the rose garden.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to see you,” Jason said, smiling his dumb gosling smile.
Even though there wasn’t anybody around to hear, Amy blushed. Everybody in school teased Marjorie Evans because Bert Miller came to her house sometimes, and he, at least, had enough sense to say he’d come to see her brother, or to ask if the Evanses wanted to buy some eggs.
Amy huffed angrily and stamped her foot. “Well, you can’t,” she said. “So go away.”
Jason didn’t exactly smile, but his eyes looked as if he thought something was funny. “I can’t see you?” he asked.
“I mean you can’t stay,” Amy said. “Come on, Caesar.” She grabbed the dog’s collar to keep him from following Jason, and pushed open the gate.
“All right,” Jason said, “But I wanted to tell you that I’m going to bring some food tomorrow, so we won’t get so hungry and tired.”
“Hungry?” Amy said. “Tired? What are you talking about? I never said I was going back there again.”
She hadn’t said so, and until that moment she wasn’t sure that she’d even considered it. But perhaps she had, because all of a sudden she nodded, tightening her lips against a burst of excitement, that threatened to become a laugh.
“Maybe I could, though,” she said sternly. “I’ll bring some apples.”
As soon as the gate closed behind Jason, Amy hurried back to the burning; but as she rounded the corner of the house, she saw Old Ike standing near the corn bin with a bucket in his hand. If he had been standing there very long, he had probably seen Amy and Jason at the front gate.
Old Ike ignored Amy as she walked past, but there was nothing significant about that. He never noticed children unless he had to. But before she got out of earshot, she heard him begin to mutter under his breath. She stopped to listen, but all she could make out were the words “devil dog” and then something that sounded a little like “Stone Hollow.”
chapter ten
B ECAUSE OF BEING LATE the Sunday before, Amy might not have been allowed to go walking again so soon, except for a strange coincidence. It happened that that particular Sunday afternoon there was a special countywide meeting of ladies who belonged to missionary circles, and Amy’s aunt and mother were both planning to go. The meeting was to be held in the town of Lambertville, almost forty miles away. With the coming and going, it would take almost all afternoon. Amy knew that she would be expected to keep her father company, but in the rush to get ready—the milk strained and bottled, the eggs gathered, and Sunday dinner ready so Amy would only have to warm it up—no one got around to saying so. No one actually mentioned that Amy was supposed to stay at home—no one had to.
After church Amy waved good-bye to her mother and Aunt Abigail as they climbed into one of the two cars that were going to Lambertville, carrying eight or nine missionary circle ladies, all with basket lunches to be eaten at the big Lambertville church’s social hall As soon as the cars were out of sight, Amy ran for home.
When she pounded up the porch stairs and banged through the front door, her father looked around and smiled and went on reading the Sunday paper. He was sitting in the bay window in the parlor with his back to Amy, and he didn’t turn his wheelchair around and ask for a kiss the way he usually did when Amy came home from anywhere. She should have guessed then, perhaps, but she didn’t really. It didn’t occur to her until they were at the table, and she happened to lean close to her father to put a hot pad under the corn bread. Then for the first time she knew that he had had a visitor while everyone was away at church. It was at that moment she smelled it, the same sweet-sour smell that was always present after Old Ike’s visits on Thursday afternoons.
For a few worried minutes Amy wondered if Ike was going to start visiting every Sunday, as
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to see you,” Jason said, smiling his dumb gosling smile.
Even though there wasn’t anybody around to hear, Amy blushed. Everybody in school teased Marjorie Evans because Bert Miller came to her house sometimes, and he, at least, had enough sense to say he’d come to see her brother, or to ask if the Evanses wanted to buy some eggs.
Amy huffed angrily and stamped her foot. “Well, you can’t,” she said. “So go away.”
Jason didn’t exactly smile, but his eyes looked as if he thought something was funny. “I can’t see you?” he asked.
“I mean you can’t stay,” Amy said. “Come on, Caesar.” She grabbed the dog’s collar to keep him from following Jason, and pushed open the gate.
“All right,” Jason said, “But I wanted to tell you that I’m going to bring some food tomorrow, so we won’t get so hungry and tired.”
“Hungry?” Amy said. “Tired? What are you talking about? I never said I was going back there again.”
She hadn’t said so, and until that moment she wasn’t sure that she’d even considered it. But perhaps she had, because all of a sudden she nodded, tightening her lips against a burst of excitement, that threatened to become a laugh.
“Maybe I could, though,” she said sternly. “I’ll bring some apples.”
As soon as the gate closed behind Jason, Amy hurried back to the burning; but as she rounded the corner of the house, she saw Old Ike standing near the corn bin with a bucket in his hand. If he had been standing there very long, he had probably seen Amy and Jason at the front gate.
Old Ike ignored Amy as she walked past, but there was nothing significant about that. He never noticed children unless he had to. But before she got out of earshot, she heard him begin to mutter under his breath. She stopped to listen, but all she could make out were the words “devil dog” and then something that sounded a little like “Stone Hollow.”
chapter ten
B ECAUSE OF BEING LATE the Sunday before, Amy might not have been allowed to go walking again so soon, except for a strange coincidence. It happened that that particular Sunday afternoon there was a special countywide meeting of ladies who belonged to missionary circles, and Amy’s aunt and mother were both planning to go. The meeting was to be held in the town of Lambertville, almost forty miles away. With the coming and going, it would take almost all afternoon. Amy knew that she would be expected to keep her father company, but in the rush to get ready—the milk strained and bottled, the eggs gathered, and Sunday dinner ready so Amy would only have to warm it up—no one got around to saying so. No one actually mentioned that Amy was supposed to stay at home—no one had to.
After church Amy waved good-bye to her mother and Aunt Abigail as they climbed into one of the two cars that were going to Lambertville, carrying eight or nine missionary circle ladies, all with basket lunches to be eaten at the big Lambertville church’s social hall As soon as the cars were out of sight, Amy ran for home.
When she pounded up the porch stairs and banged through the front door, her father looked around and smiled and went on reading the Sunday paper. He was sitting in the bay window in the parlor with his back to Amy, and he didn’t turn his wheelchair around and ask for a kiss the way he usually did when Amy came home from anywhere. She should have guessed then, perhaps, but she didn’t really. It didn’t occur to her until they were at the table, and she happened to lean close to her father to put a hot pad under the corn bread. Then for the first time she knew that he had had a visitor while everyone was away at church. It was at that moment she smelled it, the same sweet-sour smell that was always present after Old Ike’s visits on Thursday afternoons.
For a few worried minutes Amy wondered if Ike was going to start visiting every Sunday, as
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