What the Dead Want by Norah Olson Page A

boxer shorts and a tank top, her eyes looked sleepy, and Gretchen realized that it was probably now three in the morning. “I’m Hope. What’s your name?”
    â€œGretchen.”
    â€œHi, Gretchen. Can you tell us what happened?”
    She looked at Hope and Hawk, their faces grave. Hope’s eyes were full of understanding. Her brother looked more worried, and though he was older, he somehow seemed frail compared to Hope; something about her seemed grounded, strong. She studied Hawk’s face: high cheekbones and a wide jaw, thick eyebrows and full lips. His hair was cut shorter on the sides and long in the middle. He had a perfectly symmetrical face, the kind anyone would want to photograph.
    Gretchen took a breath and said, “We have to call 911.”
    â€œStart from the beginning,” Hope said.
    â€œI came here to help Esther with the house. . . . I . . . she wanted me to come up to the darkroom,” Gretchen stammered. “I only turned around for a minute . . . she drank . . . she drank poison.”
    Hawk and Hope exchanged a look, and Gretchen had the feeling that what had happened was no surprise. Hawk’s shoulders slumped and Hope’s eyes immediately filled with tears.
    â€œThey’re all out there now, aren’t they?” Hawk asked.
    Hope shushed him. “Stop with that,” she said, quickly wiping an eye. She took a deep breath and more tears fell down her cheeks. “Nobody’s really out there and you know it. You’re gonna scare Gretchen.”
    â€œIt’s a little late for that,” Gretchen said. She thought again of Esther up in the attic, dead, with those animals lurking around her, and she shivered.
    Hawk looked out the window. “I can see them, Hope,” he said. “I can see them and they’re way past the barn now.”
    Gretchen stood and looked out the window too. There was indeed a group of people congregating in the field beneath a tall maple.
    Hope looked at her brother, concerned and skeptical.“There’s nobody out there. It’s not the anniversary yet. The only thing we got to worry ourselves with is making sure no accidents happen.”
    Hawk and Gretchen watched what looked like an ethereal picnic beneath the stars. People sat in rows as if they were watching a play. And finally they scattered, screaming.
    â€œYou can see it,” Hawk said.
    â€œThis can’t be real,” Gretchen said, scared but utterly transfixed. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
    He rested his forehead on the windowpane. “Neither have I,” he said.
    Hope looked up, her eyes dark with terror. And Hawk nodded at her. “Not like this.”
    Hope picked up her phone from the coffee table and dialed 911.
    â€œI’d like to report a death at the Axton mansion,” she said quickly. “Yes, Axton Road just past where it intersects with County Road 89. Yes. Past the old grange.”

    Dear James,
    I am thrilled about your graduation and homecoming. Pastor Axton has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? According to your mother they have already hired some Amish to start construction on a church next to the estate. I imagine that was your idea as the church can so easily be used as a safe haven. The house and offices of Axton Cotton and the trade route from Georgia to New York have been very convenient. I only hope you are right in your convictions about a new congregation. I know of no other integrated church—though admittedly my education is lacking.
    You are inspiring, James, realizing your own convictions and dreams even as you help those around you. You are in my thoughts constantly, your smile, your wit. And your courage. I long to be beside you. And hope that it will be soon.
    Because I have news: I have been accepted at Troy Female Seminary! This is still a secret as I am working up the courage to show my father the acceptance letter. You are the only one I have