them with surprise. Though Lem had recently repainted it, a few scratches already marred the sill down to the wood, in an arc suspiciously like the width of a large paw. With a slight smile she fingered the pattern, deciding they would have to take care of it before the weather got in. Some things, at least, could easily be fixed, and forgiven. Others could not.
Mrs. Willett’s mind wandered farther, drawn out into the garden by the beginnings of the same shimmer she’d seen earlier. It was an effect often noticed during an afternoon of high heat, yet it did seem out of place now, with the morning so cool. She peered more closely at the pot of rosemary lately moved to its summer home, after spending the coldest months in the glass house. Rosemary, for remembrance … what was it she sensed as she stared at the green plant, the light, the garden beyond? Surely, there was something….
She heard her neighbor speak behind her. “We’ll wake the boy first. But say nothing,” Longfellow warned as he led Dr. Tucker from the room.
Lem was soon brought in. At first, he yawned and wondered at the advanced hour of the morning. Then he saw Phoebe, and his mouth worked as he tried to speak, but could find no words.
“She’s been dead several hours,” Mrs. Willett told him softly, reaching for his hand. “Did you hear anything last night? Did Phoebe cry out?”
“I heard her talking to Will …”
“Loudly?”
“No, but I didn’t want to listen, so I closed the window and went on reading … until I forgot to cut the candle wick. When it guttered out and I didn’t want to get up, I went to sleep.”
“You remember nothing else?” asked Longfellow.
“I remember the moonlight when I woke later. Just after the clock struck three.”
While the boy spoke, Hannah had crept into the doorway. Now, gasping, she fell back against the wall in a swoon. Charlotte hurried to console her.
Lem then found a question of his own. “Has anyone told Will?”
Charlotte looked to Richard Longfellow. “No one’s seen him this morning.”
“Hannah, have you sent him on some sort of errand?” asked Longfellow. The boy’s mother only moaned softly, and brought her apron to her face.
“He’ll be able to take care of himself,” Charlotte assured her gently, with as much conviction as she could muster.
“Oh, Will!” Hannah wailed.
“I will go and wake my sister,” Longfellow decided abruptly, turning on his heel.
“There’s no need to bring her down,” the doctor called after him, but as the others could have told him, Diana Longfellow made such decisions for herself.
Sure enough, in two minutes the young lady sailed into the room, expressing disbelief that they all should have misread the situation so—for it clearly could not be as bad as her brother believed. When she had truly looked at the girl on the bed, she fell silent for several moments—until she found a reason to doubt even her own eyes.
“There is an illustration in my book of plays upstairs, Charlotte, of Juliet. She appeared dead, you know, but shewasn’t—she’d only taken a sleeping potion. Have you given her a good shaking? No—I suppose—but perhaps—if she is dead … could it be she swallowed something far worse?”
“I don’t know why she would,” Richard Longfellow finally answered. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t
know
why, but—”
Diana pointed to the empty glass on the table next to Phoebe’s bed. Her brother picked it up. Carefully, he examined its dried brown dregs, first with his eye, then with quivering nostrils.
“Cider,” he pronounced, setting the glass down again. “Diana, did you talk to Miss Morris last evening?”
His sister nodded. “Some time before dinner, and she did seem quite agitated—as, of course, we
all
are! But then she went into her room to rest, and Mr. Pelham came, so I talked with
him
, alone. We sat there in the large room. After Mr. Pelham left, I went to see what Hannah was cooking.
Mrs. Willett’s mind wandered farther, drawn out into the garden by the beginnings of the same shimmer she’d seen earlier. It was an effect often noticed during an afternoon of high heat, yet it did seem out of place now, with the morning so cool. She peered more closely at the pot of rosemary lately moved to its summer home, after spending the coldest months in the glass house. Rosemary, for remembrance … what was it she sensed as she stared at the green plant, the light, the garden beyond? Surely, there was something….
She heard her neighbor speak behind her. “We’ll wake the boy first. But say nothing,” Longfellow warned as he led Dr. Tucker from the room.
Lem was soon brought in. At first, he yawned and wondered at the advanced hour of the morning. Then he saw Phoebe, and his mouth worked as he tried to speak, but could find no words.
“She’s been dead several hours,” Mrs. Willett told him softly, reaching for his hand. “Did you hear anything last night? Did Phoebe cry out?”
“I heard her talking to Will …”
“Loudly?”
“No, but I didn’t want to listen, so I closed the window and went on reading … until I forgot to cut the candle wick. When it guttered out and I didn’t want to get up, I went to sleep.”
“You remember nothing else?” asked Longfellow.
“I remember the moonlight when I woke later. Just after the clock struck three.”
While the boy spoke, Hannah had crept into the doorway. Now, gasping, she fell back against the wall in a swoon. Charlotte hurried to console her.
Lem then found a question of his own. “Has anyone told Will?”
Charlotte looked to Richard Longfellow. “No one’s seen him this morning.”
“Hannah, have you sent him on some sort of errand?” asked Longfellow. The boy’s mother only moaned softly, and brought her apron to her face.
“He’ll be able to take care of himself,” Charlotte assured her gently, with as much conviction as she could muster.
“Oh, Will!” Hannah wailed.
“I will go and wake my sister,” Longfellow decided abruptly, turning on his heel.
“There’s no need to bring her down,” the doctor called after him, but as the others could have told him, Diana Longfellow made such decisions for herself.
Sure enough, in two minutes the young lady sailed into the room, expressing disbelief that they all should have misread the situation so—for it clearly could not be as bad as her brother believed. When she had truly looked at the girl on the bed, she fell silent for several moments—until she found a reason to doubt even her own eyes.
“There is an illustration in my book of plays upstairs, Charlotte, of Juliet. She appeared dead, you know, but shewasn’t—she’d only taken a sleeping potion. Have you given her a good shaking? No—I suppose—but perhaps—if she is dead … could it be she swallowed something far worse?”
“I don’t know why she would,” Richard Longfellow finally answered. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t
know
why, but—”
Diana pointed to the empty glass on the table next to Phoebe’s bed. Her brother picked it up. Carefully, he examined its dried brown dregs, first with his eye, then with quivering nostrils.
“Cider,” he pronounced, setting the glass down again. “Diana, did you talk to Miss Morris last evening?”
His sister nodded. “Some time before dinner, and she did seem quite agitated—as, of course, we
all
are! But then she went into her room to rest, and Mr. Pelham came, so I talked with
him
, alone. We sat there in the large room. After Mr. Pelham left, I went to see what Hannah was cooking.
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