door.
No one spoke. What was there left to say? No one would stop them. There would be time enough in the morning, if morning came, to worry about whether they would once again be admitted into their home.
The road to the lake’s shore had never seemed so long. Grace stumbled over every rut. Children and old women came to their doorways to stare at their strange, limping progress. A child’s voice laughed. Another’s called a name. A clod of mud arced through the air and thudded softly at Ingrid’s feet. It was of small consolation that this was followed fast by the sound of a sharp rebuke and a ringing slap.
Ingrid did not allow her attention to waver. She kept her mind focused sharply on the road, and on Grace. Grace’s eyes shined with an eager light. Her sunken mouth trembled. Ingrid knew that her lips would be shaping the name of her ghostly lover, if only she knew it.
What will I do if she decides to run into the lake? Ingrid wondered with sudden desperation. How can I possibly stop her?
But there was nothing for it but to continue on their way, one weary step at a time. Against her will, Ingrid found her thoughts trailing behind them, all the way back to their door. She could not have said which made her heart heavier: the fear that their family might follow, or the fear that they might not.
At long last, Ingrid and Grace stumbled onto the beach below the bluff. When they reached the sand, Ingrid let go of Grace, although her entire soul screamed at her not to do so. She had to see what Grace would do. Once free, Grace tottered forward a few steps and sank down to the sand, her knees pulled up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
“He will come for me,” she said. “After dark. He says so. He sings so to me.”
“Well, we’ll just have to wait,” said Ingrid with a brittle briskness. “Will he object to a fire until then?”
If Grace heard, she had no answer. She just continued to stare hungrily out across the water, listening to a voice Ingrid could not hear.
At least she wasn’t going anywhere, which would require that Ingrid sit with her. Activity allowed Ingrid to keep her mind occupied with things other than the coming night She dug a pit in the sand with her hands and pieces of driftwood. She gathered driftwood and tinder, ranging as far afield as she dared to bring back fuel. She did not want to risk running out of wood. Her foraging also kept her from having to watch the sails from the returning boats, knowing that any one of them who looked toward the shore could see her and Grace, and would wonder about it. Oh, they were now surely the nine days’ wonder of the island. Even if Mama and Papa took them back in when this was over, what then?
Ingrid Loftfield, I’m ashamed of you. How can even be thinking of that now?
But she was. Evidently, something of her parents’ teaching had sunk into her heart. She made herself sit back on her heels and look at Grace — bright, sunny Grace — trapped by a dead man, lost in a ghost story. That was what mattered. That was all that mattered.
Ingrid squatted down beside the fire pit and lit her tinder.
Slowly, the sun lowered itself behind the island and the trees stretched their gray shadows across the beach. The sky and the water darkened to black and the stars, undimmed by any trace of moonlight, lit their own fires one by one. Ingrid’s driftwood and pine burned down to white coals. She could feel the heat beating hard against her. At first, it was a comfort in the rapidly chilling air, but as she continued to lay fuel on the low, hot flames, the heat grew too much for her and she had to stand back several paces. Surely, that is enough , she thought, looking at the glowing nest of coals and feeling their heat against her face and the backs of her hands. Surely that will burn whatever I may have to throw on it .
“Ingrid.”
Ingrid whirled around to see Avan standing behind her. He leaned heavily on a pole of roughly trimmed
No one spoke. What was there left to say? No one would stop them. There would be time enough in the morning, if morning came, to worry about whether they would once again be admitted into their home.
The road to the lake’s shore had never seemed so long. Grace stumbled over every rut. Children and old women came to their doorways to stare at their strange, limping progress. A child’s voice laughed. Another’s called a name. A clod of mud arced through the air and thudded softly at Ingrid’s feet. It was of small consolation that this was followed fast by the sound of a sharp rebuke and a ringing slap.
Ingrid did not allow her attention to waver. She kept her mind focused sharply on the road, and on Grace. Grace’s eyes shined with an eager light. Her sunken mouth trembled. Ingrid knew that her lips would be shaping the name of her ghostly lover, if only she knew it.
What will I do if she decides to run into the lake? Ingrid wondered with sudden desperation. How can I possibly stop her?
But there was nothing for it but to continue on their way, one weary step at a time. Against her will, Ingrid found her thoughts trailing behind them, all the way back to their door. She could not have said which made her heart heavier: the fear that their family might follow, or the fear that they might not.
At long last, Ingrid and Grace stumbled onto the beach below the bluff. When they reached the sand, Ingrid let go of Grace, although her entire soul screamed at her not to do so. She had to see what Grace would do. Once free, Grace tottered forward a few steps and sank down to the sand, her knees pulled up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
“He will come for me,” she said. “After dark. He says so. He sings so to me.”
“Well, we’ll just have to wait,” said Ingrid with a brittle briskness. “Will he object to a fire until then?”
If Grace heard, she had no answer. She just continued to stare hungrily out across the water, listening to a voice Ingrid could not hear.
At least she wasn’t going anywhere, which would require that Ingrid sit with her. Activity allowed Ingrid to keep her mind occupied with things other than the coming night She dug a pit in the sand with her hands and pieces of driftwood. She gathered driftwood and tinder, ranging as far afield as she dared to bring back fuel. She did not want to risk running out of wood. Her foraging also kept her from having to watch the sails from the returning boats, knowing that any one of them who looked toward the shore could see her and Grace, and would wonder about it. Oh, they were now surely the nine days’ wonder of the island. Even if Mama and Papa took them back in when this was over, what then?
Ingrid Loftfield, I’m ashamed of you. How can even be thinking of that now?
But she was. Evidently, something of her parents’ teaching had sunk into her heart. She made herself sit back on her heels and look at Grace — bright, sunny Grace — trapped by a dead man, lost in a ghost story. That was what mattered. That was all that mattered.
Ingrid squatted down beside the fire pit and lit her tinder.
Slowly, the sun lowered itself behind the island and the trees stretched their gray shadows across the beach. The sky and the water darkened to black and the stars, undimmed by any trace of moonlight, lit their own fires one by one. Ingrid’s driftwood and pine burned down to white coals. She could feel the heat beating hard against her. At first, it was a comfort in the rapidly chilling air, but as she continued to lay fuel on the low, hot flames, the heat grew too much for her and she had to stand back several paces. Surely, that is enough , she thought, looking at the glowing nest of coals and feeling their heat against her face and the backs of her hands. Surely that will burn whatever I may have to throw on it .
“Ingrid.”
Ingrid whirled around to see Avan standing behind her. He leaned heavily on a pole of roughly trimmed
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