet potatoes and cow peas.”

“And sweet corn,” Franny added.

“Yes, but most of the corn is farther away from the house, back past the cow pastures.” Rachel shaded her eyes and swept one arm toward the slope facing us.

Franny turned back to me. “My scarecrow’s on the other side of the house, in the orchard—and Girlie’s is around the front by the road.”

I was silent for a moment, thinking. “Then there aren’t any more scarecrows close to the house? Any I could have seen from my window?”

Their faces were blank.

“Not that I know about,” Rachel said. “What do you mean?”

I was surprised that Franny even remembered. “She thought she saw someone moving around outside after dark.” She avoided Rachel’s eyes and shrugged. “Probably a deer or something.”

“We have lots of deer around here,” Rachel said quickly. Her voice seemed strained. “It couldn’t have been anyone else, Pamela, there’s nobody here but us.” She turned and began to follow after Franny.

“Rachel,” I caught up to her, taking her arm, “were you or Franny in my room last night before I came downstairs?”

“Why, no,” Rachel thought back, glancing at Franny who also shook her head. “We were all in the parlor when you came down, and in the kitchen before that. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s not important.” I forced a smile. “I guess you’re right about that deer. It was dark and I was awfully tired—”

“It’s easy to mistake things for something else—specially when you’re not used to a place.” Rachel paused. “Is something funny?”

I felt the faint smile on my lips as a memory of Brad swept over me. “Oh…I was just thinking of something someone told me once. About not fighting strawmen.” You’re so scared of everything, Pam, he’d said, you’ve got to learn to do things on your own and quit scaring yourself…

“Strawmen? You mean scarecrows?” Franny looked quizzical. “Why, scarecrows can’t fight, you—”

“That’s just it,” I explained. “They look scary but they’re not really dangerous. Sort of like…empty fears.” For a moment I could actually hear Brad lecturing me, laughing at my needless worries, and I brought myself sharply back. Now why did I suddenly think of that? I forced another smile. “I’m sure I made a mistake about seeing someone, like you said.”

Rachel was quick to reassure me. “Why, I’d die of fright in a city, I reckon.”

“Then you’ve always lived out here?”

“With my pa first, and then at Seth’s old homeplace with his folks till he could build this place for us.”

“That must have been hard, living with his parents. How did you ever stand it?” I meant it more as an inside joke, but Rachel’s calm eyes clouded with some dark emotion. Franny, bored with our discussion now, rushed on ahead to pick some late-blooming wildflowers, and I reached for Rachel’s arm.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound—”

“Don’t be silly, it’s nothing.” And the troubled eyes went clear again as they rested on me. “I was just thinking how I hadn’t remembered all that in so long.” A smile played across her lips; some stray wisps of hair curled around her face. “They thought we were too young,” she said softly. “And I’m not the one they’d have picked for Seth if they’d had a choice.” One slender hand trailed the scar on her cheek. “I tried so hard to please them, but I had Franny with me. She was only four—”

“Yes, she told me.”

“And they never seemed to understand…”

“Oh, families!” I rolled my eyes. “They’re impossible.”

Rachel stared at me, then laughed. “We all have our times, I reckon. But tell me about your family.”

“Well…I have two brothers. Andy and Steve. Both of them are lawyers, and neither of them have time to get married. My sister Liz and I are good friends, but I don’t think we could ever live under the same roof without fighting.”

Rachel’s eyes dropped, then settled on my face. “And what about your husband?” she asked quietly. “What about the wedding ring you’re wearing?”

My heart froze, my stomach twisting into knots that threatened to choke me. Without thinking I touched my wedding band and through a muffled roar I heard someone say, “Well, what do you think?”

Franny ran up, pushing between us, hands on her hips. “Well, that’s Micah’s, take a good look—enough to make your hair stand on end, even if it doesn’t scare a single darn crow!”

I hadn’t really been paying attention as we walked, so I hadn’t really seen the scarecrow until now…

Now I stared into the loose black folds of a flapping coat…two bony arms dangling…huge black gloves that were limp, lifeless hands…

And then, horribly, it came to life.

One ragged sleeve lifted and beckoned…the empty hat that had no head, swaying now, struggling to pull itself upright…

Flabby fingers flew up and brushed across my face.

You’re meant to be here.

And even as I shrieked and peeled the clinging fingers from my skin, I knew that Death had followed me again.

Chapter 4

“IT’S THE WIND!” RACHEL cried, shaking me. “Pamela, stop it now. You’re all right.”

And through my screams came Rachel’s voice, oddly distorted, distant and unreal. Death’s found me, Rachel…but he won’t take me…and it will never end…

“Here, sit her down!”

“Pamela, stop hollering now, honey. It’s all right, you hear? You’re all right—”

“Oh, Rachel, I feel just awful! I’m the one who made her come—”

“Quick, go find Seth.”

“No,” I gasped, and I clutched at my throat, fighting to breathe. “No…really…I’m…fine…”

“Go get Seth!” Rachel ordered Franny again. “Now! Go!”

“No…please…” But Rachel was forcing me to sit down, the black visage looming over me with billowing robes.

“Oh, Lord, I should have made you eat something…I knew it was too soon…I knew and I let you go anyhow…” Rachel whipped off her shawl and covered me from the wind—and for one moment I wanted to tell her, needed to tell her, because somehow I was sure that Rachel, of all people, would know and understand. “Don’t worry now, we’ll get you back inside where it’s nice and warm.” And I opened my mouth to tell her, to let it go, but it hung there, choking me, and the moment was gone.

The world grew still again. My mind cleared and I tried to stand, but Rachel pushed me firmly back.

“Oh, Rachel,” I whispered, “I feel so silly—”

“Mercy, just listen to you,” Rachel tried to keep her tone light, but failed to hide the worry in her voice. “Here we are dragging you all over creation and back, and you go on apologizing…” Her arms tightened around me in a quick hug. “Now everything’s gonna be just fine, you hear? Here’s Seth, now don’t you fret—”

“No, Rachel, really, I can walk.” And I tried again to stand, to escape from those piercing dark eyes before they came back, but it was too late, they were there, between me and Death and the blue, blue sky, coming closer, so close now that I could look deep into their blackness and never touch bottom. “Please…” I said again, but my words were lost as Seth roughly swung me up into his arms and began walking back toward the house, Franny and Rachel hurrying along behind.

“Trouble,” Seth muttered, his eyes straight ahead. “I knew it.”

“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble,” I began, then feeling sick, closed my eyes, opening them again to find him scowling at me. His shirt smelled of earth and leaves and wood smoke. “I don’t know what happened,” I finished lamely. “The scarecrow…”

He grunted something unintelligible, and in one effortless movement ducked through the back door and strode into the kitchen.

I was deposited roughly into a chair while Rachel rushed around making tea and Franny kept up a tireless chatter about how pleased Micah would be that his scarecrow had worked on something. Seth disappeared without a word. Rachel finally sent Franny off to fetch honey from the cellar, and for a brief while there was peace.

“You better now?” Rachel asked, working one hand beneath the bandage on my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. That’s good.”

“Really, I don’t know what happened out there, but I feel fine now. Please don’t worry about me.”

Rachel’s palm rested on my cheek. “You could never be a bother.” She smiled. “Warm enough?”

After the fresh morning chill, the kitchen was beginning to feel uncomfortably stuffy. “Maybe a little too warm.” I fanned weakly at my face, glancing at the stove where Rachel was fixing me a late breakfast.

“Go sit out on the porch then. But just sit now, don’t go walking around and get to screaming again.”

She was so serious that I had to hide a smile. “No, I won’t.”

I made my way through the front hall without any more mishap, but my heart sank when I saw Seth out there on the porch, one boot propped on the railing, hands laced around a steaming cup of coffee. For an instant I considered turning back, but the floor creaked loudly underfoot and I knew he’d already heard me. Taking a deep breath I pushed open the screen and walked out. Seth kept staring out across the yard as if he were completely alone.

“It’s hot in there,” I ventured, feeling I needed to explain my unwanted presence. When he didn’t respond, I added, “Thank you again.”

Seth looked impassively toward the sky, up through the gnarled branches of an oak that clustered around the overhang of the porch.

Feeling foolish, I stammered, “I really feel so badly about all this—”

His eyes shifted. “I don’t have time to be stopping my work every few minutes just ’cause you can’t keep up. I’ve got a farm to run.”

“Please, I never wanted them to call you in the first place. The last thing I want to do is be a disruption. I…I know I don’t fit in—”

“You never will.” He took a sip of coffee, his lips lingering at the rim of the cup as he continued to watch me.

I glanced away, unsettled by his scrutiny. “I want very much to get home,” I said quietly. When he didn’t answer, I stole a look at him. It was hard to tell how old he was. With his harsh face, the few strands of gray highlighting his beard and the tawny mane of his hair, he could have been Brad’s age or older, anywhere from thirty to midforty. It was this place, I realized suddenly—the wind and dust, the years of hard work—that had worn such a mysterious air of timelessness about him.

Looking away again, I heard him sigh as he set his cup down on the porch banister.

“Rachel’s happy,” he said, but more to himself than to me.

I glanced up to see him regarding me grudgingly.

“With you here,” he said. “I haven’t seen her this happy in a long, long time.”

“She’s been so sweet to me. Everyone here is so—”

“You don’t know us,” Seth cut me off. “You’re not part of it.”

I puzzled a moment over that remark. “Part of what? Your world here?”

He flung the last of his coffee onto the ground. “Outsiders always think they know best. About things they’ll never understand.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant, nor was I sure what to say. Finally I reminded him, “Really, all I’m trying to do is get home.”

Seth gazed out at the endless hills. “You’ll never get home.”

It sounded so final, so fatal. My heart clutched coldly in my chest, and I forced myself to take one step closer to him.

“I only need to call someone. Rachel said you have a wagon—do you think you could just drive me to a neighbor’s?”

“Dewey doesn’t have a phone.”

“Then maybe if I could just borrow your wagon, then you wouldn’t have to take me and—”

“I don’t loan out what’s mine. And I can’t waste a good day’s work taking you back and forth to town.”

A shiver of quiet panic began to ease through my body. “How long would it take me, then? To walk to Cranston?”

“The road’s that way, about five miles.” He jerked his thumb vaguely over his shoulder. “It turns off to another road…about seven miles, maybe eight…then another road, split north and south, depending on where you’re headed. If you’d rather take the shortcut, you can go off through these woods, past the first ten acres, down a bluff…two, no, three creeks…”

I knew I was staring at him like an imbecile; I turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see how frightened I really was.

“You’ll have to watch out for coyotes, though. And bears. And copperheads that haven’t bedded down yet for the winter.” He paused, studying my face. “You couldn’t make it. You know you couldn’t.”

A strange, cold flood coursed through me, pounded in my head, blurred the autumn panorama into one bloody haze behind my eyes—Pam, you might as well let me do it, you know you can’t…Brad laughing…will you ever be able to do anything without me…

As my head began to clear again I stared out at the short expanse of scraggly yard, the rope swing dangling from a scarlet maple, the silhouette of Girlie’s scarecrow by the road, the screen of forest that separated that road from the wooded fields and craggy hillsides beyond. And it occurred to me as I looked up through the tangled canopy of trees that hugged the clearing all around, that in the full bloom of summer this house would very likely be invisible, camouflaged beneath leaves, behind weeds, between hills. Even from the air it would be hard to spot this place. Only a fool would attempt to find a way out of here on foot.

Reluctantly I glanced over at Seth, his profile stark and unmoved against the backdrop of morning. He seemed as much a part of the landscape as those wild, sturdy hills.

“Rachel said you’ve lived here a long time,” I mumbled.

He glanced at me without shifting positions. “All my life.”

“You built this house yourself, she said, when you two got married.”

His expression showed plainly that it wasn’t any of my business.

“You must have some wonderful memories,” I said.

He regarded me for several minutes, expressionless. Finally, he said, “We all do what we have to do. There’s not much time for fancy memories up here.”

In spite of myself I smiled, thinking of all the ways Brad and I had commemorated even the simplest occasions—the day we’d first met…our first kiss…the first time we’d said “I love you”…and made love…“Memories mean everything to a woman,” I whispered to myself, and then realized that Seth had overheard.

“Memories don’t mean anything. Like the past doesn’t mean anything ’cause it’s over with. And you can’t keep going back to something that’s not there.”

His cold logic settled gloomily over me.

“But…sometimes…there is something still there…and you…you need to go back.”

He leaned against a wooden post, his look undisturbed. “The only time somebody needs to go back is when there’s something there they wish they could change.” He tilted his head back, regarding me narrowly. “And then it’s too late, isn’t it.”

Too late…Turning away, I was relieved to see Rachel at the door.

“I was just coming to call you,” she frowned anxiously, steering me into the hall. “Your breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you, Rachel,” I said tiredly. “Come and sit with me.

She never questioned my quiet depression, just sat silently in the chair across from mine while I ate. The food was wonderful—fresh eggs, homemade sausage, blackberry jam and biscuits—and I was surprised at my appetite. Rachel put on a fresh pot of coffee and began to peel vegetables for the noon meal as we talked.

“Seth’s not a bad man,” she said softly, and I looked up in surprise. She was half smiling, eyes lifted to the kitchen window, and I followed her gaze and saw Seth striding off across the yard. He carried an axe over one shoulder and moved with wolflike grace, as if nothing in the world could ever deter him. “He took care of me and the children…raised Franny like she was his own…and he buried his ma and pa and his sisters in the meantime. He built this place…and he worked it…and there was only me to help him till Micah and Franny were old enough to be any use. It…hasn’t been an easy life.”

“Tell me about Micah,” I urged, “He’s so quiet. I’m afraid I came up on him rather suddenly this morning and scared him.”

“I reckon he just didn’t know you were there,” Rachel turned her attention back to me. “He most likely just didn’t hear you and you gave him a start.”

“He did look surprised.”

“He’s shy. He’s…” Rachel fumbled for words, looking a little uncomfortable. “He’s…never been quick to learn much in books. Seth says he’s…slow…but I think he’s just turned different. He catches on to everything around the farm—he can build anything—do anything.”

“Even with—” I paused, not wanting to offend.

“His hand,” Rachel finished with a smile. “He can do whatever a normal boy can do, for the most part. He’s strong—you can’t believe how strong that hand of his is.”

“I’ve heard of that happening. One limb overcompensates for the loss of another. Was it an accident?”

To my concern, her face began to darken, as if someone were very slowly extinguishing a light. She dropped her eyes. “A trap,” she murmured. “It was…a trap.”

“Rachel?” I asked softly, reaching for her hand.

“Oh, but he’s so sweet.” She seemed to recover herself at my touch, laughing softly. “I’ve never known anybody sweeter than Micah. He’s my angel. My firstborn.”

“He did seem shy,” I agreed, watching her curiously. And yet I found it hard to reconcile shyness or even surprise with the expression of fear he’d had on his face, seeing me. Something had upset him terribly, and I wished I knew what it was.

“We tried to save his hand,” Rachel went on slowly, twirling a spoon idly in her coffee, tapping it gently against the rim of her cup…stirring…tapping…“We tried to, but he suffered so. Course, if Girlie’d been born then, she could’ve saved it. But Micah was only little when it happened.”

I pondered her words, the reference again to Girlie and the child’s special powers. Rachel smiled and began to gather up the dirty dishes.

“It doesn’t bother him though. No, Micah wouldn’t let that slow him down…not when he’s got his mind set on something, you can’t stop that boy. He’s like Seth that way, I reckon.”

We did the dishes—one pan for washing, one for scalding—and then I set each place at the table, like Rachel showed me, covering it all with a clean tablecloth. Rachel wouldn’t let me help with any more chores, so I wandered back to the front porch. It was so peaceful—just the muted calls of birds and the wind sighing down the curve of the hills. From off in the distance came the slow, steady chunk of an axe against wood, but though I strained my eyes in the general direction of the sound, everything looked deserted. Frowning, I swept the hills with an uneasy shiver. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get all the nagging questions out of my mind. Why had Micah acted so terrified of me? And why had he said what he did—“Girlie…no—” when Girlie hadn’t even been there? And there were other things…

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jumper and started walking, crunching leaves and nests of dead weeds. I was so sure I’d seen something last night, watching my window from the cover of the trees. Sighing, I tried to rationalize again, to tell myself I was just being paranoid. It probably was a deer, just like Rachel had said. I couldn’t keep being so suspicious about everything—I’d end up as cynical as Seth.

Glancing up from my thoughts, I froze. This time I was certain I’d seen a movement—I knew my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me now, not here in broad daylight with the sun bold and bright around me. And something had moved, not two feet ahead of me—behind that grove of pine trees near the road. As I held my breath, eyes riveted to the spot, a waifish little face slowly materialized from between the boughs, and I exhaled in relief.

“Girlie! What are you doing? Playing hide-and-seek?”

The child regarded me with solemn saucer-eyes, then stepped out in full view, her head cocked at a comical angle as she watched me come closer.

“Yes?” I tried again. “Can I play, too?” And as I knelt down in front of her, she reached out and grasped my hand, raising it to her lips.

Too startled to draw my fingers away, I felt her shallow breath on the back of my hand, heard the tiny wisp of a voice as she held me with a huge, fixed stare.

“Brad misses you,” Girlie said. “And Kerry still wonders where you are.”

And as I stared at her in stunned horror, she shook her head slowly.

“They wish you were dead. Like them.”

Chapter 5

AS THE MEMORIES SWIRLED through me, all dead leaves, all of them, dead and brittle and bittersweet, I reached out slowly and pulled Girlie to me, feeling her tiny arms slip around my neck, the racing of her little heart against mine. She can’t know! She can’t possibly know! Every fiber of my being resisted it, yet I knew it was true, that somehow—somehow—she did know, and the awful reality shone from her eyes like a strange fire.

“Oh, God,” I whispered and buried my face against her neck, breathing in the soft little-girl smell of her, dried flowers and apples and straw, and then I held her at arms length and searched those strange, knowing eyes. “Girlie…why did you say that?” I fought to keep my voice steady, to believe I’d misunderstood, that the words hadn’t really been spoken or meant anything at all, yet my grip tightened on her shoulders and I said again, “Why did you say that, Girlie? Why?”

The child’s voice was thin and haunting, like the soft, tinny voice box of a talking doll, and her eyes never wavered from my own. “I heard them,” she murmured, “and they woke me up.”

“Woke you up? When did they wake you up?”

“This morning. They made me cry, ’cause they were so sad. They said I had to tell you.”

I lowered my head, inhaled deeply. “Did…Seth or Rachel or anyone else ever tell you about them? Did you ever hear anybody talk about Brad or Kerry?”

A firm shake of her head. I tried again.

“Did…maybe…Seth find my purse in my car and look through it—or maybe you looked through it and saw a picture of Brad or Kerry? I mean, it was okay if you did, I don’t care if you did, I just want you to tell me.”

That same level stare. “You didn’t have anything with you when you came here. You were asleep.”

“Then maybe I said something when I was…asleep…called out…or cried…or…” As fast as my words were falling out, Girlie was shaking her head, and in desperation, I gave her a shake. “You couldn’t know that! How could you know that!” My voice had risen to the edge of hysteria; I felt Girlie’s hands prying at my fingers.

“I like you, Pam! Please don’t hurt me!”

I stared at her, dismayed.

Horrified at what I’d done, I grabbed her to me once more, rocking her, stroking her flyaway hair, apologizing over and over again. It seemed forever that we stayed there like that. I only knew that at long last she reached up with one dirty hand and patted my cheek that was still dry from impossible tears.

“I like you,” Girlie said again, softly.

Her tiny hand patted my other cheek, and I smiled. “I like you, too, Girlie.”

“I liked you all the time. Even before you were real.”

My eyebrows lifted at her funny words. “Real? But I’ve always been real—what do you mean by that?”

Girlie tugged on my arm and backed up. “There. See—you’re over there.”

Puzzled, I looked in the direction she was pulling me, but all I could see was the end of the yard and the start of the woods and the road with the scarecrow beside it. Suddenly everything seemed so dull…so empty…so dead…

“I don’t see anything, Girlie, I guess you’ll have to show me,” I said apologetically and followed where she led me. It’s a game, I reminded myself firmly—just a game. Kerry played make-believe lots of times, and I always played along…but this isn’t a game. I started, as if some invisible voice had spoken the words aloud, and a slow chill crept up my spine.

We reached the outer edge of the yard and stepped out into the road, Girlie’s tiny, quick feet kicking up clouds of dust and dry leaves. The stooped trees writhed in a burst of sharp wind, as if tormented, and instinctively I pulled back, not wanting them to touch me. Girlie gave a final tug on my wrist, and we stopped in front of the scarecrow.

I don’t know what I expected to see. Something horrifying, perhaps—or grotesque, or prophetic…

Surely not the simple stick figure that was staring back at me.

“See?” Girlie said. “It’s you.”

And then I knew it was a game, it had to be a game, because this was just a crude little stick doll made by a child, and it really had nothing at all to do with me. And my relief was so overwhelming that I actually had to stifle a laugh.

“Why, it’s lovely, Girlie! It really is. Did you make this all by yourself?” I could play along now, it was safe, and though lots of things still weren’t right, this scarecrow, at least, was sensible and harmless.

“You’re a lot prettier real,” Girlie said thoughtfully, going close to the scarecrow, and she stood on tiptoe to straighten its sleeves while I looked on, amused by her seriousness. The scarecrow wore a long dress that swept the ground, and what looked like an old tablecloth had been draped over its pillowcase head and fanned out across its shoulders like a veil. Tucked beneath each cuff of its sleeves was a glove, and bunches of flowers, long since dead, were still clutched, or tied into, each hand. Girlie cocked her head, then answered belatedly, “Yes, mostly. Micah helped me.”

“She’s really very beautiful,” I smiled. “Not like me.”

“I knew you’d have brown hair,” Girlie went on, as if she hadn’t even heard, “and I knew you’d have it down long ’cause I made it that way.” From under the veil she withdrew a long brown strand of horse’s tail, and I watched her dubiously. “And I gave you blue eyes,” Girlie added quietly. Uneasily I noted the blue painted eyes on the fabric face. Funny…they are shaped like mine…“And a veil,” Girlie faced me, her voice softening, “’cause I knew you’d be in mourning.”

She’s talking much older than the child she is…much, much older…about things she doesn’t understand and couldn’t know and has no right to know…I stared at the scarecrow, my skin going clammy.

“She’s carrying her flowers for her husband and her little boy,” Girlie said sorrowfully, and I spun to face her, my color draining. “She wants to be with them, but I can’t let her. I want her here with me to be my friend.”

“Girlie,” I mumbled, but the sound was inside my head, my lips moving futilely as the sadness in Girlie’s eyes washed over me, rooting me to the spot. And then, “Girlie,” I said again, and I heard her name echoing through the quiet morning, over and over, and it wasn’t my voice at all, but someone else calling from far away, and as I looked back in the direction of the porch, Girlie darted past me and disappeared into the woods beside the house.

“Girlie! Wait!” I cried, but even as I went after her I knew I couldn’t catch up. Who had called to her? The sound had been so faint, yet it must have been real—Girlie hadn’t hesitated for a second. Now I plunged through the trees where I’d seen her go, and was instantly enveloped in darkness—even with most of their leaves gone the branches were knotted so tightly together overhead that they blotted out the daylight. I slowed down, trying to get my bearings. This was ridiculous, following the child this way. Even if I did catch her, what would I do? Make her confess? To what, for God’s sake? A little girl who knows all about my secret pain—it’s not even possible and yet…And yet I had stood right there and heard her say their names. Brad…Kerry…

“Girlie!” I called again, and crashed through the underbrush, pushing back at sharp limbs that clawed at my face. The place was an impossible labyrinth—there was no way to tell where I was or where I was going, and there were hundreds of places Girlie could hide. I’d been foolish to even try it in the first place. Then, just as I decided to turn around and try to find my way out again, there was a shifting in the shadows just ahead, and I came up unexpectedly against a wall.

I knew this couldn’t be the house, nor did I think I’d gone far enough south to reach the barn, yet this was definitely some sort of building, and I was standing at the back of it. Trees pressed so close on all sides that I had to flatten myself against the walls to move, and inch by inch I began to squeeze around the corners until I reached the front and found a door. Although the back and sides of the building were flush with the woods, the entrance faced a footpath which was practically buried in leaves and led away again through a thicket.

The building looked like a ruin—as if it had been abandoned for so long that it had fallen into a rotting stupor. On closer inspection I could see that the bottom half had been fitted together with logs and red clay dirt—for the most part, still amazingly intact—though chunks of it had loosened here and there, spilling out into the tall weeds. A huge oak, hugging too close at one corner, had managed to lift the building several inches so that it leaned uncomfortably, but the roof, patched as it was, hadn’t yet slid sideways and toppled off. For all its sad disrepair, there was a certain charm about it, and I found myself irresistibly drawn inside. I put my hand to the latch, glancing once over my shoulders. The woods were still and watchful. I pulled on the door and let myself in.

For a moment there was total darkness, and as I stood there readjusting to the dim light, strange smells overpowered me from all sides. Meat, I guessed at once, and hickory, like our weekend barbecues back home, and something greasy…My eyes squinted against the gloom, swept up to the ceiling, to exposed rafters and lengths of wire and thick, dark shapes swinging there—and those Sundays of grilled hot dogs and Kerry always getting ketchup all over him and Brad painting with one hand, a hamburger held in the other—wire and loops of twine and those dark shapes swinging, and my God, are those animals up there, hanging, swinging, dying from the ceiling—

“What the hell are you doing in here?’

I jumped back, choking down a scream, just as Seth ducked through the doorway, blocking out the lopsided square of light.

“I…I was trying to find Girlie.” My hands went up instinctively, to ward off the dark and all the things I couldn’t see that could see me, and I felt him, felt him coming closer the silence, the strength of him.

“Well, you won’t find her here. She’s inside playing.

I moved nearer the door, nearer the light. “She ran off and I followed her. I guess…I got lost somehow.”

“I guess.”

I strained my ears, following his footsteps across the din floor, then back again, close to where I stood. Again I stepped back.

“I didn’t mean to trespass,” I said. “I came out of the woods and wasn’t sure where I was.”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Seth said, and he was there without warning, looming over me. His eyes glittered in half-light. “It’s dangerous. The building’s old.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I lowered my eyes away from his own, my heart quickening, still angry at myself for feeling so uneasy and afraid. “What is this place?”

“Smokehouse.” He gave me an impatient look, and I nodded.

“Oh. Of course. All those smells, I should have guessed.”

Seth didn’t seem to be listening. He vanished again into the shadows and reappeared a second later hoisting a slab of meat onto his shoulders. “We cure meat and hides here.” He jerked his chin indifferently toward the rafters. “Skunks. Coons. Rachel puts her vegetables in here, too. Onions and peppers. Some herbs.”

I nodded, letting my eyes roam once again across the sagging walls, the wooden beams, the shadows. “It’s…fascinating.”

“What’s so fascinating about it? You need certain things if you want to survive. And if you need them, you do them yourself. Just that simple.” He stood aside at the door, indicating that I should go out ahead of him. My shoulder accidently brushed his arm as I passed; I felt his muscles tighten.

It was good to be out in the light again. Seth moved past me onto the path, and I followed slowly, stepping where he stepped, my shoes crunching twigs and leaves as I picked my way behind him. The woods were deep and golden-green, quiet as a church, the air so sharp and clean that it stung my cheeks and took my breath away. I dug my chin into the collar of my shirt and shivered.

“I’ll have to find you a jacket somewhere.”

I glanced up, surprised, for he was still walking ahead with his back to me.

“It’s a little different here than California.”

There was just something about the way he said it, almost as if he’d been there before.

“You know California?” I asked carefully.

He ignored the question. Leaves swirled down and he brushed them from his hair.

“Well, it is different,” I said hurriedly. “We’d never have fall like this at home.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “That wouldn’t seem natural to me.”

“Have you ever been west? Have you ever been anywhere else but here?”

The silence stretched on for so long, I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. Then he said quietly, “Yes, once. A lot of us left, but I was the one who came back.”

“And you’ve stayed ever since?”

“I don’t feel the need to go off now. I’ve got everything right here.”

I wanted to ask him where he’d been that could have embittered him so, but some instinct warned me against that. Instead I said hesitantly, “Don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

He stepped easily across a fallen log and waited for me to catch up. “I know what else is out there. And even if I didn’t, it still wouldn’t matter. My life’s the way it is. I just want to keep other people away from it.”

There was no mistaking his implication. I clambered over the log and kept my distance behind him.

“They’d change it all,” Seth went on, more under his breath than aloud. “They’d change things plenty and think they were doing what was right.”

“Changes are scary to me,” I said before I even thought. As he glanced back over his shoulder I stammered, “I mean…I don’t like changes very much…things catching me by surprise. Here you have a place to hide from changes, but—”

I’d said the wrong thing. I wished I’d never mentioned the word; it seemed to magnify my predicament overwhelmingly, and I glanced in growing alarm at the crushing woods. Without warning Seth stopped square on the path, turning around so quickly that I nearly ran into him. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

“My family’s been hiding, as you put it, back here in these hills since 1854. Ever since my great-great-grandfather settled. He had a pretty good feel for human nature, and I expect that’s why he came up here in the first place. I don’t figure things have changed a whole lot out there in the world since then.”

Frowning, he swung the ham effortlessly to his other shoulder and looked for a moment as if he might stalk away. But instead he just stood there, staring me down.

“I have my reasons for being here—and for why I’ll never leave.”

“You’re lucky. But I guess you know that,” I said quietly, hoping to mask the growing fear in my voice. He was standing too close…staring too hard…

“Lucky?” His dark eyes burned with an emotion I couldn’t read.

“Yes. The land and your roots…your home and your family. You belong.”

There was a long silence. I tried to step around him on the path, but he blocked my way.

“This is the one place left in the world that still makes some sense. Everything that happens here, happens for a reason.” His gaze swept upward, soaring over trees and hills, and as I watched him, the wind blew his hair full around his face. “We know about life here,” he murmured. “We know where it starts.” His eyes shifted into mine. “And where it ends.”

His voice was like a warning, and again I tried to sidestep him; again he filled the path.

“There’s order here and harmony. Truth. And no—” He broke off sharply, and his face angled down into the hazy green light, strange shadows playing across his tensed jaw.

“What?” I asked, wanting to run, to find the cool, clear sunshine, the fresh air.

His lips moved in a whisper. “Betrayal,” he said at last. “There’s no betrayal here.”

A cold ripple of wind sighed through the helpless leaves overhead—with a death rattle they shook free of their branches and sifted down around Seth’s shoulders. I watched them fall, and I saw Seth’s eyes again, deep and relentless, full upon mine. I stepped back to steady myself against a tree.

“You’re tired,” Seth said, and he turned, striding unconcernedly into the yard behind the house. By the time I reached the back porch he had disappeared completely, and with my heart pounding in relief, I dragged myself up the steps and reached out for the door.

The hand came out of nowhere.

As my mouth opened in a mute circle of fear, the hand clamped about my wrist, nearly pulling me sideways off the steps. In the next instant it had steadied me again, and I twisted to see Micah there behind me.

“What—” I began, but his hand, releasing my arm, came down firmly over my mouth, pushing me back against the house before I could struggle. For a moment all I could see were his eyes, the color of clear, blue sky, fixed on me like magnets—and the fear in them, the pleading, as he made a shushing sound and looked wildly back over his shoulder.

“Micah—” I mumbled beneath his fingers, but he pressed harder and shook his head violently.

“You gotta get out of here,” he hissed. “You shouldn’t be here…it’s all Girlie’s doing, she—”

I struggled to pry his hand from my mouth, and he dropped it to my shoulder, giving me a shake. “You don’t understand!” he gasped. “You don’t belong here. You’re not part of it. She didn’t mean anything by it, but—”

“Didn’t mean anything by what? What are you talking about?”

“I’ll help you,” he went on, not listening, almost crying now, his voice desperate and shaking. “I’ll help you and you can get away and maybe it’s not too late…maybe—nothing will happen—”

“Happen—Micah—what are you talking about? What’s going to happen!”

He pushed me back against the house, his face close to mine, every feature sharp with terror. “I’ll help you,” he whispered. “I’ll help you get away.”

And then he squeezed my hand and was gone.

Chapter 6

HIS HANDS KNOWING EVERY inch of me…memorizing each line and curve…no one knowing me so totally…so intimately…and the lovemaking, wild and sweet…and how willingly…how wonderfully, wonderfully willing…

“Brad!”

I sat up in bed, shaking, my nightgown soaked with sweat. In my dreams he had been with me again, keeping me safe, and then suddenly other hands had been there, hands that weren’t his—hands catching me, holding me, desperate hands that trembled with fear—scarecrow hands—and one of Micah’s hands, dangling bloody from the steel jaws of a trap—and other hands pulling me from a raging fire. And yet, even now, wide awake with terror and grief, I still felt on fire, still felt a stranger’s hands that made me aching and afraid…

Trembling, I reached up and unfastened my bandage, unwinding it slowly, cringing at the feel of my damp, dirty hair. Tomorrow I’d ask Rachel about a bath…a shampoo…I always felt better after a bath…I could think clearer…things made more sense…

I buried my face in my hands and pulled my knees up to my chest, rocking slowly as I’d rocked Kerry when he’d had a nightmare. What was happening? I didn’t understand any of it—Seth’s animosity and Micah’s terror and the strange little girl with the Knowing who told me things about myself that no one else could possibly know. And why was Micah so desperate to help me leave? What had he meant by all that talk about Girlie? He’d made it sound as if something dreadful was about to happen.

Yet even as those thoughts hammered at me, I felt guilty. These people had saved my life—no matter how it had come about—and as for being stuck here, I really wasn’t, was I? There was a wagon. A road that led somewhere. They just didn’t want me to travel yet. Not until they were sure I was really better. And hadn’t my reaction to the scarecrow today proved how unnerved I still was? You’ll never get home.

With mounting uneasiness I walked to the window, opening it wide, leaning out into the cold air until I felt chilled to the bone. No one knew I was here. I hadn’t told anyone about this trip. No one knew where I was supposed to be traveling or how long I should be away…When would anyone even realize I was gone? How long until someone got worried about me? How distant and unreal the world seemed now…how strangely remote…like a world I’d never known except in some crazy mixed-up dream.

I froze.

And even as I gripped the windowsill and felt the gooseflesh up my spine, even as I told myself it wasn’t so, I saw the figure down below pull itself slowly into the woods.

Fear made me numb. I couldn’t tear my eyes from those terrible swaying trees. The minutes crawled by…nothing…no sound…no movement…no one…nothing. Only the pale moon dribbling over the hillsides and the scraggly outlines of bare branches and the silhouettes of rooftops hunched against the sky.

I ran my tongue over my lips, pried my fingers from the sill, began to shiver uncontrollably. I didn’t want to be in this room by myself.

I fumbled for the doorknob and let myself out into the hall. The floor was so cold—as cold as the fear coursing through my veins—and I felt my way blindly across the passageway. If I can just get to Franny’s room, I know I’ll be all right—just to hear her voice, her laugh—we’ll joke about it—what I thought I saw—and then of course it’ll be all right, it won’t really have happened at all…

I knew Franny’s room was right across the hall. I could see the doorway in my mind, but not in the nighttime shadows. My hands slid along the wall, and I sighed in relief, moving swiftly now, feeling for the handle. This had to be Franny’s room—here—for surely I hadn’t walked so many steps, only it was so very dark tonight, darker than I remembered it being before, and as I felt the knob turn at last, I scarcely managed a quick knock before I thrust the door forward and fell inside.

“Franny! Wake up! I just—”

The words died in my throat as I saw them there in bed together.

Rachel hadn’t heard me come in, but Seth was starting up, one arm outstretched for the unlit lamp on the night table. As I froze in disbelief, he, too, held his position, and for one endless moment neither of us moved—I saw my hands out in front of me, the moonlight gleaming across his bare chest, and Rachel’s hair in a dark, tangled stain across the pillows. And Seth’s eyes, like an animal’s eyes, glistening and watchful in the dark, the thick shadow of his beard, the lean, sinewy curve of his upper arm extended—and then finally, as he lowered himself back into the covers, only then was I able to fully realize what I’d done.

“Oh…oh, my, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Seth? What is it?” Rachel roused herself groggily, looking first at her husband, then at me. “Pamela, what is it?” And still, even in sleep, the kindness, the sweetness, never left her voice.

“Oh, Rachel, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I thought this was Franny’s room. I—”

“You look scared to death, Pamela, what’s wrong?” And Rachel sat up now, pushing back her hair with one hand, pushing back the covers with the other.

“It’s nothing—”

“It must be something—you’re shaking like a leaf!” And Rachel was beside me, arms around me, comforting, while Seth sat there in the moonlight and watched and said nothing.

“I…I thought I saw someone—”

“Saw someone! Why, bless your heart, where?” Rachel hugged me, and I could smell her hair, the soap still there, and Seth, his nearness still there.

I looked away. “Out my window. I know you said it was probably nothing, but I did—I really did—see something moving in the trees—”

Seth groaned, and Rachel turned on him.

“Seth, you go right now and see what it is!”

“It’s nothing,” he said flatly. “You and I both know it’s nothing.”

“I don’t know that. Can’t you see she’s scared to death? If she’s this scared, it must be something. You go look. Right now.” Rachel tucked me under her arm, and I heard blankets being thrown back, a body uncoiling. I turned back toward the door.

“I am so sorry, Rachel. I—”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you woke us up. It’s awful to be alone when you’re scared.” Rachel gave me another hug and added, “Why don’t you stay here with me till Seth gets back?”

“No, really, I’ve bothered you enough. Please go back to sleep—I’d feel better about it if you would.”

“There’s not a thing to feel bad about,” Rachel assured me, and I heard Seth sliding on his pants, pulling his shirt from the chair. “You try to get some sleep now. And don’t worry, Pamela—we’re here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

I closed the door behind me, my heart pounding against my ribs, and for several seconds I just stood there, trembling, before I started across the hall again to my room.

I kept seeing that one single shadow disappearing into the trees…

And Seth’s eyes watching me from his bed…

But it wasn’t until I passed the door next to mine that I heard the sound.

A high-pitched, haunting sound…

Like an old, warped record…

Or the unnatural realness of a talking doll…

Girlie laughing.

Chapter 7

“IT WASN’T ANYTHING,” Rachel said for the third time and passed me a pitcher of syrup. I was glad I’d missed the family breakfast this morning. I didn’t think I could have faced Seth after last night. “Seth looked all around and never saw a soul,” Rachel added consolingly.

“Probably the wind you heard,” Franny spoke up, obviously informed about the situation. “It kicked up something fierce in the night. Woke me, too, with all that howling and moaning.”

“Yes, probably.” I felt listless and anything but hungry, and last night’s fears still played at the edges of my mind.

Rachel pushed my plate closer, reminding me to eat. “There’s frost this morning—Seth says he wouldn’t be surprised if we have an early snow.” She paused by the back door and wiped her hands absently on her apron. “My, it seems like summer surely went by fast—”

“Before I even knew!” Franny interjected. “And all we did was work, work, work. I get sick of all this work around here.”

Rachel gave her an indulgent smile. “Things’ll be calmer now, come cold weather.”

“Is it that much different in winter? I asked. I was trying to pay attention to the conversation, wondering when I could tactfully mention going home.

“Well, we still do the same old stuff,” Franny spoke up, “but Seth and Micah have more time to be inside. No crops to mess with.”

“Mercy, you make it sound like they’re shiftless all these cold months,” Rachel chuckled. “There’s the animals to take care of, and things needed fixing around here—all the things they don’t have time to do when they’re out in the fields.”

“Well,” Franny grinned and popped another bite of leftover biscuit into her mouth. “The Lord should’ve made six days of rest and one for chores. Rachel, your dishrag’s on the floor!”

I looked on, bewildered, as Rachel threw a pinch of salt over her left shoulder.

“Why, Pam,” Franny giggled at my dismay, “don’t you know it’s bad luck to drop a dishrag?” As she and Rachel exchanged amused glances, I couldn’t tell if they were teasing me or not. “And if you rub sow’s milk in your eyes, you can see the wind,” Franny added seriously.

Rachel shook her head. “I reckon that’s going a little too far. But lots of those sayings are really true and—”

“If you put a knife under your pillow, it keeps nightmares away,” Franny broke in.

At the mention of nightmares, I clenched my hands together, but Rachel was still shaking her head.

“Franny,” she sighed, “how you do go on.”

“And you really believe they’re true?” I asked.

“Some of them.” Rachel thought a moment. “I just don’t figure it’s smart to take chances. Like…when you start off on a real important trip, you shouldn’t ever look back as you’re leaving.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated. “’Cause…something terrible might happen.” She frowned at some inner thought and Franny laughed.

“Yeah…like somebody might call you back to do some chores!”

“And speaking of chores,” Rachel turned back to her with a tolerant smile, “Seth’s burning the last cornfield today—says you might as well tear down the scarecrows and he’ll take them along.”

“But I don’t want to tear mine down—he’s the best one I ever made!” Franny slammed down her fist with a look of despair.

“Now you know what Seth says,” Rachel began, but Franny interrupted.

“Just tell him I’ll bring mine along myself. He can tear down the others if he wants.”

“Why are you taking them all down?” I wrapped my fingers around my coffee cup to warm them and took a deep breath of rich steam. “I thought the whole idea was to put them up.”

“Harvest’s all in,” Franny explained, “so we burn them afterward. Put them up every spring, take them down every fall. It’s just something we always do.”

“Is there some special reason?” I asked, and noticed how Rachel promptly busied herself gathering up the dishes.

“It’s Seth,” she said quickly. “Seth makes us do it.”

“Oh, you know how he is,” Franny grunted. “If something’s not being useful around here, out it goes.”

Rachel’s voice was hesitant. “Well, there really isn’t any need for them, is there, once the crops are all in?”

Franny gave a derisive laugh. “If you couldn’t work around here anymore, he’d probably just get rid of you, too.”

“Franny!” For a split second Rachel looked shocked, but as Franny laughed again, her face relaxed uncertainly. “Well, after all, they are only scarecrows—”

“Girlie doesn’t think so,” Franny said bluntly. She helped herself to more cream, but Rachel’s shoulders had gone unusually stiff.

“Girlie’s just a child,” Rachel said, turning her back and running a rag over one end of the table.

“Look at you, you’ve already wiped that off.” Franny shook her head. “Lord, Rachel, this house is already so clean I can’t hardly stand to be in it—and look at you, going over everything twice!” She grinned and added, “And anyhow Girlie’s not just a child—”

Rachel whirled, her face set and pale. “She likes to play games. She does lots of make-believe things.” She looked at me, almost pleadingly. “All little girls do, you know.”

I nodded, for it seemed to be what Rachel wanted me to do. She turned again, slumping over the stove, staring out the window with an expression I couldn’t see. Uncomfortably I glanced at Franny, who now seemed eager to change the subject.

“Well, you haven’t seen my scarecrow yet!” she announced, though her cheeriness had taken on a rather forced note. “And mine’s better than all the others put together.”

“Girlie thinks everything is real,” Rachel said softly, and she looked back over her shoulder at us with a slow, sad smile. “Her doll…the flowers…rocks…it’s ’cause she’s special, is all. She’s a very special little girl.”

She met Franny’s eyes; they held for the briefest instant, then Franny jumped up, knocking over her chair with a clatter.

“Come on, Pam, you just see for yourself if what I say isn’t true. My scarecrow’s the best of all!”

“Wait, now, she’s not going anywhere till she eats a good breakfast,” Rachel drew up, her normal self once more, and surveyed my nearly full plate. “You do feel better this morning, don’t you, Pamela? You look better.”

“Well enough to go into town,” I tried hopefully, but Rachel was picking up the overturned chair and didn’t seem to hear. I tried again. “Do you think I could take a bath? I know I’d feel better then.”

“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Rachel nodded in the direction of the porch. “There’s a tub out there. We can bring it in later and put it by the stove. Unless maybe you’d rather use the pond?” She laughed at my expression, and Franny joined in.

“Okay, hurry up and eat, and then I’ll show you a real scarecrow,” Franny promised.

Twenty minutes later we were cutting through the yard, heading in a new direction away from the barn. Almost at once I spotted a thick grove of fruit trees cradled by sloping pastures to the east and south, but separated from the side yard of the house by only a narrowing strip of dirt road. My heart caught in my chest. This was the road that led around past the front of the house and eventually to Cranston. And there was the wagon in the tall, dead weeds.

Franny followed my gaze and snorted. “That old thing—about to fall apart! Held together with spit and a prayer.”

“Do you know how to hitch it up?”

“Sure I do, but it’s broken now.”

“Broken!”

“Yep, it busted an axle.”

I could feel my heart sinking. “Can’t it be fixed?”

“Oh, Seth’ll get around to it sometime, I reckon. Probably this winter, like we told you. I surely couldn’t fix it—could you?”

I shook my head glumly, hurrying after Franny to catch up.

A patina of frost still lingered on the ground, although the sun was full in a cloudless sky. As we entered the orchard, my breath hung in small puffs in the air and I clenched my shawl around me, but Franny hardly seemed to notice the cold at all. She plunged ahead between the trees, chattering incessantly, but I was winded and stopped abruptly on the path.

“It’s a lot prettier here in the summer when everything’s ripe—oh, and the peaches smell so nice—come on, it’s not much farther,” Franny grinned back at me. “Right on the other side of these apple trees here.”

I shook my head, unable yet to speak, cold slicing through my lungs. I knew I should be interested in what Franny was showing me, but there were too many other things on my mind right now—things besides the wagon and getting away—things I needed to know and talk about. Like that discussion I’d just heard about Girlie, how everything was “real to her.” In my mind I saw the child again, leading me out along the front of the house, her strange eyes so intent as she’d talked—“I liked you…even before you were real.” And that scarecrow had looked like me if I really stretched my imagination, if I really tried to believe that it did…. But now I’m being silly again, making something out of nothing…It had been idle talk, these things about Girlie—idle talk, that’s all, nothing more. A mother anxious about her child’s overactive imagination. But those looks I’d seen Rachel and Franny exchange hadn’t been normal, and I’d intercepted them, pretending not to see. Their looks had been frightened.

“Hey, you okay?”

My head shot up, and I returned Franny’s smile. “Lead the way. I’m ready for anything.”

“Not for this, you’re not.” Franny warned me. She grasped my arm and yanked me through the last thickness of trees. “My Prince,” Franny announced, and her voice lowered breathlessly. “My Prince Charming.”

In that first crazy instant I thought it was Seth.

Seth standing there against a backdrop of meshed trees and towering hills and glimpses of ice blue sky between flaming red leaves. Seth, menacing and invincible and relentlessly watchful…But of course I realized in the next second that it was only Seth’s clothes and not a real person at all, and as my heart caught fearfully in my chest, I managed to take a step forward, to keep my voice steady.

“Franny…it’s so…” My voice trailed off as I stared up into its almost-human face. Whereas all the other scarecrows I’d seen until now had been makeshift forms of the most primitive kind, this one was frighteningly different. His head was uncannily lifelike—beneath a hat and a thick shock of what appeared to be real human hair, a face gazed back at me with features that seemed to shift and alter even as I watched. Amazed, I took a step closer, trying to examine the cheeks without touching them, the chin, the smooth forehead, the wrinkles at the corners of the eyes. It looked like real skin, so supple in places, so taut in others, and all of it so natural, so natural, except for the white, white coloring and the black holes where eyes should have been. The eyes…My hands reached out, hesitated just inches from those empty, repulsive eyes, yet at the same time they were so horribly beautiful and fascinating and I was afraid, wanting to back away from him, wanting to give in and caress the lines of his cheeks…

“Well,” Franny demanded, “was I right?”

“He’s so real,” I murmured, and my hand, groping again toward his face, halted once more in midair.

“It’s all right, you can touch him.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My hand lowered to my side as I shuddered. “What…is it made of? It looks so real.”

“Not it. He! But do you think so really?” Franny asked urgently. She followed my slow gaze up the front of the scarecrow, to his impassive face. “He is real.”

“Girlie thinks everything is real…” But they were talking about a child, not Franny…not this….

I stared at Franny, something in her voice sending pinpricks up my spine. A low wind sighed through the orchard, rattling the branches around us, above us, stirring the scarecrow uneasily beneath his clothes. Franny cast me a sidelong glance and laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally into the quiet.

“He’s real to me. That’s what I meant. But I can’t say, can I?”

I wasn’t sure I understood. “Can’t say what? That he’s real?”

“Course I can’t. They’d say I was like Girlie—which I’m not.” For a second she looked annoyed. “And, anyhow, Seth would wear me out if he caught me talking that way.”

I wondered if Franny even realized how much the scarecrow resembled Seth, but I decided against mentioning it. “What way?” I asked instead.

Franny’s lower lip jutted out; she flounced over and snapped off a twig. “He hates it when I talk about boys and stuff. All the nice things I’d like to have. And I should have them anyhow. I got a right to have nice things, and if Seth doesn’t want them he doesn’t have to have them.”

I listened, surprised at the obvious distress on her face.

“He tries to hide us all up here. Never see anybody. Never do anything. It’s not fair. It’s my life, too, and I got a right to a nice life, don’t I?” She glared at me, not waiting for an answer. “Oh, he thinks I don’t know about the world out there, but I do. Oh, I do, I do, I do.” She wrapped her arms about herself and waltzed gently back and forth, just a few steps, and gave me a dreamy smile. “Dewey—when he comes here to get eggs and bring our stuff—he sneaks me magazines sometimes—and I hide them and read them when nobody’s around.” She looked so pleased with herself that I had to smile.

“And what would Seth say to that?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter ’cause he’ll never find out!” she grinned, and waltzed again. “And me—I know about that world out there, and pretty clothes, and parties, and money—”

“It’s not all like that.” I wanted to tell her, tell her how different it could be, the reality of it all. I wanted to tell her about the really important things—love and family and people who really care. I wanted to tell Franny about all of this, about the things she already had right here, but she didn’t seem to want any opinions, and when I opened my mouth to speak, she rushed on again.

“And I know about boys out there and how they’re all strong and rich and handsome and smart.” She stopped dancing and a little smile played at the corners of her mouth. “How they make love to a girl and make her feel so pretty…” She broke off and looked at me directly. “How many times have you made love?”

I regarded her for several moments without speaking, feeling foolish, knowing my cheeks had reddened, but knowing by the pleading intensity of her face that she expected an honest answer. “Well.” I laughed uneasily. “I don’t think I ever kept count.”

Franny’s shoulders moved in a noiseless sigh. “Millions, probably. Was it…beautiful?”

“Yes.” My eyes lowered, not embarrassed now, but sad, and I forced Brad from my mind, steadily meeting Franny’s gaze again.

“Oh, I just knew it,” Franny breathed. “I just knew it would be.” She looked so serious and then she laughed, a carefree flirtatious laugh. “I dream about it all the time—how it’ll be—having somebody love me that way.”

“It’s natural at your age to think about those things. You shouldn’t be ashamed of your feelings. Someday you will be loved that way—”

“Oh, but I’m not ashamed.” Her wise eyes regarded me serenely, no hint of embarrassment. “No, I’m most certainly not.” The sadness had left her voice now, the anger, the yearning. She put out her hand and plucked at the scarecrow’s frayed cuff. “Dewey and me—one time when Seth was out working in the fields—”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Franny rushed on.

“We went in the smokehouse, see, and he showed me some things. Not serious things, you know, ’cause he’s married and he’s old, but…” Her eyes brightened mischievously, no hint of remorse. “He put his hand in my shirt.” She pointed to her breasts. “And I felt it…clear down…” She motioned between her legs. “Here. It felt so nice,” she sighed. “I’m sure I’d just love all the rest of it.”

I pondered a moment before I spoke. “With the right person it’s wonderful, but—”

“Oh, I never see anybody around here,” Franny cut in impatiently. “Dewey’s no fun, he’s too ugly anyhow. That’s why I made him.” She patted her scarecrow. “That’s why I made my Prince Charming.”

I looked silently at the scarecrow again. He really did look so much like Seth, it was unnerving. How strange that this thing she loves, resembles what she hates so much…

“He’s my boyfriend,” Franny went on. “My boyfriend. I come here sometimes and talk to him and nobody knows.”

“Not even Seth?”

She shook her head. “I pretend I’m meeting him after dark, and he’s hiding here waiting for me, and I sneak out of the house late at night and we talk about so many things. I swear I’ll love him forever, and he swears he’ll take me away…” Her voice drifted, her fingers trailing slowly down the front of the scarecrow, down his bony frame, down, and up again, almost reverently…“And then…sometimes…” she glanced at me, her voice low and shy, hesitant now, “sometimes he makes love to me…here on the grass, on the leaves…under the moon…”

I watched her, transfixed, her young face transformed with aching, watched her slender, work-worn fingers move up again to his face and his skin, the cold, pale skin, and the black, soulless eyes, and he looked so much like Seth, the skin so real…

“Touch him,” Franny whispered, “touch him now…” and I couldn’t help myself, raising my fingers to the hollows of his cheek, the coldness, the startling texture of skin beneath skin—and a sharp cry of fear rose in my throat as the skin began to move, responding to my touch, responding, yearning, pulsing beneath my fingertips, and the skin seemed to cling to me like my own skin, melting, molding to my own so that all at once I tore myself free and stared at Franny in mingled horror and disbelief.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” Franny smiled knowingly. “How real he is—”

“What is that, Franny—it feels—alive.”

The girl’s eyes lingered on me a moment, and then she giggled. “Why, it’s just a hide, Pam, an animal skin. What did you think it was?”

I rubbed clumsily at my fingers, as if I could somehow rid them of the whole unpleasant experience, and I knew I looked flustered and confused as Franny continued to watch.

“Well, of course I knew it was something like that.” I forced a smile that felt totally foreign to my lips, and my breath came out in an equally forced laugh. “It felt so…so strange…”

“Be careful now, or you’ll hurt his feelings.” Franny laughed loudly, her old self, and I began to relax a little as she pulled me down beside her on the ground. “And here all summer long I’ve been telling him how handsome he is.”

“What were the other scarecrows like? The others that you made?” I asked her. “Were all of them Prince Charmings like this one?”

Franny gave her straight hair a perfunctory shake. “No. Oh, they were all wonderful, as you can guess,” she said, giggling, “but none of them have ever been like him. He’s special.”

I chanced another look up at the scarecrow, a bony Seth pinioned against the sky. I glanced quickly away. “He does have a certain presence, I must admit.”

“Well, I think it’s downright mean of Seth to make me burn him, Franny pouted. He’s my scarecrow, and I should be able to do what I want with him.”

“Do you really have to burn him? It does seem a shame after all your hard work.”

The look Franny gave me was derisive. “Yes, I have to. He’ll make me do it. He always makes us do it.”

“But why?” I looked at her incredulously. “I really can’t see the point—”

“Look,” Franny said. “There doesn’t have to be any point at all. The only point is that Seth says so. And we have to do what Seth says.”

I heard the raw anger in her tone…saw her lovingly finger the faded hem of the scarecrow’s shirt. She really loves this thing…whether it’s right or wrong, she feels it’s all she has…The realization hit me, and in spite of everything, I felt a twinge of righteous indignation.

“And what would happen if you didn’t?”

“Oh, Seth wouldn’t like it. He’d be really mad at me.” Franny said simply without a moment’s hesitation. “If I didn’t do it, he’d do it himself. And I’d get in awful trouble.”

“I see.”

She nodded, more to herself than to me, and her quick fingers worked themselves in under the yellow-gold leaves, scattering colors across her knees, sifting a fine spray of dirt into the lap of her skirt. “I don’t like doing things I don’t want to do.”

Hearing those words made me chuckle as long-ago memories surfaced unexpectedly. I hadn’t thought of them in years, but now I saw myself in Franny’s rebelliousness, and it amused me. “You know my father was very much like Seth in some ways—stern, demanding, always expecting so much out of me. In fact, I thought he was horrid at times, he’d make me so angry.”

“Did you ever want to run away from home?” Franny looked up with interest.

“Oh, lots of times.”

“And did you?”

“No.” My smile faded. “I was always too afraid.”

“So what did you do?”

“Stayed,” I sighed. “And never took chances.”

“Then I expect you weren’t much of a handful like I am.” Franny grinned. “You’re so quiet. And sadlike. Sometimes it’s like you’re not feeling things at all.”

I looked at her in a mixture of surprise and admission. “Things happen,” I said softly, turning away. “In life, things happen that can make you not want to feel anything.”

Franny shrugged. “But you did get away. You did get away from home finally.” She sounded so wistful that our eyes met. Yes, I thought, yes, but I never ever took those chances and now it’s too late, and I’d like to get away from here, too, just like you, only I’m still afraid…

Franny’s long sigh brought me back to the moment. “You got away, but I never will. Not if Seth has anything to say about it.”

“Oh, Franny, maybe he’ll change his mind, maybe—”

“Nobody ever leaves here,” she said dully, her eyes fixing upon my face. “They never have, and they never will. It’s the way it’s always been.”

A cold chill snaked through me as I stared at her, and without warning Micah’s voice whispered insistently at the back of my mind, “I’ll help you get away.” Shaken, I willed it away and tried to focus once more on Franny.

She was staring mournfully up at her scarecrow, at his ragged sleeves billowing in the wind, at his head nodding slowly, rhythmically, as if he understood and sympathized, ready to die a martyr’s death for her sake. His skin seemed to tremble—some muscle in his make-believe jaw. I could swear I saw his chest rise ever so slightly with an invisible breath.

“I reckon I oughta take him down before Seth does.”

I patted her arm. “I’ll be glad to help you.”

Franny shook her head. “No. You’d best get on back to the house. Can you find your way?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

On impulse I gave her shoulders a squeeze, but she only shrugged despondently, sending me off with a sad smile. As I made my way back through the orchard I couldn’t stop thinking about this strict adherence to ritual, these obsessions with tradition and Seth’s rules. At this particular time in Franny’s young life, she needed her special fantasies and dreams—surely Seth could see that the harder he was on her, the more resentful she’d feel and the more she’d long to run away. It didn’t seem natural to me, this squelching of a girl’s restless spirit, yet as I broke through the trees and surveyed the patchy yard, the sagging barn, the broken-down wagon, and Girlie squatting on the step with some wooden plaything, it hit me again how unnatural this whole place was. I wished more than anything to be free of it.

“Pamela, there you are!”

I looked up to see Rachel coming toward me, a basket swinging from her arm. Girlie got up and trailed behind her.

“Hi. Where, are you off to?”

“Taking the men a bite to eat. Why don’t you walk with me, and I’ll tell you my idea.”

“And what’s that?”

To my surprise she reached out and took my hands. “Oh, I know how much you want to go home and I know Seth’ll never find time to drive you to a phone…”

My heart pounded in anticipation and I looked hopefully into her soft, smiling eyes.

“So I was thinking, Dewey’s due to come most anytime now with our supplies, and I know he’d take you anyplace you needed to go—”

“Oh, Rachel, really?” I grabbed her shoulders in relieved joy and she laughed.

“Does that make you happy?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Very happy.”

“Good, then.” She nodded, more to herself than to me. “Good.”

I followed her companionably, chatting as we crossed the pasture and trekked the ten-minute walk to the cornfield. As we neared the area where Seth and Micah were working, I could smell the acrid warning of fire. And then I saw the burned wasteland, spread like a grave before me.

A jet of flame roared up unexpectedly. Seth leaned forward, resting his weight on his hoe, surveying the inferno, the charred patterns of stubble and ashes already heaped between the trampled furrows of earth. I coughed as an errant breeze fanned me with thick, black smoke, and instinctively reached out for Girlie, who had flung up one skinny arm to shield her eyes. To my surprise the child had a strangely woeful expression, her round saucer-eyes pitifully sad, her pale little face streaked with grime and sweat. I couldn’t tell if she’d been crying from the smoke or from something else. I saw Micah watching her, but he deliberately avoided looking at me. I pulled Girlie against me, gently stroking her matted hair.

“There, now, it’ll only burn for a little bit,” I assured her, thinking yes, yes, the child’s eyes were watering and hurting from the smoke—but as Girlie clutched my hand and pointed, I felt my own heart chill within me.

Seth had picked up Girlie’s scarecrow. As we watched him in a kind of slow-motion horror, he snapped it in two over his knee, the fragile limbs popping apart, the clothes going limp as he wadded them all into a careless bundle.

Rachel stood quietly by, a detached smile on her face.

I felt a tremor go through Girlie’s body, heard a whimper that seemed to hang forever in the crackling air. And then slowly, slowly, Seth picked up the lifeless scarecrow head—the eyes like mine! the hair like mine!—and even as I felt Girlie shivering, even as my own body began to tremble in a violent kind of fascination, even as we stood there helplessly, foolishly mourning the death of this scarecrow, the head pitched forward, shrinking, splitting, shriveling black before our eyes, staring at us in silent, burning agony.

Chapter 8

I COULDN’T GET it out of my mind.

Leaning against the door frame I wiped absently at a chipped plate with my dish towel, scarcely hearing Rachel’s laughter in the background, the funny little dance of Girlie’s feet as she sang a high-pitched song. For all her earlier sorrow, Girlie seemed perfectly all right now, but I couldn’t get the grisly picture out of my mind: Seth snapping the scarecrow into pieces…Seth tossing that head into the flames…and all the while Seth’s face totally unmoved, unfeeling. Unfeeling! But what should he have felt, I argued with myself. It was only a scarecrow, after all…even if it did look like me…Yet still I felt oppressed—all this talk of Seth and his ridiculous rules. There was an uneasiness in me that had been growing worse all day.

I jumped as Franny slammed a glass down on the table. She hadn’t said more than three words all through supper, and I thought she looked strained and tired. Rachel walked over and gently retrieved the glass, and as Franny threw down her towel and left the room, Rachel shook her head and sighed.

“Her and her moods. Growing pains, I reckon.”

“And nowhere to grow.” It was out before I could stop it, and Rachel looked at me curiously, nodding.

“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right.” She leaned down and kissed the top of Girlie’s head. “Time for bed pretty soon. Why don’t you go get ready?” She waited until we heard Girlie’s slow ascent up the stairs, then turned back to me. “I do worry about Franny, you know. Even though Seth really means well…I wonder it may not be right.”

“She feels trapped, I think.” I finished the last plate and set it down carefully with the others. “You can’t really blame her, can you?”

“No,” Rachel said slowly. “She’s always been different from me. Wanting different things. He can’t understand that.”

“It’s not like your situation, Rachel. You and Seth already had each other.”

“I never wanted as much as her. Never dreamed of leaving. Mercy, I’d die away from here.” Her hand went up, cradling her scar.

“But shouldn’t Franny have a choice?” I asked earnestly. “Shouldn’t she be able to decide for herself what she wants to be? And Micah, too? And someday Girlie?”

Rachel looked troubled. “Girlie’s not like other people. And Micah…”

I leaned forward expectantly. What about Micah? I’d hardly seen him since I’d been here, never heard him, was scarcely even aware he was part of the household. And why had he acted so afraid of me—and then acted so afraid for me?

Rachel’s lips pressed into a firm line. “I can’t talk about Micah.”

“Why not?”

She glanced at me; for one split second her eyes seemed to be pleading with me, but just as quickly the emotion was gone.

“Micah could never survive in your world.”

“But…is that fair? Shouldn’t he have the chance to see for himself?” I spread my hands in appeal, noting the nervous look she cast about the room. As if we were being overheard. As if we were being watched. It was making me nervous, too, and I jumped as she scraped a chair across the floor.

“You’d best forget about Micah,” Rachel motioned me to sit down, then leaned low over the table, her voice a whisper. “It’s really Franny I’m worried about. I’ve known for a long time, really. Sensed it, I reckon, but you’ve noticed it, too, haven’t you? That she’s not happy? And if you know that, then it must be true, ’cause—”

The shadow fell out of nowhere, slicing between us across the table so that we both gasped, fear and guilt written all over our faces.

“If Franny’s unhappy, it’s cause she’s here.” Seth’s voice was low, but sounded almost vicious to me. In the shadowy lamplight he seemed to stretch, to touch the ceiling.

“No, Seth, it’s not her fault, she hasn’t done anything.” Rachel’s hands trembled, but her voice was reasonable and soothing.

Seth lifted his head and glared back at her. “Franny was satisfied with things the way they were. Now she’s got all these crazy ideas in her head.” The look he turned on me was icy. “That’s what happens when strangers come. I told you it would happen, and I was right.” His eyes brushed over his wife with deadly calm. “I’m always right, Rachel. You know that.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room. For several moments neither of us spoke—just sat there as we were, staring at the empty doorway. As I felt my breath return, little by little, I realized I’d been gripping the chair so hard that it was imprinted on my palm.

“Well,” I sighed, not knowing what else to say. What I really wanted to do was draw Rachel out again—about Franny, about Micah, about Seth—but sad composure had returned to her face, and she busied herself filling the kettle, stirring the coals in the stove, hanging the dish towels to dry. “I’m sorry,” I said at last. “I’m always causing problems.”

“No,” Rachel faced me with that sweet, resigned smile, one hand trailing absently over her cheek. “No, you didn’t. He’s private, is all. He doesn’t mean anything.”

For the hundredth time I tried to reconcile the two of them in my mind—Rachel and Seth—her simplicity and his brutality. Still I couldn’t see it; still it didn’t make sense. The only thing that managed to come from the unlikely picture was a sense of emptiness and sorrow.

“What?” I realized Rachel had spoken, and I focused in again guiltily. “I’m sorry…”

“Your bath,” Rachel smiled. “Didn’t you say this morning that you wanted a wash-off?”

“Why, yes.” I was pleased that she’d remembered; during the strange course of the day I’d completely forgotten about it. Now I looked dubiously around the darkened room. “On the porch, did you say?”

“It’s too cold out there now.” Rachel laughed. “Let’s move the tub in here next to the stove.”

“Here?” Between the downstairs hall and the back door, there wasn’t a bit of privacy. “Well…I wouldn’t want to get your floor all wet and—”

“That’s why the good Lord made mops. You’ll have privacy here. Nobody’ll bother you.”

I looked around at the windows, the darkness and woods beyond, and I couldn’t suppress a shiver. Rachel went out onto the porch and stood there, hands on hips, finally turning to me with a baffled frown.

“That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“The tub. It’s always right here.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to have a—”

“No, don’t be silly. I just can’t figure where it’s gone to. Well, no matter, you can just use the one in the barn.”

“No, really, I—”

“It surely couldn’t have walked away by itself, and I can’t think for the life of me why anybody would have moved it. Seth or Micah must have needed it for something or other.”

“It’s really not important. I can do it tomorrow.”

“You’ll have the place to yourself now. The men won’t be going in and out.” Rachel bustled around the stove, and I could tell I’d already lost the battle. “It’ll be cold, but once you’re down in the water, you won’t feel a thing. And I’ll put your nightgown by the fire and bring it out to you nice and warm.”

“I’ve never taken a bath in a barn before.” My misgivings clearly showed on my face, and Rachel laughed.

“Well, now, it’s a real experience,” she teased, and taking up her shawl and a lantern, led the way out into the night.

I knew it wasn’t far to the barn, but somehow it seemed like miles. The air was thick with frost, and a full yellow moon shone down through the webwork of the trees, swathing our path with twisted shadows. Rachel pulled open the barn door, and the groan of old wood and hinges echoed and reechoed throughout the dark, dusty corners. The horses stirred; Rachel spoke to them in hushed tones, and they settled down at once. I followed close behind her past a row of stalls, pausing at the last one as she raised her lamp high.

“There—see? Like having a room all to yourself.”

Of course it was far from being a room, but at least the partitions gave it some privacy, and it seemed rather snug at the back of the barn. The tub was old and small and not particularly clean, but while Rachel went off to heat water, I gave it a few good rubdowns with some old rags I found in a corner. At least, I thought wryly, it was better than nothing.

After we’d carried out the last buckets of water, Rachel nodded approvingly. “Nobody’ll bother you, so just take your time. And holler at me if you need anything.”

I had no idea where the rest of the family was, and I looked around uncomfortably. “Oh…aren’t you staying?”

“Oh dear.” Rachel was instantly concerned. “Did you want me to stay? Are you scared to be alone?”

Something in my room…something outside my window…Shoving those thoughts firmly away, I gave a sheepish grin. “Of course not. I just…that is, I didn’t want you to feel that you had to stay, even though I enjoy it when we talk—”

Rachel smiled understandingly. “Oh, I like it, too. I like it so much that you came here.” She poured the last bucket of water in, stepping away from the cloud of steam that rose from the tub. “I’ve got to tuck Girlie in, and then I’ll be in the kitchen. Now you just relax and have a nice wash-up, and I’ll be back with rinse water just as soon as it’s hot.”

Have a nice wash-up. I watched her leave, then looked down at the cramped tub, rubbing at the rash of gooseflesh on my arms. I’m just chilled, that’s all…just chilled…

The barn seemed deathly cold. Deathly quiet.

Throwing a timid look over my shoulder, I tried to dissemble the dark shadows blotted around me, the shadows skulking along the walls, the ones slithering across the floor, distorted by the flickering glow of the kerosene lamp. Very carefully I moved it away from the wall, positioning it on the floor just outside the stall. The horses had dozed off—now I could only catch the sluggish stamp of hoofs on floorboards…a sleepy rustle of hay…a sigh…With one eye on the barn door, I tried to convince myself that I was really alone—yet I shivered uncontrollably as I unlaced my shoes, tossed the socks aside, as my jumper fell to the floor at my feet, as I pulled off my shirt and glanced again, fearfully, around the shadowy barn. Stop scaring yourself…you’re being so paranoid…yet I trembled even more as I stepped quickly out of my underwear and into the tub.

I caught my breath at the scalding shock. Instead of plunging at once into the water, I was forced to stand for endless minutes, testing and retesting it, hugging myself to keep from freezing, then finally, gratefully, sinking down into the blessed warmth, feeling it close over me like a safe cocoon.

Besides being narrow, the tub was also annoyingly short; I had to angle myself in awkwardly to keep the water over me, propping my feet against the end, bending my knees so I could slide farther down. Rachel had been right—now that I was in the water I scarcely felt the cold—but my whole concentration was on keeping my shoulders down out of the draft.

The barn was drafty. The lamp flickered, and as I started up in fear, the flame caught itself, brightening for an instant before settling down again. I let out a deep sigh of relief and reached over for the bar of soap Rachel had left me. It smelled of lavender, and I wondered if this was a treasured possession she was sharing. I worked the bar between my palms, coating them with lather, then began to rub the white froth over my neck, my breasts, leisurely, soothingly, around and around, closing my eyes, savoring the heady perfume that rose around me in steamy waves, saturating me with sweetness. The suds melted, dripping slowly down onto my stomach, between my thighs, and I worked them into my skin, gently, lazily, my mind floating like lavender droplets in an endless sea…Brad…and the soft, warm raindrops of an endless summer…a sprig of lavender in my hair…“I’ll never leave you, Pam…never.”…But you lied to me…you lied!—and with you went my feelings…my will…my life…And the soap was in my eyes burning like tears, and as I sat up a cold wind slid across the floor, scattering leaves and hay and bringing the sound of a footstep.

The lamp went out.

Silence fell again, as thick and heavy as the darkness. From some panicky corner of my mind came the idea that maybe, just maybe, if I didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, whoever it was would think the barn deserted and just turn and go. I could feel my teeth biting into my lip, could taste the salty mixture of soap and blood, feel my heart slamming so fiercely against my ribs that I knew I’d have to scream or be violently sick. I couldn’t see anything—no glimmer of light anywhere—and the thought of being trapped and helpless terrified me more than anything I’d ever known, even more than the two deaths I’d already faced and survived. For I was certain that someone was there, watching me, that he had been watching me for a long time, and now, even with the impenetrable shroud of darkness between us, I knew he saw me still, how I looked, how paralyzed I was with fear…

He made an invisible movement, a whisper that came from nowhere and everywhere—each corner was alive with him, the silent air stirring around me, as I tried to lower myself noiselessly, futilely, beneath the water.

“Who is it?” The words burst out in uncontrollable terror. “Who’s there!”—and he was close to me—close—and I could feel him—so near that the hairs rose along the nape of my neck.

“Please,” I begged, my voice breaking, “please—who’s there?”

A ripple of cold air caressed my arms, the skin of my back; I huddled there, shaking, desperate to cover myself, the sense of his touch slow upon me, deliberate, exploring, like something real, though I knew it couldn’t be…it was impossible…

“Please…” I tried to speak, but what came out was more a whimper. “Whoever you are, just go away—don’t make me scream…”

Yet I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I cowered there beneath his relentless eyes that saw through the dark, saw me through the dark…and I tried to get away from them…to hide…

Oh, God!

The water rippled around my body, lapping my breasts, softly…gently…as if someone had disturbed it with the slightest touch…

At my side a floorboard creaked.

“Pamela! Are you still in here? What happened to the light?”

“Oh, Rachel, help me!”

The barn door flew open, letting in pale light and icy wind, and as I sobbed and struggled to my feet, something pulled away from me—shrank back into the blackness, back beyond the feeble reach of Rachel’s lamp.

“Pamela, are you all right? Mercy, what happened?”

I heard Rachel’s voice, felt her strong arms go around me, but still, still, I couldn’t stop shaking. Not even when Rachel relit the lantern and closed the barn door…not even when she added the fresh hot rinse water, pushing me gently into the tub…not even when Rachel stayed right there, so calm, so totally unaware…

“Oh, it’s all my fault—you’re frozen through! This drafty old place, the wind blows through here like a corncrib. I should have come sooner.” Rachel fretted on and on, handing me heated towels and a nightgown and a blanket, but still I couldn’t stop the awful chill that gripped me from head to foot, shaking me unmercifully. Was he still in here? Watching me? He couldn’t have gotten out the way Rachel came in—where could he be hiding? I remembered seeing another door in the rear of the barn that day I’d met Micah, but I hadn’t heard anything opening or closing. So that means he must still be here…somewhere…Was he seeing me now, as I dried my naked body in the lamplight, pulling the gown down over my head? Did he see how I trembled? How I jumped at the slightest sound…

“I’m so sorry,” Rachel said. She held the lamp high, and shadows slithered back into silent corners. “You must have been scared to death when that lamp went out—imagined all kinds of things.”

But I didn’t imagine him, I couldn’t have—and how long had the unseen terror been “him” anyway…

“Pamela?” Rachel asked softly, and I followed her out, welcoming the wind that stung life back into me.

“Yes, Rachel, I’m really all right.”

But as I stumbled unexpectedly and Rachel’s lantern lowered toward the ground, I saw the clear impression pressed into the mud that surrounded my foot…and then I noticed another…and another…all fading in a purposeful line away from the lantern light and into the darkness of the barn.

They looked as if they’d been made recently.

By someone wearing boots.

Later as I tossed and turned in bed, my thoughts kept going back to that darkness, to that fear. I wondered if he was still there watching, if he had seen me leave…As wakefulness dragged on, I went to the window, peering out across sallow hills, hugging myself tightly against the cold. Something had been in the barn with me tonight—no imagining could have been that terrifying. And whoever he was had been there deliberately—I knew that—and I had to get away from this place where something was terribly, terribly wrong, where someone was stalking me, and Micah was afraid for me…

I jumped, hearing a soft tap at the door, then sagged in relief as Franny slipped into the room and shut us softly in.

“Are you awake? I just wanted to tell you what I did.” She perched on the foot of the bed, tucking her feet beneath her, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“What’s that?”

“Well, I been thinking about the things you told me—about how you were always so scared and everything, about taking chances?” She paused dramatically, and I tried to show an interest I didn’t really feel at the moment. “Well, I decided it wasn’t right, Seth making me give up something I wanted to keep. It’s none of his business what I do. I have a life, too, right?”

A little light was beginning to dawn in the back of my mind and I frowned. “Franny…what did you do?”

She leaned back, a triumphant grin spreading over her face. “I hid him.”

“You hid who? Seth?”

“My prince. Seth’ll never find him. He’ll never know! Only I’ll know. And you. And you won’t tell on me, will you?”

“But what about the fire and—”

“I told Seth I burned my scarecrow. But I didn’t. I hid him instead.”

“I see.” I nodded, frowning. “You lied.”

“It wasn’t really a lie,” Franny said defensively. “Rachel always says that sometimes you have to hold back the truth a little to keep from hurting people—and I’m keeping my Prince Charming from being hurt.” When I didn’t respond right away, she looked almost worried. “You’re proud of me, aren’t you? I just did what I was scared to do.”

I cringed at that. I had a feeling that when the infraction of tradition was eventually discovered, as I was sure it would be, all the blame would go straight to me. I frowned again, already feeling Seth’s wrath.

“Yes,” I said slowly, “I’m proud of you.”

“I knew you would be! See you in the morning, okay?”

Alone once more I curled myself around my pillow, pondering Franny’s words, feeling curiously let down. Good for you, Franny, good for you, don’t ever be like me, empty and afraid. Afraid of being alone. Of being alive. Afraid of the strange things happening around me in this house…

Afraid of Seth.

For it had started that very first moment I’d seen him, framed there in the bedroom doorway.

Watch her. Watch her close.

And it was the worst kind of being afraid, for it was something I couldn’t quite pinpoint or understand.

I only knew that something was very wrong.

That something was very evil.

And that whenever Seth was around, that feeling clamped around my heart with an inescapable doom.

Chapter 9

I WONDERED WHEN DEWEY would come.

As the days slipped by with no word from him, that scene in the barn came back to me on fresh waves of terror, making me more and more frightened and confused. Part of me felt trapped and desperate to leave, while another part reminded me of everyone’s kindness and made me feel guilty for being so afraid. Part of me found immense comfort in the insularity of family, and yet I was haunted by my helplessness, by the knowledge that once again my survival was dependent on someone else.

But there was something more. There was that ever-present, unnerving thought that something wasn’t quite as it should be. But what? The longer Dewey didn’t show up, the more anxious I felt. And even if I could get up the courage to leave, how would I ever find my way back to civilization on my own?

On this particular morning I squinted against the chill and gazed out across the front yard, past the trees, the fields, up, up, all the way to the crooked skyline. Nothing had changed. There still wasn’t a trace of humanity to give me any feeling of hope. But I came here by some route, and if people can come here, they can leave again, and there must be a way to get out.

Nobody ever leaves here…they never have and they never will…

Glancing back over my shoulder, I checked the empty front porch, the windows, upstairs and down. Seth and Micah were supposed to be working in the smokehouse today, and Rachel and Franny had taken Girlie to gather black walnuts. I’d begged off with a headache, which hadn’t aroused suspicion, but I had no intention of staying in bed while everyone was gone. Who knew when I’d have another chance to explore?

Convinced that no one was around, I took off across the yard and began to follow the narrow dirt road that wound off through the woods. Eventually it had to lead to Cranston, didn’t it?—and to Dewey and his supplies and maybe, please God, a telephone? I knew I couldn’t try to leave now. It was too risky without being better prepared. Later—once I had a better sense of the lay of the land—I could gather up some food for the trip. But right now all I wanted to do was chart things out, get some idea of what I’d be facing.

I walked quickly, sliding over rocks and mud in my clumsy shoes, nearly falling as the road took a sudden downward turn that flung me into wild brush and stickers. How strange, I thought, picking my way clear—it was as if the forest had overtaken the road, crushing in from either side to claim the land back again. As if it were determined not to let anyone in. Or out…I pushed the unpleasantry from my mind, but as I continued on, there really did seem to be some conspiracy of nature, and with growing uneasiness, I looked about me at the dense foliage and thick vines all straggling together onto the path, meeting and locking in an impossibly twisted impasse. I stopped, baffled. Where only seconds before there had been two vague tire-ruts in the road, they had now disappeared completely, swallowed up in a tangle of weeds and hunchbacked trees. Shivering a little I pulled my shawl tight around me and glanced up, searching for the sun, but branches had woven overhead, so that only a thin stream of tepid light filtered down beside me. I was closed in, and it wasn’t my imagination that the road had narrowed even more—if I craned my neck and looked hard through the greenish-black shadows up ahead, I could make out the rugged angles of the hills pressing uncomfortably close. There was nothing peaceful or lovely about them now—they were pocked with holes and furrows, jagged rocks and dwarfed stumps.

I realized I couldn’t go any farther in this direction, yet I couldn’t believe that this was the only way out of here. No one could possibly get through this jungle; there had to be another path. But where?

I stood there looking helplessly at the roadblock, then turned away with a resigned sigh. I’d have to be careful if I did any more exploring—it wasn’t going to be easy getting off by myself. As I shuffled back through the leaves, I fought down a wave of despair. I wasn’t even sure anymore just how long I’d really been here; time had a peculiar way of existing in whole different dimensions of fear and strangeness and uncertainties.

My sleeve snagged on a branch, and as I stopped to unsnarl it, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. Off to my left lay a fallen tree, its heavy, gnarled limbs splayed out over the ground and nearly concealing a pathway that led off in another direction. So well was it hidden that I’d never have discovered it if I hadn’t been forced to backtrack. It went for perhaps five feet before vanishing again beneath a low canopy of trees. I hesitated only a moment, casting an anxious look in the direction of the house—then I stepped carefully over the log, determined to see where this discovery led.

Almost immediately I sensed I was in luck. The pathway continued on and on, winding its way through silent woods, burying itself beneath layers of fallen leaves, surfacing again only to weave an endless thread between the hills. I had the distinct feeling that I was descending somehow, leaving the house far above me, just going round and round on a spiral staircase with no bottom. The sky reeled above me, shards of blue and white and spangled sunshine, pinwheeling through the webbed branches overhead like a kaleidoscope. I began to feel a bit dizzy and slowed down to catch my breath. Surely it couldn’t go on much longer—there had to be a breakthrough somewhere.

My foot came down on muddy rocks. As I fell to my knees and angrily righted myself again, I saw something off in the distance which made me stare.

It was sitting well back from the trail, and though there were no fences or gates to mark it, the trees had kept an eerie and respectful distance away, encircling the small clearing with bowed heads and limbs that brushed the earth liked tired old hands.

It was a graveyard.

I approached it slowly, casting a wary glance over my shoulder. It would be so easy for someone to hide in these woods and never be seen—there were dozens of camouflages. It was so quiet…unnaturally so, I realized with a start. And for the first time it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard a single bird since entering the clearing.

Inhaling deeply, I let my eyes roam in a wide radius. Nothing. Not a sound, not a movement anywhere. My breath echoed in my ears like wind down a hollow cave. I reached the edge of the clearing and stopped.

There were no headstones—only five wooden crosses staggering across the windswept ground. I knelt beside the first, brushing away drifts of leaves and dead grass, hoping to find something—a name, an inscription—some clue as to who these people were, resting deep in the earth so near the house. Family, perhaps? Neighbors? Generations of settlers from long ago? Children who had never survived the traumas of birth, the harshness of Ozark winters? The thoughts saddened me, and as my fingers worked at the vines twisted about the cross, I felt an indentation in the wood and ripped the last of the foliage away. To my horror the cross came apart in my hands—the wood so old and rotted that the vines had literally been holding it together. Snatching up the pieces I held them close, mouthing the letters silently as I tried to read the worn, weathered carving on the wood.

John Seth Whittaker.

A relative, then. So this was probably the family plot where all the generations before Seth had finally come to rest. Staring down at them, I felt like a guilty intruder. John Seth Whittaker. Even the name was stern and formidable. Had he been Seth’s father or grandfather? Laying the cross down, I moved on to the other graves. These I could read without disturbing the foliage. Sary Maud Whittaker…Zoe Ruth Whittaker…Elizabeth Darrow Whittaker…Wilburn Seth Whittaker…Another Seth. The family had been full of them. And had they all been like him, I wondered? And had that fierce pride and narrow-mindedness and obsession for order been in their very blood, passed down intact, tainting each new offspring with its strange, frightening power?

Something crackled behind me, and I whirled, my scream lodged, choking me.

Something crept forward, filthy and disheveled, covered with mud and wet black leaves…

“Dewey won’t come,” Girlie said, and her solemn eyes were as big as bowls and her voice was eerie and sad on a breath of cold, cold wind. “Dewey won’t ever come,” she said again. “Not ever.”

And then it was only me, and the awful stillness, and the five silent listeners lying deep, deep beneath my feet.

Chapter 10

“WELL, SHE’S MISTAKEN,” Rachel said matter-of-factly. “She’s just a little girl who likes to make things up.”

“Shoot, Dewey always comes,” Franny joined in, thumping a wad of dough into a neat fat loaf. “Been coming around here for so long now, I reckon it’d snow in July the day he didn’t show up.” She chuckled at her own joke and patted flour onto her palms. “Girlie’s just storying you.”

“She knows Dewey always comes. She was just teasing you, I reckon.” Rachel smiled indulgently and turned back to the stove, but I wasn’t convinced. I had seen that strange, knowing look on Girlie’s face before, and I felt with all my being that she was telling the truth now. But if it was really true, then why wasn’t Dewey coming? And how was I going to get home?

“How’s your head?” Franny asked, and for a second, she caught me offguard. I looked at her blankly and she tapped her forehead. “Your headache.”

“Oh,” I recovered myself. “Much better, thanks.”

“Did you have a nice walk?” Franny asked, and I dropped my head, pretending to study my sleeve. Girlie…of course she would have told them where I was. It wasn’t possible to keep a secret in this house.

“Very much. I’ve never lived in the country. There’s so much to see and appreciate.”

“It helps me, too. Whenever I’m out of heart, just to take a walk in the woods.” Rachel smiled, stirring a pot of beans on the stove, fanning her face with a dish towel.

“The fresh air felt good. I should have gone with you, after all,” I said regretfully. “Oh, I did find an old graveyard while I was exploring.”

Franny thumped the bread again and looked bored. “Oh, that old thing. Shoulda been torn out long ago. Snaky old place. I don’t know why Seth wants to keep it anyhow—”

“Well, it’s family, after all,” Rachel cut in. “And they’re the ones who rightly settled this land, so I reckon they deserve a little place of their own—”

“Lord, Rachel,” Franny sniffed, “they’re dead. Why think about folks after they’re dead?”

I felt a stab through my heart. Brad…Kerry…I can’t stop thinking…I won’t ever stop thinking…

“Did you know them?” I broke in.

“Seth’s sisters. His granddaddy. His Ma and Pa,” Rachel said quietly. “It’s little enough to do for them now.”

“Well, I’m sure they don’t give two hoots about it.” Franny snatched her shawl from a hook by the door. “Gotta see to the chickens. Wanna come along?”

“Can’t I do anything to help?” I asked, but Rachel laughed.

“Mercy, no. I’m the only one who can make any sense out of my kitchen. You run along. Don’t overdo now.”

“No, I won’t.” I slipped my own shawl over my shoulders and looked at her, concerned.

“Rachel…”

“Hmmm?” Such simple sweetness and light, she should have been a painting. Brad would have loved her, to capture that certain essence she had about her.

“You are sure Dewey’s going to come?”

“Now you’re working yourself up over nothing.” She came to me, straightening my shawl, smoothing it over my arms. “I do wish you wouldn’t fret now.”

“I just hope, you know—it’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything—”

“Ssh, I know that. As if you could be.”

“It’s just that people will be worried and wondering about me.” Oh God, why didn’t I tell someone where I was going?

“Now don’t you worry. In all these years Dewey’s never missed a trip. And I reckon your being here won’t make it any different.”

I followed Franny out toward the chicken house, but Rachel’s words kept ringing in my ears. “Your being here won’t make it any different.” And what was it Seth had said to me that day as we’d walked back from the smokehouse—You don’t belong here…you’re not part of it…I was so intent on my thoughts that I stumbled and Franny began to laugh.

“I swear you’re clumsier than a newborn calf.”

“It’s these shoes.” I shook one foot out in front of me. “I feel like I’m wearing army boots.”

“Come on, I wanna show you something.”

“But I thought you were going to see the chickens.”

Her eyes had an evil twinkle. “I fibbed. Come on.”

Grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me across the yard, and onto the path that led to the smokehouse.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Just keep quiet—I don’t want Seth snooping around to see what we’re up to.”

“What are we up to?”

“Hush now. Just come along.”

I had little choice but to follow. As we neared the smokehouse I could hear the pounding of hammers, a low undertone of voices, but Franny held a finger to her lips and pulled me away from the path and deeper into the woods.

“Franny, what—”

“Ssh!” she hissed at me but her eyes were merry, and she guided me expertly as if she’d been this way many times before. As we maneuvered down a narrow incline Franny ducked through an opening in the trees, and I found myself in a small gorge, so completely surrounded by forests and bluffs that it seemed a secret little hiding place all to itself.

“How pretty,” I said, turning slowly to admire the autumn colors all around, the soft, damp earth underfoot, the fleecy clouds bunched like pillows between the laced branches overhead.

“My place,” Franny announced.

“And no one else knows about it?”

“Only Girlie—she knows everything.”

I felt a cold twinge.

“But she wouldn’t tell,” Franny went on. “She likes it here, too. But none of the others know.”

I found it hard to believe that there was any place in the vicinity that Seth wasn’t familiar with, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Instead I nodded, remembering my own girlhood. “It’s nice to have a special place all your own. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I wanted to show you this—”

I turned toward the sound of her voice and gasped. “God, Franny, I thought he was real!”

And for one heart-stopping second, I had thought the scarecrow was real—really Seth in Seth’s clothes, slouched languidly beneath a tree, hat pulled low over his brow, long lean body almost insolent in its casualness.

“Well, I told you he is real,” Franny said, annoyed that she even had to remind me. “I put him here. Nobody will ever find him here.”

“What about Girlie?”

“She hates it when Seth gets mad. She’ll never tell.”

The scarecrow made me uncomfortable. I averted my eyes and rubbed briskly at my arms. It was getting colder.

“Take me with you,” Franny said suddenly, and I spun to face her, surprised.

“What?”

“When Dewey comes—and you go off again—take me with you. Please!”

I wasn’t prepared for this. And now as I stood there, flabbergasted, Franny’s eyes filled slowly with tears.

“You could do it, you know you could—and I wouldn’t be a bother—I wouldn’t cause you any trouble—”

“Franny,”—I finally managed to stammer—“your family would never stand for that, they’d—”

“No, not them—just Seth! Seth’s the only one who’d care. Rachel, she’d be happy for me—”

“Franny, I just couldn’t. Not without their permission. Seth would have to know—”

“No, he wouldn’t. I could hide—they’d all just think I was off somewhere. I could wait for you over where Dewey leaves his truck—”

“Leaves his—so there isn’t a road that comes all the way to the house,” I said. “Then how did Seth get me here in the wagon?”

“Seth never brought you in the wagon.” Franny looked surprised. “He carried you all that way.”

“Carried me!”

“There’s never been a road up here. Seth said so. You have to take a path down the hill—about a mile’s walk—and that runs into another path—and that goes on forever, but it finally turns into a road.”

“And that goes to Cranston?”

Franny nodded, her eyes imploring. “Please, Pam, I wouldn’t be any trouble to you—”

“But what would you do once you got away?” I asked her.

“Do? Why, live with you!”

She was so matter-of-fact that I stared at her stupidly. “With me?”

Her head bobbed up and down. “Oh, Pam, I could learn to be just like you—you’re just like what I’ve always wanted to be.”

“Well…that’s very flattering, Franny, and I appreciate it very much, but—”

“I could learn things real quick and help you forget about all the misery in your life—”

“The…misery…”

“Yes…I’d be lots of company for you with your husband and your little boy gone—”

Something snapped inside me. I gazed at her, my hands knotted into fists at my sides, my whole body freezing, shaking, the earth spinning, the world gone hazy through unshed tears. “What…did…you…say?”

But Franny was rushing on, totally unaware. “Oh, I know you must miss them, Pam, but I’d be such a good friend to you. You’d see. Why, I’d—”

“How…” I took a deep breath and looked down at my clenched hands. They were bleeding where my nails had dug into my flesh. “How…did you know…that?” My voice was deathly calm, my heart racing out of control.

Franny stopped and regarded me with mild surprise. “Know what? Oh, about your little boy? Why, Girlie told me. She—”

“She couldn’t have told you!” I screamed, and Franny jerked back, her expression suddenly worried and unsure.

“Pam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you all—”

“She couldn’t have known that! Do you hear me! She couldn’t have known those things! She’s only a child! She’s never seen me before in her life, and she couldn’t…couldn’t—” My hands flew to my mouth, trying to stop the screams, the hysterical voice that couldn’t be mine, and all around me I could see the world spinning, falling apart, shattering at my feet. “She couldn’t…” I gasped, my heart, the ache, I thought I might at last be dying—“couldn’t…no…no…”

“Oh, Pam…”

I never saw her come toward me. Franny was just there, holding me, making soft comforting noises under her breath, crying for herself and for me, because still, still, I couldn’t release my tears.

“Pam, it’s all right,” she whispered. “You can cry. You can. Nobody will know but me.”

I shook my head fiercely, sick and weary to my very soul. “I can’t, Franny. I just can’t.”

“It’s all right.” She stroked my hair and after a while added, “I’m the only one besides Girlie who knows, and I won’t tell if you don’t want me to.”

“Franny,” I said, leaning near, grasping her hands in mine, “please don’t keep saying those things to me. There must be some way that Girlie found out. If she knows then everyone else probably knows, too.”

“She’s always had that Gift,” Franny went on as if she hadn’t heard. “She knows things nobody else does. Sees what other folks can’t. I guess if I didn’t live with her, she’d be downright scary. But I’m used to her. And she does know, Pam. She really does know. She knew you were coming here.”

I glanced at her, not wanting to hear, but not able to help myself. “What do you mean?”

“We were all at supper. And she looks up from her soup and says to Seth, ‘There’s a lady on the road, and she’s dying and you have to save her.’ And we all just looked at her, and then Rachel, she says, ‘Are you sure, honey?’ And Girlie, she nods and says it again, looking at Seth the whole time, and Seth says, ‘It’s none of our affair.’ And Rachel says, ‘It is our affair if someone’s in trouble and dying, and we can’t ignore it.’ And Seth starts cussing and says he wishes to hell Girlie would stop, he can’t keep bringing strangers here and upsetting everything just ’cause Girlie knows about them, and then—”

“Wait,” I stopped her, my hand numb on her arm. “Do you mean this has happened, before?”

Franny regarded me levelly, but I was sure. I’d seen something just then, a flicker of what?—fear?—deep in her eyes as she grew silent for a moment. At last she said, “She knows when people have trouble on that road. And when they get lost. When their cars break down. You know. And Girlie, she always tells us.”

I stared at her, not sure I believed her. For some reason I felt there was something more, something she wasn’t telling me.

“And then what happens…to all the people who come here, I mean?”

“Oh…” Franny’s eyes flicked away, her tone dismissive. “Well…they just go home again, I reckon.”

“You reckon? You mean you don’t know?”

She seemed agitated. “Well, they always walk over with Dewey to where he leaves his truck, and I never go with them. Seth won’t let me go. Scared I’ll run off.” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t mind strangers coming around. Specially when they’re in trouble. Like you were in trouble.”

Slowly I said, “That must be hard for all of you, though. Being private like you are, but feeling a sense of…duty. To help people.”

“Duty?” Franny mulled this over. “Oh, it was more than duty.” She seemed to relax now, her guard down. “Like I was saying, that night you came, then Girlie says, ‘You have to bring her here.’ And Seth says, ‘Why?’ and Girlie says, ‘’Cause I made her real to be my friend.’”

A whiff of wood smoke ruffled my hair, stirred the leaves restlessly around my feet. I raised my eyes skyward, saw the sun starting a weary descent behind the gray latticework of bare trees.

“And you know what I thought then?” Franny’s expression was puzzled. “I thought, it’s like Girlie already knows—like she already knows this lady who’s coming to our house that none of the rest of us know.”

I like you, Pam…I liked you even before you were real…My own scarecrow image came back to me, and I shut my mind against it, forcing my eyes to the ground, my fingers spread stiffly at my sides.

“There must have been something,” I said stubbornly. “My purse. Identification. Something.”

“No.” Franny shook her head, leaning back against a tree trunk, cocking her head at me. “You didn’t have a thing when Seth found you. He said so.”

“Maybe he was lying.”

Franny weighed this possibility, then raised an eyebrow. “Even if you had a pocketbook with you, which you didn’t, or a suitcase, which you didn’t, or papers or letters or whatever, which you didn’t—how would Girlie know about your little boy and your husband being dead?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, and I knew what she was saying was true. No one would have known about Brad and Kerry—no one could have even known their names. I knew there had been photos of them in my wallet—but if my purse really had burned in the fire…you just don’t want to believe…you just can’t believe…

“I know it’s hard to figure,” Franny said sympathetically, “but that’s just the way Girlie is. I don’t try to know about it. I just have to believe it’s so. Course, it’s easier for me ’cause I live with her. I see it happen over and over again.”

I scraped my hand deliberately across the bark of a tree, welcoming the pain of something tangible. “Doesn’t it ever frighten you?”

“Oh, sure.” Franny shrugged. “But I reckon I’m mostly used to it by now.” She gazed at me with open curiosity. “And you? You’re scared by it?”

“A little,” I admitted wearily. “So much has happened to me lately, I guess I’m a little shaky about life in general.” I lowered myself onto a cushion of leaves and shut my eyes against the sharp, cold sting of the wind.

After a long while Franny said, “Wanna talk about it?”

And I opened my eyes again, staring off into the past, steeling myself against the pictures I didn’t want to see. “It was a car accident. A drunk driver crossed the center line and hit us. My husband”—I drew a deep breath, plunged on—“was killed. And my son. He was two years old.”

The silence stretched on, deep and hopeless as pain, and after what seemed an eternity, Franny sighed and reached out to cover my hand with her own. “I’m so sorry, Pam. It’s not right what happened to you. But you’re lucky, not like me. You can find you another man. Have more babies!’

So simple. Everything so tidy and practical. If the balance is upset, you make it right again. Two gains for two losses. Mustn’t have anything out of order.

“I don’t think so, Franny,” I said shortly.

“Well, maybe not now, but someday,” she predicted. “I had this old dog who died, but later on I had me another one. Later on it wasn’t so hard to love a dog again.”

I couldn’t help but smile. The pain in my heart had eased a little and I inhaled deeply, waves of frost and ash and damp earth and wet leaves.

“Micah, too.” Franny stretched her legs out in front of her, frowned, unlaced a boot and shook it upside-down till a pebble fell out. “He had him a possum once—fed him by hand and everything. That thing was tame as a lamb—but only to Micah—nobody else could get near it. He was plumb torn up when it got killed.”

“What happened to it?”

“Seth shot it.”

“Oh, God, why?”

“Well…” Franny gave her boot a final shake and yanked her sock high up over her knee. “He thought maybe it had rabies. It bit Rachel and he just shot it.”

“What happened to Rachel?”

“Oh, she was fine. Girlie healed her right up.”

“So what you’re saying is, you really weren’t sure if the possum was rabid or not.”

She shook her head. “Seth was afraid it’d get after the chickens. Rachel was mighty upset.”

“Well, why didn’t they just let Girlie heal the possum so Micah could keep it?”

Franny shook her head. “I don’t know. Rachel was just upset about it, that’s all.”

“And did it ever get after the chickens?”

“No, he was just thinking it might, I reckon.”

“But that’s horrible.” I couldn’t believe it. “How could he have done that?”

“That’s Seth.” Franny crammed her shoe back on. “Micah, he didn’t get over that for a long, long time.”

I picked up a twig and scratched angrily in the dirt, thinking of the unfairness of it all. After several seconds I said, “Tell me about Micah.”

Her hands froze, shoelaces curled limply between her fingers. She cast me a quick look, then lowered her eyes, hands moving again, slowly. “Like…what about Micah?”

“Well, just anything.” I was watching her curiously, wondering at the hesitation. “I hardly ever see him. I just wondered about him.”

“He’s shy,” Franny reminded me.

“But I never see him around the house. Only occasionally at meals, and then I never hear him talk. It’s almost as if he were a ghost—something you always hear about but never see.” I meant it as a joke, but Franny looked strained.

“I…I can’t talk about Micah.”

Funny…the very thing Rachel said to me before…“Why not?” I didn’t mean to be rude, but Franny was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

“I just can’t, that’s why. Seth wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh.” I looked at her quizzically, wondering at the shadow that seemed to pass over her face.

“So…will you take me with you?” Her eyes were so desperate again, so beseeching, that my heart twisted within me.

“Franny…” I didn’t know what to say. Franny could help me find the way to Cranston—but I couldn’t sneak her away from her family. That would be no thanks for all the kindness they’d shown me. No—no, it was out of the question.

“If you don’t,” she said softly, “I’ll just grow old and die here. I’ll never be like you. I’ll never know what it’s like to have a boy love me…or have a sweet little baby…or…see anything besides this house and these hills and Seth…”

Seth. My heart clutched. I couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Franny…I…I just can’t. It would be wrong.”

“Wrong?” Her eyes darkened, a derisive laugh escaping before her eyes clouded with tears. “Wrong?” Her voice trembled with disappointment. “You just don’t know how wrong everything is already.”

“Franny, wait—”

But she raced off through the woods, ignoring my calls. For a moment I stared after her, uncertain what to do, and then, as my eyes swept the hollow, I saw her scarecrow, sprawled and hidden there with all her beautiful dreams, his eerie familiarity compelling me to look back in a kind of helpless fascination.

I felt like a traitor.

And the scarecrow mocked me with Seth’s eyes.

Chapter 11

“IT’S JUST NOT LIKE Dewey…” Rachel sighed and pushed back a stray wisp of hair with the back of her hand. “He should have been here by now.”

My fingers tightened around my fork, and I stabbed at the chunk of ham on my plate. I looked over at Girlie, but her head was bowed over her milk, and if she even heard she gave no sign.

“He’ll be along,” Seth said, reaching for the skillet of corn bread in the middle of the table. “Eat up, Franny.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I couldn’t bear looking at her. She hadn’t spoken a word to me all day, not since our talk at her secret place.

“You’ve got to eat, honey.” Rachel patted her hand encouragingly. “That’s not enough to keep a bird alive.”

“Where’s Micah?” I asked. I really was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined him all this time.

“He’ll be along.” Seth leaned forward, resting his dusty elbows on the clean tablecloth. “He says that damn fence is out again. I just fixed it last month.”

“The bottom acre?” Rachel glanced at him. “Will you go tomorrow?”

“Have to wait and see what the weather’s like.”

Rachel smiled. “That surely is pretty country down along there.” She put her coffee cup down, her face brightening as a thought occurred to her. “Seth, if you go down there tomorrow, why don’t you take Pamela along with you?”

A look of shock surfaced before I could stop it, and I struggled to compose myself. Girlie glanced up, at Seth…at me…

“I’m not sure I’m really up to it—” I began, but Rachel interrupted, clearly disappointed.

“Course, I wouldn’t want to tire you out…it’s just so pretty down there. You’ll never see land like this back in your California, I reckon.”

Seth was ignoring us, yet I sensed irritation just beneath his cool exterior.

“You’ll come, too?” I asked Rachel quickly.

“Mercy, no. Tomorrow’s wash day. I’ll be stuck here by that old stove for hours,” she said, as if she didn’t really mind at all.

“Well, then, I’ll stay and help—”

“Why, the fresh air and a walk will do you a world of good, and Franny’s all the help I’ll need. Might be your last chance to see our place before Dewey comes.”

“She’ll just be in the way,” Seth spoke up, and for once I welcomed the insult.

“Seth!” Rachel regarded him with embarrassment. “Pamela’s our company—”

He pushed back from the table and stood up. “I know what she is—trouble. Just like any outsider. I’ll be glad when Dewey does get here.”

Rachel flushed as Seth left the room. Franny stood up silently and began gathering up the plates, scraping them fiercely into a tin pan on the stove. Girlie took another long swallow of her milk, licking slowly at the thin white mustache it left on her upper lip.

“I’m…I’m really sorry,” Rachel said, her eyes soft and unhappy. “He doesn’t mean anything by it—”

“Yes, he does,” Franny said flatly. “I don’t know why you keep sticking up for him…or why you keep trying to protect everybody—”

“Franny—” Rachel’s lips tightened and she clasped her hands together on the table.

“I don’t care.” Franny spun and her face was hard. “You hear me, Rachel? I just don’t care!”

The screen door banged and we all jumped. Micah stood there growing red in the face as we all stared at him. Franny dropped the spoon she was holding and flounced from the room while Rachel stood up hurriedly and pulled out Micah’s chair.

“Here, you look starved to death.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled, but she only patted his shoulder in an absentminded way.

“Doesn’t matter. Go on now, and eat.”

“It’s my fault,” I said miserably, then wished I hadn’t. If anyone found out what Franny had proposed to me, she might be in serious trouble, and even worse, I’d be implicated along with her. But now Rachel was watching me, waiting for some explanation, and so I rushed on. “I’m afraid we had rather a bad disagreement today. She’s not very happy with me at the moment.”

“Oh,” Rachel dismissed it sweetly, “she’ll get over it. She’s just touchy. I think it’s the age. I remember days like that—one up, one down. Oh, I’d hate to be that young again. It’s such a scary time.” Her eyes clouded a moment then regarded me with forced cheerfulness. “By tomorrow she won’t even remember it.”

“I hope you’re right.” I was relieved not to have been pressed further, and as I got up from the table I caught Micah stealing a look at me. He blushed and quickly looked away. We had the kitchen clean in no time, even without Franny’s help. As I dried the dishes I listened to Rachel and Girlie singing silly, senseless songs that made Girlie double over with glee. Even Rachel looked younger as they sang, and I couldn’t help wondering as I watched her softly animated face if there had ever been a time when she hadn’t had cares and responsibilities. Somehow I felt she had been born old and wise with that inner serenity I envied. And I knew I could never be like her, playing her role in this strange, secretive family. I frowned, remembering what Franny had said only moments before, “…you keep trying to protect everybody.”

Girlie’s shriek of laughter brought me back to the present, and I glanced over at Micah who was poking his fork disinterestedly into a wedge of apple pie. He avoided my eyes, and I wished there was some way I could talk to him alone. What had happened since his frantic warning to me? Why hadn’t he approached me further about leaving? Even Rachel was beginning to think Dewey’s lateness unusual, and Girlie’s grim prediction kept going round and round in my head—that Dewey was never coming at all.

As the songfest ended and Rachel rolled down her sleeves again, I thought I’d finally have my chance to confront Micah, but much to my frustration, Rachel shepherded all of us into the parlor where Seth was moodily smoking his pipe and staring out the window. He pointedly ignored me and gave no response to any kind when Rachel sat down at the organ and asked me if I could play.

“No,” I told her, trying to catch Micah’s eye. “But I’d love it if you would.”

“Oh, I’m not really that good,” Rachel said modestly, “and this old thing’s so out of tune you can’t hardly tell what the song’s supposed to be. But…” her fingers danced lovingly over the keys, “still,” she smiled softly, “it does soothe me to play it now and then….”

She glanced at Seth who continued staring out into the darkness, and I thought I detected a sigh of disappointment. It was Micah who looked up from his spot on the floor in front of the fire, where he and Girlie were trying to spin a top across the braided rug.

“Play, Mama. Please.”

The look she threw him was shy, grateful. “Well…” She began nervously at first, her hands poised over the keys, feet pumping, humming a little under her breath, and then, like ripples in water, the notes rose and spread, swelling into a hollow discord that was sweet to hear. For the next hour we stayed just as we were—me snuggled beneath a quilt, Micah and Girlie lost in their tedious game, Seth staring and smoking, and Rachel, dear Rachel, going from one song to another without hardly a break in between, her fingers flying, her voice carrying the music beyond the off-key confines of the organ. The fire was so warm…the music so restful…after a while my eyes drooped and I felt myself floating on a safe cloud…

I’m not certain what woke me. I sat up with a start, blinking sleepily, trying to remember where I was. The room was bathed in deep shadows—the lamps had burned low, and the flickering fire sent pulsing shapes up the walls, making the little room throb with a repressed life of its own. Seth’s chair was empty; there was no one on the rug beside the hearth. I shook my head, trying to clear it, wondering uneasily why everyone had gone off and left me.

I got up slowly, crossing to the window where the frosty air scraped branches across the glass like groping fingers. The yard was awash with silver, a ghostly moon bobbing among the trees and torn ribbons of clouds. A light fog crept up from the woods like smoke, swirling around the tree trunks and the corners of the house. I hugged myself against the damp and turned around to go.

The eyes were watching me from the darkness.

For one split second my scream caught in my throat—I stumbled over the edge of the rug and flung my arms out for balance, feeling instantly the cold clutch of human fingers on mine…

“Girlie!”

I was shaking so badly I collapsed in a heap on the nearest bench, watching the little figure take human form in a pale circle of firelight. Her eyes were so large and serious that I had the fleeting impression of an owl’s head superimposed on a child’s body, and I stared at her with a strange feeling of unreality.

“Oh, Girlie, you frightened me half to—”

“Ssh…” One tiny finger went to her lips, and my words trailed off into silence. “Ssh,” she whispered again and then motioned that she wanted me to come.

“What the—” I began, but she disappeared into the shadows, and I got up at once to follow. She passed noiselessly through the kitchen, seeming to float, not walk, and as I stumbled along behind, trying to dodge furniture without making a sound, I saw her pause at the back door, her finger still held to her lips. I stopped, straining my ears for a sound from upstairs, but there was nothing, and after another moment she slipped so silently through the door that I wondered crazily if she had passed right through the screen.

I was glad I had warm clothes on. The wind whipped up beneath my skirt, and as I followed Girlie across the yard, my lungs began to ache. Girlie seemed oblivious to the weather, hurrying purposely along without even a candle to guide her, drawn to some destination with curious intensity. With growing uneasiness I wondered what I was doing out here, if it was some sort of trap, and as my feet faltered I glanced around nervously, remembering that terrifying night in the barn. The yard was translucent; even Girlie seemed unreal, wraithlike as she shimmered along ahead of me in her white nightgown, eyes seeing perfectly in the dark, steering us unhesitatingly through shadows…trees…around the sides of the barn…

I hurried breathlessly around the last corner and stopped in confusion.

Girlie had disappeared.

Night shadows clung to the eaves of the old building, shifting shapes all around me, but none of them was Girlie.

I was alone.

Fear gripped me then, the sickening reality of having trusted and been fooled, and as I turned to flee, a little hand came out of nowhere and wrapped around mine like a cold glove.

“Oh, Girlie, you—”

“Ssh.” It was darker here—much darker—yet still I could see her eyes, round and full and knowing, shining through the gloom. I felt a tug on my hand, and then cautiously, reluctantly, I followed her into the barn.

Blackness swallowed us like a living thing. I hung back, braced in the doorway, silently berating myself for being so stupid, when all at once there was a scratch and a hiss, and a lamp sputtered to life. The barn glowed into hazy focus. Girlie held the lantern above her head, stared at me, then beckoned me to follow.

The animals stirred restlessly as we passed. As we neared the far wall I felt my suspicions rising—still I could see nothing that might justify my being spirited from the house in the middle of the night. But just as I was about to demand an explanation, Girlie set the lamp on the floor, dug some straw away with her fingers, and pointed to a spot beside her bare feet.

Puzzled, I went forward, narrowing my eyes in the half-light. And then I saw it. A metal ring. About six inches in diameter, it seemed to be attached to the floor.

I glanced at Girlie uncertainly, the tang of fear in my throat. She made a motion with her hand, indicating that I should pull the ring,

I stared back at her, not moving. Girlie had said she liked me, that I was her friend…surely she hadn’t lured me out here to trick me, to lead me straight into some terrible danger…

I looked at her, unable to move. And then I saw a glimmer in her eyes, a knowing, as if she completely understood my reluctance—and as she gave an almost imperceptible nod, she went down on her knees and began tugging at the ring herself. Sheepishly I knelt beside her, and as I gripped the cold metal, she gave me an odd little smile.

The handle was heavier than it looked. I tugged once…twice…and on the third try I finally felt a section of the floor come loose and pull away, raising like a lid from a black hole below.

It looked like a bottomless pit.

As a rush of cold, dank air struck my face, I gasped and closed my eyes. When I looked again, Girlie was disappearing into the hole, taking the lamp with her. “Here,” she whispered, and her voice echoed hollowly throughout the barn. I cast an anxious glance over my shoulder and followed her below, trying to shake off the awful feeling we were being watched.

The room flickered into focus, a tiny space only about six feet square. It was musty and cold, and a thick layer of dust and straw littered the floor. In one corner lay a smelly pile of blankets and rugs. Without the lamp the place would have been totally and hopelessly dark.

“What is this, Girlie? Some sort of cellar?” Yet I didn’t see any windows, any shelves, no jars or kegs to suggest any sort of storage. When she didn’t answer, I glanced over and saw her staring at the clump of blankets. “What, Girlie? What is it?”

I followed her gaze down onto the floor, shivering a little, wondering what it was that had her attention—a rat?—a spider? And still she said nothing, only stared and stared at the untidy heap on the floor.

I watched it for several long moments, making sure it didn’t move. “Girlie, there’s nothing there,” I said.

But I was wrong.

As I moved the lamp closer and began pulling the blankets away from the wall, I saw what she was looking at.

I saw the steel rings protruding from the wall, and the lengths of rusty chain that hung from each, coiling in a tangle upon the straw. And the way some of the straw was matted. And how it looked dark and brown like very old blood that had dried…

“Girlie—” I choked, and when I looked up, her huge, scary eyes throbbed with tears.

“Sometimes Micah has to stay here,” she said. “But not much more—”

“What? What are you saying—”

“Not much more,” her voice wavered, sending a chill straight through my heart, and her whisper echoed emptily in the gloom. “Micah’s going to die.”

Chapter 12

BY SOME MIRACLE WE made it back to the house before anyone missed us. Warming my frozen hands at the fire, I was surprised to see the mantel clock had only crept ahead by minutes. I felt half my life had been taken from me in those last heart-stopping seconds. Now Girlie wouldn’t talk to me, not a word, and as she sat on the hearth, I fought to compose myself, hearing Rachel’s familiar step in the hall.

“There you are, Miss Girlie, I’ve been looking all over for you!” Rachel held out her hand, and Girlie obediently took it. “And I see you’re awake now, too!” Rachel patted my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to go off and leave you like that. I went to check on Franny and we talked a while.”

“Is she still upset with me?”

Rachel paused, looking apologetic. “She didn’t tell me what happened between the two of you today. But please don’t worry. I’m sure she just overreacted.”

“I don’t want it to be like this,” I said truthfully. “I like Franny so much—”

“Oh, and she likes you.” Rachel gave me a hug. “Just like we all do. Ready for bed now?”

“I guess we are.” I glanced at Girlie, nodding. “We went out and looked at the moon and told some fine stories, didn’t we, Girlie?”

“Ah, so that’s where you ran off to,” Rachel scolded lovingly, guiding Girlie up the stairs. “Well, now, Pamela, I’m sure you have a friend for life.”

We said our good-nights, and I went to my room, closing the door gratefully. My hands were shaking as I undressed and climbed into bed, and I pulled the covers up snugly, knowing they’d do little to assuage the chill inside me.

Chains! And that clotted mass of straw and blood…

“My God, what’s going on here?” The sound of my own voice helped steady me somewhat, yet I huddled there miserably, racking my brain, trying to make sense of it all. Micah…going to die? But why? How? Another of Girlie’s little prophecies—out of the mouths of babes. But hadn’t she been right about other things…things she couldn’t possibly, possibly have known…things I still didn’t want to believe…didn’t dare to believe. But I have to believe them, how can I not believe them when they’re true…I don’t know how…but they are…

Stop it! I told myself sternly. There had to be an explanation for everything—some logical, albeit strange, explanation for everything that was happening here. I thought of that little room again and shuddered. It was obviously meant to be hidden, and something—some wounded something—had very definitely been chained down there. Micah?

The whole suggestion seemed preposterous. Micah with his angelic face who was too shy even to look at me straight on; Micah who had promised to help me leave this place, then mysteriously seemed to forget; Micah who was hardly ever around…“Sometimes Micah has to stay here.” But why? It seemed impossible to me that Micah would ever need to be punished for anything, even more impossible that anyone could have the heart to chain him up.

But of course I knew that there was one person who could be capable of such a thing.

Seth.

Sitting up in bed, I clutched my pillow tight against my chest. Seth. Yes, he’d surely have the stomach for such a distasteful job—but his own son? As obsessively protective of his family as Seth was, it seemed unlikely that he could ever be cruel to Micah. No, it had to be something more, something I was altogether missing. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let my mind race back over the days I’d been here…what I’d seen…what I’d heard…So many times I’d wondered where Micah was, why I hadn’t seen him in the house or at meals or doing some outside job. How everytime I’d brought up his name, I’d been met with some evasive answer, brushed off with excuses of how shy he was. With growing unease I revisualized how specifically reluctant everyone had been to discuss Micah with me. But why? Drawing my legs up, I rested my forehead wearily on my knees. Both Franny and Rachel had said, “I can’t talk about Micah.”

A shiver convulsed me. I gathered the blankets around me, and huddled there, willing myself to stop shaking, to think clearly. “I can’t talk about Micah.”—and what else had Franny said after that—“Seth wouldn’t like it.” My fingers plucked nervously at the bedclothes. Seth wouldn’t like it. At the time I’d merely passed it off as part of his suspicious nature. But now a different perspective entered my head—was there something about Micah that Seth, that the women were trying to hide? I rocked back and forth, slowly, thinking. Something else was gnawing at me, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. There was something else pushing me to remember—but what?

Thoroughly frustrated, I closed my eyes, picturing the house hidden in its hollow, the black endless hills that enclosed it from the world. A person could disappear forever up here, never be found again. When Micah had warned me behind the house that day, he’d made my being here seem so dangerous and mysterious, and I hadn’t understood.

He’d made it sound as if I had to escape, not just leave.

Now I thought back to Rachel’s concern about Dewey, how he should have been here by now, how it wasn’t like him to be off-schedule after all these years. I thought of Girlie’s unsettling announcement that Dewey wasn’t coming. And all the strange things that Girlie had said to me that she couldn’t have known. And now this—that Micah was going to die.

Part of me fought back panic at the thought. Girlie had refused to say any more about it when I’d pressed her for details, just staring at me with her wet, tragic eyes until I’d had to steel myself not to shake her. I didn’t know what to do—say something to Micah? Warn Seth? Tell Rachel? Even if I did, would they even believe me? And what about Micah’s plan to get me out of here—had it been a game? Was he still playing it? Should I encourage him to come with me and escape his fate? Should I even trust him at all?

And that’s when I realized what had been nagging me all this time, what had been slowly curling its icy fingers around my heart.

It had been just this evening, when Franny had flared up in the kitchen, angry with me and Rachel and the whole unfair world—her words as she’d stood there, scraping meat scraps and garbage into the big tin—“Why you keep trying to protect everybody.” Meat scraps and garbage so much like the rancid smell in the dirt, in the straw that was dried brown with old blood…

Why you keep trying to protect everybody—

And I rolled over, breathing deeply of the damp, chilled air…I can’t talk about Micah…thinking how Girlie had tried to tell me…thinking of his sweet angelic face…Sometimes Micah has to stay here…not wanting to believe…Micah’s going to die.

Chapter 13

“HAVE YOU CHANGED YOUR mind about going?” Rachel asked me, glancing over at Seth who was buttering a thick stack of pancakes.

This was the earliest I’d ever been up, but the truth of it was that I hadn’t slept a wink all night. I glanced across at Franny picking listlessly at her food, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“I’m…I’m really kind of tired,” I gave what I hoped was a disappointed shrug, but before Rachel could answer, Seth shoved back his chair and got up.

“Won’t be going anywhere today.”

“Oh?” Rachel smiled up at him, as if every word he uttered was of the utmost importance.

“Got that smokehouse to finish, and it looks like rain. I’ll have to go another time.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow,” Rachel consoled me.

I averted my eyes quickly so she wouldn’t see the relief there. “Yes…maybe I’ll feel better.”

“You just rest up today then. Do you like to read?”

I stared at the empty place beside her, trying to keep my mind on what she was. saying. “Yes, very much. Uh…where’s Micah?”

“Lord only knows. Outside somewhere. In his own little world, I reckon.”

I gripped my fork so tightly that it hurt. Girlie picked up her spoon and began to lick it slowly, watching me the whole time.

“I never see him. Doesn’t he like being inside?” I asked casually.

“About as much as an animal likes a cage.” She passed me more bacon but I shook my head. “There’s a few books in the front room if you want to look at them. I’m afraid they’re pretty old, though, and not up-to-date—”

“This whole place is old and not up-to-date,” Franny muttered.

There was a stab of fear in the air—I felt it just as surely as my own intake of breath—and as I glanced up at Seth, I didn’t like the expression I saw.

“Why don’t you go think about what you just said.” Seth’s voice was low with controlled fury, and he never batted an eye, not even when Franny jumped up and stormed outside, slamming the door behind her.

“She didn’t mean anything,” Rachel said gently. “She’s just—”

“Ungrateful,” Seth finished. “And disrespectful.”

“She’s restless,” Rachel reminded him. “All girls her age are. Aren’t you going to finish your—”

“I don’t care about other girls her age.” Seth drained the last of his coffee and strode to the door. “Franny doesn’t know how lucky she is.”

I gritted my teeth as he banged the door behind him, and Rachel sighed, smoothing back a strand of Girlie’s hair. I wished I had the nerve to tell him that Franny wasn’t totally wrong, that this whole place was like a backward alien world. Instead I met Girlie’s vacant eyes and said nothing, feeling another twinge of guilt that my refusal to take Franny away with me was still contributing to her foul mood.

“I really think things will be better once I leave,” I told Rachel truthfully,

“Oh, Pamela, please—this doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I’m afraid it does,” I said, not wanting to give too much away.

“She’s moody, that’s all it is. She’d be that way whether you were here or not.”

“Do you think Dewey might come today?” I looked anxiously out the window as if my saying the words might somehow conjure up his arrival.

“I’m just as worried as I can be.” Rachel turned her cup slowly around and around on the tabletop. “I just can’t figure what’s held him up. It’s not like him to be so late…and I’m almost out of salt.” She paused, then laughed lightly. “Will you listen to me—here I am fretting over salt while you’re so worried about getting home.”

So she really did understand. Somehow her statement made me feel better. I wasn’t a prisoner here and never had been. Rachel was just as concerned as I was that I get back home, where I belonged.

She gave Girlie a playful swat on the rear and began spooning food onto a clean plate. “I wish Micah would come have something. I swear he’d starve to death if we didn’t remind him to eat.”

The dank hole…the chains…it doesn’t make sense. I blocked the image from my mind and spoke up eagerly. “I’ll be glad to go and find him.”

“Well, that’s sweet of you, but Girlie can usually find where he’s hiding—”

“No, really, I don’t mind,” I said cheerfully. “I’d like to walk a bit after that good breakfast.”

Rachel stared at me. “But I thought you weren’t up to walking today.”

My eyes remained on hers, my mind racing. “Well…I just meant I’m not up to walking long distances. In fact, I was just thinking maybe some fresh air would be good for me.

“Well, you’re probably right about that, but you hardly ate enough to even fill you up,” she scolded laughingly. “All right, then. Thank you, Pamela.”

I followed Girlie out back, feeling strangely—what?—disappointed? What had I expected anyway, secrets and mysterious looks when Micah’s name was mentioned? Frantic excuses for his absence? Hurried cover-ups for his whereabouts? Suddenly last night’s fears seemed very silly. For all I knew, Girlie’s overactive imagination had entangled me in a favorite tale of make-believe: an old abandoned cellar, a brown stain on some straw, some chains in a wall that had probably been used to hold barrels in place…Yes, suddenly I felt more than a little foolish.

Seth’s prediction wasn’t unfounded. As Girlie and I headed into the woods I felt weighted down with dampness, and the sky hung low and black. Before we’d gone ten yards I heard the first patter of raindrops on leaves, but it stayed at a sprinkle, so we went on. I was ready to turn toward the smokehouse, but Girlie, after pausing and gauging the air, turned the opposite way. I hesitated, remembering that Franny’s secret place lay somewhere in that general direction, but when Girlie gave me an impatient wave, I followed reluctantly.

I needn’t have been so concerned. We heard the raised voices before we even reached the hollow.

“Franny, what are you doing?”

“Micah, get out of here, you got no right!”

“If Seth found out, he’d skin you alive, and you know it!”

“Well, he’s not gonna find out unless you tell him!”

I stood there looking guiltily at Girlie. “Let’s go,” I hissed, but she only took hold of my hand and pulled me closer.

“Get rid of it, Franny.” Micah was speaking again, and there was something in his tone, a terrible urgency that frightened me.

“I won’t. You can’t make me. He’s my dream man and he belongs to me—”

“He’s just a dumb old scarecrow—”

“He’s not! Don’t you call him that!”

“Franny, please! Something awful might happen if you don’t get rid of it. Please, Franny, put it in the trash heap now and I’ll take a match to it. Seth won’t ever have to know.”

“I won’t, you hear me?” A sharp note of hysteria had crept into Franny’s voice, and as I heard a sudden movement through the brush, some instinct made me grab Girlie and haul her back with me into the cover of the trees. A second later Micah crashed through the woods just inches from where we were hidden. His face wore a grim expression of fear.

“You hear me?” Franny shouted again. “Micah? You hear? He’s mine. I’m not giving him up just ’cause Seth says I have to! It’s not good enough!”

I’m not certain how long we stood there, Girlie and I, pressed against each other in the shadows. It started to really rain then, big fat drops that plopped down all around us, thick and cold like globs of melted ice. I prayed Franny would never know we’d eavesdropped—I felt I’d betrayed her enough already. After a long while when she still didn’t appear, I gave Girlie a nudge and we hurried back toward the house, racing across the yard just as the sky opened up and soaked us to the skin. Rachel met us at the door, laughing, and after I babbled something about not being able to find Micah, I saw his golden head bent over the table where he was finishing his breakfast.

“Why, he just now came in. Here, get out of those wet things,” Rachel shook her head in amusement as Girlie took a step and slid in a puddle across the floor.

“I’m fine, really,” I assured her. “I’ll just dry off by the fire.”

“All right, but put a blanket around you.” Rachel steered Girlie down the hall and I heard them whispering as they went upstairs. It was a relief to be in, but as I looked down at Micah, the whole scene in the woods rushed back to me, and I began to shiver.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked him conversationally. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you even remember talking to me that day? Did I imagine the whole thing?

He shook his head, though I could see his clothes clinging to him damply, outlining his thin shoulders, his wiry arms…Sometimes Micah has to stay here…I turned abruptly to the stove and filled a cup from the ever-ready coffeepot. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to be by the fire, its light, its warmth…

The parlor was deserted. I pulled a blanket around me and perched on the hearth, cupping my hands around my coffee, squinting through the steam that caressed my face. I closed my eyes, letting out a weary sigh. When I opened them again, Micah was standing there looking down at me.

My heart leaped, but my voice managed to come out sounding calm. “Micah, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He looked so small beside me now, his skin so fair, his eyes that startling blue of midsummer skies. His build was so slight that he seemed only a little boy, and for one split second I actually had to fight back a crazy urge to smooth the damp hair from his forehead. A slight flush crept over his cheeks as I stared at him, so I tactfully redirected my eyes to my cup. The silence stretched between us, yet I had the distinct feeling that he was trying to work up nerve to tell me something. At last I peered up at him again.

“Micah, what is it?”

He threw a wild glance toward the door; his hand clenched at his side as he leaned toward me. “I…Dewey…”

My mind leaped at the name. I, too, leaned forward, my voice a whisper that matched his. “What?”

“Dewey—” he began, but just then Rachel came down the stairs and into the hall, and Micah recoiled from me as if he’d been burned. Trying to conceal my annoyance, I settled back in my place, forcing a smile as Rachel came into the room.

“I think she’s part duck, she loves the water so!” She laughed as she hung Girlie’s clothes neatly over the firescreen and moved it nearer the heat. “I reckon it’s all right. She never seems to get sick.”

Physician heal thyself…I frowned at the random thought and Rachel slipped an arm around my shoulders.

“Are you getting warm?”

“Yes, thanks. This feels wonderful.”

Micah was staring out the window, not saying a word. Rachel patted his shoulder as she passed him, and he ducked his head.

“Gonna stay in for a while?” she asked him.

“I reckon.” He gave a small nod and she ruffled his hair. I waited for her to go back to the kitchen, but to my frustration she sat down in the rocking chair and picked up a basket of sewing.

“Mercy, this mending’s the biggest bother on God’s green earth, but I reckon it’s gotta be done.” She allowed herself a resigned sigh and began to rock gently back and forth as she threaded a needle. I bit my lip and stared at Micah’s back. He would never talk to me now.

“Well, this one’s past hope,” Rachel announced good-naturedly, dropping a sock to the side. “Guess we’ll put it in the scrap bag. Could be some scarecrow’s Sunday best come spring, right, Micah?”

The boy gave a vague nod and looked down at his boots.

“Mercy, all that fuss we go through…” Rachel smiled, and her fingers flew swiftly, in and out, with the needle. “It’s almost sad when they have to go.”

I felt an impassive mask settle slowly across my face. “I don’t know why you couldn’t just keep them.”

“Keep them, Pamela?” Rachel eyed me in mild surprise.

“Yes, you know. From year to year.”

“Oh, we couldn’t do that. They have their season, like everything else. Why, to keep them alive would be…unnatural. Like a person outliving his time.” Her eyes locked with mine, holding them with a composure I found strangely unsettling. I tried to look away but couldn’t.

“But they’re not people,” I reminded her.

“It’s wrong to go against nature, Pamela.” Her voice, like a silken thread, wove around me gently.

An icy finger worked its way up my spine. I tore my eyes from hers and saw that my blanket had slipped off my shoulders. Micah put his hand slowly to his head but never moved his eyes from the rug.

“I guess…” I said lamely, “I guess I just find them so fascinating.”

“They are fascinating, aren’t they?” She rocked and sewed, the creak of her chair, the popping of coals, the tick of the clock. “And it’s funny how so many of them end up looking just like the people who made them. Reminds you of God a little, doesn’t it—though I expect I’m being blasphemous even to mention such a thing.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “Scarecrows have the same problems we do. They’re at the mercy of the elements. They don’t have any say about how they’re going to look when they’re created.”

“You’re right. My, I never thought of that, did you, Micah?” But still the boy said nothing and Rachel added, “I’ve always liked them being here just to brighten up the place. But Seth, well, he only sees them as things to scare away the birds.”

“It’s all in the way one looks at it, I suppose,” I said uncomfortably.

She nodded, then glanced at the mantel and put down her work. “I’d love to sit here and chat all day, but if I don’t get started on that washing…Mercy, I wish Dewey would get here with that salt! I’m going to feel it, come baking day.”

“Are you sure I can’t help you?”

She shook her head. “I’ll call if I need help. You finish drying off.”

For a second I thought Micah was going to go with her, but instead he crossed to a bench and sat down.

“In France,” he said quietly, “people call them ‘the terrifiers.’”

I stared at him, surprised. “What?”

“Scarecrows.” His voice was a low monotone, and I had to strain to hear. “They call them ‘terrifiers.’”

“How do you know that?”

His shoulders lifted ever so slightly. “Some people believe scarecrows can see everything going on around them.”

That chill again, only colder this time, raising the hair on my arms. “But of course you know those are only superstitions, don’t you?”

“Are they?” He faced me and his eyes were clear and honest and—frightened. “Then why are scarecrows put up to keep evil away and strangers out?”

I gave a wry smile. “I’m sure Seth would say they’re one and the same.”

“I know he would.”

I frowned as Micah came slowly to the fire, his eyes lowering to the flickering dance of the flames. “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked him, and my hand went out, but he drew back.

“It’s really a matter of faith, isn’t it?” His eyes swept over me, to the window, to the fire. I felt as if he might turn and run at any second, any wrong word or move…

“What…do you mean?”

“Believing when you make it, that it’ll look real. That it can really scare off things that you’re afraid of. Faith. You know.” And his eyes locked with mine.

“I used to know about faith,” I said quietly. “Now…” For a brief instant I felt such an overwhelming sadness that I almost cried. Brad’s face…Kerry’s smile…they flashed through my mind like a light, and I took an angry swipe at my burning eyes. “I have to get home, Micah—why hasn’t Dewey come?”

He shook his head slowly, then stiffened as Seth’s and Rachel’s voices reached us from the kitchen.

“Are you going tomorrow?” Rachel was asking. “I really think it’d be good for Pamela to get out. She’s so worried about going home, and when she stays here she only thinks about it—”

Micah gripped my arm so tightly, so unexpectedly, that I bit my lip to keep from crying out. “What’s she talking about?” he murmured.

“Something about a fence needing to be fixed—I don’t know, I told them I didn’t want to go but—” I was trying to keep my voice low, but Micah’s fingers dug into my flesh, and I moaned. “Micah—you’re hurting me.”

“Tonight,” he hissed. “By the barn—”

“What—”

“Wait for me by the barn. Make sure they’re all asleep. I’ll help you.”

“Help me what—Micah? What are you—”

“You gotta get out of here.” His eyes darted frantically to the doorway. I could hear Seth’s footsteps coming along the hall.

“But…Dewey…” I mumbled and the sudden look of desperation on his face chilled me.

“Do you think you’re the first one? Do you?”

My mouth opened but he turned me loose and my hands grazed his arms, beneath the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Tonight!” he whispered again, and as Seth passed the threshold on his way to the front porch, Micah sauntered out as if nothing had happened.

If Seth even noticed me, he gave no sign, and I sat there, staring at the fire as he let himself out of the house.

And I was still sitting there endless minutes later when Girlie came looking for me and Rachel brought me some cookies to sample.

I was sitting there and staring at the fire and trying not to be sick as the feel of Micah’s skin clung to me like a nightmare.

The feel of his thin wrist beneath the frayed flannel of his shirt…

The feel of his wrist…and his one good hand…and his skin…and the thick spongy ridges of the scars that were hidden there.

Chapter 14

I FELT AS IF I were part of some strange dream.

As I lay in bed listening to the house creak around me, my mind spun so furiously, it made me dizzy. I don’t know how I ever got through the day. I had vague recollections of being with Rachel in the kitchen and playing a halfhearted game of hide-and-seek with Girlie, but supper was a blur of distorted faces swimming around a table full of food I couldn’t eat. Rachel kept saying I looked feverish, and Micah hadn’t shown up at all, and my throat closed tighter and tighter, rebelling against the bits and pieces of food I kept forcing down. And then—at last when I thought I could get away from the table and think things through—then—then—the worst had happened.

Rachel and I were at the stove, and Franny was clearing the table when Seth burst in from the backyard, dragging the pathetic thing with him.

Franny knew, of course. Somehow, even before she turned and saw Seth’s face and the livid anger exploding there, I think she knew what had happened. Her face went stark white and she grabbed for the back of a chair, but she didn’t run. She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye, and even though she was trembling, there was a defiance there that frightened me.

She didn’t bat an eye as Seth flung the scarecrow in a heap on the floor. In slow motion Rachel pulled Girlie up against her, her face a frozen mask of fear as she drew back against the wall, and for several moments we all just stood there, trapped in a dreadful tableau.

It was Seth who finally broke the silence, his words raking Franny with cold, calm fury. “What the hell is this?”

If for one second it ever occurred to Franny to lie, she wisely thought better of it. “You got eyes. What do you think?”

“I told you to burn it!” His boot sent the scarecrow sprawling across the room, the tattered clothes all askew, all rags and tangles and confusion.

“I don’t want to.” Her head lifted higher, but I heard the quiver in her voice. “He’s mine. I can do with him what I want.”

“You can do with him what I say! Seth was seething, and his eyes burned everyplace they fell. “Do you…do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he hissed at her, and I could see her chest heaving as she fought for control.

“He’s mine.” It came out then, thin and ineffective, and as Seth gave the scarecrow another kick, the head popped off and rolled grotesquely into the hallway. Franny screamed and flew at Seth, fists raised, and as I saw him swing back one arm, I threw myself between them.

“Stop it! Stop it! It’s only a scarecrow, for God’s sake—”

I felt his hands close around me, saw the room spin by as I was flung back into Rachel’s arms. Rachel was staring at the scarecrow with a look of silent horror.

“You don’t understand!” Seth was shouting now, and his face was so furious that I clung to Rachel in mounting fear. “You can’t even begin to understand. It’s not done like this! It’s never done like this!”

And as I huddled there in disbelief he swooped up the headless scarecrow in one hand and stormed out into the night, Franny racing after him, her screams echoing over and over—

“No, Seth, no! You can’t do it! He’s mine! He’s mine!”

I tore from Rachel’s restraining hands and went after them, but as I got to the side of the house, I saw the scarecrow explode into flames…writhe on the ground as if it were in torment…

“I hate you! I hate you!” Franny’s shrieks filled the darkness, shrieks of anger, rage, and then, worse, her shrieks of pain as she reached into the fire and tried to save the scarecrow.

“Franny!” I tried to get to her, but Seth was closer and quicker. There was an instant of panic, a flash of skirts and fire, and two bodies rolling on the ground.

And then, blessedly, only the moans…and soft, soft tears.

“Oh, my God…” I stood there helplessly as Seth picked her up, pushed past me for the house. “Franny…Franny…oh, my God…”

The waiting had seemed endless. I’d haunted the hallway outside Franny’s room, not believing—not believing!—not even when Rachel came out and told me Franny was asleep…not even when Rachel told me that Girlie had made Franny well again.

She’d stood there, looking so sad and so strained. She’d stood there, looking at me so forgivingly, and said, “Girlie healed her. Girlie took away the burns.” And I kept telling myself I hadn’t actually seen those burns—I’d seen clothes burning and Seth’s body smothering them, but I hadn’t actually seen Franny’s burns as Seth had run with her into the house.

But I’d heard her screams.

And I’d smelled the unmistakable stench of the searing of flesh.

But no…I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.

And even now, pressing a hand to my racing heart, I still couldn’t believe what had happened down there, all I’d seen, all I’d heard…all I didn’t understand.

I only understood that I had to get away from here.

Rolling over, I pressed my face into the pillow as if the pressure might quell the hysteria building inside me. Where had Micah been in the midst of all that insanity? Surely he had heard the screams…seen the fire…smelled the stench of burning cloth and scorched flesh…and Rachel just standing back, allowing it to happen…and Girlie dispensing yet another panacea for human self-destruction.

In any other normal situation I would have stayed out of it, played deaf and blind to all these family dramas. They weren’t like me, after all. They had their own ways, their own code, their own rules of survival. But it wasn’t normal…it wasn’t even human…and the rage and the pain echoed over and over in my head until I was ready to scream.

But it was more. It was all that had happened to me up to this day. It was Micah and his cryptic instructions to me in the parlor this morning.

It was the horrible scars on his wrist.

For as my fingers had come in contact with those misshapen marks, I’d known with certainty what I hadn’t wanted to even think possible.

Those chains in the underground room had been used to hold Micah.

And there was only one person capable of doing such a thing.

I sat up in bed and massaged my forehead, willing away the pain that pounded behind my eyelids. I had no idea how late it was, but I hadn’t heard anyone moving around now for quite some time. I was afraid to go out into the hall, afraid Seth would be waiting for me. I was afraid to stay here in my room…afraid to think…afraid to know…

Taking a deep breath I tiptoed cautiously to the door, pressing my ear flat against the wood, my fingers poised lightly on the knob. My hands were sweating so badly, I was even afraid to try and open the door, afraid my fingers would slide uselessly off, rattling the door loud enough to wake the dead. And all because of a scarecrow…I leaned my forehead against the cool wood, shuddering as I fought back the visions of fire and panic and pain. Even if I could manage to get the door open, how was I going to make it past all the bedrooms and down the stairs and out of the house without anyone hearing? For the first time I was actually glad for the privy in the back—if someone did wake up and question me, they’d never think a thing about my having to use the bathroom. I’d give my excuses and be amused at myself and they’d go straight back to bed without another thought about it. And then—in the morning—when I didn’t appear for breakfast, they’d finally come and check on me, but it would be too late. I would already be miles away.

My fingers closed over the doorknob. I gave it a slow, slow turn, bracing myself for the squeak, for the groan of the door swinging inward. But nothing happened. The knob turned obediently in my hand, the door opened without the slightest sound. I stepped out into the hallway, clutching my quilt around me. I’d thrown on my nightgown over my clothes, and I felt thick and awkward. I stood there in the hallway straining my ears, peering uncertainly into the shadows along the walls. All the doors were probably closed, I told myself, there was nothing to worry about. I couldn’t hear a thing from downstairs. Only the clock ticking loudly in the parlor. Ticking in time with my thudding heart.

I took one step. Then another. And another. I couldn’t risk any sort of light, and so I groped the air as I moved along, terrified I would make a wrong move, turn too sharply, run into something that would give me away. I saw Girlie’s door, tightly closed. I shut my eyes and slipped past, as if I could somehow make myself invisible. The next door went by me. The next. The next. The stairwell yawned like an open grave. I lowered one foot. Then the other. My fingertips brushed the walls with a whisper. I tried to remember which stairs were loose and given to creaking—amazingly I felt my feet touch bottom without a sound.

It never occurred to me how miraculous it all was, how easy. Much later, thinking back on it all, I’d always remember the house being so cooperative…

I crept through the kitchen, fresh doubt assailing me as I got to the back door. There was no way I’d ever get the screen open without its usual accompaniment of rusty groans. I hesitated, my heart racing faster. I could feel the fear, rising metallic in my throat…the sweat pouring from my body…I wiped my hands on the quilt and tested the door just a little.

The squeak of old hinges seemed ten times louder in the dead of night. I froze and thought I might faint. At any second I expected to hear doors bursting open, voices calling out, feet pounding on the stairs.

But again there was nothing.

The house was absolutely silent, except for the clock…ticking away my precious moments one by one as I stood there too frightened to move.

A distant roll of thunder boomed across the hills, rattling the house to its foundations. I gritted my teeth and pushed…steadily…steadily…and when the thunder ended I was standing outside in the yard.

I began to run. With pale flashes of lightning to guide me, I gathered the blanket high around my legs and raced in the direction of the barn, swinging around the corner as rain began to fall.

There was nobody there.

I hesitated, listening, eyes searching the darkness. “Micah?” I whispered at last. But there was no answer.

“Damn!” I sucked in my breath, bit my lip to try and stop its quivering. “Micah?” I tried again, but the darkness deepened around me and the rain fell on. “Micah, are you here?”

It occurred to me then that Micah had probably anticipated the storm and taken refuge in the barn. I looked nervously back over my shoulder and tugged at the latch, relieved when it finally gave and I fell into the dry, pungent darkness.

And yet it wasn’t totally black.

There was a lantern burning in the corner.

I flattened myself against the door and scanned the interior from wall to wall. There was a restless fluttering in the rafters overhead…the nervous stamp of hoofs in the stalls…

“Micah?” I whispered.

No answer. The rain fell harder, wrapping the barn in a muffled roar.

Steady, Pant, steady…there’s a logical explanation. Of course there was. Micah had been detained…he wasn’t sure when I’d be coming…he’d just gone out to look for me…he’d left the light for me to see by, as a sign that he would be here, that we would go, that everything would be all right…

With shaking fingers I let the quilt drop to the floor. I was wet and freezing, and my nightgown clung to me like an outgrown skin. I pulled it over my head and straightened my damp clothes, and heard a rustling in the shadows.

“Micah?” I spun around, weak with relief.

“He’s not coming.”

And as the smile froze horribly on my lips, Seth stepped out into the lamplight.

“What did he tell you? That he’d help you escape?” His face was expressionless, his voice hard. I wanted to run, to scream, but my body felt like rubber. Seth regarded me silently for several minutes then slowly shook his head. “No need for all the drama. You can go anytime you want.”

I gaped at him, my mind in a whirl, nothing making sense.

“How…” I began, but all I could do was stammer. “How…did you—”

The light played eerily across his cheekbones. “Just be glad I got here first. And just don’t say anything about it.”

“I…I don’t know what—”

“No. You wouldn’t know about things like that, would you?” His tone was mocking and he tapped a forefinger to his temple. “The boy’s not right. Never has been and never will be. Not safe for himself or anyone else.”

“You mean…” Thoughts scrambled in my head, fighting for reason. “You mean…he’s disturbed or something?”

“Disturbed!” Seth snorted, coldly amused. “Yeah, I guess you could say he’s disturbed. So disturbed about things, he just gets rid of them if he doesn’t want them around anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A house disturbed him once,” Seth went on, eyes boring into mine. “So Micah burned it down. With everybody inside.” He gave a sardonic smile; his shadow slithered up the wall, black liquid. “And my folks disturbed him once. So he waited till they were asleep and held a pillow over their faces. Do you understand that?”

I can’t talk about Micah…can’t talk about Micah…

“My God,” I murmured, and I sank down onto a bale of hay, the awful truth beginning to dawn at last.

“He would have killed you, too,” Seth said.

I looked at him, shocked. “No…no, you must be mistaken, Micah liked me…he wanted to help me…”

“With this.”

And as I looked on in horror, Seth pulled something from the shadows…a long, slender something…and held it into the light, so that a thousand sparkling reflections danced across the ten-inch blade.

“No…” I shook my head. “Oh, no…”

“Strangers disturb him,” Seth said quietly. “A change in routine disturbs him. Can you see now why I try so hard to keep the world away?”

“I…I never thought…I never dreamed…” Helplessly I watched him as he flung the knife at the wall, as the blade caught and held and quivered there, alive.

“Sometimes…” Seth drew a deep breath, his gaze riveted on the knife—“sometimes I have to put him away. For his own good. For his own safety as much as ours.”

The cellar…the chains…the scars…I tasted something vile in my throat; I choked it down.

“Afterward he never remembers. He can’t help himself. And after he does those things…It would kill him if he knew. He’d never be able to forgive himself.”

I nodded, dazed, my head in my hands.

“And don’t ever say anything about tonight. About Micah. About any of this. It’s something nobody wants to talk about.”

“Where…is Micah now?”

Seth shrugged, his eyes sweeping casually across the floor where the trapdoor lay hidden beneath a carpet of fresh straw. “Where he can’t hurt anybody.” He glanced at me, then added, “Oh, you don’t have to worry about him. He’ll be calm now. He won’t jump out at you from the dark. Micah doesn’t work that way. He always picks the time and place and lets you know ahead of time, if you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

I watched him go over to the wall and twist the knife free, the blade gleaming in his fist.

“You said always,” I whispered.

For a moment there was silence and then his voice came back to me, strangely hollow. “Did I?”

“You said always. Are you trying to tell me there have been other people like me? People stranded here?”

Seth stared at me for so long that he seemed caught up in a trance. The knife turned slowly in his hands, gleam and shadow, gleam and shadow, and then he held it up in front of his face. Even in the dim light his eyes shone sad.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he said softly. “I’ll show you.”

“But…wait—” I plucked at his sleeve as he went past me, but he didn’t turn, only pushed open the door and stood there, lantern held high, bracing himself against the onslaught of rain. “Seth—”

“I don’t know if I can stop it now.” His voice sounded eerie, part of the night and its wind-tossed secrets. A chill crept up my back.

“Stop what? What are you talking about?”

“The scarecrow,” he murmured. “Franny knows better. It should have been burned with the others.”

In spite of my uneasiness I gave a nervous laugh. “You talk as if something awful’s going to happen because it wasn’t.”

Seth turned and looked at me, his face streaked with rain, oddly distorted in the lamplight. “Something almost did,” he said flatly.

And I watched the lantern fade to nothingness as he left me to find my own way back in the dark.

Chapter 15

I’M NOT SURE how I ever got through that night. My mind raged with horrible dreams and more than once I woke myself up wondering if my fantasy screams had actually been heard by anyone else in the house. When no one came to check on me, however, I drifted back off again, only to be plagued by a new set of phantoms—Micah wielding a rusty knife—Seth watching impassively from the shadows—Franny screaming and going up in flames—and through it all, the grotesque face of a scarecrow coming at me with a horrible painted grin and blood seeping from its empty eye sockets.

Long before dawn I finally got dressed and went down to the kitchen. Rachel was surprised to find me there when she came in, and I pitched in eagerly to help her fix breakfast, painfully aware of the empty chairs where Micah and Franny normally would have sat. I didn’t know how much Rachel knew, whether Seth had told her anything at all about last night, and so I decided not to bring anything up unless I was specifically asked. As we chatted, I was glad I’d kept quiet—it was obvious to me the longer Rachel and I talked that she was innocent of the night before. And when Seth appeared for breakfast, Rachel dished up his eggs and asked again if he was taking me with him to the bottom acre.

“She can do what she wants,” Seth replied, without so much as a look my way. “It’s no concern of mine.”

“Oh, Seth, talk her into going,” Rachel urged him gently. “I know she’d love it.” Her calm hand descended to my shoulder. “What is it, Pamela? You look upset. Is there some reason you don’t want to go?”

“I…just wouldn’t want to miss Dewey,” I said now. “I really have to get home—”

“Well, bless your heart, when Dewey gets here, I’ll send Girlie to fetch you, and that’s a promise. No need to wait around here all day.”

“Well, all right then,” I finally conceded, forcing a thin smile. “If you’ll be sure and let me know.”

“Good!” Rachel looked extremely pleased, but Seth left the table without a backward glance. I pushed back my chair and saw Girlie staring at me thoughtfully.

“Wouldn’t anybody else like to come?” I asked hopefully.

“Mercy, no, we have all this ironing to get done.” Rachel wiped a damp rag over Girlie’s chin. “And I’d like to keep an eye on Franny.”

“She’s feeling better then?”

“Yes, thanks to Girlie. She’s just tired, is all. All that working herself up.” Rachel shook her head with a tolerant smile.

“And where’s Micah this morning?” It came out before I could stop myself, but Rachel looked into my eyes smoothly.

“I reckon he just wasn’t hungry this morning. He’ll probably be a bear by dinnertime.”

What did you expect anyway, a true confession? I felt ashamed of myself, trying to trap her that way. “Will I be able to see Franny later?”

“Course you can,” Rachel beamed. “I’m sure that would cheer her up.”

“Well…good-bye.”

I went out the back and saw Seth swinging a huge sack and a shotgun up onto his shoulder, then he took off through the treeline as if he didn’t care whether I followed or not. I kept a safe distance behind him the whole way, which seemed more than agreeable to him. He never looked back or spoke, and I took my time walking, being careful just to keep him in view up ahead.

Rachel had been right—it was beautiful out here—but my mind was too shaken, too preoccupied to enjoy it. I couldn’t forget the near-tragedy of last night, and my memory reeled with unasked questions. How could they go from day to day, pretending that everything was so normal? Raising Girlie in the same house with a murderer? Keeping Micah hidden from the authorities? I felt more terrified than ever—how could they all act like nothing was wrong?

As I trudged after Seth through the stubbled fields, we finally entered the rain-drenched forest, an unending maze of russet and brown and gold. Between the webwork of overhead branches the pale-washed sky was swirled with clouds. Every footfall brought a squelched echo of wet leaves, the snap of nuts bursting from their shells, the sodden crunch of damp earth and fallen twigs and the tangled aftermath of lost summer. Once or twice I saw a flash of scarlet among the trees, heard the quick piercing call of a cardinal. A fat brown rabbit froze upon a log, quivered at us, then sped off again into the underbrush.

I don’t know how far we walked that morning—it seemed like forever. By the time the sun had climbed midway in the sky, I was getting hungry, and spying a creek off through a little clearing, I went over and knelt down to take a drink. Seth, striding far ahead of me, looked back over his shoulder and slowed down at last.

“You needn’t stop,” I said wearily. “I can catch up with you later.”

When I didn’t hear an answer, I looked up to see him watching me, his body poised, every bit as stalwart and sturdy as the trees closing us in. I avoided his eyes and scooped another handful of water, patting it over my face, gasping at the chill of it.

“The fence is just over the next ridge,” Seth said. “I’ll be over that way.”

“Fine.”

I watched him walk off, wondering why I had even bothered to come. Last night we had been on the same side for a change, and now, not even twenty-four hours later, we were strangers again. Maybe he really didn’t intend to tell me anything, I realized now; maybe he felt embarrassed about last night, about letting his guard down and being halfway civil; maybe he’d agreed to my coming along just to please Rachel.

Wiping my face on my shawl, I pushed through the last of the trees and came out immediately onto a small flat ledge that sloped steeply to a wide field below. There was a shack down there, nestled in a clump of trees, and Seth was just coming out, dragging a roll of fencing wire and some tools. I descended carefully, slipping over rocks and patches of mud, and when Seth saw me coming he straightened up and wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans.

“You hungry?” he asked me.

I looked at him in surprise. “Yes, a little.”

“Sit down then. I brought us some dinner.”

He waved one hand vaguely in the direction of the shack, and I eased myself down onto the ground with my back against one of the rough-hewn walls.

“Did you build this?” I scanned the neatly notched logs, the dried mud in the crevices, the door that stood open revealing a planked floor inside. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Too far to have to haul stuff when things need fixing.” Seth passed me a sandwich. “I’ve got…oh…about six others around the place.”

“I’ve always loved log cabins,” I said lamely. I inched the bread apart, finding thick slabs of cold meat. “Brad and I were always going to—” My words froze, sticking to the roof of my mouth, and I gazed down at my sandwich. “I…”

Raising my eyes I saw Seth watching me, emotionless. “Brad…your husband?”

There was a lengthening silence. From somewhere deep inside me the words struggled out, falling cold and lifeless on the chilly air. “Yes. My husband.”

Everything blurred for a second. When it shimmered back into focus, Seth was finishing his sandwich, reaching for another. “No wonder you want to get home. He must be worried about you.”

“He’s dead.”

An unpleasant tingling sensation went through my fingers. I dropped my food and put a trembling hand to my throat. “He’s dead, you see,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes, and still they wouldn’t flow, still they wouldn’t release me. “My little boy, too. They were killed in a car accident nearly a year ago.” But how many more days than just nearly a year ago, for Christ’s sake, I don’t even know what day it is—“Both of them are dead,” I finished stupidly, and a sob started up from my chest, strangling me before I could get it out,

“Here,” Seth said quietly, “drink this.”

I felt his arm around my shoulders, the other tipping a cup to my lips, and then a trail of fire scorching its way to my stomach. I coughed, my body jerking convulsively, and I pulled away, making a face.

“What is that?”

“Whiskey.”

I shook my head violently to get the taste out of my mouth, and when I finally looked up, Seth was leaning back on his elbows, watching me, again. I picked up my sandwich and held it uselessly in my hands.

“I’m sorry,” Seth said.

“I’m just not used to alcohol, I guess,” I mumbled.

“No, I meant about your husband. And your little boy.”

“Oh. Well…” I took a deep breath, not wanting to talk about it anymore, wishing I had never said anything at all, and my next words burst out before I could stop them. “How can you stand it, living this way? With Micah? Why haven’t you turned him in to the police? They’re bound to find out, sooner or later.”

“How?” Seth turned away, matter-of-fact. “No one could find anyone here. You’ve heard of people disappearing into thin air?”

“Yes.”

“Well…this is it.”

“Please don’t talk like that…like I’m never going to get home again!”

“I told you before, you can leave anytime you want. You’re not a prisoner here.”

“But you lied to me about the road. And it’s miles to the nearest neighbor. I thought Dewey would be here by now.”

Seth paused, a line creasing his brow. “So did I.”

Something in his tone alerted me. I peered urgently into his face. “You’re worried, too, aren’t you? You don’t think it’s normal either, for him to be so late in coming. What is it? What are you thinking?”

He was silent for so long that I began to feel panicky. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

“You know you can’t make it. Even if you try, you’ll never get away on foot.”

“Why are you saying that!” My voice stretched as tight as my nerves. “Don’t you think Dewey’s coming? Is it something about Micah? What?”

“I’m saying I don’t know,” Seth responded calmly, pulling up a dead weed, peeling it away layer by layer with his long slender fingers. “I’m saying that after what happened with the scarecrow yesterday, I’m not sure about things.”

I stared at him, his meaning sinking slowly into my brain. “You said last night that you didn’t know if you could stop it now. Are you trying to tell me that Dewey’s not being here is somehow related to Franny’s scarecrow? That the scarecrow caused it all? That just because it wasn’t burned with the others—”

“I’m telling you what I told you before. Betrayal can’t exist in our world.”

He flicked his breadcrust into the dead grass and rose to his feet. His face was unmoved as he gestured to me to get up.

“You asked me last night about Micah,” he said. “All right. It’s time you knew the truth.”

I searched his eyes, his expression, for some clue as to what I was about to discover. How could I really trust Seth, who until now had been so adamant about guarding the privacy of his family? But as he moved off behind the shack, I found myself reluctantly following, my curiosity winning out.

We cut across the field, plunging into a rocky expanse of forest. Almost at once the hills changed to sheer bluffs rising up on either side of us, slashing a jagged path through the trees. Still, Seth kept on doggedly, never looking back to see if I was behind him, and as I was finally forced to stop for breath, I saw that the sky had gone dangerously dark. The ugly cliffs above us seemed alive as a growl of thunder shuddered through them. I felt the first icy drops of rain and ran on.

“Seth? Where are you?”

And then I saw him up ahead, waiting for me by the cave.

It was practically hidden by a screen of trees and a low overhang of rock, but there in the side of the bluff I could see its black, gaping entrance. Seth clambered over a pile of fallen boulders and reached out a hand to help me. I froze where I stood.

Something terrible was inside.

“Come on,” Seth ordered. “In here.”

I felt myself being pulled along, away from the air and the light. A wet, stale smell rose around us, and as I hung back, I could hear Seth’s footsteps crunching over gravel and dead ferns, echoing on cold, solid stone.

“Back this way,” he called to me, and other Seths called, all their voices alike, reverberating through the hollow hills. I couldn’t move. He came back and grabbed my arm, and I panicked as the darkness grew more complete around us, the strange, foul smell intensifying.

I knew it was close now.

Horribly, horribly close.

Seth dropped to his knees, forcing me down beside him.

“This,” he said, “this is what Micah can do.”

And I saw the rocks then—where Seth was kneeling—the neatly piled mounds of them, all in a row, the graves going off into the total blackness.

“No,” I murmured, “please, no—”

But Seth was already digging, flinging rocks off the first narrow pile, his fingers probing, deeper, deeper, and the look on his face so furious, so sad, so full of pain…

“Stop it!” I cried, but he didn’t listen, didn’t care—only drew back for the briefest instant, staring at me—

And pulled someone’s hand from the grave.

I screamed, the terror of it all stabbing into me, flinging me down, so that I grappled with him and tried to push him away, to make him stop, but he shoved me aside, and there was an arm on the end of the hand—an arm!—and a shoulder stuck with matted hair, and then I was running, running, through the cave and away from the horror, away from the line of graves—it could have been me! me!—and the path was an endlessly twisted haze of gray, and my unshed tears were hurting, hurting, and suddenly his arms were around me, stopping me as I tried to thrash my way free, and my head snapped back and forth, him shaking me, shaking me—

“Nobody knows about that cave, and you can’t say anything, you understand? Not to Franny, not to Girlie. And especially not to Rachel. Only I know. Only me. And now you.”

“I don’t believe it!” I wrenched free of him, running, running, and by some miracle there was the shack just ahead—through the blinding torrent, the ground like quicksand beneath my feet.

“Pam! Wait!”

He called out through the rain, and I stumbled, fell, crawled, my clothes dragging me down, hard to move, to breathe—oh, Brad, Brad, save me, I want to be with you, I’m so afraid, so afraid!—and I fell into the cabin, into the corner, huddled against the wall, as Seth’s body filled the doorway, shutting out the light.

“I don’t believe it!” I screamed at him. “I don’t believe Micah could have done that—”

“Do you see now why I didn’t want you here?”

I was shaking so violently my teeth chattered, I could barely speak. “How could he have? Oh, my God—”

Seth slammed the door against the pelting rain, darkness closing the space between us.

“How could he?” I said again. Oh, Brad, what am I going to do—and Seth’s hands were suddenly on my shoulders, pulling me toward him. “I don’t want to stay here anymore, I’m so scared—”

“You should never have come…never…” And Seth towering over me, blocking out the storm, the wind, the rain. “Never…”

And Brad had never smelled this way—not like the land I was smelling now as Seth leaned closer—the strength, the roots, the dirt and sweat and endless toil—the very earth, the life I was smelling as he lowered me beneath him, his body pressing mine to the floor—

“No!” I screamed, even as Brad flashed through my mind, the joys, the memories, the aching, endless loss—“No! No!”—and Brad’s face fading into that overpowering scent of rain and sky and autumn as Seth pinned me relentlessly, my arms in grips of cold steel, the rip of cloth as my blouse came apart, my breasts spilling out into his hands, his mouth, my skirt falling away, heaped about my bare feet, bare legs, deeply, deeply into the shadows, the wooden floor hard at my back and Seth above me, consuming me, and “Stop!” I screamed, crying, begging him even as the tears ran down my face at last, “Stop it! Let me go!”

And it was over, as quickly as it had happened, and I was outside in the rain, trying to run up the jagged incline of the hill.

“Pam!” I heard his voice, ghostlike, angry—“Pam! Come back!”

But I raced on through the darkness, great sobs wracking my body like convulsions. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t care—I just knew that I had to escape at the cost of everything else, and I plunged ahead in an insane oblivion, crying and fighting my way through the night.

Without warning my feet slid out over nothingness, and I dropped and rolled, landing with a thud at the bottom of a ravine. Moaning, I tried to stand up—put out my hands—saw the copperhead snake coiled to strike.

The shot came out of nowhere. It cut off my shriek of terror and flung the snake back, lifeless, into the brush as strong arms lifted me, struggling, into the air. I writhed and twisted against him but it was useless. He carried me back to the shed, my body limp now, my voice silent. He lowered me into a corner, his eyes burning down on me as he shut and bolted the door.

“I told you you couldn’t do it,” he said. “I told you you couldn’t get away.”

Chapter 16

I AWOKE TO THE gentle whisper of rain. The shed flickered in half-light now, and with a cold, sick shock I sat up. I was on a pile of blankets. Seth was in the far corner watching me; beyond the lantern, his eyes glittered calmly from the shadows. Somehow I felt that he’d been watching a long while and as I drew the covers around my nakedness, deep slow sobs began to wash through my body.

I could think of only one thing, and it tore my heart.

“Rachel,” I whispered.

There was a long moment of silence. Seth leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.

“It’s not like that,” he murmured. “Rachel and me…it’s not what you think.”

I couldn’t look at him anymore. I huddled myself into a tight ball and pressed my wet cheek to the floor.

I heard him uncoil from the darkness; I felt him pause above me and lift away the blanket.

“You couldn’t know,” he said. “You could never know how it is.”

His body slid down against me, stretching me full-length into the dim light.

The world shone brilliant the next morning. It was as if the last two days of rain had washed it clean and pure.

I stepped from the shack just as Seth was finishing up with the fence. He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t speak. I waited while he replaced his tools, then I followed in silence as we started back. I was in no hurry to get there now—shame and disbelief made me numb, and I wondered how I’d ever be able to face Rachel again. Feeling sick at the very thought, I nursed my bruised body along the endless trails and tried to prepare myself for our homecoming.

Rachel flew to meet us, flurrying around us in relief, shooing us in to have something to eat, insisting what good sense we’d had not to have tried to make it home in the downpour. I felt sickened just being there, but Rachel bustled about so cheerfully that I had no choice but to force myself back into the routine. After a late breakfast Seth went out to work, and as I helped Rachel clean up the kitchen I asked if there had been any word from Dewey.

“No,” she gave me a sympathetic look, “but I just have a feeling he’ll show up today.” She looked at me for a moment, her eyes darkening. “Poor Pamela, I know you’re mighty anxious to be home.”

Avoiding her gaze, I nodded. “I’ve been enough trouble to you already. It’s really time that I left.”

“Why, I’ve told you and told you, you’ve never been a second of bother since you’ve been here.” Rachel hugged me. “And don’t you ever think it. Now here—here’s some clean clothes. Go up and have a rest—you look plumb worn out. Just leave these dirty things outside your door so I can wash them later on.”

I was exhausted. Taking the bundle of clothes I dragged myself upstairs. I paused outside Franny’s door, raised my hand, but stood there without knocking. I wondered if she was all right, if she was still upset with me. I wondered where Micah was, and just how much he would remember once he was himself again. Could I even be safe here now—if he did recall his failed attempt to kill me, would he try again? I shook my head sadly. Still, even having seen that awful evidence in the cave, I couldn’t believe it of him…

I went into my room and shut the door firmly behind me, collapsing on the bed. Rachel…so trusting, so unsuspecting. Pressing my hands against my forehead, I rubbed wearily, trying not to cry. It was a nightmare, this whole thing—a cruel, hideous nightmare—for how many other travelers would ever get caught in a hell like this.

Feeling suddenly dizzy, I closed my eyes against the swaying room. Something tugged at the corners of my mind, gnawing relentlessly as I tried to find sleep. How many others…My eyelids struggled open, my mind trying to focus. Visitors seldom come here…only when they’re lost…have trouble on the road…Bolting upright I stared, unseeing, at the opposite wall. Who was in that grave? And why had there been a whole row of those neat, rock-covered mounds, all hidden there, in the shadows of the cave?

Like a flood it all began to come back—Micah’s face, frightened and desperate just the other night in the parlor—“Do you think you’re the first one? Do you?” And Seth, saving my life in the barn that night, “He always picks the time and place and lets you know…” Always, always…

I moaned, burying my face in the pillow. How many? Seth’s family in the cemetery and who else in those makeshift graves in the cave? And why had they come here—to this place where no one ever came? And how long had it all been going on? How many years had Seth been covering up the grisly evidence, the family lying and hiding Micah in the cellar so no one would ever know? My flesh crawled as I heard Seth’s words again—“You’ve heard of people disappearing into thin air?…Well…this is it.”

Rocking gently on the bed, I tried to think calmly. What would I do if Micah tried to kill me again? Seth said he always let his victims know—but what if this one time was different? What if there was no warning, no Seth to intercede? My eyes widened. How had Seth known about my meeting with Micah? Micah would never have told him, and I was relatively certain that Seth hadn’t overheard Micah and me in the parlor. Then how had Seth known? Was he so attuned to Micah after all these years that he could read the signs of approaching madness, predict the time and place it was likely to happen? A cold hand of fear wrapped itself around my heart. What if Seth hadn’t found me after my car accident—what if Micah had found me instead?

Shaken with the staggering possibilities that confronted me, I eased myself back onto the bed and shut my eyes again. The sun, slanting in through the window, brushed lukewarm across my cheeks, caressing them, like someone else had caressed them not so long ago…

Gasping, I sat up with a start. The muffled sound came again—just a faint rustling on the other side of my door. The room was chilled, hazy with lengthening shadows, dusk beginning to sift beyond the window.

At first I thought it was Rachel, come to take my clothes away.

But as the knob began to turn, as the door swung slowly inward, I knew that the silhouette framed there was much too small to be Rachel.

Girlie’s eyes widened…widened…luminous owl’s eyes in a changeling body.

“I know what you did,” she said.

My heart lurched into my throat, my lips parting soundlessly as I stumbled out of bed.

I never got to her.

A scream went through the house, shattering the quiet, echoing again and again with an anguish that pierced my soul.

“Oh, my God…” Snatching on my clothes, I ran out into the hall where Girlie had already disappeared, only to stand frozen as another heartrending scream rose from below.

“Micah!” it shrieked. “MICAH!”

I knew it was Rachel.

And somehow, even before I got there, I knew Micah was dead.

Chapter 17

THINGS SEEM SO UNREAL in twilight. The hour hangs, suspended between day and night, moody, uncertain.

Nothing is as it seems.

It didn’t look like Micah, that bloody thing that Seth carried into the house—the mangled body dreamlike and weightless, floating so peacefully on the loveseat in the parlor. And the murmurings and shiftings…the shadows and quiet sobs—all, all ghostlike as I watched them gathering around him, stunned and disoriented.

His one hand slid from the gash on his chest…hung down from his tattered sleeve…swung back and forth, brushing the floor with thin, limp fingers…leaving a trail of red…

Seth reached up to the mantel and stopped the clock.

Tears stung behind my eyelids. I stood back in the doorway, not part of this grief, yet trapped by it. Why should you feel anything at all…he tried to kill you…Yet even beneath the blood and dirt, his pale, angelic face looked anything but evil. He looked like an innocent, safely home at last.

“Micah! Oh, Micah—”

It was Rachel who upset me the most—Rachel throwing herself across the slender body, caressing him, holding him, rocking him like a child—and Seth gently but firmly trying to disentangle her and pull her away. Franny stood to the side, her face ghostly white. Girlie gazed on solemnly, as if death were an old, old friend. I stared at her in silent horror.

“Micah! Micah—”

“No, Rachel, don’t. He’s gone. Leave him be.” Seth held her tightly against his chest, and I felt his arms, strong and determined, as if I were Rachel. Shocked at my thoughts, I lowered my head, clasping my arms about me to keep from shaking.

“What happened?” I murmured, but no one heard and Rachel tried to wrench free of Seth’s arms.

“Micah!” she wailed. “Please…no…”

Kerry…no…my baby…my little boy…The image hit me like a wave. Choking back a sob, I fled to the front porch, gripping the railing as tears streamed down my face. Kerry…it should have been me…it should have been—

The screen door creaked behind me. With a ragged breath I turned halfway and felt Girlie’s hand nestle into mine.

“Girlie,” I said, and for the moment I forgot what she’d said to me upstairs, forgot everything but Micah’s body lying so still in the parlor.

She tugged at my hand, nodding, and I eyed her quizzically.

“What is it?”

Another tug. She looked back over her shoulder, then began to pull me toward the steps.

“Girlie, where are we going?” I asked uneasily, and then heard the screen door open again behind us.

“Girlie,” Rachel said brokenly, “my poor little girl…you loved him so much, didn’t you, honey…”

And as she came to where we were standing and gathered Girlie into her arms, I looked on, feeling strangely unsettled.

Girlie’s huge eyes were swimming with tears, her lower lip pouted and quivering. But she didn’t cry. Instead she just kept staring at me from the shelter of Rachel’s arms, tolerating the embrace with no response of her own.

I didn’t want to view this private grief, but as I started back inside, Rachel stopped me with a cry.

“Pamela, please don’t go. I think…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

My heart went out to her. I offered a tentative smile.

“Of course. I’ll stay if you’re sure you want me to.”

“Yes. Please.” She sat down, patting the vacant step beside her, and hoisted Girlie onto her lap. The child immediately curled up and began sucking her thumb, her eyes still full upon me.

“Rachel,” I whispered, and I sat beside her, covering her cold hand with one of my own. “Oh, Rachel, what on earth happened?”

There was a moment of silence as she stroked Girlie’s hair and struggled to control her tears. “Did you see him? His sweet, sweet face—all of him cut to ribbons.” She took a deep breath. “Seth found him down at the bottom of the gully. He must have fallen, broke every bone in his body. Seth said there must have been a rockslide and…” She raised stricken eyes to mine, and I squeezed her fingers. “I wasn’t there, Pamela. Nobody was…”

“Hush, Rachel, please don’t.”

“I don’t know what he was doing out there. Oh, Pamela, maybe if we’d heard him, maybe somebody…”

“I don’t think so, Rachel,” I said softly, moving nearer. I could still see Micah’s head, hanging there, a dead flower on a broken stem. “He probably broke his neck. He probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“Oh, do you think so?” She fumbled in her apron pocket for a handkerchief, pressing it to her eyes. “I hope you’re right. I can’t stand the thought that he might have suffered…even a little….”

Sometimes Micah has to stay here…stay here…Desperately I fought back the images that clamored in my mind—the cellar…the chains…Strangers disturb him…A change in routine disturbs him.

Micah’s going to die.

Gasping, I clapped a hand to my mouth. I won’t believe it!

“Pamela, what is it?”

“It’s…nothing,” I mumbled. “Nothing.” But Girlie was looking at me with a wisdom that unnerved me. As if she knew what I’d been thinking.

“He’s at peace now.” Rachel began to cry quietly into Girlie’s tangled hair, rocking her slowly to and fro. “Finally, Micah…finally. No more devils.”

I felt my own eyes brim; I stared hard at the falling darkness, wondering how this could all be happening, if Rachel really knew the full extent of her son’s madness, if she even suspected that I had nearly been a victim myself.

“He never liked the dark,” Rachel said sadly, and I glanced up.

“What did you say?”

“No, he never liked the dark, it made him afraid.” Then catching herself in front of Girlie, she added, “I reckon the angels build Micah the brightest spot in heaven, don’t you?”

I nodded glumly, my mind once more filled with the cellar and the cold, dank darkness. If Rachel knew how much Micah feared the dark, then why would she have allowed him to be put down in that awful place? Even more incredible, was it possible that she didn’t even know about it? Yet surely not, not after all these years, all those murders…

“He was a funny one,” Rachel went on, more to herself now than to Girlie or me. “Only had that one hand, but Lord, he never let that stop him from anything, not for a minute. Why, he was every bit as strong as Seth—stronger, maybe. Just smaller, is all…Why, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. Not anything.” She smiled to herself, remembering. “Didn’t want anybody to help him, either. Didn’t want to be a burden on anybody.” Her eyes looked into mine, clouding with deep, deep pain. “And he wasn’t,” she whispered. “No, he never was that.”

“Rachel…” I held out my arms and she leaned into them, sobbing uncontrollably with Girlie caught between us, limp as a rag doll. We didn’t hear the door open behind us, didn’t hear Franny come out onto the porch, didn’t even know she was there until Girlie wriggled free, causing us to pull apart and look.

Franny looked terrible. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and there was a wild desperation about her that was almost chilling. I stared at her.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong!” she burst out, and as I drew back in surprise, I saw that Rachel’s face had grown solemnly composed. “You’re wrong!” Franny said again, and her voice rose, shaking. “It wasn’t the scarecrow—it couldn’t have been! I wouldn’t ever have hurt Micah! You know that!”

Frowning, I glanced at Rachel, expecting some sort of soothing reply, but her eyes were immeasurably hopeless and she looked away.

“He’ll say the scarecrow did it, but that’s not true!” Franny said again, stomping one foot defensively. “It’s not my fault Micah’s dead! It just happened!”

Scarcely able to believe my ears, I heard Rachel take a deep sigh. “Oh, Franny, you know it should have been burned with the others—”

“It’s not my fault!” She was practically hysterical, and Girlie clambered out of Rachel’s lap and stood at the bottom of the steps, regarding Franny with a sober stare. “It’s not!” Franny said again; she grabbed for Girlie and held her by the arm. “You could do it!” Franny screamed at her. “You could! You know you could! Just bring him back!”

Horrified, I felt the impact of her words sink in, saw Rachel stand up and calmly pull Girlie away.

“Go in the house, Franny. You’ve done enough already.”

“But you could! You know you could!” Franny yanked on Girlie’s hand until Rachel pulled it firmly from her grasp.

“That’s enough, Franny. I never heard such a thing.” Her face had paled, and her voice trembled beneath its authority. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

For an instant Franny gazed at their accusing stares, then with a sob, she ran into the house, slamming the door behind her.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Rachel said nervously, tilting Girlie’s face up so she could look into it. “You hear me, Girlie? She’s crazy with grief, and she’s just not thinking, you hear?”

But Rachel sounded frightened.

And as she went back inside, I saw an expression in Girlie’s eyes that made me shiver…an expression I had never seen there before.

Hate.

Chapter 18

THEY LAID MICAH’S body out in the large, formal sitting room, encircled by candles and empty chairs, as if crowds of mourners were expected. Rachel allowed none of us to help with the death rituals. I stood in the doorway, silent and helpless, as she scrubbed Micah’s mangled body and dressed him in clean clothes, as she wrapped his head in towels soaked in soda water. “To keep him from turning dark,” Franny explained to me, and I felt sickened.

I’m not sure when, or if, Rachel actually slept. No matter what hour of the day or night, she was in that room with Micah, keeping vigil, smoothing back the silky hair from his mutilated face, whispering to him with a sad, secret smile. For three days he lay there. It was Seth who finally persuaded Rachel that Micah’s poor soul be put to rest.

It rained the day of the funeral. We stood in a wet, miserable huddle in the family cemetery as Rachel wept and prayed. Seth had dug the grave just that morning; the shovel stood propped against a tree, pathetically awaiting the second half of its task. As each of us tossed a handful of dirt onto the coffin, I couldn’t help glancing at Seth; with every dull thud of earth I remembered those other graves in the cave. Franny sobbed uncontrollably. Girlie’s eyes were deep, silent pools of despair.

One by one we drifted our separate ways. Through a chilling gray drizzle I watched Seth head off toward the barn, his face grimly set. I wondered how he could be so unfeeling about his own son, a part of him and Rachel, his firstborn. I wondered what he’d done when he’d found Micah, what he’d thought and felt. Sorrow? Relief that the horrible secret no longer had to be guarded? And did he still believe, as Franny had so fearfully voiced that night, that her scarecrow had caused it all?

I leaned wearily against a tree, tearing a leaf into thin, wet shreds. What could I say to Rachel now—to comfort her, to give her hope, to offer understanding and friendship—after what I’d been through with Seth? I was still angry with him, still frightened of him…and yet the memory of his lovemaking still burned within me, leaving me shocked and ashamed of my feelings. I couldn’t bear to think of it, and yet I could hardly stand to be near Rachel, to look her in the eye for fear of giving something away. I had to stop thinking about it…to even acknowledge it had happened. To hurt Rachel would be unforgivable to me.

I tossed the crumpled leaf to the ground and started walking back to the house. I didn’t see anyone outside at first, but then as I drew closer, I saw Rachel cross the backyard and go toward the barn. Was she going to Seth for comfort? Had he, in fact, ever comforted her, held her, shared the burdens of her heart? Since I’d been here, he had never seemed sympathetic or even concerned. And all those days that Rachel had spent beside Micah’s body had been spent without Seth there to console her.

Sighing, I trudged up to my room. The house was empty, and I shut my door firmly against the silence. When would Dewey ever get here? When would I ever be able to leave? With an effort I closed down my mind and lay back upon the bed. The rain was holding to that same monotonous drizzle, and before I knew it, I was halfway dozing, still seeing that pathetic coffin in its muddy hole…

I’m not exactly sure when I first heard the voices. So low and shadowy were they that I might have been aware of them for some time, like the fuzzy edges of a deep, deep dream. Yet as my eyelids flickered open, the sounds didn’t disappear with the last dregs of sleep, but continued to tease me from some faraway place. As I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on my dim surroundings, it occurred to me that the voices were louder and very real—and that they were somewhere just beneath my window. Slipping quietly across the room, I flattened myself against one side of the window frame so that I had a clear view without being seen.

The voices were real—there was no doubt about that now—and as I strained my ears, trying to hear, I saw two familiar figures standing just below in the yard. The gray afternoon and my awkward position kept me from seeing their expressions clearly, but it only took a second for me to realize that they were involved in an argument.

“You’re acting like it’s my fault!” Franny’s voice, shrill and defensive. “Everybody’s acting like it was my fault!”

A much smaller shape drew back nearer the house, lost momentarily from my view.

“He fell! He wasn’t being careful, and he fell! That’s all it was! It didn’t have anything to do with me!”

A murmur, so soft and wispy, that it floated through the mist like a lost echo. “He didn’t fall,” Girlie said.

“He fell! He did! He was always forgetting to be careful, and you know it!”

“He didn’t fall,” Girlie said again.

I couldn’t see Franny’s expression, but her body went rigid and she fell back a step as if she’d been struck. The silence dragged on for so long that I could hardly resist the temptation to call out, but at last Franny’s voice sounded a croak.

“I…didn’t…I—”

“You did,” Girlie said sadly. “I know you did.”

Something about the tone of her voice chilled me as I hid there—chilled me all the way to my soul. I pressed my palms flat against the wall to keep from shaking.

“She shouldn’t have tried to leave,” Franny said, more angry now than frightened. “She should have taken me with her! I asked her to, and she should have listened to me!”

“You told,” was all that Girlie said, but Franny must have grabbed her, for her voice gave a sudden jolt.

“Micah couldn’t take it, that’s all—he was never as strong as the rest of us, you know that—he just couldn’t take it anymore! It’s not a surprise, is it? It’s not a surprise at all, Micah being the way he was, it would have happened sooner or later anyhow. I didn’t make it happen—it just did—”

“You,” repeated Girlie dully.

“Not me! Not me, Girlie, listen! You could bring him back!” Franny’s voice was taut now, insistent, and I could feel perspiration on my brow as I strained to hear. “You could bring him back again. It wouldn’t be anything for you! Think how happy Rachel would be if you did that. Why, she’d love you more than anybody!” Franny’s voice broke, her words tumbling out in a senseless mixture of wheedling and tears. “Damn you, Girlie, you bring him back, you hear? I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never wanted Micah to die! Now you do what I say—just bring him back right now!”

There was a soft scuffle, as if they had pushed at each other, bodies struggling against the side of the house. I heard a whimper, and then Girlie’s voice came out of the darkness, eerie and detached—

“All right, I will bring something back,” she said, and the strange tinny sound of her voice quivered on a breath of cold wind.

“Girlie—” Franny began, and another voice came out of the darkness, calling wearily from the back porch—

“Girlie! Franny! Time for supper now!”

But I couldn’t stop shaking.

Even after the confrontation ended, I stood there in my hiding place, trying to repiece the conversation I’d just heard, phrase by phrase, sound by sound. At the interruption of Rachel’s voice I’d heard Franny’s feet running off into the woods, but Girlie had stayed where she was for some time, hovering there below my window like an indecisive spirit, mumbling things I couldn’t make out. Unnerved, I sank onto the bed, lost in thought. He didn’t fall. There was no rockslide. And it kept stamping itself into my mind, new implications looming dark and ugly and insane—he didn’t fall…he just couldn’t take it anymore…it would have happened sooner or later.

“Oh, Micah,” I whispered. And maybe it wasn’t so insane after all, maybe it made perfect sense that someone in torment for so long should at last take his own destiny in hand, put himself beyond the reach of suffering. My eyes swelled with tears; in the lonely darkness I tried to hold off the relentless visions but couldn’t. How many times, I wondered, had Micah realized what he’d done…how many times after how many murders had he been touched with a moment of complete and utter awareness, felt the horror and tragedy of what he’d done? Like a time bomb, I thought numbly…a slow, steady clock ticking madly away in his brain, until at last—

“You told.”

I stiffened and stared blindly into the shadows. Somehow—somehow—Franny must have found out about Micah’s thwarted attempt to kill me. She must have guessed that I was hoping to escape that night, which could only have made her angrier, since I’d already refused to take her with me. Poor Franny…Groaning, I lowered my head to my hands, shaking it sadly at what must have followed. Seth had told me that Micah probably wouldn’t remember asking me to meet him in the barn that night—that he’d probably have no recollection afterward of plotting—and failing—to kill me. Again I remembered Seth’s prophecy. It would kill Micah if he knew what he really was, Seth had said…he’d never be able to forgive himself…

“Oh, Franny,” I mumbled, “what have you done…”

“You told.”

She must have gone to him. Deliberately. Still hurting from my unintended slight, she must have gone straight to Micah and told him what he’d almost done. When had Franny told him, accused him to his face, shared the awful knowledge of a secret his whole family had kept from him? I shook my head, trying not to see Micah’s face, but it came back to me—again—again—so innocent, so pure. How had he looked when Franny told him the truth? Disbelief at first? Hurt? Anger? And then—finally—a creeping kind of horror and repulsion as he realized what it all meant?

“No…no…” Tears trailed down my cheeks as the images kept coming, as I tried uselessly to hold them at bay. How many hours had he thought about it—dwelled upon it—the reality of it taking tighter and tighter hold until he couldn’t bear the truth of it any longer? I hit my fists against the bed, moaning into the blankets so nobody would hear. And still I saw that dark room under the barn floor…the chains…the scars on Micah’s scrawny wrist…Micah’s limp body in Seth’s arms….

“Why, Franny? Why’d you do it?” I sobbed into my pillow, for Micah, for Rachel’s grief and for my own.

I caught my breath, listening.

From downstairs came the shuffle of feet, the scraping of chairs, the clatter of pans sending up warm aromas of food. I heard Rachel call me to supper, the deep undercurrent of Seth’s voice, the squeal of the pump gushing water outside the back door. Yet those weren’t the sounds that made me sit up now, that made me steal a furtive glance toward my window, to the night drifting in like a black fog. What was that noise?

Slowly I rose and moved to the window, holding my breath as I gazed down into the moonless yard. A clump of damp leaves, hurled by the wind, exploded against the house, causing me to jump back in alarm—and as I did, I sensed a movement through the trees at one edge of the woods.

That was the direction of the smokehouse.

Tensing, I stood there for several minutes more, my eyes riveted on the swaying branches, the shapeless mass of shadows beneath. Only the wind, I argued with myself—that and my increasingly paranoid imagination.

I forced myself to turn away and go down for supper. The meal, as so many had been since Micah’s death, was quiet and strained. There was no laughter. The food seemed strangely tasteless. Franny said nothing. Seth and Rachel ate across from each other without lifting their eyes. Even Girlie kept her head down, only looking at me once when she drank from her cup and glanced around. I saw her eyes linger on Micah’s empty chair, and I looked away.

We cleaned up the kitchen in silence. Rachel, looking exhausted, took Girlie and herself off to bed. I followed not long after, then heard Franny go to her room. I lay awake a long while, listening to the sounds of Seth extinguishing the lamps, lowering the windows against a possible shower. Normally comforting sounds, they brought no comfort.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the argument I’d heard beneath my window. That Franny had ultimately been responsible for Micah’s suicide was tragic enough, but haunting me so mercilessly were Franny’s demands to Girlie—“You could bring him back…just bring him back right now.”

The whole idea was so shocking—so unbelievable, as absurd as the suggestions that Girlie had saved my life or healed Franny’s burns. I wished I could just laugh at the total ridiculousness of it all—but instead I felt a curious and terrible dread. Franny’s insistence had been much too passionate.

As if she truly believed that Girlie could grant her request.

Yet Girlie’s answer had frightened me even more.

“All right, I will bring something back.”

Why was I so cold? Micah was dead, and with him the terrible family secret that had plagued them all for so long.

Micah was dead, and Girlie was just a child.

There was nothing to worry about now.

Yet sleep didn’t come so easily. I tossed and turned through the night, slipping at last into a fitful doze, when something jarred me awake again.

A child’s voice …not so far away…whispering on the other side of my wall.

Murmuring…over and over…as if reciting a favorite nursery rhyme.

“Something…something…something back.”

Chapter 19

“THE BRIDGE IS OUT,” Seth announced grimly at dinner the next day. I looked up from my coffee in time to see the weary lines deepen around Rachel’s eyes.

“Oh, no—can it be fixed?”

“Not till the rain lets up.” He finished off a slab of pork and gravy and gave his plate an impatient shove. “Damn thing’s busted all to hell—”

“Micah could have fixed it in no time,” Rachel said dreamily. “He was good at building things. It was never any trouble to him.”

I stared at her in mild surprise, then caught Seth staring at her in the same way. On his way out the door he paused and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You look tired,” he said.

They were the first kind words I’d ever heard him speak to her.

As the door banged behind him we all turned at the sound of the rain. It had started up again in the night and kept up steadily all morning. By the looks of the leaden sky it would probably be with us for a long time.

“Does that mean Dewey can’t get here?” I asked uneasily.

Rachel gazed at me as it my words weren’t quite sinking in. At last she moved her head as if to clear it. “It’s the only way in from the outside. Unless he walks from his place to ours through the hills.”

I nodded halfheartedly, listening to the strains of organ music that floated eerily from the parlor as Franny and Girlie began a song.

“I…wish you wouldn’t leave now,” Rachel said softly.

I watched her go through the slow motions of drying dishes, her eyes fixed, staring at nothing.

“You’ve been a comfort to me, Pamela. A real comfort, what with Micah and all. I know you want to go home, but I wish—” She focused on me at last, then broke off at the unhappy look on my face. “It’s wrong of me to ask you Pamela. I’m sorry.”

I looked away quickly, guilt and shame stabbing through my heart, not wanting her to see the self-loathing I felt everytime she was kind to me. It was true—my presence had seemed to comfort her since Micah’s death, though I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was my own loss, my own grief that she sensed and reached out for and clung to—the instinct of a drowning woman reaching for a lifeline. I was glad I could be there for her, yet still mortified by my terrible secret. I could never ever let her know—and the shameful burden made me want to avoid her even as I wanted to be close to her.

“I think I’ll just lay down for a spell,” Rachel said quietly, and I watched her as she floated listlessly from the kitchen. I ached for her.

Sighing, I stood at the open door, staring out into the yard. When I’d first come here, there had been patches of grass and a few clumps of fading flowers, but since the rains had started, the yard had turned into a soggy mess. Someone had laid wide planks here and there to serve as stepping stones through the mud, but now I could see the water creeping up over the boards. The day was as gloomy as my mood. I pressed my nose to the screen and wondered what day it was, if anyone had missed me by now, if anyone cared…

I jumped as something small and clammy wormed its way into my hand.

Girlie was standing there, looking up at me, her eyes round, frowning.

“What is it?” I asked her, sensing something was wrong.

She gave a sharp tug on my arm and used her other hand to push open the screen, still regarding me soberly over her shoulder. “Come,” she whispered.

“Where? Can’t you tell me where?”

A firm shake of her head. Another tug on my arm, more insistent. Reluctantly, I gave in.

“All right, then, show me.”

The wind pelted us as soon as we stepped outside. I wrestled my wet hair back from my face, trying to see. The farm was drenched. The world was drenched. As we made our way laboriously across the yard I put up an arm to shield my face, but Girlie was still pulling me along, apparently unconcerned about the weather lashing us from all sides. It was with relief that I finally spotted the outline of the barn through the downpour; with both of us pushing, the door finally gave and we fell inside.

The barn had held its fill of terrors for me before, but now it seemed wonderfully cozy. Warm and dry, it surrounded us with gentle murmuring sounds and musty memories of summer days. I shook out my hair and plucked my wet clothes away from my skin, while Girlie took down some lanterns and gave us a little more light. Her expression was blank, and I rubbed at the chill on my arms.

“What is it?” I said now, moving toward her. “What do you want me to see?”

Without a word she turned and headed for the rear of the barn, moving in and out of the shadows as if she were one of them and knew their ways. As the lamplight bobbed deeper and deeper into the darkness, I had the fleeting sensation of pursuing something not quite real. For one second I lost sight of her and a prick of apprehension stopped me in my tracks—then there she was again, bending over, and as she set the lantern on the floor, her shadow shot up the wall, a monstrous thing.

I saw now what she had in mind, and every nerve in my body went painfully erect, hair rising slowly along my neck and arms.

She was trying to lift that trapdoor in the floor.

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I watched with widening eyes as Girlie raked her feet back and forth along the floor, trying to clear away the straw, as she knelt and began to pull…to pull…the heavy door not quite budging but instead sending out a moan that echoed into the farthest corners of the barn…

I will bring something back.

“Oh, no,” I whispered then, “oh…no—” And I didn’t remember moving forward, only that I had to keep that door from being opened, that I had to keep Girlie from unsealing that awful room, and as my hands went down and caught the metal ring, grappling with her fingers, I thought I heard a noise below—something moving—and suddenly, impossibly, the door burst open, flinging us both back into the straw.

I screamed, grabbing Girlie against me as a blast of cold, dank air enveloped us, dousing the light, leaving us in darkness, and for an eternity we lay there, eyes riveted helplessly, unseeingly on that yawning hole in the floor.

As the minutes crawled by and my heart thudded sickeningly against my chest, I finally felt Girlie squirming from my grasp, and I realized I must have been hurting her, holding her so tightly against me. I felt my breath return at last, my heart recede to a painless murmur; as I inched my way up off the floor, the barn came back into focus, flickering in the glow of the relighted lamp.

I’d never felt so foolish. Suddenly the whole situation seemed so bizarre and ridiculous that I began to laugh, only softly at first, but then strange gasps bordering on hysteria. You’re letting it all get to you—Girlie and Franny’s argument, that scarecrow not being burned, Micah’s dying, all the silly, stupid superstitions of this plain, ignorant family. Abruptly I broke off, my hands going nervously to my throat.

“What did you want to show me?” I whispered, and Girlie began her descent into the cellar, motioning me to follow. After a pause, I did so, handing down the lantern so that the tiny space filled with yellow light, standing there beside her, surveying the interior without speaking. The place seemed the same as it had before…and yet…

Frowning, my eyes swept the cramped space from floor to ceiling, from one corner to another. Something was different. Something…I turned slowly, my frown deepening. Everything looked the same, the damp walls, the straw-strewn floor, the chains…I pressed my fingers to my nose. The room smelled different—not anything overpowering, just a slight undercurrent of something I hadn’t smelled there before. I glanced at Girlie and saw that she was on her knees, beckoning me to the wall where the chains hung down. Her face was intense, her eyes seemed sad in a way I’d never noticed before. I knelt beside her, a prickle of apprehension working its deliberate way up my spine. She fixed me with her stare, then shifted it to the rusty coils in a heap upon the straw. Swallowing my revulsion, I picked up one of the thick chains and held it in my hands.

Surely Micah could never have been this strong—that was the first thought that came to mind. Surely his frail body, even in the grips of insanity, could never have required restraints this heavy. Of course, I had heard of people becoming superhumanly powerful in certain deranged states, yet the thought of Micah being bound by these awful chains was unbelievable to me. My face twisted in loathing and anger, and as I ran my fingers down the metal links, I gasped and recoiled in horror. They were sticky…coated with clots of something not quite dry. And as I stared down at the revolting evidence, I felt my stomach churn inside me. These were not just stains—not just the bloodstains I had noticed on my previous visit to this place—these were chunks of flesh and hair, already shriveling along the chain, where someone had writhed and struggled in an agony to free himself.

I let the thing fall from my sticky fingers and saw Girlie scrabbling about in the straw. As she buried herself deeper into the pile, scattering straw all around us, I saw more blood, great pools of it, all dried and clumped in red patches, the dirt stained rusty with it, the floor soaked brown where it had seeped through and gathered and dried. It reminded me of a slaughter, and feeling desperately ill, I turned away and climbed quickly up into fresher air. I sank down onto the edge of a feed trough and lowered my head between my knees. I heard Girlie come up after me and settle the trapdoor back into place. After a while I felt one of her hands on my back.

“Micah,” she whispered sadly.

“Yes, Girlie, I know.” I could barely speak. “I’m so sorry.”

He must have been out of his mind for days. He must have fought to free himself, ripping his arms in the process, cutting himself to ribbons. No wonder his body had been so mutilated. Micah must have found supernatural strength somehow, forcing Seth to chain him even tighter. He must have suffered terribly…it must have been a blessing when he finally died.

Amazed at my calm assessment of it all, I realized that Girlie was again patting my back.

“Micah,” she repeated, and her voice was small and urgent.

“Yes, I know, darling. But he’s at peace now, can you understand that?”

“No,” she said. “Micah can’t sleep.”

I stared at her, my mind slowing, trying to absorb her words. Of course she’d know about Micah’s spells—she’d told me herself that Micah had to be confined at times. She was only a child, after all, but there were some things even a child could sense, and so I tried to comfort her now.

“Yes, Girlie, it’s really all right. Micah isn’t sick now like he was before. Now he can sleep and he’s happy. No more bad dreams. And he won’t ever have to stay in this awful place again.”

Her face came so close to mine that I started. Her saucer eyes were bottomless, full of swimming lights and liquid secrets.

“He can’t sleep,” she said sadly. “Poor Micah…”

“Girlie,” I sighed, trying to be patient, racking my brain for some new consolation that would make sense to her. She was staring at me so unhappily that I felt my heart break for her pain. She loved Micah so much…she misses him…But as I opened my mouth to speak, she yanked hard at my hand and took a step toward the door.

“You’ll see,” she said simply.

I sat there, listening to the steady thrum of rain against the roof, feeling so tired all of a sudden. “I think we should go in now. I think we should check on Rachel—”

“Come!” Girlie tugged at me again, and I eyed her doubtfully, the pout of her upper lip, her thick brows angled in perpetual expectancy above her huge eyes. Sighing, I gave in and trudged out into the rain, but instead of staying within the confines of the yard, she took off around the south corner of the house.

“Girlie! Where are you? I was just in time to see her disappearing into the trees. “Girlie! Wait! come back here!” But if she heard me, she gave no sign, and with a cry of exasperation I ran into the woods, trying to keep on her trail. “Girlie?” The world was cold and wet, but I went on, scanning my surroundings with growing unease. This was the way we had come to bury Micah’s body.

A clap of thunder startled me into movement again. I sloshed along, mud sucking at my ankles. Once I thought I heard Girlie’s voice—a faint haunting sound beneath the downpour—but when I called and got no answer, I ran on.

The clearing was upon me before I realized. I stumbled out into the little cemetery, nearly sprawling over a lopsided cross, so that I flailed my arms and fought to keep my balance.

Micah’s grave, so newly dug, was a crumbling mound of oozing earth. Girlie was huddled in a little heap beside it.

But she wasn’t alone.

As I strained my eyes through the downpour, I saw Seth standing silently beside her like a tall, gray statue, his head bowed, hair and beard plastered, dripping, to his face.

His cheeks were streaming with rain…and yet…for one minute I thought he was crying.

Ever since that night in the shed, he’d avoided me whenever possible, not even speaking when we were forced to be together at meals. But now he looked up as I approached, holding me steadily with his eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, and after my first rash of fear I finally managed to look down at Girlie, questions forming on my half-frozen lips.

She had shriveled into a cold, soggy bundle at Seth’s feet. She fixed me with expressionless eyes.

“Gone,” she said, and shook her head miserably.

I reached out to touch her, but she didn’t speak again the rest of the day.

Chapter 20

ALL THROUGH SUPPER I watched her, but Girlie avoided my eyes. She hardly ate a thing. Rachel was afraid she was coming down with something and put her to bed early, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was much more than that. I was sure that Seth’s being at the cemetery had upset her for some reason. I just couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t get the whole thing out of my mind—Girlie’s strange behavior, taking me on secret excursions. I felt somehow that I’d been on the verge of learning something important—but what?

No one seemed much in a talking mood after supper. Micah’s death had thrown a pall over the house, making us move like ghosts through a world of the half-living. Rachel rocked slowly in her chair. Franny came in from a bath, asking if anyone wanted to take advantage of the water that had already been heated. I jumped at the chance—anything to escape the oppression of these dark rooms—and told Rachel not to bother helping me tonight. She nodded vaguely in my direction, but I wasn’t sure she had even heard.

After filling the tub in the barn, I undressed quickly and sank down into the heavenly warmth of the water. I was still puzzled by Girlie’s odd behavior that day. The more I thought about it the more certain I was that she had really been trying to tell me something, and that Seth’s presence in the cemetery had stopped her. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember everything she had said to me, concentrating on each phrase as if I could pick it apart and come up with some hidden meaning. But Girlie was not cunning, she was honest. There had been no trickery intended, I was sure of that; this was no game of twenty questions intended to frighten me. She had been trying to tell me something.

Micah is going to die. Girlie had known it. I could still see it so clearly…her stepping off the porch, coming up to me, taking my hand…the sadness on her face, the way her words had come, direct, matter-of-fact, unchangeable. I hadn’t believed her then.

But now Micah was dead.

“Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah.” Lathering up my washcloth, I ran it over my face, hearing Girlie’s words over and over again in my mind—“can’t sleep”…“can’t sleep”…I suspected that Girlie had probably spent some sleepless nights of her own in her very short lifetime—listening to Micah’s ravings, hearing Seth’s attempts to restrain him. My mind took a morbid detour, imagining what it must have been like for a little girl in a household like this. Had she lain awake in the dark while Micah’s insanity echoed across the secluded hills? Had she even known about his victims, heard their screams, their pleas for mercy? And then what might have followed—hushed family conferences behind closed doors while the child was supposed to be asleep upstairs…what will we do with Micah?…poor Micah…he can’t sleep…

I moaned and sank lower in the tub, splashing water over my face. But why did she take me to the cemetery? And what had Seth been doing there? And why had his presence caused Girlie to clam up the way she did? I sponged the cloth over my forehead, wringing the water, loving the feel of it caressing my cheeks, my eyelids…my lips…

Suddenly I knew he was there.

Without opening my eyes, I knew it, without hearing a sound or smelling the scent of rainwashed fields, I knew he was there, his presence filling the barn with its silence and strength. Drawing in my breath, I let my eyes readjust to the gloomy barn, and they fell upon his shadow, not three feet away. My heart thudded against my chest as he stepped out into the dim circle of lantern light.

“I’ll scream,” I said hoarsely, trying to meet his eyes without flinching. And then, as another memory struck, my voice trembled in surprise. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“That night in the barn?” He hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

“Get out of here.” I tried to hold back my rage and sudden tears. “Get out of here now. You’ve caused enough hurt as it is.”

He pondered a moment, his shoulders blending with shadows on the wall. “I wanted you,” he said quietly. “I wanted you then, just as much as I want you now.”

He took a step nearer, the familiar hostility strangely absent, and I bent into the water, knowing I could never hide from those dark, dark eyes.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he mumbled. “That night, I never meant—”

“I want you to leave!” My voice rose, shrill with growing panic. “I never want you to come near me again!”

“You’re lying,” he said. “Don’t ever lie to me.” He leaned over, and I felt his breath, softly, in my ear.

“You’ve been drinking.” And though I pushed him away in alarm, he regarded me complacently.

“So? It’s my land and my corn and my still.” The eyebrows lifted. “It doesn’t happen very often, I promise you that. Only when I bow to my limitations.”

I watched him warily as he went down on his knees beside me, resting his elbows on the edge of the tub. One slender finger moved lazily in the water…trailed a wisp of lather over my breast. I stiffened, and he withdrew his hand.

“You’re worrying about Rachel, aren’t you?”

“I’m…” My eyes lowered again, avoiding his, while I tried frantically to think. “She’s your wife, and she’s been good to me…is there any way you could ever imagine what I’ve gone through? The shame and the horrible—”

“Because of her, then. Not because of me.”

“Please…just go away—”

“Because of her?” he demanded, catching my face in his hands. “Or me?”

Silence hung endlessly between us. He gave a vague nod and sat down upon the floor. A faint smile played over the hard lines of his mouth. “Don’t feel bad for Rachel.”

“How can you say that? She’s your wife! You never talk to her. You never hold her—”

“Rachel doesn’t like to be held,” he said, the smile fading. “Rachel doesn’t like to be touched. Especially by me.” He looked at me then in mild surprise as if I should have been aware of the fact. “What Rachel needs from me, I give her. Don’t feel bad for Rachel.”

“What does she need from you?” I asked, yet even as I said the words, I could see the change in him. Something cold and strange passed slowly across his face, turning him into a different person right in front of my eyes.

“Seth—” I gasped, but it was gone. As quickly as I’d seen it, it had disappeared, and I looked fearfully at the lantern to see if the change had been only in my mind or a trick of the lamplight. I felt my breath come out, and with it, the very dregs of fear as Seth turned slowly away, his features lost in shadow.

“I put that scar on her face,” he said softly. “I did that to her.”

“You?” For a moment I could only stare at the rigid lines of his back, at his head angled forward onto his chest. “But—how?”

The sigh came from deep, deep within him. He sank down onto the floor, his back against the wall, and stared at me, his eyes glittering like black, black stars.

“We were just kids. Our folks had been neighbors for years and years. Back then the homeplace was way at the other end of our property, and Rachel’s family lived where Dewey lives now.” He thought a moment, remembering. “We used to help out a lot on each other’s farms. Rachel was always tagging after me, trying to get my attention, getting in my way. I couldn’t be bothered with her. She was just a little pest, and I…”

His shoulders moved in resignation. He shut his eyes and turned his head toward the wall.

“One day she wouldn’t leave me alone, and I got mad at her. I warned her not to follow me. I had work to do, and my pa said he’d skin me alive if I wasn’t done by suppertime.”

My heart grew heavy, watching him. His voice sank low, strangely mechanical.

“She kept at me…and kept at me. I was clearing some brush on the side of a hill by our house. And I pushed her.”

For a long while there was silence. In the flickering light his face looked like stone.

“I pushed her,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to push her so hard, but she lost her balance and before I could catch her, she slid down in the gully.”

“Like…Micah,” I murmured.

“Yes. Like Micah.”

I closed my eyes, the scene all too horribly vivid. When I looked at him again, he was leaning forward, one long leg drawn up to his chest.

“She didn’t die. But the scar on her face never healed. And kids—they can be so cruel. They made fun of her after that. Called her names. Acted scared when they’d see her coming. After so much of that, I reckon a person starts believing she really is a freak.”

“And you…felt responsible.”

He let the remark go by and ran one hand tiredly through his hair. “It never got any better, even when she got older. They never stopped laughing at her. They made things hard for her family. And then one day some boys came in and caught her in the barn. Nobody was around to help her. And after they tormented her for a while,” he finished quietly, “they raped her.”

“Oh, my God.” Through my tears I saw him lift his head, eyes flicking to the ceiling.

“Her pa…well, he just couldn’t take the shame anymore.”

“So you married her.”

“Yes, I married her.” The sound in his throat was low and bitter. “And wasn’t that damn noble of me, saving her from something that was all my fault to begin with.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, a horrible accident. What happened to Rachel after that could have happened whether she was scarred or not. It could have happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t.”

For a long, long time he said nothing. His eyes closed wearily, and his face wrestled with some old, invisible pain. The barn sighed and shifted around us, and Seth sighed and shifted in the shadows.

“So now you know,” he said simply. “Now you know how it is with Rachel and me.”

Our eyes met. And as I stared at him, as he came slowly toward me, something in his gaze smoldered and held me with a power that was almost pleading.

He leaned over me. His voice was low.

“Stand up,” he said. “I want to see you in the light.”

My body, my mind—every part of me cried out in fear, that he would hurt me, that this was wrong—that someone would walk in and find us together—that someone might be listening at the door.

But his arms were around me, lifting me, and as my body rose wetly into the full glow of the lantern, it seemed to shimmer golden, catching and reflecting Seth’s eyes. My arms went up to cover myself, but he pushed them gently down to my sides, stepping back a little, watching me, until suddenly, helplessly, I thought I would go mad with my own desperate need of him. He began to undress, boots and socks…jacket…shirt…pants…all tossed upon the floor, until he stood before me, his body a beautiful shadow, a beautiful light, hiding nothing…nothing…

I went into his arms and the world was all here, among the hay and the warmth and the night of rain washed autumn, and he was more passionate than he had been before, and more gentle.

“I want you,” I whispered, though I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to ever admit it…never…never…it was wrong…so very, terribly wrong…to want it yet to know it could never, never be…

We lay exhausted in each other’s arms, and I could feel his body gauging the time, preparing to take its leave of me, and no, it’s wrong, how could we have done this, how could we have done this horrible thing…

He rolled over, propping himself above me, looking at me a long time without speaking. His eyes for the first time seemed sad. “You’re thinking it’s just the whiskey. Why I’m here with you now. Whiskey and a house full of death.”

A guilty look escaped me before I could stop it. I lowered my eyes. “It’s all right to cry for Micah,” I said. “It’s all right to do what you have to do to get through it.”

“Micah…” The name seemed to jar something inside of him. He said it again, more slowly this time, and as his voice trailed to a whisper, I saw that his eyes glistened wetly. “I loved him,” he said softly.

I watched as he pulled on his clothes, as he shrugged into his jacket and paused at the edge of the lamplight. “You’re thinking I won’t remember this in the morning,” he said huskily. He strode to the door and put his hand to the latch, and when he finally spoke again he sounded drained and almost frightened. “I wish to hell I wouldn’t.”

I shuddered at his words. But I didn’t know why.

Chapter 21

MY DREAMS WERE FULL of Seth.

Seth’s hands, Seth’s voice, his body molded against mine, his lips whispering into my hair, Pam…I need you…I need you…

“I need you, Pam! Please wake up!”

I sat up with a scream and immediately felt a hand clamp down over my mouth. As my heart exploded in terror, the figure beside my bed whispered again—

“Pam! Wake up! I need you!”

“Franny,” I said groggily, “is that you?”

“Yes! For heaven’s sake, be quiet. There’s something out there!”

My mind snapped back into focus, jolting me into a sitting position, and as Franny’s fingers dug into my arms, she made a sound like a sob.

“It’s out there, Pam—can’t you hear it?”

She pressed herself against me and I listened, straining my ears into the soft whine of wind, the muffled patter of rain beyond my open window. A distant growl of thunder faded slowly to the north, and from somewhere below us the house gave a restless creak.

“No, I don’t hear—”

“Ssh! Oh, God, there it is again.” Franny’s voice rose in terror and my arm tightened instinctively around her shoulders.

I had heard something just then—something I couldn’t quite identify—something almost too quiet, too stealthy, to be part of the other night sounds. Quickly I released her, and though she grabbed wildly for my arm, I scooted to the window, pressing myself to the wall on one side, so that if anything was looking up and could see in the dark, I couldn’t be spotted from below.

The yard was alive with shadows. It slithered and shifted like a pit full of black snakes, and where the moon should have been, the sky was draped with clouds. The wind flailed the trees, bending them nearly double, thrashing the ground and chafing the branches so that they rattled like old bones. I stood there, holding my breath, trying to pick out distinct shapes along the ground, but it was impossible to separate one shadow from another. I had a sudden eerie feeling that it was all an illusion—that if I had tried to go downstairs and step outside, I would have fallen off into black, swirling nothingness.

Behind me Franny was hissing from the bed, begging me to come back. I held up my hand to silence her, then squinted my eyes and peered hard in the direction of the woods. For just one second—one split second—I thought I’d seen something move, disentangle itself from the shadows then blend in again like black liquid soaked up by the night…

“I heard it, Pam! It was awful.”

“Heard what?” I mumbled, keeping my eyes on that one spot below. But it was no use. The trees swayed as one; nothing broke free or moved out where I could see it. Nervously I moved away from the window, trying to face Franny with a calm I didn’t feel. “All right now. Tell me what happened.”

She was shaking so badly that I had to hold her arms to quiet her, and even then her voice trembled so that I could scarcely make out what she was saying.

“Franny, stay calm and start again.”

“You didn’t hear it? It was horrible—I’m scared—scared—”

“Scared of what? Calm down so I can understand you.” In desperation I handed her the glass of water on my night table. “Here. Drink this. Slowly.” I watched her take the glass, the way it shook at her lips, spilling liquid down the front of her nightgown.

“I was…in bed,” she stammered, but at least her voice sounded stronger now and I could make out most of her words. “I was…asleep, I think—don’t know how long—”

“That’s all right, it doesn’t matter. What happened?”

“I—” She took a deep breath and drank more water. After several sips her hands seemed less shaky. “I woke up ’cause I heard this noise—”

“What kind of noise?”

“I don’t know…a…sort of…shuffling noise.” Her voice began to rise again, edged with panic. “You know, the way people walk when they’re stumbling around…like…like it was sick maybe…or…” Even in the darkness I could see her face go deathly pale. I reached for her hands but they were clutching the glass so tightly that I couldn’t even get a fingerhold to pry them loose. “Sick…or…”

“Or what?” I asked her slowly, hating the way her eyes suddenly pinned mine, bright with uncontrollable fear.

“Or…you know…” her voice sank to a whisper that sounded like a shout in the black, black, room.” Or…dead.”

I watched her as in a dream, my mind recoiling from the utter terror on her face, the dark holes of her eyes in her too-white face. “Franny…” I whispered.

“You know, don’t you?” she said dully, her gaze fixed on mine. “But you don’t want to believe she brought him back.”

And then, to my horror, I watched her hand tighten around the glass, squeezing it so that the glass exploded into hundreds of tiny slivers that sliced into her skin and showered over my bed.

“Franny!”

I hadn’t meant to yell so loudly, but suddenly there were voices out in the hall and people running, and Seth burst through my door with Rachel right behind him. In the glow of the candle that Rachel held, Seth’s face was angry, but hers was frightened.

“What the hell’s going on?”

As I turned helplessly toward Franny, her eyes grew frantic, begging me not to tell.

“Why…I…we…” I stammered ridiculously, and Seth, on some instinct of his own, crossed to the window and peered out.

“Franny, my dear, what’s happened?” Rachel was there on the bed with us, patting her sister’s shoulder, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and wrapping it around Franny’s bloody hand. I jumped off the bed and took my shawl from the chair, slipping it on as I tried to concoct some plausible explanation.

“It was a nightmare—” I began.

“—sleepwalking,” Franny finished.

We both broke off and looked at each other. Seth turned back from the window and stared at us, folding his arms across his chest.

“I had a nightmare while I was sleepwalking, I reckon,” Franny said lamely.

“I was just trying to calm her down so she wouldn’t wake you,” I added.

“I got turned around. I thought I was in my own room, but—” Franny waved her bandaged hand vaguely.

“What happened to your hand?” Seth asked.

“I knocked my glass off the table,” I spoke up apologetically. “Franny cut herself trying to help me. I’m sorry, Rachel—”

“Mercy, it was just an old thing, don’t think more about it,” Rachel shushed me, then added in dismay. “Why, there’s glass on your bed!”

“I’ll shake it out,” I said hurriedly, not wanting to explain how it could have shattered so as to fall there. “Franny, why don’t you get back to bed if you’re—”

But Franny wasn’t listening to me. She was staring at my doorway as if she’d seen a ghost. In spite of myself I jumped at the shadow forming there, and immediately heard Rachel call out.

“Girlie, go back to bed now, honey. Franny just had a bad dream.”

For the flash of an instant it was a bizarre tableau—Rachel half rising from the bed, sickly yellow candlelight guttering across her misshapen face; Seth poised as if he would fight any new dangers with his bare hands; Franny staring in undisguised terror at the round, shining eyes that watched her from the hallway. It was I who broke the spell at last, going to Girlie, taking her by one chilly hand.

“Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” I said and led her off to her room.

As we went down the hall, a flash of lightning split the sky. Girlie’s room sputtered like a weak lightbulb as more lightning flashed; then went black. I pulled the covers up to her chin and rested my hand on her forehead.

“Girlie,” I said softly, hesitantly, for I wasn’t really sure I wanted to ask, wanted to know, even wanted to acknowledge the possibility of such a preposterous thing. “Girlie…when you told me…that Micah couldn’t sleep. What did you mean?”

A rumble of thunder trembled the walls around me, trembled my hand upon her large, wide forehead.

“Girlie…can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you remember saying to me that Micah couldn’t sleep…can you tell me why you said that?”

The eyes gazed up at me, full of knowledge that turned me cold.

“Girlie—” I tried again, but she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

“Poor Micah,” she mumbled. “He doesn’t want to be dead.”

My hand froze over her hair, her words humming into my brain, my skin suddenly wet with icy fire. “Oh, Girlie,” I whispered. “Oh, no…”

I stood up as if I’d received an electric shock. I could still hear the voices indistinctly from the room next door, and I chafed my arms roughly to get my circulation going again. It couldn’t be—it couldn’t be. Yet my mind whirled with horrible imaginings and I moved down the hall again like a lost player in somebody else’s nightmare. When I finally reentered my room, I’d managed to compose myself, my face a mask of sympathetic concern.

“She’s asleep,” I said. “I told her everything was all right.”

“And it’s time you went back to sleep, too.” Rachel smiled wearily, one hand beneath Franny’s elbow as she steered her toward the door. “All of us need some sleep after that scare, I think.”

“Thanks,” Franny mumbled as she passed me, and I nodded. Seth’s eyes swept me briefly as he followed them out.

I sat on my bed, listening to the house settle around me, the soft whisper of doors shutting, the rustle of mattresses. I sat alone in the darkness, listening to them all falling back to sleep around me, knowing that sleep would not come that easily for me.

I will bring something back…

It couldn’t be! Just the fact that I was even considering the possibility made it somehow all the more horrible…that I could even suspect such a thing from a child…that my logic could be swayed by this superstitious bunch of people with their centuries-old beliefs and family rituals. The whole thing was ludicrous, and I had fallen prey to it, let it take hold of my mind and my reason. I had been here too long. Now I could understand how myths were so easily fabricated, why tall tales were so readily accepted and believed. Without the normal, functioning world out there to serve as some sort of rational center, it took no effort at all to brainwash and be brainwashed in return. Don’t understand something? Make it up! Need an explanation? Invent one! Without television or radio or newspapers to give the current state of the universe, it can be whatever you want it to be! New sounds are scary when there are so few sounds to begin with; the unknown is even worse when there are no lights to flick on to dispel the darkness. The darkness of the mind, I thought bitterly—and I’m being dragged into it, made a part of it, as helpless a victim to these crazy terrors as this whole family is to nature and her stringent, unforgiving ways.

No betrayal here…

Betrayal. Seth’s words came back to me, like a fatal prophecy, and I bit down on my fist, tasting blood. Franny hadn’t burned the scarecrow…and Seth had punished her…no betrayal…nothing out of order here…and Franny had told on Micah…and now Micah was dead…everything as it’s always been…and now Micah was coming back…

“Stop it!” I moaned, limp and exhausted. “Stop it! You’re as bad as the rest of them! It’s ridiculous what you’re thinking—it’s impossible—” Of course Micah hadn’t really come back. Micah was dead. Dead and resting in peace six feet under the muddy earth in the cemetery with all the other Whittakers who had gone on before him…the other Whittakers he killed…“No!” Franny was just distraught. Girlie couldn’t raise the dead, but Girlie could call Franny’s bluff, especially when Franny was feeling so guilty. Micah was dead. And the shuffling in the yard was only leaves and autumn’s night tricks. It had nothing to do with betrayal—it had nothing to do with anything.

Because, dear God, I was with Rachel’s husband while she told me what a comfort I was to her—

And what would that betrayal bring me?

Chapter 22

SOMETIME IN THE LAST hours before dawn, the rain began to freeze.

I heard it pelting the house, then sliding thickly down the eaves, and when the gray light of morning crept over the hillsides, the house was an island in a sloshy, cold sea. The ground was too warm yet for the ice to stick. Instead the already saturated earth began to flood, the ice melting and inching its way higher up the steps of both porches.

I gladly accepted one of Seth’s cast-off jackets and sloshed with Franny to the barn to help with the chores. Since Micah’s death my extra pair of hands had been put to use and were much appreciated. Our breath hung frosty in the crystal air as I patted the horses’ flanks soothingly and watched steam rise as their warm noses snuffled at the troughs of dusty grain.

“Did you hear any more noises last night?” I asked Franny. She had black circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept.

“No, but I was so nervous, just about everything spooked me,” she said glumly.

“See? I’m sure it was nothing.”

“I reckon you’re right.” Franny shrugged beneath a heavy woolen shawl. “Only…”

“Only what?”

She hesitated for so long that I thought she’d changed her mind and wasn’t going to tell me. She swatted her palms briskly against her thighs. “You still don’t believe what Girlie can do, do you?” Franny said at last.

I took my time answering, rubbing my mittened hands in gentle circles along the corncrib.

“You don’t believe,” Franny went on, “even though you saw her heal up my burns.”

“But I didn’t see her. Rachel only told me she’d done it. I saw the fire and I heard you screaming. That’s all.”

“Hmmph,” Franny sniffed. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to believe, ’specially after Girlie saving you the way she did.”

“I believe she’s extremely bright,” I nodded slowly. “And extremely perceptive. I believe she picks up on things you’re not even aware of.” But how did she know about Brad and Kerry?…I forced that thought away.

“She knows what’s in your mind,” Franny said flatly.

“She knows what scares you,” I said. “She’s very sharp. She could be quite a little manipulator if she were spoiled, which she doesn’t seem to be.”

“I reckon not,” Franny agreed. “Seth makes her mind most of the time. Rachel, too, though she gives in where Seth won’t.”

“Are you afraid of her?” I asked bluntly. “If you are, she’ll sense that, you know, and use it against you. Children are like that. It’s part of their nature. They have instincts that adults lose along the way.”

She gave a halfhearted nod, still loath to accept my logical explanation. “You don’t know her,” she finally accused.

“No, I guess I don’t really.”

“One time—” She glanced up sharply toward the barn door as if expecting Girlie to appear there suddenly, listening. My eyes followed hers, a curious relief welling up inside me at the sight of the empty threshold. Franny glanced back at me, her voice lowering. “One time…she…brought a bird back to life.”

“What?” I gave a small chuckle, felt it die in my throat almost instantly as I saw the fearful look creeping over Franny’s face. “No,” I said softly, “there must have been a spark of life still in it…it only seemed dead.”

“No.” Franny’s head shook vehemently, her hands clenched in the air in front of her. “The bird was dead. Stiff as a board, I tell you. It fell out of a nest in our maple tree around front last summer. We’d been watching them, all the babies, wondering when they’d all be big enough to fly off.” Her voice grew taut. “One morning we found this bird lying there all stiff on the ground. Girlie, she was real upset, and so Micah said we’d have a funeral for it, and he went off to find a shovel. Girlie, she just stood there and held that bird, and kept staring at it so sad…and then”—she wet her lips, her words dry and choked—“and then she held up that bird to her mouth…and…kind of breathed into it…like this…”

I felt the walls close in around me; I leaned across the bin, unable to tear my eyes from Franny’s slow, deliberate movements.

“…and…then…that bird…it kind of jerked a little…all at once…like this”—her eyes grew dim with tears—“and then—”

“Franny, Rachel’s calling you. Are you done?” Seth’s voice boomed into the silence and we both cried out as we jumped.

I pressed my hand against my heart to stop its racing, and glared at Seth as he swung the pitchfork up onto his shoulder.

“What?” he demanded, as we both looked at him. Franny, slightly pale, wiped her hands nervously on her apron and started forward. “Come on, there’s lots to do,” Seth reminded her, and strode back outside.

“It must have been a coincidence,” I murmured, my mind struggling to grasp it all. Franny looked at me solemnly.

“You believe that?” she asked softly, and swung the barn door behind us.

I spent most of that day in the kitchen, heating flatirons, helping with the ironing and cooking—anything to keep near the heat of the stove. The house wore a perpetual chill, the rooms damp and stale, and though we closed off the upstairs and all the windows and outside doors, there was a draftiness that numbed my feet and reddened my hands as I worked. Seth kept the fire going in the parlor. By midafternoon the rain finally slacked off to another fine drizzle, the wind dying down to a mournful whine.

Rachel seemed even more weary and depressed at supper. More than once I caught her staring out the window at the darkening sky, her fingers absently kneading her apron. Seth was delivering a lamb out in the barn and hadn’t been in to eat. No one said much at the table. The huge pot of stew hadn’t made me feel any warmth; it was as if there were some other kind of chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. As I scraped leftovers into a pan for the chickens, I saw Rachel pause again at the window, her stare vacant and sad.

“Rachel?” I said, sliding my hand onto her arm.

She turned slowly, her smile tremulous. “I keep thinking of him out there, so cold and all…”

Pressing my lips together, I bowed my head, and she touched my hand lightly with her own.

“’Course, I know he really isn’t there. I know he can’t really feel the cold…only…” Her dark eyes grew troubled. “Only that’s where Seth put him. That’s where Seth put him—down there—in that dark, wet ground…”

Her voice trailed off, and I turned around as the back door opened and Franny appeared.

“I surely could use some help out here. Lamb’s all twisted around, Seth says.”

“I’ll come,” I spoke up quickly, and Rachel rewarded me with that same ghostly smile.

“I’ll boil water,” she said quietly.

When we got to the barn, Seth was still hard at work, his jacket tossed aside, the shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. The ewe was having a hard time of it, and though she struggled valiantly, I could see the suffering and despair in her eyes. I know that feeling…the loss in spite of all the efforts…As the hours went by and it grew more and more apparent that she was losing the fight, it was all I could do to stay on my feet. I was bone tired and nearly frozen through. And when Seth finally looked down at the pitiful newborn lamb lying lifelessly in his arms, I bent my head to the wall and cried. There had been enough dying. There had been too much.

“You’d better come in,” Seth said to me. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

Yet for some reason I just wanted to stay, to be close to the bereaved mother, to let her know I was there.

“It’s just a sheep,” Franny reminded me, not unkindly. “It happens.”

“She can stay,” Seth cut in, holding the door for her. “I’ll leave a lantern. You can come when you’re ready.”

I nodded, sensing that he must have understood somehow. I was glad to have the barn to myself. Kerry would have loved this place…the animals…the hayloft…learning to milk a cow…How terribly romantic it always seemed to those who’d never lived on a farm, I thought coldly. No one had any idea of the backbreaking work, the sacrifice, the suffering…I eased myself down into a corner and closed my eyes.

And that’s when I heard it.

The shuffling noise. Somewhere outside the barn, right on the other side of the wall where I was leaning.

Gasping, my head jerked up, my eyes straining in their sockets. Maybe it had been the wind, sweeping leaves, sifting dirt along the cracks and crevices…

But it’s raining. The leaves aren’t dry. There is no dust.

It came again.

Inching its way along the side of the building, a soft scuffling sound, something having trouble walking, dragging its feet…

It stopped.

And turned the corner.

And pulled itself toward the door.

My hands clutched at the wall. I tried to get up, to run, but my legs folded uselessly beneath me. Nightmare images roared through my brain—a decaying face with mud-clotted hair…sightless, staring eyes…blue lips pleading silently for help—

The latch moved.

A thousand screams resounded in my head, but no one ever heard them. The animals, in a sudden panic, began to cry and shriek as the door creaked slowly inward.

I felt the blast of wind, cold as death…

Saw the lantern flare once before plunging into darkness…

Heard the sliding, jerky movement across the floor as I plunged into a darkness of my own.

Chapter 23

“PAMELA? OPEN YOUR EYES, honey—it’s Rachel.”

I stared at her without really seeing at first, then little by little the kindly features of her face came into focus, and with them, Seth’s and Franny’s faces hovering near her shoulder, and the dim outline of my room.

“Thank God. She must have just fainted.” Rachel’s smile welcomed me back, and I noticed the glow of tears in her eyes. “We just couldn’t figure—when you didn’t come in—”

Seth gave a mute nod, but I could read a peculiar relief in his eyes as he turned away.

“And I didn’t know what to think,” Franny went on, shaking her head in mild reproach. “Why, when I went back in that barn and you weren’t even there—”

My eyes widened and fixed themselves on her face. “What…did you say?”

“The barn,” Franny repeated patiently, obviously convinced that my lapse of consciousness had affected the quickness of my brain. “When I went in, you weren’t there. The lantern was out and not a soul around.”

“But—” I struggled to sit up, Rachel’s hands firmly pressing me back.

“It’s the strain,” she nodded wisely. “All the grief we’ve had around here and this awful cold and rain, and you helping us out so much. I should have seen the signs. You’re worn out.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “That is, I’ve been fine. I haven’t felt bad until—”

“But now you have to rest,” Rachel told me, standing up and motioning Franny out of the bedroom. “A good night’s sleep will do wonders.”

“No.” I didn’t want to be alone. I needed to talk to Franny. Despairing, I tried to catch her eye, hoping to make her understand. Rachel nudged her out the door, pulling it shut behind her.

“I’ll warm some milk,” she whispered. “It’ll help you sleep.”

But I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to close my eyes, be alone in the dark, do anything that might make me relive that awful terror I’d felt out there in the barn.

It was nothing…Every logical instinct pulled together to convince me, and yet deep down I knew otherwise. It had been something. Something so horrible that I’d been afraid like I’d never been afraid before.

My hands groped helplessly along the covers, feeling the cold radiating from every corner of the room. I was still in my clothes, and they were damp. Hurriedly I changed into my nightgown and dove back under the blankets, wishing I had ten more of them to pull up around me. Yet I knew they would do me little good. The chill I was feeling now came from deep inside me where blankets couldn’t touch.

I jumped as my door opened, then let out a sigh of relief when I saw Franny there. She had her arms full and kicked the door shut behind her, setting a steaming cup on my bedside table.

“Socks,” she announced, dropping them into my outstretched hand. “Two pairs. And a hot brick.” She held up a small rectangle wrapped in a towel, then proceeded to place it beneath the covers near my feet. “You’ll be surprised,” she assured me with a grin, “just how warm you’ll be once you get to sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I said. “I can’t sleep. Franny, where was I when you found me?”

“I didn’t find you. I got scared and called Seth. He found you.”

“But where was I?”

Her smile was puzzled. “Lying out there on the path at the side of the barn. We couldn’t figure out where you were going. Where were you going?”

“I wasn’t going anywhere. Franny, listen to me.” Something in my tone must have alerted her; her smile faded, and I saw slow reluctance growing in her eyes. “Franny—I never left that barn, I swear it. I…heard something.”

She knew then. I could tell by the flinching of her cheek muscles and the way her face drained white. She knew.

For a moment neither of us said anything. Franny sat down beside me on the bed, working her fingers across the edges of the blanket, worrying them into sweaty knots.

“So you believe me,” she said at last.

“I don’t know what to believe.” I shook my head slowly. “Franny…where was Girlie while I was in the barn?”

She looked surprised. “Girlie? Why…in her room, I reckon—”

“But you’re not sure?” I looked guilty.

“Why…do you think she made the noises? It couldn’t have been her, Pam. She was in bed when I heard the noises that night.” She gave me a sheepish glance. “I already thought of her. Her room was the first place I checked. And anyhow,” her face grew troubled, “Girlie’s not one to play tricks like that.”

Tricks like that. I thought of Kerry hiding in the closet, jumping out to give me a scare…Girlie breathing life into a dead bird…

I turned to Franny, exasperated. “Why on earth did you ever ask her to bring Micah back?”

She stared at me a long time, and then to my dismay she covered her face with her hands and began to cry. “It was all my fault…and everybody felt so bad…if I hadn’t hidden my scarecrow maybe Micah wouldn’t have died—”

“Oh, Franny…” Leaning forward, I took her in my arms and rocked her, trying to soothe her heartrending sobs. “Oh, Franny, surely you can’t believe that your scarecrow had anything to do with Micah…that’s just silly!”

“Is it?” She looked up through teary lashes and shook her head adamantly. “You don’t know how it is with us here—how it’s always been. Nothing ever goes out of place—it’s nature’s way, the way of the land—like trying to make winter come before fall…or planting crops in the snow—it’s just not done that way…we always burn scarecrows after harvest…Seth makes us do it! I knew better…and I went against things—”

“You went against Seth,” I corrected her gently. “That’s the only thing you did—not against nature or God or—”

“But it upset Micah so,” she cried. “I never should have done it.”

Looking down on her unbearable grief, I continued to stroke her hair, making comforting sounds under my breath. My heart beat heavy within me; I remembered Seth’s words that night in the barn—“A change in routine upsets him.” Had Franny’s disobedience really been the fuel that had fanned Micah’s madness that night, that had almost gotten me killed? Sadly I gave her a gentle hug and begged her not to cry.

“Franny, I’m sure it wasn’t you that upset Micah. It could have been any number of things.”

“No, he was upset all right. It was almost like he knew! Like he knew something bad was gonna happen. That it was gonna happen to him!”

“That doesn’t make sense and you know it,” I said firmly.

“I told on you that night,” Franny wept, and my arms stiffened around her. “I didn’t mean to, but you wouldn’t take me with you, and I was so mad—”

I said nothing, and she buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled so that I could hardly hear.

“I heard Micah say he was going to try to get you out of here—I was outside the door in the hall—and so I told Seth on you—”

“Oh, Franny,” I couldn’t help but smile now, thinking how her childish act of vengeance had probably saved my life. Don’t ever say anything…about Micah…it’s something nobody wants to talk about…“Franny, nothing happened…thanks to you, nothing happened—”

“How can you say that?” Franny choked, misinterpreting my meaning, shocked eyes fixing themselves on my face. “How can you say that now that Micah’s dead?”

I moved my shoulders in a gesture of bewilderment. “Franny, you’re being entirely too hard on yourself. What happened to Micah has nothing to do with you telling Seth about his plans. It has nothing to do with that scarecrow!”

“Micah was always like that,” Franny mumbled to herself, wiping a sleeve across her eyes. “Always so sweet and trying to help everybody out. And it’s all my fault he’s dead. I can’t stand knowing that it was me—”

“Stop it, Franny!” My voice rose sharply. “Stop talking yourself into all this guilt. Things happen in life—you can’t always blame someone for what’s meant to be, they just happen—”

“Things happen in this house,” she said. Her voice was a whisper, hollow and scared. She turned her eyes on me, and they seemed too large somehow…too empty. “Things happen in this house,” she echoed. “And on this farm…and in these hills. And maybe I know about them…and maybe I don’t.”

“Franny—”

“Ask Seth,” she whispered. “He’s the one to ask. He’s the one—”

She stiffened, her face draining white as the bedroom door slowly swung open.

“Oh, Rachel!” Franny gasped, collapsing back against me as I tried to calm my own racing heart. “I thought you were Seth. I thought he heard—”

She bit down on her lip, and as her hands twisted together in her lap, she gave a sudden, desperate sob.

“Why did it have to be Micah? He couldn’t stand to see anything suffer or die. He never hurt anybody! He never did a mean thing in his life!”

Chapter 24

MY MIND WAS STILL whirling long after I was alone. Sleep was impossible. Sometime in the night I heard my door open and started in panic—but at the last second I heard Franny’s whisper, and she crept into bed with me, and we huddled there, trembling, until dawn. When she let herself out again the room was bathed in pearly light, and a hazy sunless day lay beyond the window.

I stood looking out for a long time, reviewing events in my mind, happenings that made no sense, had no pattern. I reconstructed the argument I had overheard that night between Girlie and Franny…and the awful secret I’d been shown in the cave that day with Seth…and our confrontation in the barn when he’d first enlightened me about Micah’s madness…Then my mind went back to Franny’s tearful outburst the night before, and everything shattered apart.

“Things happen in this house…ask Seth…he’s the one—” My God, what did that mean! A part of me was frozen by it, not wanting to hear or see or know. Franny had always been critical of Seth; from the very first day I’d known her, she’d been rebellious and openly antagonistic. I’d put it down to growing pains and a natural defiance of authority. Franny was strong-minded and strong-willed, and it was obvious that Rachel hadn’t the disposition to keep her in line. It had to be up to Seth to act the enforcer. Yet another part of me remembered all too well my own fear of him—the way he had openly disliked and distrusted me, his seemingly unfeeling attitude toward Rachel and Girlie where I’d expected to see love and compassion. Yes, I’d feared him—even hated him at times, until…

My cheeks burned, as the sweet, painful memories rushed back, washing through me until my whole body was afire with my shame and my desire for him. This man who had held me, who had been part of me, who had finally shown the depth of his feelings, this man couldn’t be the man Franny had so much contempt for. He just couldn’t be…

“Ask Seth…he’s the one—”

Nothing made sense to me now, and yet it all seemed to center somehow on that scarecrow. The change in routine. The betrayal. According to Seth, Micah would have killed me that night because of it. And according to Franny, Micah had been trying to save me…but from what? Seth? Micah himself? Some other danger I wasn’t even aware of? Seth’s words came back to me again: “Don’t ever say anything about tonight…about any of this…nobody wants to talk…”

But now I found myself wondering just why nobody would want to talk. It seemed fantastic to me, but could it actually be possible that Franny really didn’t know what Micah had done? And if that was true, then how had Seth managed to cover it up so neatly and protect her from it all these years? It was so obvious that Franny adored Micah. Seth must really have understood how lonely she was, how much she needed a friend, and he’d done everything he could to give her that friend in Micah, to protect Micah’s image in her eyes. Could it be that Seth really did love her very much…

My eyes filled, and I took a deep breath of the rainy air. I thought of the many years Seth had suffered, trying to protect his family, to keep them all together. Was it any wonder that his temper flared easily, that he demanded strict adherence to the only way of life that could ever work for them? If Franny feared his temper and what he might sometimes do, then it was with total innocence of the love he had for her and for them all. Seth had talked about it before—survival. I was finally beginning to understand.

“Oh, Franny,” I whispered now, half smiling. “You saved my life that night and you never even knew…” And just as quickly my smile froze, then died. None of this explained the noises I’d heard last night—the ones Franny had heard the night before. Or Girlie’s repeated statements that Micah couldn’t sleep. Nothing explained why I’d been lying outside in the rain when I’d been alone in the barn only minutes before…

Or why Dewey still hadn’t shown up to take me home.

Disconcerted once more, I dressed and went down to the kitchen where Rachel and Girlie were at the table writing numbers and letters on a slate. Rachel looked relieved to see me, and set about fixing breakfast, though I assured her I wasn’t hungry.

“Nonsense, you need something hot to keep off the chill. Franny said you seemed all right, though. She looked in on you when she got up.”

“Yes.” I acknowledged the white lie and warmed my hands around a cup of strong coffee.

Rachel seemed about to say something, but checked herself. She broke some eggs into an iron skillet and shook the pan gently over the fire. Girlie stuck one end of the chalk into her mouth and bit off a piece, chewing it slowly as she stared at me. Rachel took a knife and sliced off a thick chunk of bread, finally glancing at me over her shoulder.

“Pamela,” she said hesitantly, “did you hear any noises in the night?”

My hand jerked, scalding my lips with coffee. I lowered the cup to the table and pressed my hand against my mouth. “What did you say?” I murmured.

Girlie just looked at me…chewing…her little chin rotating in a slow, even rhythm. Her eyes never left my face. Never blinked.

“I…” Rachel seemed uneasy, as if she didn’t care to talk about it but couldn’t help herself. “I mean…in the night…late…did you hear anything—anything at all?”

“Like what?” I lowered my hand, clenched it in my lap. I met her eyes, noting a quick flush of color in her cheeks. My voice was so casual, too casual.

“Oh, it’s silly, I know,” Rachel dismissed it, flustered, “and I wouldn’t even bring it up—why, Seth would get on me for sure, thinking I was making up nonsense in my mind—” She bit her lip, laughing at herself, but her laugh sounded forced. “It’s just that this was different.”

“I must have slept pretty hard,” I lied, amazed at myself that it could come so effortlessly. “So if there was anything, I’m afraid I could have been right in the middle of it and not even known.” I leaned forward, purposely avoiding Girlie’s eyes. “But what did you hear, Rachel?” I coaxed gently. “If it upset you, maybe you should tell Seth.”

“No, oh no,” she said quickly, but as she turned to face me, her voice went flat. “It was different, Pamela,” she said again, more firmly this time. “I’ve lived in this house so long, I know every creak and groan, in every kind of weather. And this was different.” Her voice shook a little though she tried to disguise it with a sigh. “I’ve never heard this sound before.”

“What was it?” I asked again.

Girlie stopped chewing. Rachel looked down at her and gestured vaguely toward the door.

“Go tell Seth the coffee’s fresh, Girlie. I expect he’ll be ready for some more about now, him being up so early this morning.”

Girlie obediently rose and went to the door. The wind whipped the screen out of her hands; after a brief struggle she disappeared outside. Rachel sank down into the chair opposite me, her face strained as she leaned across the table.

“I’m not one to imagine things,” she said urgently, her voice low. She touched one hand to my wrist; her fingers felt cold. “But I heard something in the night I’ve never heard before. Something that isn’t right…that shouldn’t be here or anywhere on God’s green earth.”

I felt the hair rise chillingly along the back of my neck, but I forced my face to remain calm, expressionless. “Rachel…what is it?”

“I know you won’t believe me,” she said tersely, and her head bent so near to mine that I could see every ragged detail of her scar. “I know our ways are strange to you, and Franny’s not a bad girl, she’s just got a temper, and she never means to hurt anybody—”

Her words swirled around my head, overwhelming me, pushing my mind deeper and deeper into confusion and fearful knowing.

“She didn’t really mean it when she said it, but still…you know…those thoughts get put in Girlie’s head—”

She was looking at me beseechingly, begging me to understand, to believe…to forgive…

“And Girlie can’t help it ’cause she has the Gift—”

“No,” I mumbled, pulling slowly away. “No…I know what you’re trying to tell me, and…no.”

“But you heard her!” Rachel’s hand clamped over my own with a strength that shocked me. Her eyes swam with desperation. “You heard what Franny asked—”

“Yes, I heard her, but she was just upset, and it didn’t mean anything. I just don’t believe it—”

“I don’t want to,” Rachel whispered to me, and tears gathered, blurring her sweet, gentle eyes. “Don’t you understand, Pamela? Oh, I don’t want to—”

The door burst open and we jumped apart, looking up guiltily as Seth stood there, shaking rain from his shoulders.

“Girlie said there was coffee?”

“Yes, I’ve just made some.” Rachel hurried to the stove, and I stared down at my cup as Seth took a place at the table. I clenched the handle so hard that my fingers ached, but I couldn’t seem to stop their slight trembling. If Seth noticed, he gave no sign.

“One of the cows is missing,” he said irritably, taking the coffee that Rachel handed him.

“Where do you think she is?” Rachel leaned back against the table, hands digging into her apron pockets, eyes avoiding mine.

“Could have gotten caught in the far pasture. Wandered down to the bottom acre. Probably a damn swamp down there by now. I just hope she hasn’t drowned.”

“I worry with that bridge out,” Rachel murmured. “What do you aim to do?”

“Have to go down there and look for her.” He sighed as if the very thought was wearying. “If that fence came down again, there’s no telling where she might be.”

“You can’t go after her in this weather,” Rachel said anxiously. “It’s too early for snow, but that sky…”

“We can’t afford to lose a cow, Rachel,” Seth said, and his tone ended the matter.

I saw Rachel bite her lip and busy herself at the stove. Seth downed the last of his coffee and kicked back his chair, buttoning up his jacket as he stood.

“What’s wrong with Franny?” he asked shortly. “She’s so jumpy, she acts like something’s after her.”

Rachel stiffened, hands outstretched toward the wood-box, and I glanced up quickly, noting how Seth’s eyes narrowed, going from Rachel to me and back again.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked mildly, throwing in a handful of kindling, wiping her hands nervously on her apron.

“I mean she’s jumpy as a cat.” Seth stared at her, but Rachel shook her head in forced amusement and pretended to examine the fire.

“I’m sure I don’t know. We’re all a little edgy with this weather, I reckon. Probably an old-fashioned case of cabin fever coming on, is all.”

Seth grunted something unintelligible and strode out. I let my breath out slowly and caught Rachel watching me.

“Do you,” she began slowly, “do you think Franny—”

“Seth’s probably imagining things,” I cut her off. “We’re all letting our imaginations get the best of us. Franny seems just fine to me.” I looked away, out through the window, to the endless shroud of gray mist. Then I fixed Rachel with a strained smile. “I don’t think you should give it another thought.”

“You’re right,” she said, and she actually looked relieved. “I know you’re right, Pamela. It’s just everything that’s happened…it’s just…” Her eyes clouded for an instant, pain creasing her brow. She turned abruptly to the stove, dishing up eggs and fried bread onto my plate. “You eat now.” She smiled, setting my breakfast in front of me. “You eat, and we’ll just see if Dewey shows up today. Maybe he decided to walk it, after all.”

But Dewey didn’t show up that day. As the morning dragged on and dinnertime came and went, I realized I wasn’t even disappointed when Dewey didn’t show up. I hadn’t even really been waiting for him. A newer, more persistent feeling had replaced my alternating hopefulness and despair over the arrival of Dewey—a gnawing feeling that left me strangely unsettled and made me jump at the slightest sound, that caused my eyes to dart toward dark corners and glance repeatedly over my shoulder. It was a foolish feeling…and maddening…but one I couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how I tried.

Seth made a brief appearance at noon, but left again almost immediately. I helped Rachel pack a satchel of food and a canteen of hot coffee, and stood with her at the back door watching Seth go into the woods. But as we watched, he stopped to look back at us.

“He’s turned around,” Rachel said in surprise, and her eyes fell upon me, frightened and confused.

I stared toward the trees, and I felt his eyes, knew he watched me, and my heart filled with fear. What was that superstition Rachel had told me once? “When you start off on a real important trip, you shouldn’t ever look back as you’re leaving….” But by then he had continued on his way.

“He turned around,” Rachel whispered. “He looked back.”

A strange chill crawled over me as I saw Seth’s back vanish into the tree-lined shadows. I shook it off and went to stand uncertainly beside the stove, trying to warm a part of me the heat couldn’t touch.

We divided our evening between the warmth of the kitchen and the blazing hearth in the parlor. Rachel skinned a rabbit Seth had shot that morning and started cooking supper. The house smelled of game and wild herbs. Franny cleaned the lamps. Girlie played at our feet on the rug, drawing pictures on her slate, making up stories to herself. Franny and I went out several times to check on the sheep. We carried wood and filled the box on the back porch. We kept anxious eyes on the darkening sky, on the gathering of dull clouds high in the north. We watched the woods for a sign of Seth, but he didn’t come.

I peeled potatoes for supper, staring down into the pan, trying to make the skins into long, unbroken curls. Rachel sliced up squash in a pan, opened a jar of tomatoes, cast nervous glances out the kitchen window. Girlie played the organ, mumbling strange indistinct verses that wore raggedly at my nerves. When Franny dropped a dish, we all jumped as if we’d been shot. And still Seth didn’t come.

I went with Franny to the smokehouse, helped her reach down a ham, our eyes darting constantly to the corners, to the rafters. Sudden creaks and groans sawed through us like razors; we grabbed for each other and laughed, embarrassed. We strained our ears, trying to identify outside noises—leaves, branches, rain, wind—no shuffling sounds…thank God…no rustlings or feet sliding along wet ground. I didn’t tell her about my earlier conversation with Rachel. It seemed unwise, somehow, unlucky—look who’s superstitious now…

We went back to the barn, did the milking. The ewe was warm and comfortable, her ordeal apparently forgotten. The horses dozed in their stalls. The temperature was dropping.

There was no sign of Seth.

We ate in strained silence. Girlie tapped her fork on her plate, tap-tap-tap…tap-tap-tap…keeping her eyes on Franny all the while. Rachel reached over, covering Girlie’s hand with one of her own. Franny shifted nervously in her chair, looked up once into Girlie’s full, round stare, and immediately dropped her eyes. The food was limp and tasteless. The coffee in my cup was cold—with a start I wondered how long I’d been sitting there, gazing down into its brown, calm center.

“Time for bed, Girlie,” Rachel said quietly, and again we all jumped, as if a stranger had crept unaware into our midst and suddenly spoken.

Girlie went upstairs, her feet fading overhead, ending with the shutting of her door. Rachel rose mechanically and began clearing the table. I tried to ignore the sound of the clock, yet my heart seemed to be trapped in the monotonous rhythm of its ticking.

“He’ll be all right.” Rachel’s voice was unnaturally loud. “He probably had to go a long way to find the cow and then he had to mend the fence again. He’ll sleep in one of the sheds and be back in the morning.”

Franny pressed her nose against the windowpane, her voice oddly distorted by the frosty glass. “It’s starting to snow,” she said.

Chapter 25

WE SAT UP WAY past midnight. To pass the time and warm us up, Rachel passed around whiskey, and I drank more than I should have. No one wanted to be the first to leave, as if in some strange way it would be like admitting that something was very wrong. But Seth had been gone like this before. Rachel assured me. Many were the times that work had kept him and Micah far from the house when darkness fell or bad weather hit. That’s why there were sheds built all over the property, for emergencies such as these. And yet I had the unshakable feeling that what we were really dealing with wasn’t so much that Seth was somewhere out there, but that he wasn’t here.

At last Rachel blew out the lamps and we went up to bed, but I knew I’d never be able to sleep. I’d forgotten to warm a brick for the foot of my bed, but nothing could induce me to go back for it alone. I berated myself for having fallen such easy prey to all this talk of Girlie and her Gift, of Micah coming back, of life being breathed into dead birds. Yet I could still hear those unearthly noises at the barn—could still feel my utter terror, still hear the creak of the door being opened and something dragging itself inside…

Oh, Seth, Seth, where are you? All my talk to Franny about superstition…my talks to Rachel about overactive imaginings…and yet we had all heard the noises—all of us—the heart-stopping noises in the dead of the night…Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah….

I slipped into my nightgown, putting my shawl on over that, layering my feet in several pairs of socks. My head was beginning to feel strange—as if the edges of my mind had gone all fuzzy, with soft buzzing way back in my ears. The bed felt like an iceberg. I wiggled down and lay very still, hoping that if I didn’t move, maybe my body heat would at least warm one spot I could curl up in for the rest of the night. The second I hit the pillow, my head seemed to explode very slowly, the room going suddenly off balance, all tilts and angles. My hands gripped the sheets to keep my body in place—the whole bed rocked gently from side to side, like an oversized cradle. I shut my eyes and drew a deep breath, warmth oozing down through all my limbs into the tips of my toes. I was in a giant cocoon, sleep muffling me like a thick, comforting cloud…how could I have ever thought of staying awake…Seth…Seth…where are you…

I slept, I slept a dreamless sleep, and my body sank lower and lower into warmth, into peace, into nothingness…. I roused once, confused, thinking I was home and someone was tossing pebbles at my window, but before I could call to Brad to see who it was, I was out again, floating in an endless sea, a distant, calming whisper lulling me away…

At first I thought the damp had woken me.

Struggling up from the depths of oblivion, I was dismayed to feel myself soaked with sweat, my clothes and the covers a sopping tangle around me. Fighting to remember where I was, I felt a sickening stab of pain in my head and a dangerous lurching in my stomach. Groggily the tenseness of that evening began to drift back to me. I put a hand to my head and collapsed back onto my pillow. I should never have taken that whiskey.

Through half-lidded eyes I saw the outline of my window, framing an eerily lighted sky. It was still snowing. I could hear it now, slushy against the pane, soft little spatters and secret whisperings as it trailed down the glass…down the sides of the house…

Along the hall outside my room…

My brain screamed then, but no sound came out—just the jarring reverberation that set my teeth on edge and exploded my heart into a million frantic beats…. I tried to sit up but the room swam sickeningly in a kaleidoscope of black and gray…the silence surged in so unexpectedly that I gasped.

The silence was more terrifying than the noise.

And then it came again.

Dragging itself down the length of the hall…a curious shuffling sound along the bare wooden floorboards…

Something sliding…thick and wet…

My hands were at my throat, scrabbling uselessly…kneading the closed windpipe…scream…scream…scream for help…

It stopped on the other side of my door.

Waiting.

I heard its awful breathing…

A guttural struggle for air…

Oh my God…my God…it knows I’m in here…

Something scraped the door…

Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah…

The knob began to turn.

Even in the dim wintry light I could see it—the dark circle of doorknob, the slow…slow…movement to the right…the pause…a quiver as the thing which held it gripped it tighter…

It knows I’m alone…that Seth is gone…

The click echoed like a gunshot…the agonizing hesitation. Through fear-crazed eyes I saw the door inch away from its frame…move inward toward me. He won’t have a hand…just the stump of an arm caked with mud and the first snow of winter…and open sores where the worms have begun to feast…

A cold draft blew across the floor…stirred the covers around me…a dank, graveyard smell…

I saw a movement—an outline—framed by the blackness of the hall, as something shambled awkwardly in between the door and the wall—misshapen, hunched…I knew it watched me…my breathing stopped as I waited to meet its empty, lifeless eyes…

Blackness rose around me in a fetid dream.

I saw the door tremble…swing noiselessly back into place.

Snow hissed against the windowpane, slithering…sliding.

I couldn’t move.

As breath seeped slowly back into my lungs, as my heart picked up an erratic rhythm and began to send blood back into my limbs, I sat like a statue, not feeling, not thinking…

My body began to live again, but my mind closed in upon itself, cowering behind wide-open eyes, staring out numbly through a haze of sour whiskey and total terror.

The room lightened, shadows waning to silver gray.

And still I sat.

The morning dawned, and I was cold. My hands began to shake.

Sick and frightened, I felt sleep descending at last….

And though I fought it, it dragged me down, deeper and deeper into darkness.

If I had only known what was coming, I would have welcomed that darkness.

For the reality ahead of me would be the worst nightmare of my life.

Chapter 26

I HAD NEVER FELT so sick.

Balancing precariously on the edge of the bed, I willed the room to stop its incessant spinning and crushed my pounding head between my fists.

For several moments I couldn’t remember anything—why I felt so miserable…so terribly apprehensive…so empty and alone…. If I could only get downstairs with Rachel and Seth…

Seth.

Groping my way to the door, I strained to hear his voice, his footsteps downstairs, but whatever might have been there was drowned out by the dizzying roar between my ears. Bad whiskey…bad dreams…you should know better. Without bothering to dress, I pulled my shawl around me and reached for the doorknob.

Immediately last night’s panic came back to me. As my fingers closed around the cold metal knob, I recoiled as if the thing had burned into my flesh. That noise! That thing. For an instant my breath stopped, then with a sheer effort of will, I jerked open the door and stumbled across the threshold.

No stains. No footprints. No telltale water or mud upon the floorboards…no blood or slime, no worms smeared on the door…

With a wry smile I clutched my head and shut my eyes against the light and felt my way to the landing and down the stairs.

It was hard to tell how late or early it was. The house was translucent in that strange pearl gray light that had lingered throughout the night, only now it was cleaner somehow, stripped of its blacker shadows. I found Rachel in the kitchen, her own shawl clutched around her, staring out the window with her back to me. As I paused in the doorway some sense must have alerted her. She spun quickly, a look of hope brightening, then leaving her face in an instant.

“Oh.” It came out with forced pleasantry, though I felt the disappointment behind it. Her knuckles were white where they clung to her shawl. Her eyes looked haunted, strangely glazed with sleeplessness.

“He’s not back,” I said softly.

She shook her head, squaring her shoulders. “He will be,” she said firmly. “It wasn’t such a big snow, after all.”

I didn’t know what to say. I looked at the floor and heard Rachel pull out a chair.

“Mercy, you look like death warmed over.”

I nodded as best I could. “And I feel even worse.”

“Oh, I should have guessed. That stuff Seth makes can really do you in, if you’re not used to it.”

“What’s in it, for heaven’s sake? Poison?”

In spite of herself Rachel looked amused. “Close. But I promise it’s not fatal. Here, sit down. This’ll make you feel better.”

“Oh no, please. I can’t handle anything right now—”

“This’ll be good for you.”

“Even if it’s good for me,” I finished.

“You’ll see,” Rachel said wisely, and I leaned over onto the table as she began rummaging through some tins and burlap bags, shaking small amounts out into a bowl. The smell was peculiar, but not unpleasant, and as I watched with interest, she added a syrupy liquid from a jar and began to stir it all with a spoon. Then she poured it into a cup and set it before me, standing back to survey it with a satisfied nod.

“Yes, I reckon that’ll do. Now drink it down—”

“I can’t, I’ll really be sick.”

“It’s never failed before; I don’t figure it will now.”

Somehow I managed to choke the stuff down, then lay my head miserably upon the table.

“Seth’s the only one who can handle that moonshine of his.” Rachel rinsed my cup, setting it to dry. “It’s really too strong. I’m used to it, but I still have to water it down. It can work a powerful spell.” She smiled understandingly. “Make your head spin something awful—give you terrible dreams—”

“Dreams,” I mumbled. “Dreams…of course…” I was glad then that I hadn’t told her about last night, how the hallway had crawled with demons that couldn’t have been real.

“I remember one time,” Rachel said with a soft laugh, “I had the scariest dream…so real…. Woke up screaming and carrying on, like to scared everybody to death…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes going wistfully to the window. “And Seth…why, he just told me what it was—that whiskey I’d had after supper—nothing to worry about, he said…nothing’s gonna hurt you while I’m here, he said…nothing’s ever gonna hurt you…ever again…”

She loves him, I thought with a heart-wrenching stab, as I watched her eyes fixed on that window and the empty yard beyond. She really does love him…

“But anyhow,” Rachel said brightly, catching herself, pulling her gaze firmly back to my face, “it can surely work on the mind. So how do you feel now?”

“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully.

“Give it five minutes.” She nodded. “Five minutes you’ll be able to tell.”

I nodded doubtfully, wondering how I was ever going to be able to face the grits she was stirring into a pan. She gave me a knowing smile and jerked her chin toward the back door.

“Fresh air’ll make you feel better,” she assured me. “And the snow’s mighty pretty.”

I went out on the back steps, where my breath was stung cleanly away by the most beautiful picture I’d ever seen—everything covered with a mantle of pure white—the yard, rooftops, fields, fences—and the trees, laced together in intricate patterns, shivering in the wind, sifting soft flurries onto the shifting ground. I stood there in silence, the solitude enclosing me from the world. Maybe, I found myself thinking, just maybe it wasn’t so wrong to want to keep the world away, to be your own world within yourself…and yet…

Something cold smacked into my shoulder, and I saw Girlie at the side of the house, another snowball already aimed in her hand. Her solemn eyes gauged my reaction, and I surprised myself by laughing out loud. My head was beginning to feel delightfully clear.

“Let me get dressed!” I called to her. “And then we’ll play.”

One corner of her mouth tilted up, giving her a comically quizzical look, and I scooped up a handful of snow, letting it fly as she ducked behind the wall. Rachel smiled as I came in, and I almost felt guilty. For a few moments I’d forgotten about Seth.

“He knows this land like the back of his hand,” Rachel said, as if reading my thoughts. “And like I said, he’s been gone before…only if he’s hurt or something—well, we won’t worry about that yet.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I gave her a quick hug. “And you were right, my head feels wonderful. What was in that stuff anyway?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, I know lots of things passed down from my mama and Seth’s mama and their mamas before them. But it’s secret.”

“I can tell you one thing. If you bottled that and sold it, you’d be a very rich woman.”

“Yes?” Rachel looked so surprised that I laughed.

“Absolutely. By the way, where’s Franny this morning?”

“I thought I heard her go out earlier,” Rachel said, turning back to the stove. The grits were beginning to bubble, filling the kitchen with a bland, grainy fragrance. “She and Girlie are probably off playing somewhere.”

“No, I just saw Girlie, and Franny wasn’t with her. Maybe she got worried and went to look for Seth.”

Rachel’s eyes went automatically to the window, her face troubled. “I hope not. It’s such a long way, and with this weather and all. No, more than likely she’s gone off on her own in the snow. Mercy, I never did see a girl love winter the way she does—why, she and Micah spend hours—” She checked herself, her back going straight, hands clenching into quick, defensive knots. “I mean…they used to spend hours…playing…” Her voice dwindled, and I left the room quietly, feeling tears come to my own eyes.

I hurried upstairs, keenly aware of the difference in temperature from the toasty kitchen, but as I passed Franny’s room, I slowed down and looked curiously at her door. It was standing open several inches, not wide as was her usual custom when leaving it in the morning. Hesitating, I tried to peer between the edge of the door and the wall but could only see dim light beyond.

“Franny?”

Feeling like an intruder, I pushed cautiously on the door. It creaked open several more inches and stuck. I could see the warped floorboard that was holding it, and as I stuck my head into the room I gave a tentative knock. “Franny?”

But obviously there was nobody here. Franny must have left the house earlier like Rachel said. Her bed was unmade, which wasn’t like Franny at all.

I gave the door a jolt and nearly fell as it gave beneath my weight. Franny’s bed was not only unmade, it was a real mess. Covers drooped down upon the floor, the blankets all untucked and heaped about as if they’d been thrown. Her pillow lay across the room in a corner. Her shawl still draped the foot of the bed, her shoes stuffed carelessly beneath a chair…

Her shoes…

Frowning, I took a few more steps into the room. I’d never known Franny to wear any other shoes but these, and now here they were, still caked with mud from our walk to the barn last night. I remembered how Rachel had scolded her for tracking in puddles, and how Franny had deliberately clumped on up the stairs, leaving a trail behind her. I stared at her bed, my bewilderment growing. It wasn’t like Franny to leave her room in such disarray…unless something had happened…unless something had called her urgently from the house that morning—something more important than straightening her room and putting on her shoes and upsetting the routine…Seth?

The floor creaked behind me and I whirled, gasping in relief as I saw Girlie standing there.

“You scared me,” I scolded her, laughing. “I thought you were outside.”

Her mouth trembled up in a tentative smile. “Are we playing?”

“Yes, just as soon as I get dressed.” I swatted her playfully on her bottom, then stopped in surprise, staring at her feet. She was wearing a pair of shoes I hadn’t seen her in before, lace-up things like hunting shoes, suited to the snow and the cold. Of course, Franny probably changed into snowshoes or winter boots; she was just eager to get out into the snow. Shaking my head at my stupidity, I pulled Franny’s door shut behind us. Maybe if Rachel didn’t see the mess, it would save Franny a scolding.

Playing outside helped keep my mind off Seth, at least for a while. Girlie and I constructed a fort near the barn and had a battle with invisible dragons which we won; then we built a snowman, his wife, and several children of varying ages, personalizing them with broken twigs, rocks, leaves, and feathers from the chicken house. I could see Rachel watching us from the back door; after much coaxing I managed to get her interested in our game, noting with satisfaction that the worry lines began to fade from her face, which relaxed into laughter as she began to share our genuine feeling of fun. I wished that Franny would show up to join in our exploits, but I purposely kept my thoughts to myself, not wanting to upset Rachel needlessly. Instead we had snowball fights and games of tag, and they showed me how to make snow angels by falling back in the snow and moving my arms up and down to form wings. I’m not sure how long we were outside, but the morning passed quickly, and before I knew it, Rachel was looking anxiously toward the woods again, her instincts telling her it was dinnertime, and still no Seth.

I was beginning to grow uneasy about Franny now, too. I hadn’t known her to be gone so long, and it was even stranger to me that she would miss a meal. When I questioned Rachel about it, she gave me a look that told me she’d been having the same thoughts.

“There’s only one thing I can think of,” she said, standing Girlie near the stove to warm her up. “I reckon you might be right. She must have gone to look for Seth.” She told Girlie to wash up and shrugged out of her damp shawl, hanging it on the back of the kitchen door. “But why?” She faced me, puzzlement and exasperation battling over her features. “It’s not like Franny to care that much about Seth—”

“I think you’re wrong,” I said quietly. “I think she cares a great deal for Seth. More than she knows. Didn’t you see her last night, waiting for him to come home? She was terribly worried about him. Even her scarecrow—”

Rachel’s brows raised. “Her scarecrow?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how much it resembled Seth?”

“Well, I know she used Seth’s clothes, but…” Rachel’s face was totally confused.

“Even the face, crude as it was,” I said, smiling fondly. “I think Seth’s the hero that Franny’s always dreamed about, only she just doesn’t know it. She doesn’t realize how much she really loves him.”

“Oh, mercy.” Rachel put a hand to her cheek, shook her head slowly. “Then I guess we better not tell her, or she might be worse than ever.”

In spite of ourselves we laughed. It helped to break the tension for a moment, but as the minutes ticked away, a kind of gloom began to settle over us once again. Rachel dished up some bean soup, which we hardly touched, and after we washed up the dishes I wandered into the parlor to look for Girlie. When I couldn’t find her there, I went upstairs and stopped at Franny’s door. After several moments I pushed it open, once more scanning the room, the disorder, the shoes, with growing consternation. Suppose Franny really had gone after Seth. Surely she knew her way though these wooded hills as well as he did. And if by chance he had met with some mishap, it was unlikely that something would happen to her, as well. Still…there was something about this room that bothered me and I didn’t know what.

I could hear Girlie singing to herself as I neared her room. Her door was open and she was standing with her back to me, intent on something she held in her hand. I knocked softly, and she jumped, turning to look at me, all head and eyes. A changeling, I thought again, before I could stop myself…right out of a Grimm’s fairy tale…

“Hi. What’s so interesting?”

She continued to stare at me. Her eyes were expressionless, but I had the odd feeling I’d intruded.

“Rachel’s baking cookies,” I tried again. “She sent me to ask if you’d like to lick the bowl.”

Her head moved slowly—no. She looked as if I were going to scold her. I halted, puzzled.

“Girlie, what is it?” I asked cautiously. “Would you like me to go away?”

The look tightened over her face. At once her eyes looked unbearably sad. “Never,” she said. It sounded so final, so decisive. “Never,” she said again. “I like you, Pam.”

I stared down at her, feeling peculiarly unsettled. The thing in her hand hung loosely between her fingers; it looked like a scrap of paper. Thinking a moment, I squatted down and held out my arms. “Come here.”

She came. Without a moment’s hesitation she came within the circle of my arms and leaned into me as if she belonged there. I kept my voice low and easy, matter-of-fact.

“I like you, too, Girlie. Very, very much. But you know sometime I’ll have to leave, don’t you? I’ll have to go live in my own house, like you live here in yours. I’ll have to go be with my family, like you have to be here with Seth and Rachel and Franny and—” I bit my lip. I had been about to say “Micah.”

Girlie looked placidly into my eyes. “Micah,” she said.

“Yes,” I sighed, hugging her close. “Yes, and Micah.”

“But you can stay all the time,” Girlie insisted. “It’s nice with you here.”

I was glad she couldn’t see the pain, the guilt that I struggled to control. “Thank you, Girlie, that’s nice you think so. But I don’t belong here. I’m just—you know—company. No, not even company, I guess. I didn’t even plan to come here. It just…happened.”

Here is where you’re meant to be…

Girlie’s voice was muffled against my shoulder, and yet I heard it—heard it as if it had been a cold wind crying through the room…leaving its icy echo…leaving me chilled…

“I made it happen,” Girlie said softly. “I brought you here.”

The chill crept through my body. I know I clutched her tighter but my fingers had no feeling. Her breath tickled my arm, but she felt like a wooden doll.

“What do you mean?” I asked her, my voice slow and deliberate. In equally slow motion I held her off from me, our eyes locking in a long, long silence.

“I…brought…you.” Each word quiet, but firm. She held out her hand, and I saw the scrap of paper, damp and crumpled, and after a while I realized that she meant for me to take it.

It was a newspaper clipping.

The date was nearly a year old.

The ink was smeared and blotchy, as if little fingers had handled it repeatedly; dull creases told of much folding and refolding, and threatened to tear apart at any second.

The photograph was blurry and black-and-white and not very good.

Yet I recognized myself at once.

Myself…and Brad…and Kerry.

Chapter 27

“WHERE DID YOU GET this?”

My voice came out in a choke, the photograph throbbing in my hand, a live, horrible thing, throbbing, and growing, so that all I could see was the date—a month before the accident—and those three familiar faces—not Girlie—not the room—just the date and those three faces, like strangers I had known a long time ago.

“Where?” I said again, only this time my voice was harsh, and I felt the sharp pain of my lip between my teeth. “Where, Girlie, where?” I jerked her arm, and she stood there, taking it, not even trying to get away.

“From Dewey.”

“Dewey—” My mind spun. “But Dewey hasn’t even been here—”

“When he came before. Long before now—”

“When!”

“Before Christmas.” Her eyes clouded, an expression of hurt. Still she stood there, looking back at me.

“What was Dewey doing with it?”

Her voice was tiny, a mechanical doll with a worn-out voice box…fading…“He brought kittens to us in a box. With newspapers on the bottom. I found it. I kept it.”

My eyes narrowed, trying to comprehend.

“I liked the picture, Pam. You looked nice.” Her voice quivered.

Stunned, I rocked back on my heels. An old newspaper lining the bottom of a boxful of cats…a little girl with nothing to do…a picture from a world she would never know…

“I tore it out,” Girlie went on cautiously, as if wondering what I might do to her. “I brought you here.”

Numbness crept over me. Things began falling into place in a kind of haze. So that explained how she’d known Brad’s and Kerry’s names—the photo caption told who we were, that one of Brad’s shows had just opened at a gallery in San Francisco. But that still didn’t explain how she’d known they were dead…unless I really had talked…rambled deliriously in my unconsciousness…but they said I didn’t! I glanced at her now, anger flooding through me. You couldn’t have known! I wanted to scream at her. I refuse to be a part of this stupid game you insist on playing with everyone…

I forced myself to be calm. “You didn’t bring me here. Stop telling me that you did. You know better.”

“I did,” Girlie said.

I looked at her sharply, but there was no insolence in her tone. Just her huge sad eyes begging me to believe her. I averted my face for a long time. Finally I looked at her again.

“How, then?” I asked quietly. “How did you bring me here, Girlie?”

“I…” To my surprise, her eyes began to swim, full of strange reflections…pain…loneliness…wet tragic shadows and confusion, spilling down, down the cheeks that were suddenly, ghostly white.

“Oh, Girlie,” I whispered, gathering her to me, holding her close.

“I…I made the scarecrow, Pam…and then…I don’t know how I do it…I just do…” The confession spilled out with the frightened tears, and it was heart wrenching to watch. “I…just…do…I wish real hard…I…feel…” Her little body convulsed in sobs and I grabbed her even tighter.

“Oh, Girlie…honey…ssh—”

“I feel it, Pam, I…feel it.”

“Where, sweetheart? Where do you feel it?”

She wriggled back, putting her hand to her chest. Her little face collapsed helplessly, and she stood there, patting her heart, crying as if she’d never stop.

“There…I feel…it makes me…light…and I know it’s happening—”

“Light? Do you mean you get dizzy and light-headed?” I tapped a finger to my temple, searching the unhappy depths of her eyes.

She shook her head miserably. “Light. Like sun on my face.”

“It makes you warm?” I nodded encouragement, and was relieved to see the tears slowing.

“Here.” She touched her heart again with the palm of her hand, then very slowly ran her palm upward along her neck, across her face to the crown of her head. “And sometimes…here.” The palm returned to her heart but this time traced a different course, down her arm to the tips of her little fingers. I reached out very gently, capturing the hands in my own.

“And when you feel it here—in your hand—is that when you make people well? And…” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to say it, “bring dead things back to life?”

Her eyes fell into mine, a wet sparkling film glossing over the pain. “Not all the time,” she whispered, and as I leaned close to make out her next words, I felt the flesh ripple along my neck. “Not every time…I don’t have to touch. Sometimes…I just think it.”

There was nothing else—just she and I and the impossible truth between us. I stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. I smoothed the damp hair back from her forehead. I reached out and wiped the tears that were falling again from her enormous eyes.

“Am I…bad, Pam?”

She fell against me and I rocked her, soothing her, my own tears mingling with hers. “No, darling, not bad. You could never be bad.”

“You looked so nice,” she sniffled. “I picked you out just for me.”

I saw it again, suddenly, clearly, that day in front of the house—the scarecrow with my eyes…and Micah’s undisguised fear when he had looked up that very first time to see me standing there, alive and human. “Girlie…no,” he’d said, because he had known…My God, he’d known all along what she could do.

“You wanted a friend,” I said softly. “It’s not wrong to want a friend.”

“But you want to go away.” She looked hurt, bewildered. “Why?”

“Because…”I felt at a sorry loss for words. I patted her head and felt her arms tighten around me, clutching me as if she would never let go. “This isn’t my home, you see,” I said slowly. “This isn’t where I belong.” I want to believe her…dear God, it can’t be real, it can’t be true, but I want to believe everything she’s telling me, even though it’s impossible—and how can I not believe this special, beautiful child, even though it’s something I can never possibly understand…“Do you understand?” I asked her.

She nuzzled her head in the hollow of my neck. “I wish,” she said softly, “that you could be my mother.”

A thousand emotions coursed through me—a thousand excuses whirled through my brain—but before I could even respond, the door opened all the way and Rachel stood there, worry etched sharply on every line of her face.

“Pamela,” she said, motioning me out into the hall.

I gave Girlie a quick kiss, forcing a smile, disentangling myself, promising her we’d go out later to play in the snow. But once Rachel and I were back in the kitchen, I could feel apprehension building in me like a time bomb.

“I think maybe I should go look for them,” Rachel said, decision in her voice, her hands wringing the worn hem of her apron. “If I leave now, I should be back before bedtime.”

“Rachel, don’t,” I begged her. “You said yourself you’re not even sure where Seth might be. And look at the sky—it could snow again any minute.”

“But I have to do something. It’s better than sitting here and not knowing.”

As much as I hated the idea, I said, “Give him another hour.”

“If it was just Seth, I wouldn’t be so worried,” she said, sinking down into a chair. “But with Franny missing, too, why, I just can’t—”

“Couldn’t she have gone off by herself somewhere, like you said?” I asked lamely. “Forgotten about the time?” But even I knew how silly that sounded, with the weather the way it was.

Rachel shook her head. “I’ve checked everywhere outside—the barn, the smokehouse. She’s not in the orchard. I checked there, too. I even went along the woods and called.”

“Did you check the woods in front of the house?”

“Yes, there, too. She doesn’t answer. I just don’t think she’s here.”

“But if she did go looking for Seth, you know she’ll be all right with him.” I was grasping at straws.

“If she found him,” Rachel said glumly. “I keep thinking about the bridge being out. I can’t get that out of my mind.”

I hadn’t thought about the bridge; now a whole new wave of dark possibilities loomed between us. “If you go,” I said at last, “I’m going with you.”

“Don’t be silly, Pamela. Someone has to stay here with Girlie. And I know the way. You don’t.” At my expression she reached over and squeezed my hand. “I thank you, I really do. You’ve been such a godsend to me…to us all.”

I avoided her eyes, that all-too-familiar guilt surging through my heart. “I haven’t done anything. And I don’t think you should be taking unnecessary chances right now.”

“But what if he’s lying out there somewhere…hurt.” She went to the back door, her narrow shoulders slumped as she clenched folded arms across her chest. “I just can’t get it out of my mind…that I should go to him.”

I shivered then, but not from the cold. In the wake of what I’d just been through with Girlie, it was easy to imagine Seth’s voice, whispering out of nowhere, brushing the mind with a desperate plea for help…Don’t think about it, Rachel…please just don’t think about it…I walked to the stove and poured Rachel a cup of coffee, keeping my eyes the whole time on the desolate stretch of woods and snow beyond the window.

“Would Girlie know?” I heard myself ask quietly.

Rachel turned to face me, disappointment showing in her eyes. “I already tried that,” she said softly. “It’s not something you can always ask her about…things like that. Most times she only says something out loud if she knows it’s true.”

I couldn’t believe I was actually talking this way. “And she said—?” My heart dropped at the shake of Rachel’s head.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “She didn’t say anything.”

I stared at the floor a long time, finally raising my head as a soft spattering sound began to seep through into my consciousness. Slush was beginning to pattern the windowpane, leaving wet globs as it streaked across the glass. Freezing rain. I wondered how long it would be before it turned back to snow. Rachel’s face was a mask of weary emotions. I knew she had her heart set on going to look for Seth and Franny, but with a new snowfall that would be out of the question for now.

“Reckon I better start supper.” Her voice was small, her hands mechanical, reaching toward the pie safe, the stove, the pots and pans. “He’ll be starved to death when he comes home…”

I couldn’t bear to hear any more, to watch her brave pretense at calm. Something inside kept telling me that Seth would never allow himself to be at the mercy of the elements—and yet Rachel’s growing fear unnerved me. I wasn’t sure how much more pressure she could take. And if something really had happened to Seth or Franny…

I marched determinedly upstairs. Daylight had faded within the last several hours. The hallway was shadowy, and cold drafts crept in from the corners of the house, raising the flesh along my arms. If something really has happened to Seth…or Franny…But I wouldn’t let myself think about it. I convinced myself that in just an hour or so we’d all be eating around the table, wondering how we could ever have been afraid.

“There’s no betrayal in this world….” Without warning Seth’s words drifted back to me. I remembered scoffing at him, feeling so superior about his silly superstitions, and that serious, knowing look on his face. “You act like something’s going to happen, because of that scarecrow,” I had told him once—oh, stupid, stupid fool meddling in things you don’t understand—and there’s no betrayal in this world, Seth had said to me. No betrayal.

I paused outside Franny’s room, my pulse quickening.

Girlie was standing in the doorway, silhouetted there against the waning light.

She took a step toward me, cut in half by a shadow. It angled down across her face, showing one huge eye that pulled me to her with its sorrowful intensity.

“What is it?” I murmured, though somehow in that split instant, I knew—I knew what I didn’t even want to suspect—or believe—I knew—and there was no escaping it now—no hope.

“Franny’s gone.” Her lip trembled, her one eye glowing with slow, brimming tears. “Franny won’t come back.”

And I pushed past her into the room, my eyes sweeping over the bed, the shoes, the tumbled covers as if someone had struggled, blankets tossed about as if someone had fought for her life and couldn’t escape, the covers and the empty silent room and my God my God why didn’t I think of it before oh Franny oh God help us—

And I fell upon the wooden chest and twisted the latch, tearing my fingers, not feeling the catch slippery with my blood, and I finally, finally pulled it free…flinging up the lid…crying out in pain and rage—

She wasn’t dead.

She was lying there, curled and stiff, like a baby in its mother’s womb.

But her eyes were open in a vacant stare, her mouth in a silent, endless scream…

There was mud on her face…in her hair…all over her torn nightgown.

Dried mud.

Bloodstains.

And straw.

Chapter 28

GIRLIE SEEMED TO FIND a refuge within herself that Rachel and I didn’t possess. She sat and played quietly with her toys for the rest of the evening. She didn’t eat. She wouldn’t talk. Except for her total silence it was as if nothing had happened to upset her small, safe world.

With Rachel and me, it was different. We couldn’t just carry on and pretend as though nothing had happened. Not with everything crumbling down around us.

Between the two of us we managed to lift Franny into the bed. She didn’t even bend as we lifted her. Every joint was locked into place, and she lay there in that horrid fetal position as Rachel piled on blankets to keep her warm. In the back of my mind I could hear Rachel’s sharp, quick gasps, “My Lord…oh my Lord…” but she sounded faraway, and when her hand clamped onto my arm I jumped at the coldness of it.

“She’s in shock,” Rachel told me. “She doesn’t even see us.”

I’d been sitting beside Franny for a long time now, speaking to her in low tones, rubbing her clenched fists, trying to unpry the fingers that wouldn’t loosen.

“Franny…Franny…we’re here,” I mumbled, but Rachel shook her head.

“She can’t hear you. Her mind is someplace else.”

Someplace else…Franny’s eyes, wide and staring, bore into my face but were fixed on a nightmare. Quick, cruel images battered at my brain—Franny terrified, Franny screaming, Franny trying to get away—I thought of how she must have suffered, how nobody had come to help her…

“But I didn’t hear anything,” I said under my breath, and Rachel, shaking out another blanket, glanced at me, baffled.

“What?”

“I said I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t hear her scream—and I was sitting there all night—”

“Pamela, what are you talking about?”

“I thought I’d imagined it, I’d had too much to drink—you said yourself the whiskey could cause nightmares—”

“Yes, but I don’t—”

“And I thought I dreamed the whole thing, don’t you see? But maybe it was real—”

“Pamela—” Rachel gave me a shake. “Pamela, I don’t know what’s happening here, but please don’t fall apart on me now. I need you!” Her voice rose, tinged with hysteria. My fingers closed over her own. “Pamela, what’s wrong with you? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Those noises, Rachel…” My voice sounded empty, I knew, and I felt her eyes on me, apprehensive, waiting. “You remember those awful noises you told me about the other day—the shuffling sounds you said you heard?” I knew she understood me now, for her puzzled expression gave way to suspicion, then fear, and though I knew I shouldn’t say anything more to upset her, I couldn’t stop myself. “I told you they weren’t anything, but I lied. I heard them before—the night you found me outside by the barn—and last night I heard them here—in the house.”

“You…heard…”

“In the hall outside my room.”

Her hand flew to her breast. I looked up at her, babbling again. “I thought it had to be a dream, Rachel, like you said. I’d woken up, so hot and queasy. I thought it was the whiskey, and remembering what you and I had talked about yesterday…” My words tumbled out helplessly. “I was terrified in the barn that night—and Franny had heard the sounds, too—and then you admitted you’d heard them—and everyone tells me what Girlie’s capable of doing—I wanted it to be a dream,” I said again, and saw my dread mirrored in Rachel’s eyes. “But—oh God—”

“What are you saying?” her voice trembled. “What are you telling me?”

“The floor was dry this morning,” I said, knowing it sounded insane. “I checked the hall and it was dry, too, and there wasn’t anything on the floor. It—the dream thing—tried to open my door. But the doorknob was clean.”

Silence hung endlessly between us.

“It can’t be,” Rachel said at last, sinking down beside me on the bed. “No…no…it can’t be…”

“Look at her nightgown, Rachel. The mud on her face. How the hell did it get there?”

“I don’t know!” She jumped up again, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, Lord, I don’t know!”

The room plunged into silence. Like statues we clenched our fears to us, her at the window, me on the bed, the darkness closing us in, closing us off from reality. Franny lay there, staring and empty, trapped in a darkness of her own.

After a long, long while Rachel’s voice ventured out of the shadows. “You think…it’s Girlie.”

“I don’t know what to think. My God, listen to me. I don’t want to believe any of this at all.”

“But you heard something—”

“Something, yes, I thought I heard something, but my mind was all fuzzy…” Nothing was making sense anymore. I buried my face in my hands. I forced myself to be calm. “I heard something. I checked the hall. I sat there till morning.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

I sighed, meeting her eyes reluctantly. “I was scared, Rachel. Scared out of my mind. I don’t remember ever being that scared in my whole life.”

I heard her move to my side. Her hand went gently to my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.

I nodded, covering her hand with my own. “Rachel, if it really did happen—if I really was awake—I never heard Franny scream. I never heard another thing.”

“Maybe she couldn’t scream.”

The implication was grim. I glanced at Franny’s mouth, a stiff circle of fear. If she had screamed, someone could have helped her…saved her…she’d still be with us now, laughing, mischievous…Oh, Franny, what did you see?

“I’m scared, Pamela,” Rachel said.

Again I nodded, squeezing her hand, a desperate bond flowing between us.

“What can we do for Franny?” I asked wearily.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Keep her warm. Talk to her. I’ll brew her some herb tea. It might help, if she can just swallow it.”

I stared at the deathly white face, the soulless eyes. Dear God…she looks like a scarecrow.

“I told her not to put that idea in Girlie’s head,” Rachel said hollowly “I told her—” Abruptly she broke off and hurried from the room.

I sat for a long while, chafing Franny’s tight fists, her cold wrists, talking to her, reassuring her as if she could hear. I didn’t want to think about the horrors that were gathering around me—the impossibilities all too quickly closing in, with their changing faces of stark, ugly truth. Oh, Seth, where are you?

For the first time I was beginning to feel the power of this place, the unchecked power of broken rituals that had seemed childish and laughable before. Had it really started with that scarecrow? My mind reeled, pulling events together in a sort of crazy puzzle. I had nearly been killed. Micah had been restrained in the nick of time. I had seen the secret burying ground in the cave, been let in on the family’s terrible shame. Dewey hadn’t shown up. There had been a snowfall uncommon for this time of year. All three of us—Rachel, Franny, and myself—had heard unearthly sounds that had frightened us. Girlie had promised Franny that she would bring something back. Something had entered the barn that night. I had been found in a place I couldn’t remember going to. Seth had disappeared. Girlie had shown me a picture of myself and confided her wish to me. Something had tried my door—changed its mind for some reason—then sent Franny into a state of semideath. Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah…

But what about the straw? Frowning, I pulled a slender piece of it from Franny’s matted hair and examined it closely. For a brief moment I could actually hear Franny’s voice again, teasing, as she’d wished her scarecrow back to life so that he could love her always…

The memory repelled me. I flicked the straw away as if it were alive, and turned to the bloodstains on her gown, my frown deepening.

Then I remembered.

That day in the cellar, when Girlie had been so intent on showing me something, how I’d inspected those awful chains again, and found them caked with human flesh. Again I saw Girlie, kneeling, scratching through the straw—the straw—and the rusty brown stains—and the damp, clotted straw—the straw…the blood…that’s where I saw them before…

And the idea was in my head before I even realized, before I even let go of Franny’s nightgown and sat back, surveying her with mingled sorrow and a love that ached inside me…

There was only one way, really, to be sure.

I knew what I had to do.

Chapter 29

I DON’T KNOW HOW I got through the rest of the night.

Somehow I went through the motions of fixing supper, of eating, of washing up. Girlie went to bed, and Rachel and I sat, each of us wrapped in our own little cocoons of fear, starting at every noise, looking hopefully at the door, only to fall back, disappointed, into our worst imaginings.

I looked in often on Franny, but there was no change. The look of terror remained, and what was left of the girl I’d known kept itself hunched in a ball on the bed, fists knotted to fend off perpetual darkness.

“There isn’t anything you can do,” Rachel told me, glancing up sadly from the untouched sewing in her lap.

But I could be there. Whether Franny knew it or not, I could be there with her, where I should have been when she needed me most. I felt that I’d failed her.

“It’s not your fault,” Rachel said at length, as I dragged myself downstairs and back into the parlor for the fifth time.

“I should have heard her—”

“But you said she didn’t scream.”

“No…she didn’t scream…”And I felt the confusion closing in around me, choking off all sense of logic. No, she didn’t scream…but maybe she did scream and I just didn’t hear her…

“I would have heard her.” Rachel’s words broke into my thoughts, reading them as she so often seemed able to do. “My room’s closer than yours. If she’d screamed, I’d have heard her.”

“But you didn’t hear the noises—something in the hall?”

“No,” Rachel dropped her eyes again. “No, I didn’t hear anything like that.”

And so we sat. And the hours ticked by. And I willed myself to stay awake because there was still so much I had to do…

It was nearly one when Rachel rose from her chair. She pulled her shawl listlessly around her shoulders and began to bank the fire.

“Something’s happened to him,” she said tonelessly. “I know it. He wouldn’t stay gone this long if something wasn’t wrong.” She turned to face me, placing the poker back on the hearth. “I’m going out to look for him.”

“I’ll go with you,” I promised. “As soon as it’s light, we’ll go.” I put my arm around her; together we went up the stairs. “Try to sleep,” I urged her. “You’ll feel better if only you can rest.”

“I’ll try.” She attempted a smile but her face was empty of emotion. “Good night, Pamela. I’m glad you’re here.”

I nodded, waiting until her door closed. Then I slipped in to check on Franny. There was no change. I wondered if she had found some temporary release somewhere behind her wide-open eyes. I pulled her door shut and went to my room.

Time crawled endlessly. I sat stiffly at the foot of my bed, trying to count off minutes in my head. The house creaked around me, noises I’d never noticed before. Would it come back? My eyes fixed themselves on the doorknob though the image was blurry from shadows and my own weariness. Had that thing claimed Franny and gone away unsatisfied? Would it lurch back along the hall tonight and try for me again? I prayed that Rachel had fallen asleep, that she wasn’t sitting as I was, analyzing the night, trying with every bit of willpower to keep Seth out of my mind. I couldn’t let myself think about him now. I couldn’t let Rachel know that I shared her fears, that I felt in my heart that something was terribly wrong or he’d be home with us now.

I couldn’t think about what might be waiting…or happening.

I needed all my wits about me, to do what I had to do.

At long last I decided to move. There had been no sound from Rachel’s room, and I figured enough time had passed by now that she would be asleep. I had to move quickly and quietly. I had no idea how long my task would take, or how soon morning might come. There was no time to lose.

Scarcely daring to breathe, I put my ear against my door and listened. The house, for the moment, seemed to have tired of its restlessness, and was filled with deep silence. Gritting my teeth, I eased through the narrow crack and slipped out into the hall.

I kept to the middle, guiding myself purely by instinct now. I couldn’t risk even the telltale brush of my fingertips against the wall. Outside Girlie’s door I paused to listen. Nothing. Franny’s door…now Rachel’s…inch by painstaking inch I trusted my memory to steer me. I clamped my hand over my mouth, to keep my heart from leaping out, not stopping until I reached the door in the kitchen. This was better—I had done this successfully before—and with a welcome surge of confidence I found myself out in the yard, able to breathe at last.

But that had been the easy part, I reminded myself, and to my surprise I heard a sob in my throat. The worst was yet to come.

My legs felt like lead as I trudged through the snow to the barn. It was bitterly cold, and I blew on my hands, stumbling along like some mechanical thing. The barn was shapeless and unfamiliar without a light. With a sheer effort of will I forced myself inside, groping along the floor, the walls, to where I’d seen Seth store the lanterns…But maybe that thing—whatever it is—is in here—here-waiting for me…There were restless stirrings and rustles around me. I told myself it was only the animals and nothing more…waiting to finish what it didn’t finish last night…

Something ran across my feet. I choked back a scream and thrashed into the wall, hitting my head, immobilized for a second as stars exploded behind my eyes, rocking the floor beneath me. I reached out and found the storage shelf, fumbled with the lamp, and as the match hissed into life, my frantic eyes raked through the barn, teased by shadows that leapt and danced up the walls.

I found the shovel in a corner by the door.

And the heavy work gloves where Seth had flung them down near the milk buckets.

They still smelled of him—his sweat and the clinging dampness of rich earth…

Blinking back tears I draped an old sack around the lantern so that the light was well hidden.

Then I let myself out into the night.

The snow had tapered off. Thankfully, I plunged ahead through the wintry haze, my arms trying to shield the lantern as I went. The world hung suspended between dark and dawn, an unnatural grayness that stopped the evolution of time. Wind whined around me, sliding the snow into crouching drifts, shifting the landscape around me even as I tried to find my way through it. I had the strangest feeling that if I turned to look behind me, the house wouldn’t be there anymore—that I’d come to, lying in a tangle of wreckage to find I’d dreamed this whole thing—this farmhouse and these people, this child with supernatural powers…this lover who had disappeared and left me achingly incomplete…Something’s happened to him…I know it…

Clenching my teeth, I stumbled on. Everything looked different out here at night, in the snow. I paused near the treeline at the west side of the house, unsure of my direction. I had only come here in the safe light of day. Now I tried to peer into the woods, separate the shadows, the real from the unreal.

Something moved behind me.

I whirled before the sound had stopped, yet there was nothing. The world blurred at my back, indistinct images, all in black and white and dirty gray.

I whipped the cover off the lantern and stepped forward into the trees. A flame struggled feebly through the dirty glass of the chimney, casting a jaundiced glow at my feet. Like a fairy light, it led me on, sputtering against a backdrop of clotted boughs and shadows, shifting nervously ahead of me, disappearing without warning into a thready bank of cold mist—only to beckon me again a few yards further on. I clutched the lamp so tightly that my arm began to ache, yet I didn’t dare slow down, even to shift the weight. I couldn’t stop at all, I was too afraid.

Something’s happened to him. The shovel felt ten times heavier than it had in the barn. I stumbled over a snow-covered tree root and nearly lost my balance, striking out with lamp and shovel at the thousand unseen terrors waiting to grab me. Feeling foolish, I plunged recklessly ahead, mindless of the branches that snagged my hair, tore at my fingers, my frozen cheeks. I knew I was bleeding, but I’d begun to lose all feeling long ago. Was this the right path? Perhaps I’d gotten all turned around somewhere…miscalculated and missed the path completely…I was mad to have come here in the first place…mad even to have thought of it. The clearing burst upon me without warning—a vale of dreary, half-washed light, littered with the lopsided relics of grief and silent respect.

I held the lantern high and stood still, gazing around me at the little cemetery.

Generations of Whittakers slept peacefully beneath the snow. And the nightmares that could not touch them now, waited silently in the shadows, watching.

I moved forward, my labored breathing burning a trail through my lungs. There was Micah’s grave—there, on the end, overhung by snow-frosted canopies of low-bowed trees. Gritting my teeth, I aimed my shovel at it, a sudden thought stopping my downward thrust. Suppose the ground had frozen! How stupid not to have thought of it. Yet as I gave an inward groan, my momentum struck the first blow, and the shovel sank into soft, mushy earth. I can’t believe I’m doing this…my God, I really must be crazy…

There was a soft sucking sound as the mud oozed apart, then closed over the blade of the shovel. Squaring my shoulders, I began to tug, feeling the resistance, the steady downward pull as it tried to draw me in. I had a wild notion of the grave refusing to give up its own—how it would pull at me…trap me there with its other victim…

Crying out from the exertion, I felt the ground suddenly give, reeling me backward with a shovelful of heavy, wet earth. I flung it aside and struck again, this time pulling free almost at once. I tossed that away and plunged in again, each thud echoing like cannon in my head. Again I heard the soft sound of dirt being flung on Micah’s coffin…so final. He’s got to be here…if he wasn’t here the grave would be open.

Panting now, I wiped a dirty hand across my brow, my breath like sobs in my throat. I didn’t know how long I’d been at it, but I hurt all over, sweat streaming from my body despite the cold. The pile of earth behind me was growing, the mound at my feet had opened, widened, become a yawning pit of black, slimy secrets. I’ll have to take the lid off…look inside…A vision of Micah’s face swam before me, blond hair and compassionate blue eyes, that angelic smile and the shy tilt of his head. But what would he look like now—without embalming—only a simple wooden box between him and the elements.

My shovel hit wood.

Stunned, I lowered the handle, gazing into the open grave. I hadn’t remembered climbing down, yet I was deep in the mud, the lantern a sickly glow somewhere off to the side of me. For one fleeting instant I really believed I’d gone crazy—totally and completely mad—and as the memory of Franny’s face came out of the dark to haunt me, I dropped the shovel and covered my face with my hands, shaking uncontrollably.

I had to know. For Franny’s sake—and Girlie’s—for my own, I had to know…

Something moved behind me.

With a stifled scream, I whirled to face the darkness. Shadows clustered around the edges of the clearing, ringing it with secrets; the wind moved through bare branches and cried.

I thought I heard a rustle.

A shuffling sound.

Something moving, off balance, scattering snow.

I picked up the shovel, holding it like a weapon…ready to swing.

A fine spray of wet flakes flittered over the top of the grave, an icy wind stirring my hair…the flame of the lantern…

Minutes crawled by.

My arms ached from the weight of the shovel, my breath rasping, the sound of a cornered animal. My throat was raw.

Slowly…finally…I lowered the shovel, sheer relief making my muscles watery. I strained my ears but heard nothing. Only my heart hammering sickeningly in my throat, echoing dully in my brain.

I plunged the shovel in one more time. Three times. Seven. My arms felt like burning rubber. Sweat stung my eyes and I blinked hard, trying to clear them.

I could see the coffin now, outlined thickly with mud.

I took the shovel and began to scrape.

Around me the trees gave an audible shudder—I heard it rather than saw it—a long low moan as branches trembled and tightened together, alerted by some unseen terror.

I lifted my head, eyes scanning the night through a haze of exhaustion and panic.

Wearily I dropped to my knees and put my hands on the coffin lid.

It wouldn’t budge. The neat border of nails held it fast.

My head dropped onto my chest as I fought back tears. Stupid! Why hadn’t I thought to bring a hammer? My mind raced in a kind of fog. Slowly I pulled down the shovel, gauging it with narrowed eyes. Holding my breath, I tried to wedge the blade into the crack between the coffin and the lid.

It just fit.

I worked feverishly, a new surge of strength coursing through me which I never knew I possessed. The nails began to pull free…one by one. Relentlessly I pried them…with the shovel…with my hands. The wood felt slippery—to my dismay I saw my fingers were covered with blood. I felt no pain. Inching my fingers into the crack, I got a firm hold and began to lift.

At first nothing happened.

I hit the lid with upturned palms, felt the pressure of splinters sliding into the heels of my hands. I hit the wood—again—again—it echoed like a faraway heartbeat, a strangely remote sound though I knew it lay just beneath my fingers.

I heard the wind crying—a haunting, pathetic cry—and I realized it was me.

“Open! Damn you, open!” My fist crashed against the lid, and there was a splitting sound, a long low moan of shattered resistance. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, tears blinding me, sobs racking my body, as I gave one last desperate shove.

The scream filled the clearing, the woods, the whole black, black night—the scream of wood giving way…the scream that tore from my throat because I didn’t want to look—didn’t want to see—didn’t want to know—

And he was lying there—lying there—with lantern light oozing over him, showing the dark, spreading stain. But Micah wasn’t bleeding—and the hole in him, so deep, so wide, that I could see the entrails…and the small dark things squirming and swarming inside him.

The smell washed over me in a fetid wave, and I felt myself falling, pitching forward, into the stink and decay.

It can’t be! Dear God—

I clutched at the air and felt something grab me from behind, and as another scream tore from my throat, I stumbled and grabbed the shovel, whirling to face the new terror that awaited me.

It stood there, hands reaching, and as the shovel fell from my grasp, all the strength rushed out of my body, crumpling me to my knees.

“My God,” I mumbled, sobbing. “My God…”

The thing came slowly out of the shadows and looked down into the coffin.

“It’s Dewey,” Girlie said.

Chapter 30

I SEEMED TO BE standing outside myself, hovering at a safe distance nearby. I saw myself move like a sleepwalker, looking around in dismay as if I couldn’t recall where I was or how I’d come to be there. The child behind me had eyes that saw clearly in the dark, and as a cold gust of wind toyed with the low flame of the lantern, I felt myself descending in a dizzying rush, coming to consciousness again with hands that groped aimlessly, seeking something to hold.

“Where’s Micah?” I heard myself say, but the child didn’t seem to hear, and the words came again, ripping from my throat with a ferocity that shocked me. “Girlie, what did you do with Micah?”

The round luminous eyes widened in helpless emotion—so quick I couldn’t read them—pain? fear?—and without warning, Girlie turned and fled back through the woods, swallowed up into the night.

“Girlie!” I screamed, and it wove through the trees, twisting itself back to me, taunting me with echoes of my fear. Girlie…Girlie…

I turned back to the stinking corpse at my feet.

There was a patch of gray, lighter than the rest, beginning to form along the treeline, sleepy shadows beginning to slink away. I felt a brief moment of panic for what I still had to do. I held my breath, trying not to gag, then I took up my shovel once more and went to work.

No wonder he hadn’t come! No wonder he was later than he’d ever been before, and no one could understand why! Except someone had understood, I realized grimly, someone had understood because that person had killed Dewey before he could take me away from here.

I sucked in my breath, my stomach churning dangerously. What had happened to him, to have put a hole that size in him? A shotgun? I knew there were guns on the farm, I’d seen Seth carrying them, both shotguns and rifles, but I had no idea what a gunshot wound looked like in real life. On TV a shotgun could blow a hole in someone the size of a cannonball…but would a little girl know how to use a shotgun?

Realizing what I had just considered, I paused for breath, shocked at the workings of my mind. I had been here too long, I was beginning to think crazy like all of them, consider crazy impossibilities as if they happened every day. Of course Girlie couldn’t have done this, she was only a child…but just last night you really wanted to believe she had powers…you came here tonight to see if she’d raised Micah from the dead…

Oh, God, I truly am losing my mind. Yes, I had come here to prove something, but not that Girlie had brought Micah back. I had come to prove that she hadn’t. That she couldn’t. So what could I conclude about her now?

I stabbed my shovel, scooping furiously, flinging dirt into the hole with a new and surprising strength. Girlie had said that Micah couldn’t sleep, and I had wanted to believe—so badly—that she had only been referring to his tortured mind. But then the noises had come…noises that three of us had heard. And something had followed me into the barn that night…had tried my bedroom door…had gotten to Franny. What had she felt in those last horrible seconds of sanity…looking up at a walking cadaver…realizing her request had been granted…I shook my head fiercely, clearing away the unwanted images. For the hundredth time I told myself it couldn’t happen. For the hundredth time I told myself it was impossible.

Then what had happened to Micah?

I froze as a new thought struck me. Could I have opened the wrong grave? Could someone have found Dewey’s body and buried it here and I’d dug up the wrong spot? I whirled around, straining my eyes in the paling light. There were other mounds, all covered with white, all identical in the dark and in the snow. I’d been so sure that Micah’s grave was this one, but could I have been mistaken? What if it was the one next to this one? Or that one over there? The earth on this grave had been freshly turned, but suppose there was another grave I’d missed, with earth just as freshly dug.

I leaned on the shovel, catching my breath. Maybe the explanation was so simple, I was missing it completely. Maybe Dewey had had an accident. Been attacked by a wild animal. Fallen, impaled himself on a tree or a rock. Shot by someone hunting. Maybe someone here. Seth? Could Seth have mistaken him for an animal and accidentally killed him? Or maybe Seth had found Dewey’s body lying somewhere on the property and brought it back here to be buried. Yet if that was the case, why hadn’t he told anyone about it? Especially Rachel, who was worried about why Dewey hadn’t come…and me who wanted to go home.

Maybe someone doesn’t want you to leave.

My hands tightened around the shovel again, slippery with sweat; my mind spinning back, full circle. Who then? Girlie? Just last night she had told me she never wanted me to leave. Seth? Because of what had happened between us? But how could I really trust Seth, even now? How could I really be certain? Outwardly, he acted no different toward me now than he had before—“Ask Seth…he’s the one.”—Oh Franny, what were you trying to say?

As for Rachel, she hadn’t wanted me to leave because she’d desperately needed my comfort and friendship, yet she’d also understood my yearning to go home. My mind ticked off possibilities, then slowed, growing uneasy. Franny. Franny had been angry with me, hadn’t wanted me to leave without taking her along. But lately she’d seemed to have forgiven me; we’d been friends again. And then sadly I thought of Micah. Yes, it could have been Micah…Micah whose plans to kill me had been spoiled by Seth…Micah who might have only been waiting for another chance—a chance that would never come again if Dewey arrived to take me away.

My thoughts were going out of control. If Micah had killed Dewey, he would have had to have done it before his own death. Then, where had Dewey’s body been until now? I knew for a fact that there hadn’t been any other new graves here except Micah’s on the day of the funeral. Had Seth found it since then, maybe abandoned somewhere in the woods where Micah had left it? Then why hadn’t he buried Dewey away from here, along with Micah’s other victims? Had he intended to keep it a secret forever, never telling Rachel why Dewey never came, letting her wonder why they never saw him again?

There was one other possibility, of course.

I forced a sob down in my throat and slapped the dirt hard with the back of the shovel, packing it down as if I could keep that awful thing from ever clawing its way free. It was a possibility that had whispered to me all along, raising gooseflesh along my arms, making me glance continuously over my shoulder to check the shadows, the trees, the drifts of snow, each silent shape-shifter.

Dewey could have been killed since the funeral…no!—killed by hands that had groped and clawed up from the blackness…no!—spirited out by the haunting voice of a child…oh God no, I won’t think this way…I won’t!—propelled down a dark hallway, into a bedroom where Franny had slept and screamed a soundless scream…hello, Franny, I’m back just like you wanted…

“No!” My voice shattered the silence, and I scrambled for the lantern, not bothering to cover it, only wanting to get away, to run, to escape from this hellish place and find a world that was safe, where people were normal and things made sense.

“Seth!” I cried, and I was running through the woods, tripping over the shovel as it dragged clumsily, weighing me down, and I couldn’t imagine what had happened to him, why he had been gone for so long, why I needed him so much…

I had thought it was Seth at first. Back there mangled in the coffin. Before I’d had a chance to really see the face, before I’d even had time to react, I’d had the horrible feeling that it was Seth lying there, and my heart had died a thousand deaths, unable to take the pain of losing someone one more time.

“Seth,” I gasped, breaking through the trees at last, extinguishing the lantern as I ran because the sky was growing lighter now, pale enough to see by, and how would I ever, ever be able to explain what I’d just done—what I’d just found—the unspeakable horror of it all—

I flung everything into the barn and ran toward the house, my mind frantically trying to retrace the steps I’d taken in the dark—the floorboards to avoid—the walls not to touch. For all I knew Rachel might be up this very minute, watching from her window, standing by her door, ear to the crack, listening…wondering.

I didn’t even stop to check on Franny. I went by Girlie’s door without a word. I saw her again, a slip of shadow poised to flee, that strangely unreadable glow in her huge eyes. Why did you run so, Girlie, did you realize at last what you’d done? I shut my door behind me and braced my back against it, heart pounding.

I will bring something back…

Unable to control my trembling, I crawled beneath the covers, my body stiff from wet and cold, burning from overworked muscles. I still felt the imprint of the shovel in my hands. I still smelled the stench of death.

My eyes wandered to the window, remembering other times I’d stood there looking out, alerted by movements slipping stealthily through the trees. Something—someone—had watched me then. Was it watching me now?

Dawn came, bringing a soft flurry of snow, and I watched it numbly, knowing it would fall upon the graveyard and hide my desecration.

Exhaustion crept over me…a slow buffer of shock between me and the truth…

Through a haze I heard Girlie talking to herself as she moved about in her room next to mine.

For Franny there would be no morning.

And where was Micah?

Chapter 31

PAM…PAM…CAN YOU hear me?

“Seth!”

I bolted up in bed, my heart slamming, terror thick in my throat. I didn’t remember dozing off, yet from the farthest fading edges of sleep, I could hear it still—a scream—an awful, agonized scream—and my eyes darted wildly around the room, my ears probing the cold, early silence of day.

I thought I’d heard Seth calling me.

And then someone had screamed.

Oh, Seth…

The kitchen was deserted when I went down. I assumed Rachel was in the barn and sat down to wait for her. When half an hour went by and she didn’t return, I got worried and went out to look for her. She wasn’t in any of the places she should have been. After a thorough search of the yard and all the outbuildings I came back into the house and made a quick inspection of all the rooms.

I still wasn’t prepared for Franny. Even though I knew nothing had changed, still, it was heartbreaking to walk in and see her like that, curled in a knot with her terror locked inside her. I ducked my head and left again at once, trying to compose myself as I finished my search of the upstairs. Rachel wasn’t anywhere, and with a growing sense of alarm I went back to the kitchen, finding Girlie perched precariously on a stool, reaching for a bowl of eggs.

“I’ll do that,” I said sharply, afraid she’d fall, and as I snatched the bowl from her hand, the hurt in her eyes stabbed through me like a knife. Strangely unsettled, I motioned for her to sit at the table. I wasn’t sure of what I was feeling; I wasn’t sure of anything. Rachel’s absence loomed around me like the darkest kind of omen.

“Do you know where Rachel went?” I asked Girlie, but as she shook her head, I noticed a scrap of paper tucked halfway under the back door. My eyes flew to the washstand where a pad and pencil lay. The loose sheet must have blown off when I’d opened and shut the door. Picking it up now, I saw that it was a note.

GONE TO FIND SETH.

RACHEL

I stared at it for several seconds, then lowered it thoughtfully. The writing was scribbled as if she’d been in a great hurry. I wondered why she hadn’t bothered to tell me herself. But I knew, as she must have known, that I’d only have begged to go with her. And we couldn’t all leave; someone had to stay here with Franny and Girlie.

Girlie took a long time with her breakfast. We didn’t speak, but a tension hung between us that was almost painful. Once I caught her looking at me, but when I gazed back at her she dropped her eyes and played listlessly with her food. She hardly ate a bite.

The morning dragged on. The sky clouded up again, fleecy patches of dun wool, and its gloominess pervaded the house. I sat in Franny’s room for a while, waiting for, praying for a change, but as the hours drew out, I could feel myself growing increasingly nervous at her blank stare and I finally had to leave. My nerves were taut. I paused in the upstairs hall acutely aware of the crushing silence. No one had bothered to wind the clock in the parlor. Time came to a wary standstill.

I stirred the fire in the fireplace, rubbing my arms against the room’s chill, against the excruciating unease that gripped me. Every noise was a danger. A branch scraped the window, and I cried out, expecting to see Micah staring lifelessly in at me…or Dewey grinning maggots where his mouth should have been.

Dinnertime came and went and still no sign of Rachel. I thought of Seth, gone for so long now, and my heart sickened with fear. I was sure now, as Rachel was, that something had happened to him—something horrible. There’s no betrayal in this world…

And yet there was…there had been.

All of us had betrayed someone…something…

All of us but Rachel.

And now she was out there…alone.

I made a split-second decision and called Girlie downstairs. “Dress warm—”

“Where are we going?” Her face was troubled.

“To find Rachel. Hurry now.”

She cast me a questioning look but did as I said. While she wrestled into her coat, I fought a quick moral battle with myself. I felt guilty leaving Franny, but there was nothing, really, that I could do. She didn’t know anything, and I had no idea what herbal concoctions Rachel had been feeding her. With any luck we’d be back before supper. But in the meantime Rachel was wandering out there unprotected.

“Come on, let’s go.”

I pulled on a jacket and shut the door behind us. The farm lay silent and empty, like a ghost town, and I nudged Girlie into a trot as we started off.

We slowed down before we’d gone half a mile. The cold seeped through our lungs, burning, and I gasped for breath as if I’d been sprinting a race. Girlie slowed to a near crawl. I nudged her again, and she stopped. Several steps ahead of her I paused, then turned around and stood there, waiting.

“Come on,” I said. “We have to hurry.”

She shook her head, not meeting my eyes.

“We don’t want to be out after dark,” I reminded her.

Her shoulders moved slightly but still she wouldn’t look at me.

“They may be in trouble, Girlie. Seth and Rachel might need us.”

Nothing. She stood there, head bowed.

Sighing, I went back to her, squatted down to her eye level though she still avoided me. “All right, what is it? What’s wrong?”

A long silence. Then a timid little voice trembled, “Micah can’t sleep—”

“Stop that!” I screamed. I grabbed her so suddenly that her head snapped back, lolling forward again onto her chest as if it were broken. “Stop that! You stop saying that, and tell me where he is.”

“I…I…” Her teeth began to chatter, her voice lost somewhere deep in her throat. “I…I…”

“What!” Another shake, harder, her head snapping like my nerves were snapping. “You what!”

“I…I…didn’t…wake…him.”

My hands froze on her shoulders. I was aware of her bones beneath my fingers—small and brittle like a bird’s “You—what?” My voice grew quiet. At last her great eyes lifted, drank me in.

“You think I did. But I didn’t.” Her confession sank to a whisper, and I stared at her, unblinking.

“Then where is he?” I asked in a whisper of my own.

“Gone.”

So I had been at the right place, after all…it had all been real. “I know he’s gone.” Impatience made my voice crack. “I saw that he’s gone. But where is he now? How did he get out?”

She looked at me intently, as if reading my lips, as if not quite sure of my question.

I tried again. “Girlie, there’s somebody else in Micah’s grave, so Micah has to be somewhere else. Now tell me where he is. Do you know?”

Her solemn eyes filled mine. “He’s with Seth,” she said.

My heart leapt inside me, a premonition of fear and horror, and though a thousand impossible questions came to mind, I took her hand and jumped up. “Show me,” I said, and we began to run as if running for our lives.

The miles trailed out behind us, lost in the mazes of the woodlands, the slopes and angles and ridges of the hills. Though I knew this was the way I had been before with Seth, nothing looked even remotely familiar to me now, shrouded in the gloomy afternoon and a deceiving mantle of snow. For hours it seemed, we walked. I lost all sense of direction, all track of time. Yet Girlie floundered on through the drifts and mounds, some special sense guiding her without need of landmark or compass. And she seemed to be tireless. I lost count of the many times I had to stop and catch my breath, while she waited politely for me, barely even winded. As we tramped through the hills I called loudly, “Rachel! Seth!” and the wind caught my cries and tossed them back at me; across the snowy fields and pastures I called their names, straining for an answer, some movement, the slightest sign of life, but there was nothing, nothing at all, and the premonition grew inside me, snuffing out hope with black, icy fingers.

I had no idea what could have happened to them. Not to Seth who’d been gone now nearly three days; not to Rachel who’d been gone a matter of hours. I knew that sound traveled much farther on a wintry day; they should have heard me miles away, heard me and answered back. But the hills were silent, silent…cold and silent as death.

He’s with Seth…with Seth…And with every step my mind conjured horrible thoughts, unspeakable thoughts—did Seth take Micah’s body…and why? But Girlie moved on, far ahead of me, and there was no time now for asking questions, no time to do anything but run, and hurry, and shout the names that refused to answer.

The sky was thicker when we reached the pasture at last. I knew I’d been here before, and I felt a curious mixture of relief and dread as I spotted the shed backed up to the woods.

“Seth! Rachel!” I threw myself on the door, not knowing what to expect, what I might find as I wrestled it open and flung it wide—

Seth had been here.

The sack he’d taken that morning…the canteen. Both lay on the floor.

Seth had been here. But he wasn’t here now.

No one was.

My heart sank within me. Clutching the door frame, I gave in to a moment of panic before taking myself roughly in hand again. Every moment was precious. There was no time for what-ifs.

I turned to see Girlie running off through the trees, and my heart took a sickening leap into my throat. The cave! That was the way Seth had taken me that day, there on the winding path between the bluffs, to the place he had worked so painstakingly to conceal.

“Girlie! Wait! Don’t go!”

I started after her, but if she heard me, she gave no sign. I couldn’t let her find that awful place—that row of graves where all of Micah’s tragic victims had been secretly disposed of…You’ve heard of people disappearing into thin air…well this is it…

“Girlie! No! Come back!”

I crashed through the tangled underbrush, my breath echoing loudly in the quiet. My chest was aching from the cold, the exhaustion, the ongoing battle against hopelessness; far ahead of me I could hear limbs popping, twigs snapping, snow crunching beneath the weight of tiny, determined feet.

Why is she going there, I thought, and it occurred to me that she hadn’t hesitated for a minute, that she knew the path, knew exactly where she was going…he’s with Seth…and I froze in my tracks, stark terror blinding me for an instant. “Oh God, no,” I mumbled, though I didn’t even know what I expected, what I was afraid to see, only that something, something, was very, very wrong here, Girlie plunging ahead on this secret, forbidden path as if she knew—knew—what lay at the end—something she intended to show me—

“Girlie, stop!” I pleaded, “Please stop.” But my voice wasn’t carrying past the pounding of my heart, the gasping of my breath, and there was a thought there—something about Seth—something that might have to do with Seth, waiting for me soon, soon, at the end of this twisted path, only I wouldn’t let it come, wouldn’t acknowledge it, because then it couldn’t happen—couldn’t exist—it could never ever be true.

I didn’t feel my legs carrying me the rest of the way but suddenly I was there at the entrance, scrambling over the fallen rubble, and there was Girlie, down on her hands and knees, pulling at the rocks, shoving them away from their neat piles…

“Girlie…” My words came dully, a voice I didn’t even recognize as my own. “Girlie…what are you…”

But she didn’t seem to recognize me either, didn’t seem even to know I was there, just kept digging…and clawing…and going deeper…deeper…into the grave.

“See?” she said breathlessly. “See?”

And her voice was tight with excitement—or fear—I couldn’t tell. Her eyes were big and imploring, as the rocks heaped up around her.

“See?” she said again, and I did see, then—as I moved like a machine to the edge of the mound where Girlie had pulled so many rocks away.

I did see—the thing that had to be an arm…and the shoulder it was attached to…and how fresh it looked, I thought, lying there as if it were only asleep.

And then Girlie flung more rocks away and I saw more of it—the head and straggly blond hair—some woman I would never know but knew I would never forget—her face—the elements already wearing her away—earth to earth—dust to dust—

“Girlie,” I mumbled, feeling as if I would faint, but she was pulling, pulling, excited and intense—so very intense—and pointing and her mouth moving in desperate soundless sounds—pulling—pointing to the woman’s slender neck—

Where the handprints still showed.

Where the ugly bruises still stood out, imprinted in the skin—

The strangle marks…the handprints…

Two handprints.

And I fell on my knees beside Girlie and grabbed her close. Micah’s handprints…

Except Micah only had one hand.

Chapter 32

SOMEWHERE IN THE BACK of my mind I think I knew it even then, a realization too terrible to acknowledge, some faraway glimmer that my mind refused to focus on.

I only knew that the world crashed down around me…that there was only Girlie and me…and the bleak, barren cold that surrounded us…seeping into my body…my heart…my mind…relentless…unmerciful…

My brain refused to function. My mind couldn’t seem to register—not even the smallest, most obvious thing. Like Girlie suddenly stiffening in my arms, suddenly looking back toward the mouth of the cave, suddenly trying to pull me to my feet…and I saw her, yet it was like looking through a fog; I felt her, yet I couldn’t give a name to the expression on her face.

I looked back at the corpse and the marks on the neck—the two handprints that were stamped indelibly on the flesh, the ten-fingered brand that had snuffed out the life…and my hope…

And the world slammed into me with incredible force, jarring me back to the worst kind of reality, just in time to hear Girlie say, “Somebody’s coming!”

I don’t remember grabbing her, or moving, or even being afraid. Suddenly we were just there, sunk down into the darkness on the other side of the graves, and I was thinking of our telltale footprints in the snow…the body half dug from its hiding place…

I could hear them—the footsteps—heavy, awkward, coming closer…closer…sharp on stone…yet even as I crouched there, waiting, my tortured, trapped thought broke free at last, flooding through me with a deadly rush.

And suddenly it didn’t seem to matter anymore, hiding or even being afraid.

Because Seth must have done it, I thought.

Seth must have done it all.

My reflexes acted slowly, like a drugged man awakening from an age-old sleep. I saw the black empty tunnel around us, and the rows of mounded rocks, and the hazy outline of the cave opening in the distance—but nothing else. The footsteps lurched closer, but nobody was there. Girlie squeezed my hand, but it took me a long time to feel it, and when I finally realized that she had ahold of me, I was slowly surprised to feel her trembling. I looked down at her face, round saucer eyes filling my vision. She was terrified.

Seth…Seth did it all…

The footsteps lumbered purposefully toward us, scraping across the stone floor. My God…where is he?

Girlie made a whimpering sound, and I covered her mouth with my hand.

The noises stopped.

There was no sound at all now. My breath burned in my throat as I tried to hold it. I hadn’t felt Girlie’s breath against my fingers for a long time. I shook my head at her. She was so still I wondered briefly if she’d fainted.

Something turned in the cave entrance.

Through a veil of terror I saw a black silhouette etched against the gray light.

Whatever it was, it began to go back.

For an eternity we stayed as we were, not daring to move lest our stirring give us away. Every sound echoed and hung in the air. I knew that whoever was out there had us trapped.

Girlie began shaking again. I gathered her in my arms and held her tightly, trying to transfer my body heat into hers. I didn’t realize how cold I’d grown myself. We clung together, the wet and cold stealthily taking their toll.

Dusk began to filter in from outside, slowly submerging us in hopeless darkness. I rocked Girlie in my arms, but she only hung there limp and exhausted. I cursed myself for having been so stupid and irresponsible. If only I hadn’t tried to be brave, to be helpful, we’d still be back at the house, warm and dry, we’d never have come to this awful place…I’d never have known…

Like neat little puzzle pieces, memories and thoughts began to fall slowly into place.

Seth had done it all…

It had been Seth—not Micah—who had murdered these victims. Seth who had buried them here so nobody would ever know. He had blamed it all on Micah, so I would never suspect him—and I had believed him totally.

There were so many things I’d wanted to believe.

Choking back tears now, I rocked Girlie against me, tucking her inside my jacket. Why hadn’t I listened to my first instincts about Seth; why had I let down my guard and changed my mind? He hadn’t wanted me here to begin with, yet he had carried me here himself. He had been strange and frightening and distant, yet he had finally seemed to change.

He could easily have left me at the scene of the accident. He might have been planning to kill me that first night he’d watched me in the barn. It had been Micah’s idea to help me get away that night, and he had been so insistent—so scared. I’d told him that Seth was taking me along to the bottom acre the next day, and Micah had been scared. I’d seen it in his eyes. I’ll help you get away, he’d said—only Micah hadn’t showed up. Because Franny had told. And don’t ever say anything, Seth had said to me, about any of this…it’s something nobody wants to talk about…

Micah hadn’t been there—because Seth had found out about our plan. Micah hadn’t been there because Seth had done something to him. The cellar. The images sickened me, the chains, the cruelty…sometimes Micah has to stay here…But not because Micah was crazy. Not because of Micah. “Do you think you’re the first?” Micah had looked so frightened, even then. How many other times had he been thrown into that cellar because he’d tried to warn Seth’s victims and help them get away? Defiance wouldn’t be tolerated, I knew that now. I’d seen other instances of it, and it wasn’t a pretty sight: Franny’s disobedience, the rage, the scarecrow in the fire. And Franny’s words hit me, making sense at last: “Ask Seth. He’s the one to ask. He’s the one.”

I saw Micah’s limp body in Seth’s arms. With all of us around the place, and it was Seth who had happened to find Micah lying out there, with not a soul around to help him. He never hurt anybody…he never did a mean thing in his life…Tears squeezed out between my clamped eyelids. Oh, Micah, Micah, did Seth kill you, too?

He’d been standing there the day Girlie had taken me to the grave in the cemetery. Seth, just standing there, and I’d wondered why, in the middle of the day; Seth who had shown such little sentiment, so little remorse. And Girlie had been afraid. And at the time I couldn’t figure out why she’d even brought me there, but now it seemed all top clear.

She’d known that Dewey was buried there.

Even then she’d been trying to tell me. Somehow—somehow—she’d known, and had tried to warn me of the danger. Maybe she’d seen Seth kill him…carry the body there…bury it in a newly dug grave that no one would ever think to disturb. And by burying Dewey, he’d cut off my last chance of escape.

The tears flowed faster now, ice trickles upon my frozen cheeks. Why, Seth, why? Memories washed over me in bittersweet waves. Everything Seth had aroused in me, everything he’d discovered within me that I hadn’t even known myself…and all of it nothing—nothings.

How many others had he been with before the end? How many others had he held and made love to and destroyed? Had they all grown passive, as I had? So totally, so carelessly unsuspecting? How many other graves lay in these hills, these woods, unmarked, unclaimed? And where had he planned on putting me?

“Why?” I wept into the musty tangle of Girlie’s hair. Why hadn’t he killed me then and gotten it over with—killed me when I was so ready to die? “He can’t help himself, you know…and afterward…after he does those things…he never remembers, it would kill him if he knew…he’d never be able to forgive himself…” And he hadn’t really been talking about Micah—he’d been talking about himself. “Oh, Seth…” His hands…his lips…his body…filling me…filling me…“Seth…”

He had made me live again.

And now he would make me die.

“No!” The mocking echo of my voice startled me. I roused myself as if waking from a dream.

We had to get out of here.

I couldn’t see Girlie anymore; I held her from me and gave her a little shake. Her head dangled against my arms. “Can you walk?” I asked her. I felt her nod, and I planted a kiss on her forehead. “We’ve got to try and make it home. Do you think you can remember the way?”

Life seemed to flow back into her. She nodded again.

“Is there another way back besides the way we came?”

“Yes, I can find it.”

“Good. Let’s go. And be very quiet.”

She put her finger to her lips to show she understood. Whoever had followed us to the cave might still be out there. We hadn’t heard any sound for a long time, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t waiting for us to make our move.

We threaded our way slowly through the woods, up the craggy sides of the bluffs, and with every step I held my breath. The soft crunch of snow underfoot was like gunshots. Our breath gusted like wind. Even my heartbeat was a sharp staccato through the trees. My eyes fixed themselves intently on Girlie’s small figure moving carefully but surely ahead of me in the moonlight. My mind raced, out of control, thoughts fluttering in and out like frenzied birds: a change in routine upsets him…you should never have come…Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah…you should never have come…Franny’s gone…never…he’s with Seth…never never never have come…

What had Seth done with Micah? It was obvious by what Girlie had said that Seth had indeed exchanged bodies in Micah’s grave and taken him someplace else. As more pieces began to complete the picture, I found myself amazed at his cleverness. He had staged this whole disappearance, of course. He had been near the house all along. He’d made the noises to upset us, to start our imaginations working—a change in routine upsets him—the shuffling noises, the horrible, unknown noises—afraid something awful will happen—the noises that came down the hall—that scared look on Micah’s face when he found Franny’s scarecrow…because he had known…he’d known what Seth could do when he’d been defied…the noises that terrified Franny out of her mind…

Girlie paused to catch her breath, looked back to see that I was still following. I nodded encouragement and we went on.

Micah’s with Seth…but where? And why? And what would happen to Rachel out here all alone, helpless and afraid? Had Seth finally reached the limits of his self-control? Had the tenuous hold on reality fatally snapped? And then another thought struck me that made me stumble, cry out under my breath…what if he’d counted on all of us leaving to search for him? What if, even at this very second, he was trailing down the hallway to Franny’s room, calmly prepared to end her life forever? Maybe he’d be dressed as a scarecrow. Or maybe…maybe he’d have Micah with him…

The thought was too horrible to bear. I plunged ahead recklessly, and Girlie jumped, then froze, startled at my noise. I froze with her, my heart lodged in my throat. Oh God, help Franny…help Rachel…help us…

Rachel should have been home long ago. Putting supper on the table, smiling as Girlie sang some funny, off-key song…and Franny would say something with that mischievous twinkle in her eye, and Micah would glance up shyly from his plate, and Seth would walk through the door…

I knew then what I had to do.

Even if it meant hardships I’d never imagined…dangers I’d never dreamed of.

Because nothing could be worse than the danger here now, hiding, waiting all around me.

I would get Girlie home to Rachel.

And then, somehow, I would find the road.

I would take them with me, and we would never come back. No matter how long it took…no matter how difficult.

We came out at the foot of a gentle rise, trees staggered like drunken sentinels along the horizon. It was clearer here, open. With a surge of hope I broke into a run, grabbing Girlie’s hand, not stopping till we’d cleared the ridge and started down into a wide, rugged hollow. For the hundredth time I berated myself for not coming more prepared—no extra clothes, no food, no lantern, not even a weapon to use if we had to. Girlie seemed subdued, the fear gone from her eyes. Knowing her uncanny perceptions, I began to relax a little, sensing that maybe the dangers were past. Miles slipped back beneath our feet—everything looked strange and ill-marked—shadows where there shouldn’t have been…drifts I stumbled into and never saw—and slowly, slowly a sprinkling of snow that crystallized the air around us. I wanted to go faster, but it hurt to breathe. Girlie stumbled and fell. I lugged her into my arms and trudged on, holding her to my chest. All the energy seemed to go out of her then. She curled against me, a dead weight, and I strained my eyes through the thickening flakes.

“We’re going to get lost,” I said in her ear. “I can hardly see a thing.” And it came to me in a half-amused way that I was facing Death one more time, and that maybe—just maybe—he would win this round. At least it would be peaceful; I’d always heard so, just growing cold, then strangely and pleasantly unfeeling, and then the sweet, easy slipping into sleep.

“There,” Girlie said. “There.” And she was pulling on my sleeve, and I realized with amazed admiration that she’d been bringing us here all along.

About ten feet ahead of us was a shed, much like the one I’d found Seth’s things in back near the woods. I remembered now that they were all over the property, built for storing tools and serving as shelters in emergencies. Gratefully I ran the last few yards and swung open the door.

It smelled of dust and damp, but was wonderfully snug and safe from the wind. I shut us in and saw with delight that there were blankets and old feed sacks, some lanterns on a shelf, matches, some odd assorted jars. Girlie went at once and lit a lamp. Then as I scrounged through the blankets, trying to ignore the mouse droppings, she unscrewed one of the jar lids and offered me a long stiff strip of something. I bit down cautiously and smiled. Beef jerky had never tasted so good.

I spread some sacks on the floor, then piled the blankets on top. We’d be warm and toasty now once we climbed in and covered up, and I felt reasonably optimistic that we could hold out till morning.

Girlie took several more beef sticks, then lifted down the lantern from the shelf.

I saw her eyes go wide, saw her stiffen as she stared at something in the corner.

I felt my body go prickly all over, the hair rise on my neck, as I turned to follow her eyes.

Her lips worked slowly, one hand lifting to point. “Rachel,” she whispered.

And I saw the axe.

And the blood.

But it wasn’t Rachel my mind saw now—images that brought me weakly to my knees—

It was Dewey and the place where his stomach should have been.

Chapter 33

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING…this cannot be happening to me…

After what seemed like hours, my eyes lifted, sought Girlie in the half-formed shadows, settled on her with emotions too deep for words.

She didn’t look at me. She stared at the wall, her shoulders going rigid. She seemed locked in the depths of some new terror that wouldn’t let go, and though I tried coaxing her, soothing her, she wouldn’t respond.

“You don’t know what’s happened,” I whispered. “We can’t be sure. Not of anything.” Yet even to myself my words seemed lame. I took her in my arms and she didn’t resist me, but she wouldn’t speak a word and her eyes never left the axe until at long last she fell into restless sleep.

I wished that I could join her, drift into a deep oblivion and awaken again to find all the nightmares vanished—Rachel would be pouring coffee…bacon sizzling in a pan on the stove…fresh baked bread…and listen to the others…Franny and Seth and Micah and Girlie, all working out behind the barn…and—oh look!—there’s Kerry—he’s come to help build a snowman…and Brad…“Pam, where have you been? We’ve looked everywhere…we’ve all been so worried…”

I roused myself, incoherent with weariness. My eyes immediately picked out the axe, drawn there by magnets of fear. It had probably been used to kill an animal. Nothing strange about that, not out here anyway. And maybe that stain smearing the blade…dripping down onto the floor-maybe that wasn’t blood at all…maybe…but why had Girlie looked so terrified?

It came to me then that Girlie had known about Seth all along, and the thought staggered me. She had known about the secret grave—where it was and what was in it—she hadn’t hesitated a moment taking me there. And the tragedy of it all was inconceivable to me. A little girl growing up with danger the way Girlie had, her own father a prisoner of those dark, fatal moods which could strike without warning…How had the others been able to stand it—even if Micah and Franny hadn’t suspected how bad it all really was, they had lived with Seth’s rages long enough never to risk going against him. And Rachel…dear, kind Rachel…who had stood by him all these years, faithful, silent—I don’t know why you’re always trying to protect everybody, Franny had said—and now I found myself marveling at the depth of her loyalty and love. Loyalty? Love? Or fear for her life?

My arms were beginning to ache. I lowered Girlie carefully and lay close to her, pulling the blankets over us, keeping the lantern burning. I tried to sleep but my heart raced out of control. Every noise in the night sent me into a panic. I wondered where Rachel was, if she was dead. And Seth…if he was still alive. And waiting out there…somewhere…

When dawn came at last it crept quietly on gray feet. I didn’t remember sleeping at all, though my mind had teemed with horrible dreams all night long. My stomach was gnawing emptily, and my body was stiff and aching. I roused Girlie and met her troubled, confused stare with a confidence I didn’t feel. We finished off the jerky, then extinguished the light. Slowly I opened the door and peeked out.

The world was muffled and dull beneath an overcast sky, but the snow had stopped falling, and a glimmer along the eastern hills predicted possible sunshine. For a moment I considered taking the axe with us, then decided against it. It was too heavy to lug along, and if it was still here, then that meant Seth didn’t have it. Feeling little comforted by that thought, I closed up the shack and we went on our way.

The woods still seemed threatening, but not nearly so much in the light of day. We made our way much faster now—Girlie never hesitated in her directions—and before another two hours had passed, the chimney finally came into view, rising smokeless beyond the next rise. I felt my heart sink when I saw it. Up until that very moment I’d really kept telling myself that it was all some terrible mistake, some crazy set of bizarre coincidences. But now I felt my body growing numb with an awful certainty. If there was no fire, then Rachel wasn’t here to keep one. The house must be freezing by now. I didn’t even want to think about what had happened to poor Franny.

We came along the back of the barn, past the woodpile with the empty stump beside it, and stared up at the house sitting before us, foreboding in its terrible silence. It seemed to fill my vision; all that existed now was fear and this house. I let go of Girlie’s hand and knelt to look into her eyes.

“You stay here, understand?”

She gazed back at me, gave a slight nod.

“Right here,” I emphasized. “Wait till I go in and have a look around. And if you see anyone—or anything at all—don’t come in for me. Run away. Understand?” I watched her, gauging her reactions to my orders. There was no fear in her eyes, no premonition of danger that I could see. If Seth was inside…waiting…oh, Girlie, if you really have that Gift, then use it for me now.

I hugged her, then turned quickly away, feeling her big eyes on my back as I went up the steps and tried the back door.

Cold air hit me like a draft in a cave. I could tell at a glance that no one had been here. The kitchen was just as I’d left it. The fire in the stove was out. I opened my mouth to call, then closed it again without speaking. My footsteps sounded hollow and intrusive. I had to fight an overwhelming urge to flee. He could be anywhere…

The thought paralyzed me for a second. I stood rooted to the floor, ice pumping painfully through my veins, the room blurring around me. I could see him in my mind—dark piercing eyes lit with a mad glimmer…hands stained with blood…curled around a knife, a gun, a pitchfork…part of the deepest shadows…seeing me…but knowing I couldn’t see him…even as I walked through the house…my back to the lurching footsteps that followed…

I wheeled, terror choking me, as something groaned. I saw the door settling in its frame, my breath coming out in a rush. I pulled myself together, made myself cross to the doorway, out into the hall.

The house was silent as a tomb.

For several long minutes I stood there, plans forming in my brain, fading, forming again until I felt dizzy and had to lean against a wall. The first thing I had to do was check on Franny…then somehow find out if Rachel was—what? Somehow the word wouldn’t come for me, the finality too painful to consider. Whatever happened, I couldn’t leave now, couldn’t make my break for help and freedom. Not until I knew for certain about Rachel, not until I knew what to do with Girlie.

The parlor was deserted, the fire smoldering, nearly dead. I didn’t pause to stir it up, but went immediately up the stairs, my feet slow and stupid, my body pressed against the wall. As I neared the top, I hung back, listening, then carefully slid one hand around the corner of the wall…easing myself inch by inch out into the passageway. He could be anywhere…anywhere…

“Rachel?” I whispered. “Franny? It’s me—Pam.” Foolish to announce my whereabouts, foolish, I knew, to give myself away like that, but somehow just hearing my own voice made me feel braver, and my heart fluttered back into my chest, giving me room to breathe. I put out my hands on either side of me, pushing myself weakly along the hallway, stopping at last outside Franny’s room, straining my ears for some sound…some hope.

“Franny?” I spoke again, but my voice sounded very faraway, and when I leaned against the door, it held fast. Funny…I don’t remember closing her door when I left yesterday. And reason came through to me slowly, much too slowly…for as I put my full weight against the door, as it groaned reluctantly inward…then stopped…as I pushed, pushed…that soft resistance…that solid something blocking it from the other side—

“Oh, my God—Franny—”

For I saw it then, as my eyes dropped automatically to the floor, wondering what it was that held the door from the other side—I saw it then, the muddy toe of a boot lodged there between me and the rest of the room, between me and Franny’s bed—

A scream started up from my throat…hung there…my eyes in a second, sweeping over Franny’s bed…empty—

“What have you done with her!” I shrieked, and my body crashed full force against the door, sending whatever was behind it sprawling with a muddled thump—my body bouncing off again as something smashed into my shoulder, jarring me with pain, spraying slivers of bloodied wood all over as I bolted for the hallway and down the stairs.

I fell into the hall, scrambling to keep my balance, and as I came down on one knee and cried out, I heard him in the hallway overhead, thudding down the stairs behind me. I hurled myself through the kitchen, out the back door, saw Girlie, all eyes and open mouth, frozen there as I snatched her up and began running for the barn.

“He’s in the house—we’ve got to hide—” I was panting for breath, and Girlie was twisting in my grasp, her mouth opening and closing in a desperate attempt at speech.

“No…no…” she kept babbling, and as my eyes blurred with tears I wiped them furiously away. Yes, Girlie, I’m afraid he’ll kill us, too, you and me both, just like Micah and Dewey, just like Rachel and Franny…

“No,” Girlie moaned again, and I got the barn door latched behind us, my eyes wildly sweeping the barn for a weapon, some defense, anything…

I saw it standing in the corner where Seth had left it.

With trembling hands I picked it up, weighing it clumsily, searching for the trigger.

I’d never even shot a gun before.

I only hoped it was loaded.

Girlie’s eyes widened alarmingly. She tugged at my hand and led the way up the ladder into the hayloft. There was a deafening patter of wings; I gasped as birds and chickens scattered around us, as mice scurried frantically into the hay. The cows bawled restlessly below us; the horses whinnied in fear. Girlie and I lay flat on our stomachs. We could see most of the barn from here. Around us piles of hay nearly touched the ceiling in places, and frost wove thick webs among the golden drifts, turning our breath to ice. My hands were so numb I had to look down to make sure I still had ahold of the rifle. I leveled it, its barrel aimed right at the barn door. Beside me Girlie moved closer, her body half buried beneath mine. I thought I could feel them—the mice, the rats—crawling over my ankles, slithering around my legs.

“Help me,” I murmured, “help me.” Yet there was no one to help. Not Girlie huddled next to me…not even myself, I realized, for I knew that if Seth came through that door, I didn’t know how I was ever going to pull the trigger.

And then it happened.

At first I told myself it couldn’t be…that it was just the wind playing tricks with the door…catching the latch…lifting it free…that it was just the wind pushing it open…inch by creaking inch…the wind rattling in my lungs…the wind squeezing my heart in my chest…squeezing…

I saw his head bent low, the slump of his shoulders in the cold, gray gloom…stumbling forward…as if he couldn’t think anymore…couldn’t stand. He tilted forward into the shadows, and hung there as if he weren’t quite real.

Girlie grabbed my hand and my heart nearly stopped. I tried to bring her closer to me without moving the gun, without moving at all—without making the noise that might give us away.

He acted like he wasn’t sure.

He hung there, bowed over, and he never looked our way, never once lifted his eyes to the loft where we lay too petrified even to think. He hung there and stumbled a few feet forward—nearly falling, clutching at a post for support. But he wasn’t sure, you could tell by the very way he moved—awkward and slow—his head going slowly from side to side, a battered doll come to life, a limp…ragged…scarecrow. And my eyes misted, a blur of fear and pain as he stumbled forward and looked around…stumbled forward…looked around….

Scarecrow! And I could see it now, as plain as the mud and straw trailed on the floor behind him…as plain as his windblown clothes hanging from his tall, stooped frame…the leanness of him…the winter-swept hair and beard…the long arms lopsided as he fought for balance…

As he stumbled to the hayloft ladder…

As he grabbed hold…

The floor shook beneath us, with every uncertain step…each slow, deliberate tread of his boots. I clutched the gun like a prayer and was only dimly aware of Girlie trying to grab it from me.

“No!” her whisper, and the boots…closer…closer…filling the barn…my head…No…No…

Blood pounded in my ears, the roar of fate drowning out all other sounds—and Girlie tugging at me now—pulling my arm—and me shaking her off—I won’t let him hurt you, Girlie—I won’t—and the top of the ladder just visible…any moment the hands appearing…murderer’s hands…and the trigger, lost somewhere in the dead weight of cold metal…the trigger…and Girlie squeezing me to death…my finger squeezing on the trigger…murderer’s hands—murderer’s hands…

Only it wasn’t his hands I saw first.

It was his eyes.

Black and burning, they cleared the loft and drank me in—holding me—torturing me with something not entirely mad—a slow dismay that drained his already white face, even as his lips moved, forming my name…

The gun drowned out the sound of his voice.

And in that last split second before he fell, there were tears in his eyes as he reached out for me.

Chapter 34

THE SCREAMS WENT ON and on.

They echoed down from the rafters, filling each corner with despair, stirring the shadows into a black, wild frenzy.

I felt the sting of a slap against my cheek and saw Girlie’s tear-streaked face come into focus. She was crying but no sound was coming out—pulling on my arm, one leg already thrown over the edge of the loft as she prepared to go down the ladder.

“Wait,” my voice shook. “Let me go first.”

But she was already halfway to the floor, and I felt painful prickles all through my body as if it had gone numb and been resurrected.

I remembered then what I had done, and I realized those screams had been my own.

“Seth!”

I don’t remember getting down—only stopping there beside him, gagging, feeling sick, the barn catapulting around me.

I had never seen so much blood.

He was lying on his back, his arms flung out at his sides, his right cheek resting in a red puddle on the floor. His body was soaked—his coat stuck to him, pants, shirt, all wet with blood, and beneath him a dark red stain grew and grew, spreading out around him, his frame suddenly, pitifully small as the life drained oat of it.

I screamed again, falling down on my knees beside him, my pleas, my fears all falling out in an incoherent stream, my hands groping for him, slippery from him, stained and smeared with him—“No!” and again—and again—“No! God, no!” because surely I couldn’t have done this, this insane butchery, surely. God help me, I couldn’t have hurt him like this—Seth—Seth!

I felt along his clothes, his neck, his chest, searching, probing for the bullet hole—if only I could find it, staunch it. Maybe…maybe…My fingers moved faster, groping for his heartbeat, pressing frantically on his chest. “Seth—Seth—can you hear me?” I felt a murmur…a faint, faint echo deep within him…so soft…so fragile…

He was looking at me.

With a cry, I pulled back, gazing into his black, black eyes that drew me helplessly into their depths.

There was no light in them now.

No secrets.

Just a thin haze spreading slowly across their shadows.

“Seth—”

He struggled to breathe. “I…tried…to kill…Rachel…”

He strained to lift his head, but the effort was too much for him. Taking hold of his shoulders, my fingers ran across a frazzled tear along one shoulder of his jacket, and I stared down at it, my mind working in slow motion. I could see a patch of skin showing through, oozing blood, but the wound was only a slight tear in the flesh, not more than a quarter-inch deep. Shaking, I ran my hand along the bullet graze, but Seth didn’t even flinch. He seemed to feel nothing. Panic fluttered in my throat. Slipping my arms gently around him, I tried to ease him onto his side, my eyes widening as his bloody jacket hung away from his body.

Most of his back was gone.

In that split-second glimpse of chopped flesh and shattered bone, I realized that my hands were holding the last pieces of him together, and I pressed him close to me sobbing.

“Oh, Seth…Seth…no…please…”

Against my neck his lips moved, a sigh I could barely hear. “Take…Girlie.”

“Don’t talk now, Seth—don’t. We’ll get help. We’ll—” I looked frantically around the barn, at Girlie standing solemn-eyed, weeping her silent tears, at the shadows closing in, the solitude he’d loved so much, betraying him now. There was no help…no one.

“Help him,” I sobbed. “Girlie…do something.”

She moved forward…knelt beside Seth…placed her little hand on his damp forehead…

“No,” Seth whispered. “Let me go.”

“Oh, Seth—” I cried.

“Girlie,” he whispered again, and his body trembled. I felt a warm trickle leave his mouth, slide down my cheek with hot, hopeless tears.

“Yes,” I promised. “I’ll take her, only Seth, don’t leave me—please—”

I could feel him dying.

There in my arms I could feel the invincible strength flowing out…the smell of earth and woods and autumn wind gone forever. I buried my face in his hair, his skin, the warmth fading wherever I touched, the lines of his face relaxing into the gentleness they had guarded for so long…

I looked into his eyes.

There was no distrust there now. No anger. Only cloudy mirrors of my face against slowly fading blackness…

His mouth moved.

He tried to focus once more upon my face.

“Hold on,” I begged him, “just hold on…”

But he couldn’t.

His lips curved in a gentle smile…

And he was gone.

Chapter 35

THERE COMES A RESOLVE when you’ve done all you can do—when you’ve taken more than you can stand—when you feel there’s little of real value left to lose.

I sat with him, and time held no meaning, and even though I knew at last what was really happening, suddenly it didn’t even matter anymore. I felt no more panic. No more fear.

Not even when it began to grow dark and the cold sifted draftily through the cracks in the barn. Not even when Girlie touched my arm and I realized she was shaking, and her huge eyes held something—some greater sadness—that they had never held before. And even when I laid him down, so very gently, and pressed my lips one last time to his; even when Girlie and I walked outside and saw the lights burning brightly in the windows of the house, the smoke silhouetted lazily against the dusky sky—even then there was no feeling of dread. No hesitation.

No surprise.

We opened the kitchen door and Rachel whirled around from the stove, her face aglow from absolute relief, her hands floury from patting out biscuits.

“Oh, mercy, I was sick to death with worry about you two! Where on earth have you been?”

Girlie stood there saying nothing, but Rachel didn’t seem to notice. It was me she was looking at, her eyes dark with worry and unanswered questions.

“We went looking for you,” I said. “You and Seth.”

“Oh, but you shouldn’t have! You could have gotten lost. There’s so much land to cover, and Lord only knows where Seth might be.”

“You didn’t come back yesterday,” I said. “We were afraid something might have happened to you.”

“Oh, Pamela, now what could happen to me?” She came over and hugged me and stood back with a smile. “You two better wash up now. Supper’s nearly ready.”

For the first time my eyes fell on the table. There were five places set.

“You left somebody out,” my voice sounded hollow. Dead.

Rachel turned from the pie safe where she was taking out a jar of jam. “Oh, Seth won’t be home tonight. He still has some work to do out in the bottom acre. But the others are here.”

My blood ran cold. I was surprised at my steadiness, turning to Girlie, where she stood, staring sadly, by the door. “Why don’t you bring in some wood?” I suggested.

Girlie looked at me, her little hand patting down a flyaway tangle of hair. Rachel leaned over and took her by the shoulders.

“That’s all right, angel. I can get it later. Now you go wash your hands.”

I stood by as Girlie dipped her hands into the bucket by the door, as Rachel planted a kiss on her nose, as she dried her hands and took a dish of butter that Rachel handed her, setting it down carefully where Seth’s plate should have been. I averted my eyes. They were strangely dry.

“So,” I said, pouring coffee into my usual cup. “You finally found Seth. That certainly saves us a lot of worry.”

Rachel looked at me gratefully. “Oh, Pamela, I can’t tell you how scared I was getting, working myself up like that. I’m so silly sometimes. Why, I should have known better. Seth would never leave me.”

“Is that what you thought?” I asked quietly. “That Seth had gone?”

A look of confusion flickered over her face. She paused, tasting a spoonful of mashed potatoes from the pot. “How could I have thought that?” she said at last, brightening. “Seth never left me in his life. Never. Not even when…” Her face darkened, fell. She stared down at the stove, laying the wooden spoon carefully aside. Her movements were unsure…slow…

“Not even when those boys attacked you?” I asked gently “Not even when everyone else abandoned you?”

Her eyes gazed into mine, dimming softly. “How…did—”

“You told me,” I lied, my voice full of sympathy, of understanding I didn’t feel. Beside me, Girlie’s fingers curled into my own, her hand tugging. Rachel was staring at me, but as I leaned down to meet Girlie’s level gaze, I had the feeling we were invisible to her.

“Micah…” Girlie mumbled. It was almost incoherent, but I saw her eyes slide past me, to the hallway beyond, to the lamplight spilling softly from the parlor. “Franny…”

I squeezed her hand, making her wince. “You told me,” I repeated to Rachel. “Don’t you remember? What you said those boys did?”

Rachel’s hand flew to her throat, her eyes filling with pain. “Go outside for me, will you, Girlie? And get Mama some more cream from the cellar. That’s a good girl.”

I wanted to scream at Girlie, to tell her to stay outside, to run away, but I only followed her with my eyes, trying to communicate my thoughts. The door closed behind her, and I went weak with relief.

I looked at Rachel, dry-eyed. “Seth never left you. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

“No,” Rachel said slowly, her expression puzzled, remembering. “They came one day when Pa was gone to town. I was in the barn by myself…” Her voice trailed away, eyes blurring into the past.

“Where was the rest of your family?”

“Out in the fields. It was just me there. And Seth and his brother doing some work on our smokehouse for us. They…they didn’t know those boys had come.”

A long silence.

“They sneaked into the barn where you were,” I prompted.

“Yes…yes…they…” She bit her lip, her fingers working frantically at the folds of her apron. “They were all dressed like scarecrows—and I was so scared, I couldn’t get away. They called me names—’cause—you know—I wasn’t very pretty to look at—they called me names and said I was stupid and ugly and made fun of me…” A sob rose in her throat; her speech thickened as she tried to choke it back. “They…they held me down…and…and—” Her voice rose, her eyes rolling desperately. “They tore off my clothes…and…they…touched me…all over…they hurt me…and…took an axe…and…chopped off my hair…” The sobs were coming now, heaving furiously as her body shook with the force of each one. I shut my eyes and heard her say, “It was Seth…who found me…covered me up…It was Seth who was kind to me.”

Several minutes dragged by. “And your father?” I asked softly. “Your brothers—”

“They called me a whore. They said I was trash.” Tears streamed down her face though her voice had gone hard. “Pa, he beat me. Said I asked for what I got. Said I was just like my mama who died, and he wouldn’t have me around, shaming the family. He said, you’ll never have a family here, Rachel, you’ll never have a family anymore…” Her hand went slowly along her scar. “There was a fire, you know. And they all died. All but me and Franny. ’Cause we weren’t in the house.”

I felt cold. “But Seth cared for you.”

“Seth…” A faint smile played at the corners of her lips. “Seth…he loved me, he took me away. He was always…so good to me. Everybody else hated me. But Seth never did.”

“Franny didn’t hate you.”

“No…I was all she had. And when Seth took us in, I told her, now Franny, honey, you mind what Seth says. You do what Seth tells you, just like I do, ’cause Seth always knows what’s right. I told her we belong to Seth now…this here’s Seth’s mark on my face…and we belong to him…and don’t be afraid…I won’t let anyone hurt you like…” She choked back a whimper. “And then Micah came. And Girlie.”

“But Micah wasn’t Seth’s child.”

Her voice hardened. “Micah was theirs. My punishment. Reminding me every day what I’d done…” She looked puzzled, as if she’d lost her train of thought. “But the Lord was making fun of me, ’cause Micah was beautiful…and sin shouldn’t be beautiful, Pamela. Sin is ugly, and it has to be destroyed.”

“So you put Micah in the cellar.” I drew a shaky breath. “And you cut off his hand.”

“He couldn’t help it, you see.” Rachel’s fingers worked into her hair, patting it into place, loosening it around her pinched face. “He couldn’t help being beautiful. My sweet…sweet Micah.”

“And you burned the scarecrows. That was your idea, not Seth’s. He only did it to make you happy and—”

“I have to burn them. I can’t let them live. Not after what they did to me. They all have to die…all of them.” Her hands began to shake. “All of them.”

I let the silence stretch between us. Her hands lowered, resting calmly on her arms.

“You like living out here, don’t you? Away from everything and everyone who hurt you?”

She frowned, as if trying to understand. Slowly she nodded her head. “Nobody makes fun of me here. Nobody…touches me.”

“Not even Seth,” I said quietly.

She tilted her head into the glow of the lamp, her voice lowering. “He didn’t mean to touch me that one time…he didn’t really mean to…and afterward he was so sorry…”

I watched her hands again, knotting themselves into fists, slowly unclenching again at her sides. “And that’s when you got Girlie?”

“Girlie…yes…” She stared at the floor a long time. “She’s so much like Seth. She has this Gift, you know. Like Seth used to have it. But after the scarecrows…it was just gone. Seth didn’t know things like he did before. But Girlie knows. She knows lots of things. Girlie’s my little one, you know.” Rachel’s eyes clouded, then cleared. She counted off on her fingers.

“Girlie and Micah and Franny and Seth. You see, everything’s just fine now the way it is. If none of us ever leaves here, then it’ll always stay nice. Nobody out there will ever come in and hurt us.”

“But,” I coaxed gently, “sometimes they do come in…don’t they, Rachel?”

Her eyes rested on mine, deep with sudden sadness. “Yes,” she whispered, her shoulders sagging. “Yes…sometimes they come. Girlie brings them. Like she brought you. She never means any harm…she’s such a special little girl—and they”—her chin lifted defiantly—“they always want to change something. Make things different. Take one of us away with them. Why, I can’t have that, Pamela, them breaking up my family…Sometimes…”

“Sometimes what, Rachel?” I murmured.

Her eyes grew sadder, her head shaking slowly, side to side. “Sometimes…they fall in love with Seth.”

My heart stopped. My eyes gazed back into hers, helplessly, helplessly transparent.

“Oh, I don’t say that Seth could love them back,” she went on quickly, carefully, her fingers lacing together on the tabletop in front of her. “I don’t say so, Pamela, ’cause Seth loves me, you see. It’s me he loves.”

I felt my head nodding stiffly.

“But I can’t have that happen.” Her face grew troubled, a weary, sweet face in the golden light of the lamp. She reached over and squeezed my fingers, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s what I tell Micah when he tries to help them leave. That’s why I have to stop him. That’s why I have to make Franny be quiet, ’cause I heard her say she knows that things happen—”

“Franny didn’t know!” I burst out, horrified. “She loved you and she didn’t want to know!”

“But I can’t have that, Pamela. I can’t let anything break up my family.”

I heard myself breathing, rapid shallow roars as if I were down inside myself trying to get out. She patted my hand and motioned me to stand up.

“I’ll just get supper on the table.” She smiled. “Will you go call the others?”

Her hand was on me, light but firm, at the small of my back, propelling me out of the kitchen, into the hallway that led past the parlor.

Straight ahead of me now, a soft glow of light spilled out through the open doorway, casting a rich pattern of shadows across the dull wood of the floor.

I heard no voices from that room. No laughter.

“Pamela,” said Rachel behind me. “Everything’s getting cold.”

I started walking.

The muted clatter of pots and pans seemed distant and imaginary…the ordinary homemade smells of bread and chicken and gravy some remote fantasy conjured up unwittingly from a childhood long past. I found myself listening for the off-key notes of the organ…the snip of scissors cutting thread…Franny’s merry giggles to break this terrible, terrible silence closing in…suffocating me…

I can’t go in there…My legs stopped working, planting me several feet short of the parlor door. I stood there, hands at my sides, neither cold nor hot, neither calm nor afraid—only standing and knowing, even before I went in—what would be waiting for me…No…I can’t go in there…Girlie, run, run far away…don’t ever stop…

“Pamela?” Rachel’s voice drifted through to me, through all the layers of unfeeling, and my feet began to move, to carry me forward, until I stood there on the parlor threshold, looking in at the two of them…

Firelight flickered around the room, and they seemed to breathe…to stir in restless shudders.

Franny was dead, propped in the rocking chair, curled down over herself in a tight ball.

A basket of sewing had fallen from her tilted lap onto the floor;

A mended sock was clutched between the clawed fingers of one hand.

Everything’s getting cold…

Micah lay upon the loveseat, his body strangely twisted in sleep.

His face was no longer beautiful.

There was a stench in the room that even the burning hickory logs couldn’t camouflage.

Everything’s getting cold…

“You knew,” I murmured, as if somewhere, somehow, Seth could hear me. “You knew all the time…”

It had been Rachel who had exhumed Micah’s body. Rachel who had killed Dewey and buried him. Seth had known about it all, that day Girlie and I came upon him in the cemetery. That’s why he’d been standing there, studying Micah’s grave, realizing what had happened. You knew. Rachel had been the one who’d killed all those people, all those trespassers who had threatened the sanctity of the farm—Rachel, not Micah. And Seth had buried them, hiding the awful evidence—lying about Micah to protect Rachel. You knew all along. All along! Rachel had tortured Micah for trying to help me escape, just the way she’d tortured him all the other times he’d tried to help her victims escape. Rachel had scared Franny that might, made the terrifying noises that both Franny and I had heard, and then she’d told me she’d heard them herself. Rachel had been the crazy one—not Micah, not Seth—Rachel, Rachel, all along Rachel…

“Did you call them?” she asked now, behind me.

I looked at the loveseat, the rocking chair, at Rachel’s shadow beside me on the wall.

“Micah,” I said. “Franny…supper’s ready.”

“It’s just the best time, isn’t it?” Rachel went on dreamily. “The family all sitting down together, talking over what happened to everybody today…”

I saw her shadow stretch, shadow hands massaging the muscles in her back.

“And I reckon you really do miss your own family at suppertime, don’t you, Pamela? Everybody all there, saying what they’ve done? What they plan on doing tomorrow?”

Seth saved my life…that night when Micah got caught trying to help me…it was Rachel who’d been waiting there with that knife…

“Pamela?”

“Yes,” I said. And that night in the barn, when I heard the noises…saw the door open…

“I reckon they miss you, too.”

And this time…this time…you tried to save me again…For suddenly it was so clear to me, so chillingly clear as if Seth himself were reaching out to me from across deep, deep canyons and caressing the tangled thoughts in my brain, separating them strand by strand—as he’d stroked my hair—opening them one by one—as he’d opened all the closed places within me…

“Family’s so important, Pamela.”

Suddenly I knew, and I saw it all in detail, a nightmare vision playing itself out on some inner screen of my consciousness.

She had been upset when Seth left—afraid—afraid something bad would happen because he’d looked back at the house. Was that when it started? And he hadn’t come home that night, and something bad had happened—something horrible and deadly—and it had taken Franny…and almost taken me. And still Seth hadn’t come…another whole day without a word…and there had been that snowfall to worry about…the bridge being out…that cow to find…

And Franny upstairs.

And Micah to tend to.

And this time, this time, when all the madness came, Seth hadn’t been here to stop it.

“Families shouldn’t ever be broken up, Pamela.”

And what exactly was the breaking point, Rachel? The snapping of that fragile, dangerous thread? Was it the thrill of scaring Franny? Or the shock of finding her like that…the not remembering? The fear that Seth wasn’t ever coming home again? Being away from him one second longer than you could bear? And when you’d gone out searching, when you’d finally found him, what then? Confessions? Anger? Tears? Had you really known about Seth and me, or was that just another fantasy come to life? And when did you do it, Rachel—when he turned his back? When he tried to put an end to it once and for all—but couldn’t bring himself to do it?

For I knew the exact moment when Seth had started to die.

“I…tried…to kill…Rachel.”

And save me—oh, Seth…

I’d heard his scream echoing through the darkness, through my dream, through my heart, as the axe had sunk into his back.

Miles apart, I’d heard him call out to me.

And how long did you lie there, bleeding to death in the snow, while Rachel went off to hide the axe and scare Girlie and me to death in the cave? How long did it take you to crawl home…to warn us? How long were you out there dying all alone…needing someone?…

“They need each other,” Rachel’s voice broke into my head, black images crumbling at the sound.

I saw her shadow, lengthening up the wall, folding itself into a quivering pattern of firelight.

“Yes, they do,” I said flatly. “To love each other. That’s what families are for.”

One of Franny’s eyes caught the light, blinking up at me through a shield of clotted hair.

“And that’s why I can’t let you go, Pamela,” the voice said softly at my back. “That’s why you have to stay here with us and be a part of our family.”

Icicles crept up my spine. I felt the sharp taste of fear, rendering me weak and helpless.

Rachel’s shadow lifted again, leaping and licking at the firelit walls. “You’re such a comfort to me, Pamela. You’re such a comfort to us all.”

I saw the outline of the axe, the silhouette of her upraised arms…

Too late my body responded…too late I screamed…

The explosion filled the room.

A wet, warm spray splattered my face, my feet…the limp shadow sliding slowly down the wall…

Girlie stood in the doorway with the gun.

Through a fine haze of smoke, her round eyes throbbed with tears. “I love you, Pam,” she said.

Chapter 36

THE NIGHTMARES DON’T COME as often now.

There are no strawmen left to fight.

And we have other things to talk about besides walking endless country miles and sleeping in the woods in the snow.

Girlie still can’t watch anything on TV about a farm without crying.

And sometimes I catch myself in the middle of the night, feeling an old feeling, aching an ache that will probably never heal.

Not completely.

But she has school now, and friends, and a whole new world to call her own and to help her forget.

And I have her.

God, how I do love her.

Friends think she’s beautiful and try to spoil her rotten. But Girlie isn’t the kind who spoils.

She’s the kind who reaches to me in the middle of a memory, who sings an off-key song to make me laugh.

And one time she brought me a baby bird from the garden, saying she found it on the ground beside its nest.

I didn’t tell her how I’d seen her lift the bird to her lips…and make a wish…and breathe…

Love is the only Gift we ever speak of.

We named the bird Seth.

A Biography of Richie Tankersley Cusick

Born on April Fool’s Day 1952, Richie Tankersley Cusick was destined at a young age to write scary books. In a career spanning three decades, she has paved the way for young-adult horror writing, a genre she continues to publish in today.

Although born in New Orleans—home to some of the country’s most ancient ghosts—Cusick spent her early years in a small bayou town called Barataria, which once provided a safe haven for the fearsome pirate Jean Lafitte. A true Southern writer, she took early inspiration from the landscape of crumbling mansions, Spanish moss, and aboveground cemeteries, and began writing stories at a young age. For years a ghost lurked in her family’s house, making particular trouble around the holidays, when he would strip the Christmas tree of its ornaments and hurl them to the floor.

After graduating from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, Cusick took a job at Hallmark and moved to Kansas City, where she once again shared her home with a mischievous spirit. It was then that she started work on her first novel, Evil on the Bayou (1984), based on her childhood memories of life in the eerie Louisiana swamps. Its success allowed her to leave Hallmark and begin writing fulltime.

When Cusick’s novel-writing career began, horror fiction for teens was a new genre. Along with authors like Christopher Pike and R. L. Stine, Cusick pioneered the form, finding success writing chilling stories with only a dash of the gore that defines adult thrillers.

Since Evil on the Bayou, Cusick has written more than two dozen novels about everything from vampires to pirate ghosts. In 2003 she began The Unseen, a four-volume series about a young girl who is tormented by the occult. Cusick currently lives with her three dogs in North Carolina, where she enjoys listening to classic horror-movie soundtracks as she writes on an antique roll-top desk once owned by a funeral director. The desk is, of course, haunted.

Richie Tankersley Cusick at age three in front of her grandparents’ house in Rolla, Missouri. From left to right: Richie’s father, Dick; her mother, Lou; Grandma Tankersley; and Aunt Deanie. Richie’s grandmother was the biggest inspiration in her life, and the first one to really encourage her passion for writing.

Richie in her senior year at Riverdale High School in Louisiana in 1970. Richie was editor in chief of the school newspaper, the Scotichronicon, and was also voted most creative of her senior class.

Richie’s official press card as editor in chief of the Scotichronicon. Her responsibilities included writing editorials, thinking up topics, conducting interviews, and assigning stories to the staff.

Richie started playing guitar at an early age, inspired by her uncles and their love of country music. She has always loved singing, and has written several hundred songs.

Richie in her cubicle at Hallmark Greeting Cards, Inc., where she worked as a writer from 1975 to 1984. In addition to writing every type of greeting card imaginable, Richie wrote poems and prose for posters, puzzle backs, calendars, plaques, key chains, buttons, coloring books, mugs, and more.

Richie with her maid of honor and lifelong friend, Lise, at her wedding in 1980.

Richie’s haunted roll-top desk, pictured here in her former home office in Missouri. The desk belonged to a funeral director in the 1800s, and has been the source of some spooky occurrences, including eerie footsteps, muffled voices, and ghostly singing.

According to Richie, sometimes the quirkiest little thing can help an author break through writer’s block. In this case, she is using a quill pen and ink.

A sketch of Beverly Island and the summer house from Richie’s horror novel The Lifeguard. Richie loves to have visuals for her book settings, and made these sketches so she wouldn’t get “lost.”

Richie chatting with fans at a book signing in Rolla, Missouri, in 2004.

Richie with her three dogs at her home in Missouri in 2011. From left to right: Halle Berry, Emma, and Audrey. Richie’s dogs are her constant companions, and often get put out when she spends long hours writing rather than playing with them.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1990 by Richie Tankersley Cusick

Cover design by Biel Parklee

978-1-4804-4175-0

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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