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.