headed back upstairs. Caleigh’s noise had brought me down to the
kitchen before I could check my e-mail.
When I got to the office, I turned on the computer, and the usual morning
spam greeted me. Offers to update my wardrobe, my body, my car. Nothing crucial, so I
logged off, went out to the widow’s walk. Something shone metallic in the white
steeple of the church across the common. A breeze came up, and I heard a faint sound, a
resonance, almost like singing. I whirled, thinking the sound came from the portrait
behind me. But the woman’s smiling face was as serene as ever. Then I heard it
again, that singing, from the other direction, soft on the autumn air. A scream snagged
in my throat. But the scream became a laugh. What I’d heard was only the church
bell, glinting in the sun, sounding in the wind. I laughed at myself until I felt
better. We wouldn’t start living in fear again that day. It was only slightly
haunted Hawley, stuck a few hundred years in the past, that lurked here.
I went down to wake my sleepy twins. We’d go to the fair and
pretend, at least, to be a normal family. I thought again of Jeremy’s favorite
song, and hoped for a golden day.
2
Main Street teemed with cars and people. The town hall was a hive of
Girl Scouts and farmers. The Ladies Benevolent Society hawked warm apple pie, spicy
chili, fried dough with maple cream. The common overflowed, a bluegrass band played, and
children clambered over hay bales or threw balls into buckets for lime green yo-yos or
purple bears.
I drove down the street, looking for a place to park. I was still slightly
panicked being out in a sea of strangers. But I’d promised the girls. And there
hadn’t been any trace of the Fetch in our wake.
“There it is!” Fai shouted in my ear. Dad’s Packard,
parked in thechurch lot, was hard to miss—spring green, long
and low-slung. I parked next to the Suds & Stuff Laundromat, and the girls leapt
from the car.
“All right now, let’s stay together until we find
them,” I called, to no avail. Grace and Fai were already halfway up the block,
their hair bright halos in the sun.
“It’s okay, they know we’re meeting in front of
Elmer’s,” Caleigh reassured me. But I held tight to her hand as we made
our way through the crowd. The sidewalk was overrun with kids and old people, farmers in
feed caps and tourists sporting “Life is good” togs.
“Grand!” Caleigh whooped, racing to her, throwing herself
between Grace and Fai to get at my mother. She was dressed in her gardening clothes, red
clogs, faded and pilled green Fair Isle sweater, wide-legged chinos. She never cared
what she wore, yet somehow managed to emit repose and a spontaneous elegance. She
was
Grand, as the girls called her. Maybe it was her height. Whatever it
was, I hadn’t inherited it from her. I always felt like a pygmy beside my mother.
At least I
had
inherited her greyhound thinness and a wilder version of her
stunning hair. Although hers was now threaded with silver, it was as glorious as ever.
It shone, a Pre-Raphaelite golden red. She was growing it again, as the twins were, for
Locks of Love. She smacked Caleigh on the cheek, then reached for me. I felt her cheek
soft as the petals of the roses she grew. But the worry lines on her brow were
furrowed.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, after she had embraced
me.
“Oh, off looking at some old tractors. You know how he is about
machines. He says he’ll meet us at the pie stall, oh …” She
glanced at her watch. “Now, actually. He says he’s hungry, but he’s
already had blueberry cobbler and doughnuts.”
“Just like Caleigh. She’ll eat her way through the fair. I
hope he’s prepared to be dragged around to every food opportunity
again.”
“And to all the crafts,” Fai reminded me.
“And the crafts. Don’t worry. He’s been briefed. Just
stay with him, and
kitchen before I could check my e-mail.
When I got to the office, I turned on the computer, and the usual morning
spam greeted me. Offers to update my wardrobe, my body, my car. Nothing crucial, so I
logged off, went out to the widow’s walk. Something shone metallic in the white
steeple of the church across the common. A breeze came up, and I heard a faint sound, a
resonance, almost like singing. I whirled, thinking the sound came from the portrait
behind me. But the woman’s smiling face was as serene as ever. Then I heard it
again, that singing, from the other direction, soft on the autumn air. A scream snagged
in my throat. But the scream became a laugh. What I’d heard was only the church
bell, glinting in the sun, sounding in the wind. I laughed at myself until I felt
better. We wouldn’t start living in fear again that day. It was only slightly
haunted Hawley, stuck a few hundred years in the past, that lurked here.
I went down to wake my sleepy twins. We’d go to the fair and
pretend, at least, to be a normal family. I thought again of Jeremy’s favorite
song, and hoped for a golden day.
2
Main Street teemed with cars and people. The town hall was a hive of
Girl Scouts and farmers. The Ladies Benevolent Society hawked warm apple pie, spicy
chili, fried dough with maple cream. The common overflowed, a bluegrass band played, and
children clambered over hay bales or threw balls into buckets for lime green yo-yos or
purple bears.
I drove down the street, looking for a place to park. I was still slightly
panicked being out in a sea of strangers. But I’d promised the girls. And there
hadn’t been any trace of the Fetch in our wake.
“There it is!” Fai shouted in my ear. Dad’s Packard,
parked in thechurch lot, was hard to miss—spring green, long
and low-slung. I parked next to the Suds & Stuff Laundromat, and the girls leapt
from the car.
“All right now, let’s stay together until we find
them,” I called, to no avail. Grace and Fai were already halfway up the block,
their hair bright halos in the sun.
“It’s okay, they know we’re meeting in front of
Elmer’s,” Caleigh reassured me. But I held tight to her hand as we made
our way through the crowd. The sidewalk was overrun with kids and old people, farmers in
feed caps and tourists sporting “Life is good” togs.
“Grand!” Caleigh whooped, racing to her, throwing herself
between Grace and Fai to get at my mother. She was dressed in her gardening clothes, red
clogs, faded and pilled green Fair Isle sweater, wide-legged chinos. She never cared
what she wore, yet somehow managed to emit repose and a spontaneous elegance. She
was
Grand, as the girls called her. Maybe it was her height. Whatever it
was, I hadn’t inherited it from her. I always felt like a pygmy beside my mother.
At least I
had
inherited her greyhound thinness and a wilder version of her
stunning hair. Although hers was now threaded with silver, it was as glorious as ever.
It shone, a Pre-Raphaelite golden red. She was growing it again, as the twins were, for
Locks of Love. She smacked Caleigh on the cheek, then reached for me. I felt her cheek
soft as the petals of the roses she grew. But the worry lines on her brow were
furrowed.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, after she had embraced
me.
“Oh, off looking at some old tractors. You know how he is about
machines. He says he’ll meet us at the pie stall, oh …” She
glanced at her watch. “Now, actually. He says he’s hungry, but he’s
already had blueberry cobbler and doughnuts.”
“Just like Caleigh. She’ll eat her way through the fair. I
hope he’s prepared to be dragged around to every food opportunity
again.”
“And to all the crafts,” Fai reminded me.
“And the crafts. Don’t worry. He’s been briefed. Just
stay with him, and
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