revealing something tired, tense.
“I said we’ll see , and I’ve decided it’s not a good idea. You’re safer here.” I glance at Tyler. That depends on my uncle’s definition of safe.
“I want to help.” I wonder if the strange, windblown trail will be beside Cecilia’s house as well. Where will it lead? “I can help you.”
His free hand closes on my shoulder.
“If you want to help, then look after your mother and your sister. I can’t afford to worry about you or Wren right now. So stay put until we figure out what’s going on, all right?” He pulls away, and just like that, the mask goes up again, and his face is all hard lines that are beginning to look more like cracks to me.
“Please, Lexi,” he calls as he leaves the room. “Just stay put.”
I follow Otto to the front door and watch him sink from sight, swallowed by the hills between us and the village.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” I say to his shrinking shadow. “I can’t.”
Fingers come to rest on my shoulder. Tyler kisses the back of my hair.
I turn on him, surprised to see him looking as frustrated as I feel.
“Let me ask you,” he says, looking out over my head at the path Otto took. “Why do you think he made us stay?”
“How should I know, Tyler? Maybe because I’m a girl, and he thinks me too weak to help, or do anything, for that matter.”
“He doesn’t think you’re weak…and neither do I.” He angles his head down until our foreheads almost touch. “Otto thinks you’ve been to see the stranger. That’s why you keep running off.”
“Why would he—”
“And I think,” he whispers, “he’s right.”
“And why would I do that?” I push past him and head back down the hall. Tyler follows.
“He’s dangerous, Lexi.”
“You don’t know that,” I say too quickly, adding, “and neither do I.”
Tyler grabs my arm, pushing me back against the wall. “When did you see him?”
He puts his hands up on either side of my shoulders, caging me.
“This isn’t about that stranger,” I say slowly. “This is about Cecilia and Edgar.”
“How do you know they’re not connected?”
“I don’t,” I say. “And I was going to sneak out today—”
“To see him?”
“No!” I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “To search for clues, for tracks, for anything that might lead us to the children!”
He presses closer, his weight pinning me. “Don’t lie to me!”
“Tyler Ward.” My mother’s voice slips through us. She stands in the kitchen doorway, dusted with flour, eyes calm and blue.
Tyler and I stand frozen, my mother’s presence dousing us like water.
At last he straightens his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, Mrs. Harris?”
“I need a few more logs for the hearth.” She gestures to the front yard. “Would you mind?”
Tyler looks back at me for one long moment, before smiling thinly. “Not at all.” He walks out, shutting the front door firmly behind him.
I slump back against the wall. My mother retreats into the kitchen.
I stare at the closed door for several moments before my head clears, and I realize what my mother has given me. A chance. I take a deep breath and follow her into the kitchen, ready to convince her, and find her adding sticks to the fire, a healthy stack of wood already beside the hearth. Her eyes find mine. And they aren’t empty. She wipes her hands on her apron, points to the open kitchen window, and says only one word.
One perfect, sharp word.
“Go.”
M Y BOOTS ARE CINCHED and I take off, winding a course around the back of the house, behind a small hill and safely out of sight of the chopping block in the front yard. My mind traces over the village, mapping out north, south, east, and west, and all that’s in between.
My mother might swear by kneading, but I swear by walking, by running. Moving. I haven’t stopped moving in three years.
As my boots pound across the moor, I think of the music that weaves over
“I said we’ll see , and I’ve decided it’s not a good idea. You’re safer here.” I glance at Tyler. That depends on my uncle’s definition of safe.
“I want to help.” I wonder if the strange, windblown trail will be beside Cecilia’s house as well. Where will it lead? “I can help you.”
His free hand closes on my shoulder.
“If you want to help, then look after your mother and your sister. I can’t afford to worry about you or Wren right now. So stay put until we figure out what’s going on, all right?” He pulls away, and just like that, the mask goes up again, and his face is all hard lines that are beginning to look more like cracks to me.
“Please, Lexi,” he calls as he leaves the room. “Just stay put.”
I follow Otto to the front door and watch him sink from sight, swallowed by the hills between us and the village.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” I say to his shrinking shadow. “I can’t.”
Fingers come to rest on my shoulder. Tyler kisses the back of my hair.
I turn on him, surprised to see him looking as frustrated as I feel.
“Let me ask you,” he says, looking out over my head at the path Otto took. “Why do you think he made us stay?”
“How should I know, Tyler? Maybe because I’m a girl, and he thinks me too weak to help, or do anything, for that matter.”
“He doesn’t think you’re weak…and neither do I.” He angles his head down until our foreheads almost touch. “Otto thinks you’ve been to see the stranger. That’s why you keep running off.”
“Why would he—”
“And I think,” he whispers, “he’s right.”
“And why would I do that?” I push past him and head back down the hall. Tyler follows.
“He’s dangerous, Lexi.”
“You don’t know that,” I say too quickly, adding, “and neither do I.”
Tyler grabs my arm, pushing me back against the wall. “When did you see him?”
He puts his hands up on either side of my shoulders, caging me.
“This isn’t about that stranger,” I say slowly. “This is about Cecilia and Edgar.”
“How do you know they’re not connected?”
“I don’t,” I say. “And I was going to sneak out today—”
“To see him?”
“No!” I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “To search for clues, for tracks, for anything that might lead us to the children!”
He presses closer, his weight pinning me. “Don’t lie to me!”
“Tyler Ward.” My mother’s voice slips through us. She stands in the kitchen doorway, dusted with flour, eyes calm and blue.
Tyler and I stand frozen, my mother’s presence dousing us like water.
At last he straightens his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, Mrs. Harris?”
“I need a few more logs for the hearth.” She gestures to the front yard. “Would you mind?”
Tyler looks back at me for one long moment, before smiling thinly. “Not at all.” He walks out, shutting the front door firmly behind him.
I slump back against the wall. My mother retreats into the kitchen.
I stare at the closed door for several moments before my head clears, and I realize what my mother has given me. A chance. I take a deep breath and follow her into the kitchen, ready to convince her, and find her adding sticks to the fire, a healthy stack of wood already beside the hearth. Her eyes find mine. And they aren’t empty. She wipes her hands on her apron, points to the open kitchen window, and says only one word.
One perfect, sharp word.
“Go.”
M Y BOOTS ARE CINCHED and I take off, winding a course around the back of the house, behind a small hill and safely out of sight of the chopping block in the front yard. My mind traces over the village, mapping out north, south, east, and west, and all that’s in between.
My mother might swear by kneading, but I swear by walking, by running. Moving. I haven’t stopped moving in three years.
As my boots pound across the moor, I think of the music that weaves over
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