Comes the Blind Fury

CHAPTER 1

The August sun was shining brightly when the Pendletons arrived at Paradise Point, and as they drove slowly through the village, all the Pendletons found themselves looking at it with new eyes. Always before, it had been merely a remarkably pretty village. Now it was home, and June Pendleton, her bright blue eyes glistening with eagerness, found herself suddenly more interested in the location of the supermarket and the drugstore than in the carefully restored façades of the inn and the galleries that surrounded the square.

Paradise Point was aptly named, and it seemed to the casual visitor that its setting was its primary reason for being. The village nestled high above the Atlantic, perched on the northern arm of twin outcroppings of land that cradled a small cove. Too small to serve as more than a temporary anchorage for small boats, the cove lay nearly hidden from the sea. The arms that guarded it had a selfish quality to them: they embraced the cove, cuddling it close into the surrounding forest, leaving only a narrow gap of surging water as a lifeline to the ocean. As long as there had been men to watch the roiling waters of Devil’s Passage, there had been a village of one kind or another on the Point.

The present village had overlooked the cove and the sea for nearly two hundred years, and by common consent of all who lived there, it remained a village. There was no industry to speak of, no fishing fleet, and only a handful of farms carved out of the inland forests. But Paradise Point survived, supporting itself by the mysterious means of tiny villages everywhere, its modest production of services surviving in large part on the summer people who flooded in each year to bask in its beauty and “get away from it all.” Scattered through the village were a handful of artists and craftsmen, sustaining themselves by the sale of a trickle of quilts, moccasins, pottery, sculpture, and paintings that drifted out of Paradise Point in the backseats and luggage compartments of those not fortunate enough to live there.

Dr. and Mrs. Calvin Pendleton were about to become part of Paradise Point, and they counted themselves very much among the fortunate. So did their daughter, Michelle.

Not that they had ever planned to move to Paradise Point. Indeed, until a few months before they arrived, it had never occurred to anyone in the family that they might live anywhere but Boston. Paradise Point, to the Pendletons, had been a beautiful spot to go to for an afternoon, just a couple of hours northeast of the city, a place where Cal could relax, June could paint, and Michelle could entertain herself with the forest and the seashore. Then, at the end of the day, they could drive back to Boston, and their well-ordered lives.

Except that their lives had not stayed well ordered.

Now, as Cal turned right to leave the square and start along the road that would take them out of the village and around the cove toward their new home, he saw several people stare at the car, smile suddenly, then wave.

“Looks like we’re expected,” he observed. In the seat next to him, June moved heavily. She was in the last weeks of pregnancy, and it seemed to her that it would never end.

“No more impersonality of the big city,” she replied. “I suppose Dr. Carson has the welcome wagon all lined up to greet us.”

“What’s a welcome wagon?” Michelle asked from the backseat. Twelve years old, Michelle presented a sharp contrast to her parents, who were both blue-eyed blondes, with a nordic handsomeness to their features. Michelle was just the opposite. She was dark, her hair nearly black, and her deep brown eyes had a slight tilt to them, giving her a gamin look. She was leaning forward, arms propped on the front seat, her shiny hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes devouring every detail of Paradise Point. It was all so different from Boston, and, she thought, all perfectly wonderful.

June moved to face her daughter, but the effort was too much for her distended body. As she sank back into her seat she reflected that it might be difficult to explain the old small-town custom of welcome wagons to a twelve-year-old city child anyway. Instead, as they passed the Paradise Point school, she touched her daughter’s hand.

“Doesn’t look much like Harrison, does it?” she asked.

Michelle stared at the small white clapboard building, surrounded by a grassy playfield, then grinned, her elfin face reflecting her pleasure at what she saw. “I always thought they automatically paved the playfield,” she said. “And trees. You can actually sit under trees while you eat lunch!”

Two blocks past the school, Cal slowed the car nearly to a stop. “I wonder if I should stop in and speak to Carson?” he mused.

“Is that the clinic?” Michelle asked. Her voice revealed that she didn’t think much of it.

“Compared to Boston General, it isn’t much, is it?” Cal said. Then, barely audibly, he added, “But maybe it’s where I belong.”

June glanced quickly at her husband, then reached out to squeeze his hand. “It’s just right,” she assured him. The car came to a full stop, and the three Pendletons looked at the one-story building, no larger than a small house, that contained the Paradise Point Clinic. On the weatherbeaten sign in front, they could barely read the name of Josiah Carson, but Cal’s own name, in freshly painted black letters, stood out clearly.

“Maybe I’ll just pop in and let him know we got here all right,” Cal suggested. He was about to get out of the car when June’s voice stopped him.

“Can’t you go later? The van’s already at the house, and there’s so much to do. Dr. Carson won’t be expecting you to stop. Not today.”

She’s right, Cal told himself, though he felt a twinge of guilt. He owed Carson so much. But still, tomorrow would be soon enough. He closed the door and put the car in gear. A moment later the clinic disappeared from sight, the village was suddenly behind them, and they were on the road that paralleled the cove.

June let herself relax. Today, at least, she wouldn’t have to see the old doctor who had suddenly become such a major force in her life, a force she neither liked, nor trusted. A bond had sprung up between her husband and Josiah Carson, and it seemed to be growing stronger each day. She wished she understood it better — all she knew, really, was that it had to do with that boy.

That boy who had died.

Resolutely, she put it out of her mind. For now, she would concentrate on Paradise Point.

It was a pretty drive, deep forests on the inland side, and a narrow expanse of grass and bracken separating the road from the crest of the bluffs that dropped precipitously to the tiny bay below.

“Is that our house?” Michelle asked. Silhouetted against the horizon, a house stood out starkly from the landscape, its mansard roofline and widow’s walk etched against the blue sky.

“That’s it,” June replied. “What do you think?”

“It looks great from here. But what’s the inside like?”

Cal chuckled. “About the same as the outside. You’ll love it.”

As they approached the house that was to be their new home; Michelle let her eyes wander over the landscape. It was beautiful, but, in a way, strange. She found it difficult to imagine actually living with all this space. And the neighbors — instead of being right through the wall, they were going to be almost a quarter of a mile away. And, she noticed excitedly, with a graveyard between them. An actual, for-real, old-fashioned, broken-down cemetery. As the car passed the graveyard, Michelle pointed it out to her mother. June looked at it with interest, then asked Cal if he knew anything about it. He shrugged.

“Josiah told me it’s his old family plot, but that they don’t use it anymore. Or, I guess, he doesn’t plan to use it. Says he’s going to be buried in Florida, and doesn’t give a damn if he never sees Paradise Point again.”

June laughed out loud. “That’s what he says now. But wait’ll he gets there. Bet you a nickel he hotfoots it right back up here again.”

“And tries to buy the practice back from me? And the house? No, I think he’s really looking forward to getting away from here.” He paused a moment, then: “I think that accident shook him up more than he’s let on.”

Suddenly the laughter left June’s voice. “It shook us all up, didn’t it?” she said quietly. “And we didn’t even know the boy. But here we are. Strange, isn’t it?”

Cal made no reply.

Their new home — Josiah Carson’s old home.

His new life — Josiah Carson’s old life.

Who, Cal silently wondered, was fleeing from what?

As the car came to a stop in front of the house, Michelle leaped out and stared up in rapture at the Victorian ornateness of the place, ignoring the peeling paint and worn woodwork that gave the house a curiously foreboding look.

“It’s like a dream,” she breathed. “Are we really going to live in this?”

Standing beside her, Cal put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and squeezed her affectionately. “Like it, princess?”

“Like it? How could anyone not like it? It looks like something out of a storybook.”

“You mean it looks like something out of Charles Addams,” June said, emerging from her side of the car. She peered up to the high roof of the three-story house and shook her head. “I keep getting the feeling that there must be bats up there.”

Michelle frowned at her mother. “If you don’t like it, why did we buy it?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” June added quickly. “Actually, I love it. But you have to admit, it’s a far cry from a condominium in Boston.” She paused a moment, then: “I hope we’ve done the right thing.”

“We have,” Michelle said. “I know we have.” Leaving her parents standing next to the car, she bounded up onto the porch and disappeared through the front door. Cal reached out and took his wife’s hand.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, the first acknowledgment either of them had made to the fears they had shared about the move. “Come on, let’s go look around.”

They had bought the house furnished, and after very little discussion had decided not to try to sell the furniture that came with it. Instead, they had sold their own. Their furniture had been simple and low, and though it had fit perfectly into their Boston apartment, June’s artistic eye had told her immediately that it was wrong for the high ceilings and ornate decor of the Victorian. They had decided that a change of lifestyle might as well involve a change of taste, and now they explored the house together, wondering how long it would take them to get used to their new environment.

The living room, set carefully behind a small reception room to the right of the front door, was piled high with the boxes containing their lives. One quick look was enough to shake June’s confidence about the wisdom of their project, but Cal, reading his wife’s mind, assured her that she could relax — he and Michelle would take care of the unpacking; all she had to do was to tell them where to put things. June smiled at him in relief, and they went on to the dining room.

“What on earth are we going to put into all those china cupboards?” June asked, not really expecting an answer.

“China, of course,” Cal said easily. “I’ve always heard that possessions expand to fill space. Now we’ll find out. Are we going to have to eat in here?” The doleful look on his face as he surveyed the formal dining table with its twelve chairs made June laugh out loud.

“I’ve already got it figured out. We’ll convert the butler’s pantry into another dining room.” She led him through a swinging door, and Cal shook his head.

“How the hell could people live like this? It’s obscene.” The butler’s pantry, containing a sink and a refrigerator, was larger than their dining room had been in Boston.

“It’s particularly obscene when you consider this place was built by a minister,” June observed archly.

Cal’s brows rose in surprise. “Who told you that?”

“Dr. Carson, of course. Who else?” Before Cal could make any reply, June had proceeded into the kitchen. This, she had already decided, was where the family would live.

It was a huge room, a fireplace dominating one wall, with two large stoves, and a walk-in refrigerator, which had been disconnected years earlier. When he had taken them through the house, Josiah Carson had suggested that they tear it out, but Cal had thought the old refrigerator would make an ideal wine cellar: perfectly insulated, though prohibitively expensive to use for its original purpose.

June walked over to the sink and tried the tap. The pipes rattled for a few seconds, coughed twice, then produced a gushing stream of clear, unchlorinated water.

“Lovely,” June murmured. Her eyes went to the window, and her face lit up with a smile.

Beyond the window, some fifty feet from the house, there was an old brick building with a slate roof that had once been used as a potting-shed. It was the potting-shed that had convinced June that the house would be perfect for them. One look had told her that it could easily be changed into a studio — a studio where she could spend endless blissful hours with her canvases, developing a style that would be truly her own, something she had never been able to accomplish in Boston.

Seeing the smile on her face, Cal once more read his wife’s mind.

“Let’s see,” he said thoughtfully, brushing his hair back from his brow. “There’s the butler’s pantry to change into a dining room, and the potting-shed to change into a studio. Then I suppose I could change the barn into a workshop, the front parlor into a sauna, and the study into a surgery. Once that’s finished—”

“Oh, stop it!” June cried. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in the studio myself, and most of the butler’s pantry, too, All you have to do is unpack — and then get on with your country doctor act!”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” June said softly, coming into his arms and hugging him close. “Everything will be all right now. I’m sure it will.” She wished she truly believed her own words.

Cal kissed his wife, then let his hand rest for a second on her rounded belly. Under his fingers, he could feel the baby move. “We’d better get upstairs and figure out where the nursery is going to be. Seems to me like this little critter is about to make its debut.”

“Not for six weeks yet, at least,” June replied. But she happily followed her husband upstairs, eager to decide which room could best be changed into a nursery. There’s that word again, she thought. This seems to be our year to change.

They found Michelle on the second floor, in a corner bedroom commanding a sweeping view of the bay, Devil’s Passage, and the ocean beyond. To the northeast, the village of Paradise Point stood in silhouette, the spires of its three tiny churches thrusting upward, while its neat white frame buildings huddled close together, as if to protect each other from the furies that raged constantly in the waters around them. June and Cal joined their daughter, and for a moment the small family stood together, examining their new world. Their arms slipped around each other, and for a long moment, they reveled in a closeness and warmth they hadn’t felt for a long time. It was June who finally brought them back to reality.

“We’d thought this might be the nursery,” she said tentatively. Michelle, seeming to come out of a trance, turned to them.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I want this room. Please?”

“But there’s a much bigger room on the other side of the house,” June objected. “This one’s so small …”

“But all I need is my bed and a chair,” Michelle pleaded. “Can’t I have this one? I could sit on the window seat forever, just looking out.”

June and Cal looked at each other uncertainly, neither of them able to think of a reasonable objection. Then Michelle went to the closet, and the question was settled. Michelle reached up and groped around at the back of the closet shelf.

“There is something here,” she said triumphantly. “I had a feeling there was something in this closet, and I was right Look!”

In her hand, Michelle held a doll. Old and dusty, it had a porcelain face framed by hair almost as dark as her own and a little lace bonnet. Its gray dress, faded and torn, must once have been covered with ruffles, and on its feet were a tiny pair of cracked patent leather shoes. June and Cal stared at it in surprise.

“Where do you suppose it came from?” June wondered aloud.

“I’ll bet it’s been there for centuries,” Michelle said. “But it must have belonged to a little girl once, and this must have been her room. May I have it? Please?”

“The doll, or the room?” Cal asked.

“Both!” Michelle cried, sure her parents were about to give in.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Cal said. “We’d probably do better to have the nursery right next to our room anyway. We can convert one of the dressing rooms, I suppose,” he added with an amused glance at June. Then he took the doll from Michelle and inspected it carefully. “It looks just like you,” he observed. “Same brown hair, same brown eyes. Same raggedy clothes!”

Michelle snatched the doll away from her father, and stuck her tongue out at him. “If my clothes are raggedy, it’s your fault. If you couldn’t afford to dress me, you should have left me in the orphanage!”

“Michelle!” June gasped. “What a thing to say. You didn’t come from an orphanage …”

It wasn’t until her husband and her daughter began laughing that she realized it was a joke between them, and relaxed. Then the child inside her moved, and June suddenly found herself wondering what would happen when the baby arrived. Michelle had been an only child for so long. What would it be like for her? Would she feel threatened? June remembered everything she had read lately about sibling rivalry. What if Michelle hated the new baby? June put the thought out of her mind. Her eyes fell on the sea outside the window, the gulls wheeling overhead, the sun shining brightly. On the spur of the moment, she determined to spend as much time as she could enjoying the sun. It wouldn’t, after all, last forever. Fall was coming, and after that, winter. But for now, there was a warmth to the air. Impulsively, she left Cal and Michelle to begin unpacking while she went out to explore what was to be her studio.

They worked as quickly as they could, but the mountain of boxes seemed to remain as high as ever.

“Want to knock off a while, princess?” Cal finally asked. “There’s a couple of Cokes in the refrigerator.” Michelle promptly left the carton she was struggling with and preceded her father through the dining room, the butler’s pantry, and into the kitchen. She threw herself into a chair and grinned happily.

“Imagine — a butler’s pantry! Did Dr. Carson have a butler when he lived here?”

“I don’t think so,” Cal replied, expertly flipping the caps off two bottles and handing one to Michelle. “I think he lived here all by himself.”

Michelle’s eyes widened. “Really? That’d be creepy.”

“Place getting to you already?” There was a teasing tone to Cal’s voice that made Michelle grin.

“Not yet. But if anything comes creeping at me through the door tonight, things might change.” Her gaze went to the window, and she fell silent for a moment.

“Something on your mind, princess?” her father asked.

Michelle nodded, and when she faced her father, there was a seriousness in her eyes that struck Cal as being beyond her years.

“I’m glad we came here, Daddy,” she said finally. “I don’t want you to be unhappy anymore.”

“I haven’t been unhappy—” Cal began, but Michelle didn’t let him finish.

“Yes, you have,” she insisted. “I could always tell. For a while I thought you were mad at me, because you never came home from the hospital—”

“I was busy—”

Again she interrupted him. “But then you started coming home again, and you were still unhappy. It wasn’t until we decided to move out here that you started being happy again. Didn’t you like Boston?”

“It wasn’t Boston,” Cal began, unsure how to explain to his daughter what had happened. The image of a little boy flashed through his mind, but Cal forced it away immediately. “It was just me, I guess. I–I can’t really explain it.” He smiled suddenly. “I guess I just want to know the people I’m treating.”

Michelle turned the matter over in her mind and eventually nodded. “I think I know what you mean. Boston General was weird.”

“Weird? What do you mean?”

Michelle shrugged, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. It was like they never knew who you were. And when Mom and I went there, they never even knew we were your family. That snotty one in the main lobby always wanted to know why we wanted to see you. You’d think that after this many years, she’d have recognized us.…” Michelle’s voice trailed off, and she gazed at her father, wondering if he understood. Cal nodded.

“That’s it,” he said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to tell her the truth. “That’s it, exactly. And it was the same way with the people I treated. If I saw them three days later, I wouldn’t recognize them. If I’m going to be a doctor, I think I ought to have the fun of knowing who I’m helping.” He grinned at Michelle and decided to change the subject. “What about you? Any regrets?”

“About what?” Michelle asked.

“Coming out here. Leaving your friends. Changing schools. All the sorts of things girls your age are supposed to worry about.”

Michelle sipped on her Coke, then looked around the kitchen. “Harrison wasn’t such a great school,” she said at last. “The one in Paradise Point is much prettier.”

“And a lot smaller,” Cal pointed out.

“And it probably doesn’t have a bunch of kids wrecking it all the time, either,” Michelle added. “And as for friends, I’d have had to make new friends next year, anyway, wouldn’t I?”

Cal looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Michelle stared guiltily into her glass. “I heard you and Mom talking. Were you really going to send me to boarding school?”

“It wasn’t really decided yet—” he began lamely, but when he looked at Michelle’s eyes, he gave up the lie. “We thought it would be better for you,” he said. “Harrison was just getting too rough. You told us yourself you weren’t learning anything anymore. And anyway, it wasn’t boarding school. You’d have been home every day.”

“Well, this is better,” Michelle said. “I’ll make friends here, and I won’t have to make new friends next year. Will I?” There was a sudden anxiety in her eyes that made Cal want to reassure her.

“Of course not. Unless you hate it. Come to think of it, you’d better not hate it, because I’m not sure we’d be able to send you to private school on what I’m going to be making out here. But I want you to be happy, Princess. That’s very important to me.”

Michelle suddenly grinned, breaking the seriousness of the moment. “How could I not be happy? Everybody I know would do anything to be living here. We’ve got the ocean, and the forest, and this wonderful house. What more could I want?”

In a sudden burst of affection, Michelle threw herself into her father’s arms and kissed him.

“I love you, Daddy, really I do.”

“And I love you, too, princess,” Cal replied, his eyes moistening with affection. “I love you, too.” Then he disengaged himself from Michelle’s arms and stood up. “Come on. Let’s get back to those boxes before your mother sends both of us back to the orphanage!”

• • •

“I found it!” Michelle cried triumphantly. It was a big box, marked on every side with Michelle’s name. “Let’s take it up now, Daddy, please?” Michelle begged. “Everything I own is in it. Everything! Can’t I unpack it next? I mean, we don’t know where Mom wants everything anyway, and I could put all this stuff away myself. Please?”

Cal nodded his assent and helped her drag the immense box upstairs to the corner room that Michelle had claimed as her own.

“Want some help unpacking it?” he offered. Michelle shook her head vehemently. “And let you see what’s inside? If you knew what was in here, you’d make me throw half of it away.” In her mind’s eye, Michelle saw the jumble of old movie magazines — just the sort of thing her parents didn’t approve of — and the assorted souvenirs of her departing childhood that she had not been able to give up. “And don’t you dare tell Mom I said that,” she added, enlisting her father in a collaboration of silence to help her preserve her childish treasures.

Then, as Cal left her alone in the room, Michelle began ripping the carton open to unpack all her things, first onto the bed, then carefully hidden away in the closet and dresser.

It wasn’t until she’d put the last old toy away that she noticed the doll, still propped up on the window seat where she’d left it a few hours earlier. She went over to the window and picked it up, holding it level with her eyes.

“I’ll have to think of a name for you,” she said out loud. “Something old-fashioned, as old-fashioned as you.” She thought a moment, then smiled.

“Amanda!” she said. “That’s it I’ll call you Amanda. Mandy, for short.”

Then, pleased with her choice of a name, Michelle put the antique doll back on the window seat and went downstairs to see what her father was doing.

As the afternoon light faded from the corner room, the doll seemed to be staring out the window, its sightless glass eyes fixed on the potting-shed below.

CHAPTER 2

The potting-shed had a solid feel to it, a sturdiness that made June wonder what, exactly, its builder had in mind. It seemed to her, as she went over it for the fourth time, that it must have been intended as more than a simple storage and workroom — the windows overlooking the ocean were too carefully spaced; the floor, its oak planks barely worn after a century of use, too well laid; and its proportions too perfect for it to have been used merely by a gardener. No, she decided, whoever had designed this room had planned to use it himself. It was almost as though it had been designed as a studio. The windows overlooking the sea faced as nearly north as the bluff would allow, and beneath them a long counter with beautifully crafted storage cabinets ran the length of the room. Near one end of the counter, a large sink had been installed. The brick walls, streaked with the grime of years, had once been whitewashed, and the wood trim around the doors and windows, peeling now, were painted a soft green, as if someone had tried to match the shade of the foliage outside. One end of the room held a large closet. For the moment, June chose to leave its door closed, and imagine, instead, what might be hidden there. Relics, she thought deliciously. Relics of the past, just waiting to be discovered.

She lowered her body onto a stool and automatically counted the days until the baby would be born. Thirty-seven, she reflected, was a silly age at which to be having a baby. Not only silly, but possibly dangerous for both her and the child. Be careful, she reminded herself. But the thought wouldn’t stay with her — instead, she felt a compulsive urge to begin cleaning out the years of disuse that filled the little room.

She got to her feet, ignoring the heaviness of her body, and wondered how it was that a building that had been abandoned for so many years could have become so filled with junk.

In one corner she spotted a trash barrel, which was, miraculously, empty. Minutes later it was filled, and June considered the wisdom of climbing into it herself to compact its contents.

Congratulating herself on her restraint, she put the idea aside, knowing that if Cal caught her at it, he would be outraged at her carelessness. Besides, it would be just like her to break a leg and bring on a premature birth at the same time. Just now, she had entirely too much to do to risk such a thing. She settled instead for pushing the mess in the barrel as far down as it would go, then adding more until it was in danger of bursting. Then she began looking for something to clean the floor with.

Just inside the closet, disappointingly empty of long-secreted treasures, she found a broom, a pail, and a mop. Opening the window a crack in hope of freshening the stale air, June began sweeping the dust into a pile.

She was nearly halfway across the floor when the broom suddenly dragged against something. She poked at the caked dirt. When it didn’t break up, she stopped to look at it more closely.

It was a stain of some sort that covered a couple of square feet of the floor. Whatever had been spilled there had apparently been left to dry on its own, and, as it dried, dust had settled on it, worked its way in until now the mess lay, perhaps a quarter of an inch thick, impervious to the broom.

June stood up and reached for the mop, wondering what the chances were of finding the old plumbing still in working order. But before she had a chance to experiment, Cal and Michelle appeared in the doorway.

Cal gazed around the potting-shed and shook his head. “I thought you were just going to look around and make some plans.”

“I couldn’t resist,” June said ruefully. “It’s such a pretty room, and it was such a mess. I think I feel sorry for it.”

Michelle stared around the cluttered room, and her arms involuntarily hugged her body as if she had been seized by a sudden chill. Still standing by the door, an expression of distaste on her face, she spoke. “This place is creepy — what did they use it for?”

“It’s a potting-shed,” her mother explained. “The gardener’s headquarters, where he kept all his tools, and raised seedlings, and that sort of thing.” She paused for a moment, as if thinking something over, then went on. “But I have the strangest feeling they used this for something else, too.”

Cal’s brow arched. “Playing detective?”

“Not really,” June replied. “But look at it. The floor’s solid oak. And those cabinets! Who would build something like this just for the gardener?”

“Until about fifty years ago, a lot of people would have,” Cal said, chuckling. “They used to build things to last, remember?”

June shook her head. “I don’t know. It just seems too nice to be a potting-shed. There must have been something more to it …”

“What’s that?” Michelle asked. She was pointing to the stain that June had been working on when they came in.

“I wish I knew. I think someone must have spilled some paint. I was just going to try to mop it up.”

Michelle went over to the stain and knelt beside it, examining it carefully. She started to reach out and touch it, but suddenly drew her hand away.

“It looks like blood,” she said. She stood up and faced her parents. “I’ll bet somebody got murdered in here.”

“Murdered?” June gasped. “What on earth would put such a morbid thought into your head?”

Michelle ignored her mother and appealed to her father instead. “Look at it, Daddy. Doesn’t it look like blood?”

A small smile playing around his mouth, Cal joined Michelle and examined the stain even more carefully than she had. When he stood up, his face was serious. “Definitely blood,” he said solemnly. “No question about it.” Then his smile got the best of him. “Of course, it could be paint, or some kind of clay, or God knows what. But if it’s blood you want, I’ll go along with it.”

“That’s disgusting,” June said, wanting to dismiss the idea. “It’s a beautiful room, and it’s going to make a wonderful studio, and please don’t try to tell me horrible things happened in here. I won’t believe it!”

Michelle shrugged, glanced around once more, and shook her head. “Well, you can have this place — I hate it.” She made a move toward the door. “Is it all right if I go down to the beach?”

“What time is it?” June asked doubtfully.

“Still plenty of time before dark,” Cal assured her. “But be careful, princess. I don’t want you taking a fall the first day here — I need paying patients, not my own family.”

As Michelle started toward the path that would take her down to the cove, her father’s words rang in her head: I don’t want you taking a fall. But why should she? She had never fallen in her life. Then it came to her. It was that boy. Her father was still thinking about that boy. But that hadn’t been his fault, and even if it had, it didn’t have anything to do with her. Happily, she started down the trail.

Cal waited until Michelle was out of sight, then took his wife in his arms and kissed her. A moment later, when he had released her, June peered up into his face with a quizzical look.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing in particular, and everything in general,” Cal said. “I’m just happy to be here, happy to be married to you, happy to have Michelle for a daughter, and happy to have whatever this is on the way.” He patted June’s belly affectionately. “But I do wish,” he added, “that you’d be a little more careful about what you do. Let’s not have anything happen to you or the baby.”

“I’m being good,” June replied. “I’ll have you know that in the name of propriety, I didn’t get into that barrel to tamp the trash down.”

Cal groaned. “That’s supposed to make me happy?”

“Oh, stop worrying. I’m going to be fine, and the baby’s going to be fine. In fact, the only one I worry about is Michelle.”

“Michelle?”

June nodded. “I just wonder how the baby’s going to affect her. I mean, she’s had all our attention for so long, don’t you think she might resent the competition?”

“Any other child might, I suppose,” Cal mused. “But not Michelle. She’s the most repulsively well-adjusted child I know. It must be genetic — Lord knows it can’t be the home we’ve provided.”

“Oh, stop it,” June protested, a hint of seriousness hiding behind her bantering tone. “You’re too hard on yourself. You always have been.” Then the banter was dropped, and her voice grew quiet. “I’m just afraid she might feel threatened by a natural child. It wouldn’t be unusual, you know.”

Cal sat heavily on the stool, and crossed his arms over his chest in a manner that June associated with his talking to a patient.

“Now look,” he said. “Michelle takes things in stride. My God, just look at the way she’s reacted to moving out here. Any other kid would have squawked like hell, threatened to run away, done all kinds of things. But not Michelle. For her, it’s just a new adventure.”

“So?”

“So that’s the way it’ll be with the baby. Just a new member of the family to get to know, and take care of, and enjoy. She’s just the right age to become a babysitter. If I know Michelle, she’ll take over the mothering, and leave you to your painting.”

June smiled, feeling a little better. “I reserve the right to mother my own child. Michelle can wait till she has one of her own.”

Suddenly her eyes fell to the strange stain on the floor, and she frowned. “What do you suppose it is?” she asked Cal as his gaze followed her own.

“Blood,” he said cheerfully. “Just as Michelle said.”

“Oh, Cal, be serious,” June said. “It isn’t blood, and you know it.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’d just like to know what it is, so I’ll know what to use to get it off,” June said.

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Cal offered. “I’ll see what I can do with a putty knife, and then we’ll try some turpentine. Chances are it’s just paint, and turpentine will cut right through it.”

“Do you have a putty knife?” June asked anxiously.

“On me? Not a chance. But there’s one in with the tools, if I ever find them.”

“Let’s go find them,” June said decisively.

“Now?”

“Right now.”

Deciding that the best thing to do was to humor his pregnant wife, Cal followed as June led him into the house. Confronted with the jumble of boxes in the living room, he was sure June would give it up as a hopeless cause, but instead she scanned the mound expertly and suddenly pointed.

“That one,” she said.

“How can you tell?” Cal asked, baffled. The label on the box clearly said Miscellaneous.

“Trust me,” June said sweetly.

Cal hauled the box down from its perch near the top of the pile and ripped the tape off it There, right under the lid, was his toolbox.

“Incredible!”

“Precision labeling,” June replied, a bit smugly. “Come on.”

She led him back to the studio, and settled herself on the stool while Cal began chipping at the offending stain. A few minutes later, he looked up.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Won’t it come off?” June asked.

“Oh, it’ll come off all right,” Cal replied. “I’m just not sure what it is.”

“What do you mean?” June got off the stool and lowered herself next to her husband. What had been the body of the stain on the floor was now a pile of crumbling brownish dust scattered around her feet. She reached out and, hesitating, picked up a little of it, rubbing the dust between her fingers, feeling its texture.

“What is it?” she asked Cal.

“It might be paint,” he said slowly. “But it looks more like dried blood.”

His eyes met his wife’s.

“Michelle might have been right after all,” he said. He stood up and helped June to her feet.

“Whatever it is,” he added, “it’s been there for years and years and years. It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with us, and it won’t take long to get that stain out. Once it’s out, you can forget all about it.”

But as they left the studio, June turned and looked once more at the brownish mess on the floor.

She wished she were as sure as Cal that she would forget all about it.

Michelle paused on the trail and tried to guess how far down it was to the beach. Hundreds of feet. For a moment she toyed with the idea of trying to find another route down. No, for now, at least, she should stick to the path. There would be plenty of time later to scramble her way through the rocks and brush that clung to the face of the bluff.

The trail was an easy walk, cut in switchbacks, worn smooth by years of use. Here and there it narrowed where winter storms had eaten it away, and there were occasional rocks in her path, which Michelle kicked over the edge, then watched while they gathered force in their plunge to the beach below, disappearing from her line of sight before she heard them crash at the bottom.

The trail ended very close to the high tide line, but this afternoon the tide was out, and a rocky expanse of beach, broken irregularly by a series of low granite outcroppings, lay before her, curving outward in both directions toward the arms of Devil’s Passage. The water, trapped in the tight cove, boiled and eddied, its swirling currents twisting the surface into angry patterns that even to Michelle’s inexpert eyes looked dangerous. She began walking north, intent on discovering if it might be possible to follow the beach all the way to the foot of Paradise Point. It would be a neat way to go to school — along the beach, then up the bluff and through the village. Much nicer than taking the crowded MTA to Harrison in Boston!

She had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when she noticed she wasn’t alone on the beach. Someone was crouched over a tidepool, oblivious of her presence. She approached the figure warily, unsure whether she should speak, go on by, or maybe even turn back. But before she could make up her mind, the person looked up, saw her, and waved.

“Hi!” The voice seemed friendly, and when he stood up, Michelle saw that it was a boy, about her own age, with dark curly hair, startlingly blue eyes, and a wide smile. Tentatively, she waved back, and called out a hello.

The boy bounded across the rocks toward her.

“Are you the girl that moved into the Carson house?” he asked.

Michelle nodded. “Only it’s our house, now,” she corrected him. “We bought it from Dr. Carson.”

“Oh,” the boy said. “I’m Jeff Benson. I live up there.” He gestured vaguely toward the bluff, and Michelle’s eyes followed his gesture, though there was nothing to be seen.

“You can’t see our house from here,” Jeff explained. “It sits too far back from the cliff. Mom says the bluff’s going to fall into the sea sooner or later anyway, but I don’t think so. What’s your name?”

“Michelle.”

“What do people call you?” Jeff asked.

Michelle frowned, puzzled. “Michelle,” she repeated. “What else would they call me?”

Jeff shrugged. “I dunno. It just seems like kind of a fancy name, that’s all. Sounds like you must be from Boston.”

“I am,” Michelle replied.

Jeff regarded her curiously for a moment, then shrugged again, dismissing the matter. “Did you come down to look at the tidepools?”

“I just came down to look around,” she said. “What’s in them?”

“All kinds of things,” Jeff told her eagerly. “And the tide’s way out now, so you can get to the best ones. Haven’t you ever seen a tidepool before?”

Michelle shook her head. “Only the ones at the beach,” she said. “We used to go there for picnics.”

“Those aren’t any good,” Jeff scoffed. “All the good stuff got taken out of them ages ago, but hardly anybody ever comes down here. Come on — I’ll show you.”

He began leading Michelle across the rocks, stopping every few minutes to wait for her to catch up. “You should wear tennis shoes,” he suggested. “They don’t slip on the rocks so much.”

“I didn’t know it would be this slippery,” Michelle said, suddenly feeling clumsy but unsure just why. A moment later they had come to the edge of a large pool, and Jeff was kneeling beside it. Michelle crouched down beside him and stared into the shallow water.

The pool lay clear and still before her, and Michelle realized that it was like looking through a window into another world. The bottom was alive with strange creatures — starfish and sea urchins, anemones waving softly in the currents, and hermit crabs scurrying around in their borrowed homes. On an impulse, Michelle reached into the water and picked one up.

The crab’s tiny claw snapped ineffectually at her finger, then the little animal retreated into its shell, only a whisker poking tentatively out.

“Hold your hand real flat, and turn him so he can’t see you,” Jeff told her. “Then just wait, and in a couple of minutes he’ll come out.”

Michelle followed his instructions. A moment later the animal began emerging from its shell, legs first.

“It tickles,” Michelle said, her fist involuntarily closing. When she opened it again, the animal had retreated once more.

“Drop it into one of the sea anemones,” Jeff told her.

Michelle obeyed, and watched the strange plantlike animal tighten its tentacles around the panicked crab. A moment later the anemone was closed, and the crab had disappeared.

“What’ll happen to it?” Michelle asked.

“The anemone will eat it, then open up and dump out the shell,” Jeff explained.

“You mean I killed it?” Michelle asked, upset by the thought.

“Something would’ve eaten it anyway,” Jeff said. “As long as you don’t take anything away, or put in something that shouldn’t be here, you aren’t really hurting anything.”

Michelle had never thought of such a thing before, but Jeff’s words made sense to her. Some things belong, and some things don’t. And you have to be careful what you put with what. Yes, it made sense.

Together the two children began making their way around the tidepool, examining the strange world beneath the water. Jeff pried a starfish loose from its hold on the rocks, and showed Michelle the thousands of tiny suction cups that formed its feet and the odd pentangular mouth in the middle of its stomach.

“How come you know so much about all this?” Michelle finally asked.

“I grew up here,” Jeff said. He hesitated a moment, then continued. “Besides, I want to be a marine biologist someday. What are you going to be?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “I never thought about it.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, isn’t he?” Jeff asked. “How’d you know that?”

“Everybody knows,” Jeff said amiably. “Paradise Point’s a small town. Everybody knows everything.”

“Boy, it sure wasn’t like that in Boston,” Michelle replied. “Nobody knew who anybody was. We hated it.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

“I guess,” Michelle said slowly. “That was part of the reason, anyway.” Suddenly she wanted to change the subject. “Did somebody get murdered in our house?”

Jeff looked at her sharply, as if he hadn’t heard her quite right. Then, almost too quickly, he stood up and shook his head. “Not that I ever heard of,” he said. Turning, he started picking his way back across the rocky beach. When Michelle made no move to follow him, he called out to her.

“Come on! The tide’s coming in. It’s getting dangerous!”

As Michelle stood up, an odd sensation swept over her. She was suddenly dizzy, and her vision seemed to be fading. It was as if a heavy fog was settling over her. Quickly, she dropped back to her knees.

Ahead, Jeff turned and stared at her.

“Are you all right?” he called back.

Michelle nodded, then stood up again, more slowly this time. “I guess I just stood up too fast. I got dizzy, and it seemed like it was getting dark.”

“Well, it’s going to get dark pretty soon,” Jeff said.

“We’d better get back up to the top.” He started north, and Michelle asked him where he was going.

“Home,” Jeff replied. “We have a path up to our house just like you do.” He paused a moment, then asked her if she wanted to come with him.

“I’d better not,” Michelle replied. “I told my parents I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“Okay,” Jeff said. “See you.”

“See you,” Michelle echoed. She turned away from Jeff and started up the beach. When she was at the foot of the trail that would take her home, she stopped and looked back the way she had come. Jeff Benson was no longer in sight. The beach was empty, and fog was closing in.

CHAPTER 3

“Next week we convert the butler’s pantry.”

June’s voice contained a note of determination that let Cal know that his grace period was over. And yet, during the two weeks they had been in the house, he had come to love it the way it was, and found himself less and less willing to change it at all. He had even come to appreciate the cavernous dining room, though there was something impersonal about the huge table that made their small family gather together at the end nearest the kitchen door. Michelle seemed totally unaffected by the size of the room. Indeed, as her mother spoke, she looked around appreciatively.

“I like it,” she declared. “I pretend we’re in the hall of a castle, and the servants are coming in to wait on us.”

“That’ll be the day,” Cal said. “At the rate we’re going, I’m going to have to start hiring you out as a maid.” He winked at his daughter, who winked back.

“Things will get better,” June said, though the strain in her voice belied the optimistic words. “You can’t expect everybody in town to start coming to you.” Her voice bitter, she faced her husband. “Not as long as Carson’s still around.” She put her fork down. “I wish he’d just give up and go away. How long will it be before he turns the whole practice over to you?”

“A long time, I hope,” Cal replied. Then, reading June’s face, he tried to reassure her. “Don’t look like that — he’s not taking any of the money anymore. He says I own the practice now, and he’s officially retired. Says he’s just ‘Keeping his hand in.’ And thank God he is. Without him, I’d probably have been run out of town by now!”

“Oh, come on—” June protested, but Cal held up his hand to stop her.

“It’s true. You should have seen me yesterday. Mrs. Parsons came in, and I, being a doctor, was all set to examine her. If Josiah hadn’t stopped me, I’d have had her in a gown in nothing flat. But it seems she didn’t want to be examined — all she wanted to do was to have a little ‘chat.’ Josiah listened to her, clucked sympathetically, and told her that if her symptoms persisted, he’d take a look at her next week.”

“What was wrong with her?” Michelle asked.

“Nothing. It turns out that her hobby is reading up on various ailments, and she likes to talk about them, but she doesn’t think it’s right to come into the office just to talk, so she claims she has the symptoms.”

“Sounds like a hypochondriac,” June commented.

“That’s what I thought, too, but Josiah says she isn’t It isn’t that she really feels the symptoms. She just says she does. And,” Cal continued, “it seems Mrs. Parsons not only talks about her own symptoms, she talks about other people’s as well. Josiah says that there are at least three people in town who are alive today only because Mrs. Parsons told him things that they wouldn’t tell him themselves.”

“What does he do?” Michelle interrupted. “Go out and drag them into the office?”

“Not exactly,” Cal said, chuckling. “But he does drop in on them and check them out. Apparently Mrs. P. has a particularly good eye for potential heart attacks.”

“It doesn’t sound very professional,” June muttered.

Cal shrugged. “Until a week ago, I’d have agreed with you. But now I’m not so sure.” He picked up his wineglass, sipped at the Chablis, then spoke again. “I’ve been wondering how many people would still be alive if we’d had a Mrs. Parsons at Boston General, where we only had time to look after specific complaints. Josiah says there are lots of things that people don’t complain about — instead they just die, thinking things will get better.”

“That’s creepy,” Michelle said, shuddering.

“It is,” Cal agreed. “But it doesn’t happen so much out here, because Josiah’s always had the time to get to know his patients and find out what’s wrong with them before it goes too far. He’s a great believer in preventive medicine.”

“What is he, a witch doctor?” Though she tried to keep her tone light, June was growing tired of Cal’s paean to the older doctor. Josiah says! Cal seemed to hang on every word Carson uttered. Now, he ignored June’s question and turned to Michelle, but before he could go on, the doorbell rang. June, grateful for the chance to end the talk of Josiah Carson, quickly got up to answer it. But when she opened the front door, framed in the entryway was the tall, spare figure of Josiah Carson, his mane of nearly white hair glowing in the gathering darkness of the evening. June felt herself gasp slightly, then quickly recovered. “Well, speak of the devil …”

Carson smiled slightly. “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner. I’m afraid it really couldn’t wait.” He stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him.

Before June could make any reply, Cal appeared in the hall. “Josiah! What are doing out here?”

“Going on a housecall. I’d have phoned, but I was already in the car before I thought of you. Want to come along?”

“I gather it’s not an emergency,” June observed.

“Well, certainly nothing that would require an ambulance. In fact, I doubt that it’s anything much at all. It’s Sally Carstairs. She’s complaining about a sore arm, and her mother asked me to have a look. And then I had a thought.” He paused, and glanced toward the dining room. “Is Michelle here?”

Cal’s voice betrayed his curiosity as he repeated his daughter’s name. “Michelle?”

“Sally Carstairs is the same age as Michelle, and it occurred to me that your daughter might do her more good than either you or I. Making a new friend often takes a child’s mind off the pain.”

A look passed between the two doctors, a look that June almost missed. It was as if Carson had asked her husband a question, and Cal had answered. Yet, there was something more, a silent communion between them that worried June. And then Michelle appeared in the foyer, and suddenly everything was settled.

“Want to go on a housecall?” she heard Carson asking her daughter.

“Really?” Michelle glanced at her mother, then turned to her father, her eyes glistening.

“It seems Dr. Carson thinks you might be therapeutic to one of our patients.”

“Who?” Michelle asked eagerly.

“Sally Carstairs. She’s about your age, and her arm hurts. Dr. Carson wants to use you for a painkiller.”

Michelle looked to her mother for permission, but June hesitated for a moment.

“She isn’t sick?”

“Sally?” Carson said. “Good Lord, no. Just hurt her arm. But if you want Michelle to stay here—”

“No — take her, by all means. It’s time she met a girl her age. In the last two weeks, the only person she’s seen is Jeff Benson.”

“Who’s a very nice boy,” Cal pointed out.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t. But a girl needs girl friends, too.”

Michelle started toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared up the stairs, and a moment later reappeared with her green bookbag tucked under her arm.

“What’s that?” Josiah Carson asked.

“A doll,” Michelle explained. “I found it upstairs — in my closet. I thought maybe Sally might like to see it.”

“Here?” Carson asked. “You found it here?”

“Uh-huh. It’s really old.” Suddenly Michelle’s face clouded, and she looked up at Carson worriedly. “I guess it must belong to your family, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Carson replied. “Why don’t you let me see it?”

Michelle opened the bookbag and took out the doll. She offered it to Carson, who glanced at it, but didn’t take it.

“Interesting,” he said. “I suppose it must have belonged to someone in the family, but I’ve never seen it before.”

“If you want it, you can have it,” Michelle said, disappointment plain on her face.

“Now what on earth would I do with it?” Carson replied. “You keep it, and enjoy it. And keep it at home.”

June looked at the old doctor sharply. “Keep it at home?” she repeated.

She was sure Carson hesitated, but when he spoke his voice was ingenuous. “It’s a beautiful doll, and obviously an antique. I don’t think Michelle would want anything to happen to it, would she?”

“She’d be brokenhearted,” Cal agreed. “Take it back up to your room, honey, and then we’ll get going. Josiah, shall we follow you?”

“Fine. I’ll wait in my car.” He said good-bye to June, then left the Pendletons alone together.

Cal gave June a quick hug. “Now don’t do anything you shouldn’t. I don’t want to be up all night with you in labor.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do the dishes, then curl up with a good book.” Cal started out the door as Michelle came downstairs once more. “Be careful,” she suddenly added, and Cal turned back.

“Be careful? What could happen?”

“I don’t know,” June replied. “Nothing, I suppose. But be careful, anyway, all right?”

She waited at the open door until they were gone, then slowly started clearing the table. By the time she had finished, she knew what was bothering her.

It was Josiah Carson.

June Pendleton just didn’t like him, but she still wasn’t sure why.

Josiah Carson drove quickly, so familiar with the streets of Paradise Point that he had no need to concentrate on the road. Instead, he wondered what was going to happen when Cal Pendleton had to examine Sally Carstairs. Cal, he knew, had been avoiding children ever since that day in Boston last spring. But tonight Josiah would find out just how damaged Cal Pendleton was. Would he panic? Would the memories of what had happened in Boston paralyze him? Or had he regained his confidence? Soon, Josiah would know. He pulled up in front of the Carstairs home and waited while Cal parked behind him.

They found Fred and Bertha Carstairs, a comfortable-looking couple in their early forties, sitting nervously at their kitchen table. Carson made the introductions, then briskly rubbed his hands together.

“Well, let’s get at it,” he said. “Michelle, why don’t you keep Mrs. Carstairs company here in the kitchen, just in case we have to take Sally’s arm off?” Without waiting for a response, he turned and led Cal into a bedroom at the rear of the house.

Sally Carstairs was sitting up in bed, a book precariously balanced in her lap, her right arm lying limply at her side. When she saw Josiah Carson, she smiled weakly.

“I feel dumb,” she began.

“You were dumb the day I delivered you,” Carson deadpanned. “Why should today be different?”

Sally ignored his teasing and turned to Cal. “Are you Dr. Pendleton?”

Cal nodded, momentarily unable to speak. His vision seemed to cloud, and in the bed, Sally Carstairs’s face was suddenly replaced by another — the face of a boy, the same age, also in a bed, also in pain. Cal felt his stomach churn, and the beginning of panic welled up inside him. But he fought it down, forced himself to be calm, and tried to concentrate on the girl in the bed.

“Maybe you can teach Uncle Joe how to be a doctor,” she was saying. “And then make him retire.”

“I’ll retire you, young lady,” Carson growled. “Now what happened?”

The smile left Sally’s face, and she seemed thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I tripped out in the backyard, and it felt like I hit my arm on a rock …” she began.

“Well, let’s have a look at it,” Carson said, taking her arm gently in his large hands. He rolled up the sleeve of the child’s pajama top and peered at her arm carefully. There was no trace of a bruise. “Couldn’t have been much of a rock,” he observed.

“That’s why I feel dumb,” Sally said. “There wasn’t any rock. I was on the lawn.”

Carson stepped back, and Cal bent over to examine the arm. He prodded tentatively, feeling Carson’s eyes watching him.

“Does it hurt there?”

Sally nodded.

“How about there?”

Again, Sally nodded.

Cal continued his probing. Sally’s entire arm, from the elbow to the shoulder, was in pain at his touch. He finally straightened up, and made himself look at Carson.

“It could be a sprain,” he said slowly.

Carson’s brows rose noncommittally. He carefully rolled Sally’s sleeve down again. “How bad does it hurt?” he asked.

Sally scowled at him. “Well, I’m not going to die,” she said. “But I can’t do anything with it.”

Carson smiled at her and squeezed her good hand. “I’ll tell you what. Dr. Pendleton and I are going to talk to your parents for a while, and we brought a surprise for you.”

Sally suddenly looked eager. “You did? What?”

“Not what — who. It seems Dr. Pendleton brought his assistant with him, and she happens to be just your age.” He moved to the bedroom door and called to Michelle. A moment later, Michelle came hesitantly into the room. She stopped just inside the door, and looked shyly at Sally. Her father introduced the two girls, then the adults left them alone together to get acquainted.

“Hi,” Michelle said, a little uncertainly.

“Hi,” Sally replied. There was a silence, then: “You can sit on the bed if you want to.”

Michelle moved away from the door, but before she got to the bed, she suddenly stopped, her eyes fixed on the window.

“What’s wrong?” Sally asked.

Michelle shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I saw something.”

“Outside?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sally tried to turn in bed, but the pain stopped her. “What was it?”

“I don’t know.” Then she shrugged. “It was like a shadow.”

“Oh, that’s the elm tree. It scares me all the time.” Sally patted the bed, and Michelle settled herself gingerly at its foot. But her eyes remained fixed on the window.

“You must look like your mother,” Sally said.

“Huh?” Michelle, surprised at the observation, finally tore her gaze from the window, and met Sally’s eyes.

“I said you must look like your mother. You sure don’t look like your father.”

“I don’t look like Mom, either,” Michelle replied. “I’m adopted.”

Sally’s mouth opened. “You are?” There was a note of awe in her voice that almost made Michelle giggle.

“Well, it’s no big deal.”

“I think it is,” Sally said. “I think it’s neat.”

“Why?”

“Well, I mean, you could be anybody, couldn’t you? Who do you think your real parents were?”

It was a conversation Michelle had been though before with her friends in Boston, and she had never been able to understand their interest in the subject. As far as she was concerned, her parents were the Pendletons, and that was that. But rather than try to explain it all to Sally, she changed the subject.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

Sally, easily diverted from the subject of Michelle’s ancestors, rolled her eyes up in an expression of disgust. “I tripped, and twisted it or something, and now everybody’s making a big deal out of it.”

“But doesn’t it hurt?” Michelle asked.

“A little bit,” Sally conceded, unwilling to let her pain show. “Are you really your father’s assistant?”

Michelle shook her head. “Dr. Carson asked him to bring me along.” She smiled. “I’m glad he did.”

“So am I,” Sally agreed. “Uncle Joe’s neat that way.”

“He’s your uncle?”

“Not really. But all the kids call him Uncle Joe. He delivered almost all of us.” There was a pause, then Sally looked at Michelle shyly. “Could I come out to your house sometime?”

“Sure. Haven’t you ever been in it?”

Sally shook her head. “Uncle Joe never had anybody over there. He was really weird about that house — always saying he was going to tear it down but never doing it. And then, after what happened last spring, everyone was sure he’d tear it down. But I guess you know all about that, don’t you?”

“Know about what?” Michelle asked.

Sally’s eyes widened. “You mean nobody told you? About Alan Hanley?”

Alan Hanley. That was the name of the boy in the hospital in Boston. “What about him?”

“Uncle Joe hired him to do something to the roof — fix some slates or something, I guess. And he fell off. They took him to Boston, but he died anyway.”

“I know,” Michelle said slowly. Then: “It was our house he fell off of?”

Sally nodded.

“Nobody told me that.”

“Nobody ever tells kids anything,” Sally remarked. “But we always find out anyway.” She shrugged the matter aside, eager to get back to the subject of the Pendletons’ house. “What’s it like inside?”

Michelle did her best to describe the house to Sally, who listened in fascination. When Michelle was finished, Sally lay back against her pillow, and sighed.

“It sounds like it’s just the way I always thought it would be. I think it’s the most romantic house I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” Michelle agreed. “I like to pretend it’s just my house, and I live there all alone, and — and.…” Her voice trailed off, and she blushed in embarrassment.

“And what?” Sally urged her. “Do you have … love affairs?”

Michelle nodded guiltily. “Isn’t that terrible? To imagine things like that?”

“I don’t know. I do the same thing.”

“You do? What’s the boy like, when you pretend?”

“Jeff Benson,” Sally said immediately. “He lives right next door to you.”

“I know,” Michelle said. “I met him the day we moved out here, down on the beach. He’s really cute, isn’t he?” A thought suddenly occurred to her: “Is he your boyfriend?”

Sally shook her head. “I like him, but I guess he’s Susan Peterson’s boyfriend. At least that’s what she says.”

“Who’s Susan Peterson?”

“One of the kids at school. She’s really kind of stuck-up. Thinks she’s special.” Sally paused. Then: “Hey, I have a neat idea.” Her voice dropped into a whisper, and Michelle leaned closer so she could hear what Sally was saying. The two of them began giggling as each of them added details to Sally’s plan. When Bertha Carstairs came into the room a half hour later, they exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

“You two behaving yourselves?” Bertha asked.

“We’re just talking, Mom,” Sally answered with exaggerated innocence. “Would it be all right if I go over to Michelle’s tomorrow?”

Bertha looked at her daughter doubtfully. “Well, that depends on how your arm is. Doctor thinks you might have sprained it—”

“Oh, it’ll be fine by morning,” Sally cut in. “It doesn’t hurt much at all. Really it doesn’t.” There was a pleading tone to her voice that Bertha Carstairs chose to ignore.

“That’s not what you said when you made me call the doctor away from his dinner,” she said severely.

“Well, it’s gotten better,” Sally announced.

“Let’s see how it is in the morning.” She turned to Michelle. “Your dad says it’s time to go home.”

Michelle got up from the bed, said good-bye to Sally, and went to the kitchen to find her father.

“Have a nice visit?”

Michelle nodded. “If she’s better, Sally’s coming out to our house tomorrow.”

“Great,” Cal replied. Then he turned to Carson. “See you in the morning?” The old doctor nodded, and a moment later Cal and Michelle left the Carstairses. But as he opened the car door, Cal had an odd feeling, and glanced back toward the Carstairses’ front door. There, like a dark shadow against the lights inside, stood the tall figure of Josiah Carson. Though he couldn’t see the old man’s eyes in the darkness, Cal knew they were fixed on him. He could feel them, boring into him, examining him. Feeling a sudden chill, he quickly got into the car, and slammed the door.

He started the engine, then impulsively reached over and patted Michelle on the leg. “Don’t be too disappointed if Sally doesn’t make it tomorrow, princess,” he said gently.

“Why?” Michelle asked, her face filled with concern. “Is something really wrong with her?”

“I don’t know,” Cal replied. “Neither of us could find anything particularly wrong.”

“Maybe she sprained it like you said,” Michelle offered.

“That would hurt either the elbow or the shoulder, depending on which she sprained. But the pain seems to be between the joints, not in them.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait until morning,” Cal said. “If she isn’t much better, and I don’t think she will be, we’ll take some X rays. I suppose there could be a hairline fracture.” He gunned the engine and pulled away. Michelle turned to look back at the house.

Something caught her eye — a movement, or a shadow, very close to the house. She had a feeling — the same feeling that she had had earlier in Sally’s room. A feeling of someone being there. Nothing she could see, or hear, but something she could sense. And it wasn’t, she was sure, an elm tree.

“Daddy! Stop the car!”

Reflexively, Cal’s foot moved to the brake. The car came to a quick halt. “What’s wrong?”

Michelle was still staring back at the Carstairses’. Cal’s gaze followed his daughter’s. In the darkness he could see nothing.

“What’s wrong?” he said again.

“I’m not sure,” Michelle said. “I thought I saw something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said hesitantly. “I thought there was somebody there—”

“Where?”

“At the window. At Sally’s window. At least I think it was Sally’s window.”

Cal pulled the car over and shut off the engine. “Stay here. I’ll go take a look.” He got out of the car, shut the door, and started to walk the few steps back to the Carstairses’, then returned to the car.

“Princess? Lock the doors, will you. And stay in the car.”

Michelle looked at him with disgust. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Daddy. This is Paradise Point, not Boston.”

“But you thought you saw something.”

“Oh, all right,” Michelle said reluctantly. She reached across and locked the driver’s door, then her own.

Cal tapped on the glass, pointing toward the back door.

Making a face at him, Michelle stretched over the seat and pressed the buttons locking the other two doors of the car.

Only then did Cal go to investigate the Carstairses’ yard.

A few seconds later he was back, and Michelle dutifully unlocked the door for him.

“What was it?”

“Nothing. It must have been a shadow.”

He restarted the car and began driving home. Michelle sat quietly beside him. Finally, he asked her if anything was wrong.

“Not really,” Michelle said. “I was just thinking about Sally — I really want her to come over tomorrow.”

“Well, as I said, don’t count on it, princess.” Once again, Cal affectionately patted his daughter. “You like it out here, don’t you?” he asked.

“I love it,” Michelle said softly.

She snuggled close to her father, the strange shadow she had seen outside Sally’s window quickly forgotten.

And I like it out here, too, Cal told himself silently. I like it just fine. The housecall had gone all right. He hadn’t done much, but at least he hadn’t done anything wrong. And that, he reflected, was a step in the right direction.

The next morning, Sally Carstairs appeared at the Pendletons’ front door. She explained that the pain in her arm had completely disappeared overnight, but Cal looked the arm over anyway and questioned Sally carefully.

“It doesn’t hurt at all?”

“It’s fine, Dr. Pendleton,” Sally insisted. “Really it is.”

“Okay,” Cal sighed, reluctantly giving in to her. “Run along and have a good time.” As Sally left the front parlor, Cal scratched his head, then went to the phone.

“Josiah? Have you talked to Bertha Carstairs this morning?”

“No, I was just going to call her.”

“Don’t bother,” Cal said. “Sally’s here, and she’s fine. The pain’s completely cleared up.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Josiah Carson replied.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Cal said. “If it was a bruise, a sprain, or a fracture, it would still hurt. It just doesn’t make sense.”

There was a long silence at the other end. For a moment Cal wasn’t sure Josiah Carson was still there. Then the old doctor spoke.

“Sometimes things don’t make sense, Cal,” he said quietly. “That’s just something you’re going to have to accept. Sometimes things just don’t make sense.”

CHAPTER 4

Michelle’s eyes devoured every detail of the Paradise Point school as she waited for Sally Carstairs to arrive. It was nothing like Harrison had been — nothing at all. There was no trace of Harrison’s dingy paint, no graffiti in the halls, and the trash containers, neatly spaced along the length of the corridor, were not chained to the walls. Instead, Michelle found herself in a brightly lit corridor, painted an immaculate white with green trim, filled with happily chattering children — children who seemed eager for a new school year to begin. She searched the crowd for Sally’s familiar face, spotted her, and waved. Sally waved back, then beckoned to Michelle.

“Down here,” Sally called. “We’re in Miss Hatcher’s room!”

Michelle felt curious eyes watching her as she moved toward Sally, but when she met the glances of one or two or her new schoolmates, she saw only friendliness in their faces — none of the suspicious hostility that had hung like a dark cloud over the old school in Boston. By the time she reached Sally, Michelle was sure everything was going to be fine.

“Now, you remember what to do?” Sally asked. Michelle nodded. “Okay. Let’s go in. Jeff’s already here, but I haven’t seen Susan — she’s always late.” She started inside the classroom, but Michelle stopped her.

“What’s Miss Hatcher like?”

Sally glanced at her, then grinned at the sudden uncertainty in Michelle’s face.

“She’s neat. She tries to pretend to be an old-maid schoolteacher, but she has a boyfriend and everything. And she lets us sit wherever we want. Come on.”

Sally led Michelle into the classroom as they had planned. They moved directly up to the front row where Jeff Benson had seated himself in the center of the room. Making a great show of innocence, Sally took the seat on Jeff’s left, and Michelle took the one on his right. Jeff greeted both of them, then began talking with Sally while Michelle tried to look surreptitiously at her new teacher.

Corinne Hatcher seemed to be the image of a smalltown schoolteacher. She wore her light brown hair in a tight chignon, and on a chain around her neck, a pair of glasses dangled. Though Michelle did not yet know it, no one had ever seen her wear the glasses — they simply hung there. But Michelle did notice that there was something behind the spinsterish appearance of Miss Hatcher. Her face was pretty, and her eyes had a warmth to them that softened her severe appearance. Michelle was sure she knew why Miss Hatcher was a great favorite with her students.

At her desk, Corinne Hatcher was aware of Michelle’s curious gaze, but made no move to acknowledge it. Better to let the new girl size things up for herself. Instead, she fixed her eyes on Sally Carstairs and tried to figure out what Sally was up to. Obviously, Sally and the new girl, whose name she knew, but not much else, were already friends. But why weren’t they sitting together?

It wasn’t until Susan Peterson came in that Corinne realized what the game was: Susan started toward the front of the room, her eyes on Jeff Benson. Michelle and Sally exchanged a glance, Sally nodded, and the two of them began giggling. As she heard the giggling, Susan stopped, realizing that the seats on both sides of Jeff were already taken, and that it wasn’t a coincidence. Susan glared at Sally, glanced contemptuously at the stranger in the room, then took the seat directly behind Jeff.

And Michelle, seeing Susan’s quick anger, immediately began to regret having fallen in with Sally’s plan. It had seemed funny at the time, to keep Susan away from the boy she wanted to sit next to, but now Michelle realized that she had made a mistake. And Susan didn’t look like the kind of girl who would forget about it, either. Michelle began to wonder what she could do to make things right.

As the bell rang, Corinne rose and faced the class.

“We have a new student with us this year,” she said. “Michelle, would you stand up?” She smiled encouragingly at Michelle, who blushed a deep red, hesitated for a moment, then haltingly stood up next to her seat. “Michelle is from Boston, and I imagine this school must look very strange to her.”

“It’s nice,” Michelle said. “It isn’t like the schools in Boston at all.”

“You mean they aren’t nice?” Sally teased.

Michelle’s blush deepened. “That’s not what I meant—” she began. “Miss Hatcher,” she appealed, “I didn’t mean to say I didn’t like the school in Boston …”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Corinne said quickly. “Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll let everyone introduce himself to you.”

Gratefully, Michelle sank back into her seat, and leaned over to glare at Sally, who was grinning back at her mischievously. Her sense of humor overcoming her embarrassment, Michelle began to giggle, but quickly stopped when she heard the voice behind her.

“I said, my name is Susan Peterson,” the voice repeated loudly. Michelle turned, and met Susan’s glare, then felt herself turning red again. She quickly faced the front of the classroom, sure that she had accidentally made an enemy, and wishing again she hadn’t let herself get caught up in Sally’s scheme.

But I didn’t mean any harm, she told herself. She tried to concentrate on what Miss Hatcher was saying, but for the first hour all she was conscious of was the memory of Susan Peterson’s eyes, wrathful, staring at her. When the first recess bell finally rang, Michelle hesitated, then approached the teacher’s desk.

“Miss Hatcher?” she said hesitantly. Corinne looked up at her, and smiled.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned by Michelle’s troubled expression.

“I was wondering — could I change my seat?”

“Already? But you’ve only had it two hours.”

“I know,” Michelle said. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably, wondering how to tell the teacher what had happened. Then she blurted the story out.

“It was supposed to be a joke. I mean, Sally told me that Susan Peterson likes Jeff Benson, and she thought it would be fun if we took the seats beside Jeff so Susan couldn’t sit next to him. And I went along with her.” Michelle seemed to be on the verge of tears as she continued. “I didn’t mean for Susan to be mad at me — I mean, I don’t even know her, and — and.…” Her voice trailed off helplessly.

“It’s all right,” Corinne told her gently. “I know how things like that can happen, particularly when everything is new and strange. Go on outside, and when you come back, I’ll change everybody’s seats.” She paused a moment, then: “Whom would you like to sit with?”

“Well — Sally, I guess. Or Jeff. They’re the only people I know.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Corinne promised. “Run along now — there’s only ten minutes left.”

Michelle, unsure whether she had done the right thing, walked slowly out to the schoolyard. In a group under a large maple, Sally Carstairs, Susan Peterson, and Jeff Benson seemed to be arguing about something. Feeling terribly self-conscious, Michelle approached the group, and wasn’t surprised when they stopped talking as she drew near. Sally smiled and called out to her, but Susan Peterson ignored her, quickly moving off in the opposite direction.

“Is Susan mad at me?” Michelle asked anxiously. Sally shrugged.

“So what if she is? She’ll get over it.” Then, before Michelle could say anything more about it, Sally changed the subject. “Isn’t Miss Hatcher neat? And wait till you see her boyfriend! He’s too dreamy for words.”

“Who is he?”

“Mr. Hartwick. He’s a psychologist,” Sally told her. “He’s only here once a week, but he lives in town. His daughter’s in the sixth grade. Her name’s Lisa, and she’s awful.”

Michelle didn’t hear the comment about Lisa; she was more interested in the father. She groaned, remembering the batteries of tests she and her classmates had been forced to endure each year in Boston. “Are we all going to have to take tests?”

“Nah,” Jeff replied. “Mr. Hartwick doesn’t do anything unless someone gets in trouble. Then they have to talk to him. Mom says you used to talk to the principal when you were in trouble. Now you talk to Mr. Hartwick. Mom says it was better when you talked to the principal, and got a licking.” He shrugged eloquently to let anyone who was interested know that the matter was of supreme indifference to him.

When the bell summoning them back to class rang a few minutes later, Michelle had all but forgotten her embarrassment, but it was quickly brought back to mind when Miss Hatcher held up a blank seating chart. There was a startled buzzing among the students, which Corinne quickly silenced.

“I’m going to try something new with this class,” she said smoothly. “As you know, I’ve always felt that seventh-graders were old enough to decide for themselves where they want to sit.” Michelle squirmed, sure that everyone was watching her, and that they knew whatever Miss Hatcher was about to do was her fault. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem fair to the last people into the room. So I’m going to pass out slips of paper, and I want you all to write down whom you’d like to sit next to. Maybe we can make everyone happy.”

Unable to resist, Michelle glanced over her shoulder. Susan Peterson had a smug smile on her face.

Corinne began passing out paper, and for the next few minutes the room was quiet. Corinne gathered up the papers and studied them briefly. Then she began working on her seating chart while the children whispered among themselves, predicting the results.

The rearranging began. When it was over, Michelle found herself seated between Sally and Jeff, with Susan on Jeff’s other side. Silently, Michelle sent a message of thanks to Miss Hatcher.

As the last bell sounded, Tim Hartwick stepped out of the office that was reserved for his use at the Paradise Point school. He leaned comfortably against the corridor wall and watched the children swirl past him in their rush to escape into the warm late-summer afternoon. It didn’t take him long to spot the face he had been looking for. Michelle Pendleton hurried down the hall with another girl, whom he recognized as Sally Carstairs, and glanced at him timidly as she passed. As she left the building, he could see her whispering to her friend.

His expression thoughtful, Tim went back into his office, picked up a folder, put it in his filing cabinet, then locked the office door behind him before proceeding down to Corinne Hatcher’s classroom.

“And so it begins,” he intoned. “Another year of young minds to mold, futures to shape …”

“Oh, stop it,” Corinne laughed. “Help me clean up, so we can get out of here.”

Tim started toward the front of the room, then stopped short as he saw the seating chart, still propped against the blackboard.

“What’s this?” he said, his voice faintly mocking. “A seating chart in the classroom of Corinne Hatcher, champion of freedom of choice? Another illusion shattered.”

Corinne sighed. “There was a problem today. We have a new student this year, and it looked as though she was about to get off on the wrong foot. So I tried to straighten out the situation before things got out of hand.” She gave him the details of what had happened that morning.

“I saw her just now,” he said when she was finished.

“Did you?” Corinne began stacking the papers on her desk, talking as she worked. “Pretty, isn’t she? And she seems to be bright, eager-to-please, and friendly, too. Not what you’d expect to be coming out of Boston these days.” Suddenly she frowned, and looked at Tim curiously. “What do you mean, you just saw her? How do you know what she looks like?”

“I found a folder on my desk this morning — Michelle Pendleton’s records. Want to take a look?”

“No way,” Corinne replied. “I try never to look at the records till there’s some reason to.”

She thought Tim would drop the subject, but he didn’t.

“She’s almost too good to be true,” he said. “Not a single black mark anywhere.”

Corinne wondered what he was getting at.

“Is that so strange? I can think of any number of students here who have spotless records.”

Tim nodded. “But this is Paradise Point, not Boston. It’s almost as though Michelle Pendleton has been living her life unaware of her surroundings.” He paused, then: “Did you know she’s adopted?”

Corinne closed her desk drawers. “Should I have?” What was he getting at?

“Not really. But she is. She knows it, too.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Somewhat. But what is definitely unusual is that apparently she’s never had any reaction to it at all. As far as her teachers could tell, she’s always accepted it as a simple fact of life.”

“Well, good for her,” Corinne said, her voice showing a trace of the annoyance she was beginning to feel. What on earth was Tim trying to get at? The answer came almost immediately.

“I think you should keep an eye on her,” Tim said. Before Corinne could protest, he forged ahead. “I’m not saying anything is going to happen. But there’s a difference between Paradise Point and Boston — as far as I know, Michelle is the only adoptive child you have here.”

“I see,” Corinne said slowly. Suddenly it was all becoming clear to her. “You mean the other children?”

“Exactly,” Tim said. “You know how kids can be when one of them is different from the rest. If they made up their minds to, they could make life miserable for Michelle.”

“I’d like to think they won’t,” Corinne said softly.

She knew what was in Tim’s mind. He was thinking of his own daughter, Lisa, eleven years old, but so different from Michelle Pendleton that comparison was nearly impossible.

Tim liked to believe that Lisa’s problems stemmed from the fact that she was “different” from her school friends: her mother had died five years earlier. In all charity, Corinne admitted that was partly true. The death of her mother had been hard on Lisa, even harder than it had been on Tim.

At six, she had been too young to understand what had happened. Until the end, she had refused to believe her mother was dying, and when at last the inevitable had happened, it had been almost too much for her.

She had blamed her father, and Tim, distressed, had begun to spoil her. Lisa, from a happy six-year-old, had grown into a sullen eleven-year-old, uncooperative, listless, a loner.

“Do you have to be home this afternoon?” Corinne asked carefully, hoping Tim wouldn’t follow the train of thought that had brought her to what seemed an irrelevant question.

Suddenly, as if Corinne’s thoughts had summoned her, Lisa came into the classroom. She glanced quickly at Corinne. Her face, which should have been pretty, was pinched into an expression of suspicion and hostility. Corinne made herself smile at Lisa, but Lisa’s dark eyes, nearly hidden under too long bangs, gave no hint of friendliness. She turned quickly to her father. When she spoke, her words sounded to Corinne more like an ultimatum than a request.

“I’m going home with Alison Adams, and having dinner there. Is it all right?”

Tim frowned, but agreed to Lisa’s plans. A small smile of satisfaction on her face, Lisa left the room as quickly as she had come in. When she was gone, Tim looked rueful.

“Well, I guess I have the rest of the day,” he said. He had wanted to share the afternoon with his daughter, but there was no bitterness in his voice, only sadness and defeat. Then, reading Corinne’s expression of disapproval, he tried to make the best of it.

“At least she told me what she’s up to,” he said crookedly. He shook his head. “I’m a pretty good psychologist,” he went on, “but as a father, I ain’t so terrific, huh?”

Corinne decided to ignore the question. If it wasn’t for Lisa, and Lisa’s clear dislike of Corinne, she and Tim probably would have been married two years ago. But Lisa ran Tim and had managed, to her own delight, to become a sore spot between Corinne and Tim. “I bought some steaks,” she said brightly, linking an arm through Tim’s and steering him toward the door. “Just in case you could come over this evening. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Together, they left the school building. As they emerged into the soft summer afternoon, Corinne breathed deeply of the warm, sweet air, and looked happily around at the spreading oaks and maples, their leaves still a vibrant green.

“I love it here,” she said. “I really do!”

“I love it here — I really do!” Michelle exclaimed, unknowingly echoing the words her teacher had just uttered. Beside her, Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson exchanged a glance, and rolled their eyes up in disgust.

“It’s a tank town,” Jeff complained. “Nothing ever happens here.”

“Where would you rather live?” Michelle challenged him.

“Wood’s Hole,” Jeff announced without hesitation.

“Wood’s Hole?” Sally repeated. “What’s that?”

“I want to go to school there,” Jeff said placidly. “At the Institute of Oceanography.”

“How boring,” Sally said airily. “And it probably isn’t any different from the Point. I can hardly wait to get out of here.”

“You probably won’t,” Jeff teased. “You’ll probably die here, like everybody else.”

“No, I won’t,” Sally insisted. “You just wait. You’ll see.”

The three of them were walking along the bluff. As they drew near the Bensons’, Michelle asked Jeff if he wanted to come home with her.

Jeff glanced at his house and saw his mother standing at the door, watching him. Then he shifted his gaze, passing over the old cemetery, and coming to rest on the roof of the Pendleton house, just visible beyond the trees. He remembered everything his mother had ever told him about the cemetery and that house. “I don’t think so,” he decided. “I promised Mom I’d mow the lawn this afternoon.”

“Oh, come on,” Michelle urged him. “You never come over to my house.”

“I will,” Jeff said. “But not today. I–I just don’t have time.”

A glint of mischief came into Sally’s eyes. She nudged Michelle with her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice carefully innocent. “Are you afraid of the cemetery?”

“No, I’m not afraid of the cemetery,” Jeff snapped. By now they were in front of his house, and he was about to start up the driveway. Sally stopped him with her next words, though she directed them to Michelle.

“There’s supposed to be a ghost in the cemetery. Jeff’s probably afraid of it.”

“A ghost? I never heard that,” Michelle said.

“It isn’t true, anyway,” Jeff told her. “I’ve lived here all my life, and if there was a ghost, I would have seen it. And I haven’t, so there isn’t any ghost.”

“You saying so doesn’t make it so,” Sally argued.

“And you saying there is a ghost doesn’t make it so, either,” Jeff shot back. “See you tomorrow.” He turned and started up the driveway, then waved back at Michelle when she called a good-bye to him. As he disappeared into his house, the two girls continued their walk, leaving the road at Sally’s urging, to follow the path along the edge of the bluff. Suddenly Sally stopped, grabbed Michelle with one arm, while she pointed with the other.

“There’s the graveyard! Let’s go in!”

Michelle looked over at the tiny cemetery choked with weeds. Until today, she had only glanced at it from the car.

“I don’t know,” she said, peering uneasily at the overgrown graves.

“Oh, come on,” Sally urged. “Let’s go in.” She started toward a place where the low picket fence surrounding the cemetery had collapsed to the ground.

Michelle started to follow her, then stopped. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Maybe we’ll see the ghost!”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Michelle said. “But it just seems like we ought to leave it alone. Who’s buried there, anyway?”

“Lots of people. Mostly Uncle Joe’s family. All the Carsons are buried out here. Except the last ones — they’re buried in town. Come on — the gravestones are neat.”

“Not now.” Michelle cast around in her mind for some way to distract Sally. She wasn’t sure why, but the graveyard frightened her. “I’m hungry. Let’s go to my house and get something to eat. Then maybe later we can come back here.”

Sally seemed reluctant to give up the expedition, but at Michelle’s insistence, she gave in. The two girls continued along the path for a while, in an uneasy silence that Michelle finally broke.

“Is there really supposed to be a ghost?”

“I’m not sure,” Sally replied. “Some people say there is, and some people say there isn’t.”

“Who’s the ghost supposed to be?”

“A girl who lived here a long time ago.”

“What happened to her? Why is she still here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anybody knows. Nobody’s even sure if she’s really here or not.”

“Have you ever seen her?”

“No,” Sally said, with a hesitation so slight that Michelle wasn’t certain she’d even heard it.

A few minutes later the two girls slammed through the back door into the immense kitchen, where June was kneading a loaf of bread. “You two hungry?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“There’re cookies in the jar, and milk’s in the refrigerator. Wash your hands first, though. Both of you.” June turned back to her dough, ignoring the look of exasperation that passed between Michelle and Sally at the reminder of the childhood they were becoming eager to leave behind. Yet neither of them considered the possibility of ignoring the order. In a moment, June heard the tap running in the kitchen sink.

“We’ll be up in my room,” Michelle said as she poured two glasses of milk and heaped a plate with cookies.

“Just don’t get crumbs all over everything,” June said placidly, knowing they were again rolling their eyes at each other.

“Is your mother like that, too?” Michelle asked as they went upstairs.

“Worse,” Sally said. “Mine still makes me eat in the kitchen.”

“What can you do?” Michelle sighed, not expecting an answer. She led Sally into her room and closed the door. Sally threw herself on the bed.

“I love this house,” she exclaimed. “And this room, and the furniture, and—” Her voice stopped suddenly as her eyes fell on the doll that lay on the window seat.

“What’s that?” she breathed. “Is it new? How come I haven’t seen it before?”

“It was right there last time you were here,” Michelle replied. Sally got up and went across the room.

“Michelle, it looks ancient!”

“It is, I guess,” Michelle agreed. “I found it in the closet when we moved in. It was up on a shelf, way at the back.”

Sally picked up the doll, examining it carefully.

“She’s beautiful,” she said softly. “What’s her name?”

“Amanda.”

Sally’s eyes widened, and she stared at Michelle.

“Amanda? Why did you name her that?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted an old-fashioned name, and Amanda sort of — well, came to me, I guess.”

“That’s weird,” Sally said. She could feel goose bumps forming on her skin. “That’s the name of the ghost.”

“What?” Michelle asked. It didn’t make sense.

“That’s the name of the ghost,” Sally repeated. “It’s on one of the gravestones. Come on, I’ll show you.”

CHAPTER 5

Sally led the way as the girls left the path and started toward the collapsing fence around the cemetery.

It was a tiny plot, no more than fifty feet square, and the graves had a forgotten look to them. Many of the headstones had been pushed over, or fallen, and most of those still upright had an unstable appearance, as if they were only waiting for a good storm to give up their lonely vigils over the dead. A lightning-scarred oak tree, long dead, stood skeletally in the center of the plot, its branches reaching forlornly toward the sky. It was a grim place, and Michelle was hesitant to enter.

“Be careful,” Sally warned Michelle. “There’s nails sticking up, and you can’t see them through the weeds.”

“Doesn’t anybody take care of this place?” Michelle asked. “The graveyards in Boston never look like this.”

“I don’t think anybody cares anymore,” Sally answered her. “Uncle Joe says he isn’t even going to be buried here — he says being buried’s a waste of time and just takes up a lot of ground that could be used for other things. Once he even threatened to take out all the gravestones and let the whole place grow wild.”

Michelle paused, and looked around her. “He might as well have,” she observed. “This place is creepy.”

Sally avoided the tangle of vines and weeds as she moved through the graveyard. “Wait’ll you see what’s over here.”

Michelle was about to follow her when her eyes suddenly fell on one of the headstones. It stood at an odd angle, as if it were about to fall under its own weight. It was the inscription that had caught Michelle’s eye. She read it again:

LOUISE CARSON — Born 1850

DIED IN SIN—1880

“Sally?”

Ahead of her, Sally Carstairs paused, and turned back to see what had happened.

“Have you ever seen this?” Michelle was pointing to one of the headstones. Even before she went back to look, Sally knew which one it was. Seconds later she was standing next to Michelle, staring at the strange inscription.

“What does it mean?” Michelle asked.

“How should I know?”

“Does anybody know?”

“Search me,” Sally said. “I asked my mother once, but she didn’t know either. Whatever it was, it happened a hundred years ago.”

“But it’s creepy,” Michelle said. “ ‘Died in Sin’! It sounds so — so Puritan!”

“Well, what do you expect? This is New England!”

“But who was she?”

“One of Uncle Joe’s ancestors, I guess. All the Carsons were.” She took Michelle’s arm and pulled at her. “Come on — the one I wanted to show you is over there in the corner.”

Reluctantly, Michelle allowed herself to be drawn away from the strange grave, but as she picked her way across the cemetery, her mind stayed on the odd inscription. What could it mean? Did it mean anything? Then Sally stopped and pointed.

“There,” she whispered to Michelle. “Look at that.”

Michelle’s eyes searched out the ground where Sally was pointing. At first she didn’t see anything. Then, nearly lost under the brambles, she saw a small slab of stone. She knelt down, and pulled the thorny branches to one side, brushing the dirt off the stone with her free hand.

It was a simple rectangle of granite, unadorned and pitted with age. On it was a single word:

AMANDA

Michelle sucked in her breath, then examined the stone more closely, sure that there must be more to the inscription than just the name. There wasn’t.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. It doesn’t say when she was born, or when she died, or her last name, or anything. Who was she?” Her eyes wide, Michelle stared up at Sally, who quickly knelt down beside her.

“She was a blind girl,” Sally said, keeping her voice low. “She must have been one of the Carsons, and she must have lived here a long time ago. My mother says they think she fell off the cliff one day.”

“But why isn’t her last name on the stone, or when she was born, and when she died?” Michelle’s eyes, reflecting her fascination, were fixed on the pitted granite slab.

“Because she isn’t buried here,” Sally whispered. “They never found her body. It must have been swept out to sea or something. Anyway, Mom told me they only put this marker here as a temporary thing. But they never found her body, so they never put up a real headstone.”

Michelle felt a chill pass through her. “They’ll never find the body now,” she said.

“I know. That’s why they say the ghost will always be around here. The kids say Amanda won’t leave until her body’s found, and since the body won’t ever be found …”

Sally’s voice trailed off, and Michelle tried to absorb what she had just heard. Almost involuntarily she put her hand out and rested it on the stone for a moment, then pulled it quickly away and stood up.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she said. “Come on, let’s go home.”

She started purposefully out of the cemetery, but when she realized Sally wasn’t following her she paused and looked back. Sally was still kneeling by the strange memorial, but when Michelle called out to her, she stood up and hurried toward Michelle.

Neither of the girls spoke until they were out of the cemetery and on their way back to the Pendletons’.

“You have to admit, it’s weird,” Sally said.

“What is?” Michelle said evasively.

“You choosing that name for your doll. I mean, that could have been her doll, lying on that shelf all these years, just waiting for you to find it.”

“That’s dumb,” Michelle said flatly, not willing to admit that what Sally had just said was exactly what had been going through her own mind. “I could have named the doll anything.”

“But you didn’t,” Sally insisted. “You named it Amanda. There must have been a reason.”

“It was just a coincidence. Besides, Jeff’s lived here all his life, and if there were a ghost, he’d have seen it.”

“Maybe he has,” Sally said thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why he won’t go over to your house.”

“He doesn’t come over because he’s busy,” Michelle said quickly. “He has to help his mother.” Her voice was becoming strident, and she felt herself getting angry. Why was Sally talking like this? “Can’t we talk about something else?” she asked.

Sally looked at her curiously, then grinned. “Okay. I’m starting to scare myself, anyway.”

Grateful for her friend’s understanding, Michelle reached out and gave Sally’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Ouch!” Sally yelped, flinching and pulling away from Michelle.

Her arm, Michelle thought. Her arm’s hurting again, just like it did last week. But nothing happened to her, not today. A shiver passed through Michelle, but she was careful not to let her sudden feeling of unease show.

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching Sally’s arm lightly. “I thought it was all better.”

“I thought it was, too,” Sally replied, glancing back at the cemetery. “But I guess it isn’t.” Suddenly she wanted to get away from there. “Let’s go back to your house,” she said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

The two girls hurried toward the old house on the bluff. As they reached the back door, Michelle shivered a little, and watched the afternoon fog gather in the air above the sea. Then she pulled open the door and followed Sally inside.

“Dad?”

The Pendletons were gathered in the front parlor, a room they had quickly adopted as a family den, since the living room was too cavernous to suit them comfortably. Cal was sitting in his big chair, his feet resting on an ottoman, and Michelle was stretched out on the floor near him, a book open in front of her. She was lying on her elbows, her chin propped up in the palms of her hands, and Cal couldn’t understand why her neck wasn’t hurting her. Flexibility of youth, he decided. In a frightfully hard-looking antique chair next to the fireplace, June was industriously knitting a sweater for the baby, alternating the stripes — blue and pink — just to be on the safe side.

“Um?” Cal replied, his concentration still on the medical journal in his lap.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Cal’s eyes left the page he had been reading. He glanced at his wife and saw that June had abandoned her knitting. He turned to his daughter, a tentative smile on his face.

“Do I what?” he asked.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Cal’s smile faded as be realized Michelle was serious. He closed the magazine, wondering what had brought on such a strange question.

“Didn’t we talk about this five years ago?” he asked mildly. “About the same time we talked about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?”

“Well, maybe not ghosts,” Michelle said haltingly. “Not like that, anyway. Spirits, I guess.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” June asked.

Michelle began to feel foolish. Now, in the warmth and comfort of the den, the thoughts that had been worrying her all afternoon seemed silly. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. She considered for a moment, then decided to tell them what had happened.

“You know that old graveyard between here and the Bensons’?” she began. “Sally showed it to me today.”

“Don’t tell me you saw a ghost in a graveyard,” Cal exclaimed.

“No, I didn’t,” Michelle said scornfully. “But there’s a strange marker there. It — it has the name of my doll on it.”

“Amanda?” June said. “That is strange.”

Michelle nodded. “And Sally says there’s no body in the grave. She says Amanda was a blind girl who fell off the bluff a long time ago.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to continue. Sensing her indecision, Cal urged her on.

“What else did she say?”

“She said some of the kids think Amanda’s ghost is still around here,” Michelle said quietly.

“You didn’t believe her, did you?” Cal asked.

“No …” Michelle said, but her voice made it clear that she wasn’t sure.

“Well, you can believe me, princess,” Cal declared. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, spirits, boogeymen, haunts, poltergeists, or any other such nonsense, and you shouldn’t let anyone tell you there is.”

“But it’s weird, me naming the doll Amanda,” Michelle protested. “Sally thinks the doll might even have belonged to her …”

“It’s just a coincidence, dear.” June picked up her knitting, quickly counted her stitches, and resumed her work. “Those things happen all the time. That’s how ghost stories start. Something odd happens, purely by coincidence, but people don’t want to believe it was just chance. They want to believe there’s something else — luck, ghosts, fate, whatever.” When Michelle still looked unconvinced, June set her work down once more.

“All right,” she said. “How did you happen to choose the name for your doll?”

“Well, I wanted an old-fashioned sounding name—” Michelle began.

“Okay. That lets out a lot of names right there. Yours, and mine, and lots of others that don’t sound old-fashioned. The old-fashioned ones, like Agatha, and Sophie, and Prudence—”

“They’re all ugly,” Michelle protested.

“So that narrows the list down still more,” June reasoned. “Now you wanted a name that’s ‘old-fashioned’ but not ‘ugly,’ and if you start with the A’s, as most of us do, about the first one you come to is—”

“—Amanda.” Michelle finished, grinning, “And I thought it had just come to me,” she muttered.

“Well, in a way, it did,” June said. “The mind works so fast, you didn’t even realize you’d gone through all that reasoning. And that, my love, is how ghost stories are born — coincidence! Now off to bed, or you’ll fall asleep at school tomorrow.”

Michelle pulled herself to her feet, and went to her father. Her arms slid around his neck, and she hugged him.

“I’m really dumb sometimes, aren’t I?” she said.

“No more than the rest of us, princess.” He kissed her gently, then smacked her bottom. “Off to bed with you.”

He listened as Michelle went upstairs, then looked fondly at his wife.

“How do you do it?” he asked admiringly.

“Do what?” June replied absently.

“Think up logical explanations for things that don’t seem logical.”

“Talent,” June replied. “Just talent. Besides, if I’d let you think up an explanation, we’d have been up all night, and wound up all believing in ghosts.”

She got to her feet, and poked at the fire, settling it low on the grate, while Cal turned off the lights. Then, hand in hand, they, too, climbed the stairs.

Michelle lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the night — the surf pounding on the beach below, the last crickets of summer chirping happily in the darkness, the light breeze soughing in the trees around the house. She thought about what her mother had said. It made sense. And yet — and yet it seemed as though there was something wrong with tibie explanation. There should be something else. That’s silly, she told herself. There isn’t anything else. But even as the nightsounds lulled her to sleep, Michelle had the feeling that there was something else.

Something ominous.

Maybe she shouldn’t have named the doll Amanda at all.…

The nightsounds had stopped when Michelle awoke. She lay still in bed, listening. Around her, the silence was almost palpable.

And then she felt it.

Something was watching her.

Something in her room.

She wanted to pull the covers up over her face and hide from whatever had come to her, but she knew she couldn’t.

Whatever it was, she had to look at it.

Slowly, Michelle sat up in bed, her eyes, wide and frightened, searching out the dark corners of the bedroom.

By the window.

It was in the corner by the window — a black shape, something standing there, standing still, watching her.

And then, as she watched, it began coming toward her.

It moved out into the room, into the moonlight that was shining silver through the window.

It was a little girl, no older than herself.

Inexplicably, the fear began to drain from Michelle, and was replaced by curiosity. Who was she? What did she want?

The child moved closer to her, and Michelle could see that she was dressed strangely — her dress was black, and fell close to the floor, with large puffed sleeves that ended in tight cuffs at her wrists. On her head, nearly hiding her face, she wore a black bonnet.

Michelle watched, transfixed, as the strange figure approached her. In the moonlight, the girl turned her head, and Michelle saw her face.

It was a soft face, with a cupid’s mouth, and a small, upturned nose.

Then Michelle saw the eyes.

Milky white, and shimmering faintly in the moonlight, they gazed sightlessly at Michelle, and as the sightless eyes fixed on her, the little girl raised one arm, and pointed at Michelle.

Her fear flooding over her once again, Michelle began to scream.

Her own screams woke her up.

Terrified, she stared around the empty bedroom, looking for the strange black figure that had been there only a second before.

The room was empty.

Around her, the nightsounds still droned on, the surf pounding steadily below, the breeze still plucking at the pines.

Then the door to her room opened, and her father was there.

“Princess? Princess, are you all right?” He was sitting on her bed, his arms around her, comforting her.

“It was a nightmare, Daddy,” Michelle whispered. “It was awful, Daddy, and so real. There was someone here. Right here, in the room …”

“No, baby, no,” Cal soothed her. “There’s nobody here but me. Just you and me, and your mother. It was only a dream, sweetheart.”

Cal sat with her for a long time, talking to her, calming her. Finally, near dawn, he kissed her softly and told her to go back to sleep. He left her door open.

Michelle lay still for a while, trying to forget the terrifying dream. Unable to fall asleep, she got out of bed and went to the window seat. Picking up the doll, she sat in the window, staring out into the darkness of the last moments of night. As the fog began to lift, Michelle suddenly thought she saw something — a figure, standing on the bluff to the north, near the old cemetery.

She looked again, straining her eyes, but the mists swirled in the wind, and she could see nothing.

Taking the antique doll with her, Michelle returned to her bed. As the first gray of dawn crept into the sky, she fell asleep once more.

Beside her, its head resting on the pillow, the sightless doll gazed blankly upward.

When he left Michelle’s room, Cal did not go straight back to bed. Instead, he put on a robe, fished his pipe and tobacco off the dresser, and went downstairs.

He wandered through the house aimlessly for a while, then settled finally in the little formal parlor at the front of the first floor. He lit his pipe, propped his feet up, and let his mind drift.

He was back in Boston, the night that boy had died — the night his life had changed.

He couldn’t even remember the boy’s name now.

Couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

That was part of the problem. There were too many whose names he couldn’t remember, and who had died.

How many of them had died because of him?

The last one, the boy from Paradise Point, he was sure of. But there might have been others. How many others? Well, there wouldn’t be any more.

His mind kept coming back to that boy.

Alan Hanley. That was his name. Cal could remember the day Alan Hanley had been brought to Boston General.

The ambulance had arrived late in the afternoon, with Alan Hanley unconscious, and Josiah Carson tending him. The boy had fallen from a roof.

This roof, Cal knew now, but at the time it had made no difference.

Josiah Carson had done what he could, but when he realized that the boy’s injuries were too serious to be handled in the Paradise Point Clinic, he had brought him to Boston.

And Calvin Pendleton had attended him.

It seemed, at first, like a fairly simple case — a few broken bones, and possible cranial damage. Cal had done his best, setting the breaks, and checking for internal injuries. That was when he had found what he thought was a blood clot building up inside the boy’s head. It had seemed to him to be an emergency, and so, with Josiah Carson at his side, looking on, he had operated.

Alan Hanley died on the operating table.

And there had been no blood clot, no reason to operate.

The incident had shaken Cal badly, shaken him more than any other single event of his life.

It was not, he knew, the first time he had misdiagnosed something. Nearly all doctors misdiagnose now and then. But for Cal, Alan Hanley’s death was a turning point.

From that moment, he had never stopped wondering if he was going to make another mistake, and if another child was going to die because of him.

Everyone at the hospital told him he was taking it too seriously, but the child’s death continued to haunt him.

Finally he had taken a day off, and driven out to Paradise Point to talk to Josiah Carson about Alan Hanley.…

Josiah Carson greeted him coolly, and at first Cal thought he was wasting his time. Carson blamed him for Alan Hanley’s death; he could see it in the old man’s piercing blue eyes. But as they talked, something in Carson began to change. Cal was sure the old doctor was telling him things he had told no one else.

“Have you ever lived by yourself?” Carson suddenly asked him. But before he could make any reply, Carson began talking again. “I’ve been living alone for years, taking care of the people out here, and keeping pretty much to myself. I guess I should have kept it that way, kept on trying to do all the repairs to the house myself. But I’m getting old, and I thought … well, never mind what I thought.”

Cal shifted uncomfortably, and wondered what the old man was trying to tell him. “What happened that day?” he asked. “Before you brought Alan Hanley to Boston, I mean.”

“It’s hard to say,” Carson replied, his voice low. “I’d been having trouble with the roof, and some of the slates needed replacing. I was going to do it myself, but then I changed my mind. Thought maybe it would be better to get someone a little younger.” His voice faded to little more than a whisper. “But Alan was too young. I should have known — maybe I did know. He was only twelve.… Well, anyway, I let him go up there.”

“And what happened?”

Carson stared at him, his eyes empty, his face sagging with tiredness.

“What happened in the operating room?” he asked.

Cal squirmed. “I don’t know. Everything seemed to be going so well. And then he died. I don’t know what happened.”

Carson nodded. “And that’s what happened on the roof. I was watching him, and everything seemed to be going well. And then he fell.” There was a long silence, broken by Carson: “I wish you’d saved him.”

Again, Cal squirmed, but suddenly Carson smiled at him.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault. But I suppose you could say that, together, it’s our fault. There’s a bond between us now, Dr. Pendleton. What do you suggest we do?”

Cal had no answers. Josiah Carson’s words had numbed him.

And then, as if understanding the problems that had been plaguing Cal since the day Alan Hanley had died, Josiah had made a suggestion. Perhaps Cal should consider giving up his practice in Boston.

“And do what?” Cal asked hollowly.

“Come out here. Take over a small, undemanding practice from a tired old doctor. Get away from the pressure of Boston General. You’re scared now, Dr. Pendleton—”

“My name’s Cal.”

“Cal, then. At any rate you’re scared. You made a mistake, and you think you’ll make more. And if you stay at Boston General, you will. The fear itself will force you to. But if you come out here, I can help you. And you can help me. I want out, Cal. I want out of my practice, and I want out of my house. And I want to sell it all to you. Believe me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

To Cal, it all made sense. A slow practice, in which not much happened.

And not much could go wrong.

Not much room to make mistakes.

Plenty of time to think about every case, and make sure he handled it right.

And no one around to realize that he no longer felt competent to be a doctor. No one except Josiah Carson, who understood him, and sympathized with him.

So they had come to Paradise Point, though initially June had been against it. Cal remembered her words when he had explained the idea to her.

“But why the house? I can understand why he wants to sell his practice, but why is he insisting we take the house, too? It’s too big for us — we don’t need all that room!”

“I don’t know,” Cal replied. “But he’s selling it to us cheap, and it’s a damned good deal. I think we should consider ourselves lucky.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” June complained, “In fact, it’s almost morbid. I’m sure he wants out of that house because of what happened to Alan Hanley. Why is he so anxious to have us in it? All it can do is constantly remind you of that boy, too. It’s crazy, Cal. He wants something from you. I don’t know what it is, but you mark my words. Something is going to happen.”

But so far, not much had happened.

A bad moment with Sally Carstairs, but he’d gotten through it.

And now, his daughter was starting to have nightmares.

CHAPTER 6

June stood at her easel, trying to concentrate on her work. It was difficult. It wasn’t the painting that was bothering her — indeed, she was pleased with what she had accomplished: a seascape was emerging, somewhat abstract, but nevertheless recognizable as the view from her studio. No, it wasn’t the work that was the problem.

The problem was Michelle, but she still hadn’t quite been able to put her finger on why she was worried. It wasn’t as if last night’s nightmare had been the first. Michelle certainly had had her normal share of bad dreams. But when Cal had come back to bed just before dawn, and told her about Michelle’s dream, she’d had an uneasy feeling. It had stayed with her even when she went back to sleep; it was still with her now.

With a sigh of frustration, June laid her brushes aside, and sank onto the stool, her favorite perch.

Her eyes wandered restlessly over the studio. She was pleased with what she had accomplished in so short a time — the last of the old debris was gone, the walls had been scrubbed and repainted, and the bright green trim had been restored to its original cheerfulness. Her supplies were stored away neatly under the countertop, and in the closet she had installed a rack to hold her canvases upright and separated. Now all she had to do was stop worrying and start painting.

She was about to make one more stab at it when there was a flicker of movement outside the single small window on the inland side of the building, then a light tap at the door.

“Hello?” The voice was a woman’s, tentative, almost timid, as if whoever had come to the door had nearly gone away again without announcing herself at all.

June started to get up to open the door, then changed her mind. “Come in,” she called. “It’s open.”

There was a slight pause, then the door opened and a small woman, her hair wrapped neatly in a bun and her dress covered with a flowered apron, stepped hesitantly into the studio.

“Oh, are you working?” the woman asked, starting to back out tibe door again. “I’m terribly sorry — I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, no,” June protested, getting to her feet “Please come in. I’m afraid I was really only daydreaming.”

A strange look crossed the woman’s face — was it disapproval? — then quickly disappeared. She advanced into the room a foot or two.

“I’m Constance Benson,” she said. “Jeff’s mother. From next door?”

“Of course!” June replied warmly. “I really should have come over to see you before, but I’m afraid I—” she broke off her sentence, glancing ruefully down at her pregnant midsection. “But that’s really no excuse, is it? I mean, I really should be walking huge numbers of miles every day, and instead I just sit here and daydream. Well, three more weeks and the baby should be here. Won’t you sit down?” She gestured toward a chaise longue that had been rescued from the attic of the house, but Mrs. Benson made no move toward it. Instead, she gazed around the studio with unconcealed curiosity.

“You’ve certainly done wonders with this, haven’t you?” she observed.

“Mostly just cleaning, and a little paint,” June said. Then she saw Mrs. Benson staring at the floor. “And of course I still have to get that stain out,” she added, half-apologetically.

“Don’t count on it,” Constance Benson told her. “You wouldn’t be the first that’s tried, and you wouldn’t be the last that’ll fail, either.”

“I beg your pardon?” June said blankly.

“That stain’ll be there as long as this building is here,” Mrs. Benson said emphatically.

“But it’s mostly gone already,” June protested. “My husband chipped most of it off, and it seems to be scrubbing up fairly well.”

Constance Benson shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe now that there’s no Carsons here.…” Her voice trailed off, but the frown on her face remained.

“I don’t understand,” June said lamely. “What is the stain? Is it blood?”

“Maybe,” Constance Benson replied. “Don’t think anyone can say for sure, not after all these years. But if anybody knows, Doc Carson would be the one to ask.”

“I see,” June said, not really seeing at all. “I suppose I should ask him, then, shouldn’t I?”

“Actually, it’s those girls I came to see you about,” Mrs. Benson announced. Her eyes were now firmly fixed on June. There was something almost accusatory in them, and June wondered if Michelle and Sally had somehow offended Constance Benson.

“You mean Michelle and Sally Carstairs?” At the expression of concern on June’s face, Mrs. Benson smiled slightly, the first warmth she had displayed since coming into the studio. Her face was suddenly almost pretty.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said hurriedly. “They haven’t done anything wrong. I just wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?” June repeated, now totally baffled.

“It’s the cemetery,” Constance said. “The old Carson cemetery, between here and my house?”

June nodded.

“I saw the girls playing there yesterday afternoon. Such pretty girls, both of them.”

“Thank you.”

“I was just about to go out and talk to them myself when they left, so I decided not to bother with it until this morning.”

“Bother with what?” June wished she’d get to the point.

“It isn’t safe for children to play there,” Constance said, “Not safe at all.”

June stared at Mrs. Benson. This, she decided, was just a bit too much. Apparently, Constance Benson was the local busybody. It must make life hard for Jeff. She could imagine Constance coming up with an objection to everything Jeff might want to do. For her own part, she could simply ignore the woman. “Well, I’ll admit, I don’t think playing in a cemetery is the most cheerful thing in the world,” she said, “but it couldn’t be particularly dangerous …”

“Oh, it’s not the cemetery,” Constance said too quickly. “It’s the land the cemetery’s on. It’s not stable.”

“But it’s granite, isn’t it?” June’s voice was smooth, giving no hint that she’d picked up on the other woman’s apparent fear. “Just like this?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Constance said uncertainly. “I don’t know much about things like that. But that part of the bluff is going to wash into the sea one of these days, and I wouldn’t want any kids to be there when it happens.”

June’s voice was cool. “I see. Well, I’ll certainly tell the girls not to play there anymore. Would you like a cup of coffee? There’s some on the stove.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Constance glanced at a watch strapped firmly to her left wrist. “I’ve got to be getting back to my kitchen. Canning, you know.” The way she said it gave June the distinct impression that Constance Benson was quite sure June didn’t know, but should.

“Well, do come back again, when you have more time,” June said weakly. “Or maybe I could drop in on you.”

“Now that might be nice.” By then the two women were standing at the open door to the studio, and Constance was staring at the house. “Pretty house, isn’t it?” she said. Before June could reply, she added, “But I’ve never really liked it. No, I never have.” Then, without saying good-bye, she began walking purposefully along the path toward her own home.

June waited for a moment, watching her, then slowly closed the door. She had a distinct feeling that she was done painting for the day.

The noon sun was warm, and Michelle sat in the shade of a large maple, eating her lunch with Sally, Jeff, Susan, and a few of her other classmates. Though Michelle was trying hard to make friends with Susan, Susan was having none of it. She ignored Michelle completely, and when she spoke to Sally, it was usually to criticize her. But Sally, with her sunny disposition, seemed unaffected by Susan’s apparent grudge.

“We ought to have a picnic,” Sally was saying. “Summer’s almost gone, and in another month it will be too late.”

“It’s already too late.” Susan Peterson’s voice had a superior sound to it that annoyed Michelle, but everyone else seemed to ignore it. “My mother says that once Labor Day’s past, you don’t have picnics anymore.”

“But the weather’s still nice,” Sally said. “Why don’t we have one this weekend?”

“Where?” Jeff asked. If it was going to be on the beach, he’d be sure to be there. It was as if Michelle had heard his thought.

“How about the cove between Jeff’s house and mine?” she said. “It’s rocky, but there’s never anyone there, and it’s so pretty. Besides, if it rains, we’ll be close to home so we can go inside.”

“You mean below the graveyard?” Sally asked. “That would be creepy. There’s a ghost out there.”

“There isn’t either,” Jeff objected.

“Maybe there is,” Michelle interjected. Suddenly she was the center of attention; even Susan Peterson turned to look at her curiously. “I dreamed about the ghost last night,” she went on, launching into a vivid description of her strange vision. In the brightness of the day her terror had left her, and she wanted to share her dream with her new friends. Caught up in the tale, she didn’t notice the others’ silent exchange of glances. When she was finished, no one spoke. Jeff Benson concentrated on his sandwich, but the rest of the children were still staring at Michelle. Suddenly she felt worried, and wondered if she should have even mentioned the nightmare.

“Well, it was only a dream,” she said, as the silence lengthened.

“Are you sure?” Sally asked her. “Are you sure you weren’t awake the whole time?”

“Well, of course I wasn’t,” Michelle said. “It was a dream.” She noticed that some of the girls were exchanging suspicious glances. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Susan Peterson said casually. “Except that when Amanda Carson fell off the cliff, she was wearing a black dress and a black bonnet, just like the girl you dreamed about last night.”

“How do you know?” Michelle demanded.

“Everybody knows,” Susan said complacently. “She always wore black, every day of her life. My grandmother told me, and her mother told her. And my great-grandmother knew Amanda Carson,” Susan said triumphantly. Her eyes challenged Michelle. Once again a silence fell over the group. Was Susan telling her the truth, or were they all teasing her? Michelle looked from one face to another, trying to see what each of them was thinking. Only Sally met her eyes, and she merely shrugged when Michelle looked to her for help. Jeff Benson continued eating his sandwich, and carefully avoided Michelle’s gaze.

“It was a dream!” Michelle exclaimed, gathering her things together, and getting to her feet. “It was only a dream, and if I’d known you were going to make such a big deal about it, I’d never have mentioned it!”

Before any of them could make a reply, Michelle stalked away. Across the playground, she could see a group of younger children playing jump rope. A moment later she had joined them.

“I wonder what’s wrong with her?” Susan Peterson said when she was sure Michelle was out of earshot. Now her friends were staring at her.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong with her?” Sally Carstairs asked. “Nothing’s wrong with her!”

“Really?” Susan said, sounding annoyed at the contradiction. “She tattled on you yesterday, didn’t she? Why do you think Miss Hatcher changed the seating around? It was because Michelle told her what you did yesterday morning.”

“So what?” Sally countered. “She just didn’t want you to be mad at her, that’s all.”

“I think she’s sneaky,” Susan said. “And I don’t think we should have anything to do with her.”

“That’s mean.”

“No, it’s not There’s something really strange about her.”

“What?”

Susan’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, I saw her with her parents the other day, and they’re both blond. And everybody knows blonds can’t have a dark-haired baby.”

“Big deal,” Sally said. “If you want to know, she’s adopted. She told me so herself. What’s so strange about that?”

Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that settles it.”

“Settles what?” Sally asked.

“Settles her, of course. I mean, nobody knows where she really came from, and my mother says if you don’t know anything about somebody’s family, you don’t know anything about the person.”

“I know her family,” Sally pointed out. “Her mother’s very nice, and her father treated my arm, along with Uncle Joe.”

“I mean her real family,” Susan said, looking at Sally contemptuously. “Dr. Pendleton isn’t her father. Her father could be anybody!”

“Well, I like her,” Sally insisted. Susan glowered at her.

“You would — your father’s only a janitor.” Susan Peterson’s father owned the Paradise Point Bank, and Susan never let her friends forget it.

Hurt by Susan’s meanness, Sally Carstairs lapsed into silence. It wasn’t fair of Susan to dislike Michelle just because she was adopted, but Sally wasn’t sure what she should say. After all, she’d known Susan Peterson all her life, and she’d only just met Michelle Pendleton. Well, Sally decided, I won’t say anything. But I won’t stop being Michelle’s friend, either.

June finished her lunch, and put the dishes in the sink. For now, she would go back to the studio, and try to finish sketching in the seascape.

She left the house, but as she walked to the studio, she found herself glancing north, and thinking about what Constance Benson had told her that morning. And then something struck her.

If Constance Benson was worried about that part of the bluff collapsing into the sea, why hadn’t she told June to keep Michelle off the beach as well? And why didn’t she keep Jeff off the beach? Better to be on top of the cliff when it went, than underneath it.

With sudden determination, June started along the path toward the cemetery. As she walked, another thought occurred to her: If it’s unsafe, why did Mrs. Benson use the path herself? Why didn’t she come down the road? June’s pace quickened.

She stood on the path, staring at the old graveyard. It would make a wonderful painting. She could use moody colors, blues and grays, with a leaden sky, and exaggerate the collapsed fence, the dead tree, and the overgrown vines. Done properly, it could be positively frightening. For the life of her, she couldn’t see why Michelle and Sally would have wanted to come here.

Curiosity, she decided. Just plain curiosity.

The same curiosity that had drawn the children to the graveyard now drew her. She left the path and picked her way carefully over the collapsed fence.

The old gravestones, with their antiquated inscriptions and their odd names, fascinated her immediately, a succession of markers that told a tale. She began tracing the history of the Carson family as they had lived and died on the bluff. Soon she forgot entirely about the condition of the ground, and was only aware of the headstones.

She came to Louise Carson’s grave.

DIED IN SIN—1880

Now what on earth could that mean? If the date had been 1680, she would have assumed the woman had been burned for a witch, or some such thing. But in 1880? One thing was certain: Louise Carson’s death could not have been a happy one.

As she stood looking down at the grave, June began to feel sorry for the long-dead woman. She was probably born too soon, June thought. Died in Sin. An epitaph for a fallen woman.

June chuckled at her own choice of words. They sounded so old-fashioned. And unfeeling.

Without quite realizing what she was doing, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, and began pulling the weeds from Louise Carson’s grave. They were well rooted. She had to tug hard at them before they reluctantly gave way.

She had almost cleared the weed growth from the base of the headstone when the first pain struck her.

It was just a twinge, but the first wrenching contraction followed immediately.

My God, she thought, it can’t be.

She struggled to her feet, and leaned heavily against the trunk of the dead oak.

She had to get back to the house.

The house was too far.

As the next contraction began, she looked frantically toward the road.

It was empty.

The Bensons’. Maybe she could get to the Bensons’. As soon as the pain let up, she’d start.

June lowered herself carefully to the ground and waited. After what seemed like an eon, she felt her muscles begin to relax, and the pain eased. Once again, she started to get to her feet.

“Stay where you are,” a voice called out. June turned, and saw Constance Benson hurrying along the path. Sighing gratefully, June sank back to the ground.

She waited there, lying on Louise Carson’s grave, praying that the baby would wait, that her first child would not be born in a cemetery.

Then, as Constance Benson knelt beside her and took her hand, June lay back.

Another overwhelming contraction convulsed her, and she could feel a spreading dampness as her water broke. Dear God, she prayed, not here.

Not in a graveyard.

CHAPTER 7

The three-ten bell rang. Michelle gathered up her books, shoved them into her green canvas bag, and started out of the room.

“Michelle?” It was Sally Carstairs, and though Michelle tried to ignore her, Sally took her arm and held her back.

“Don’t be mad,” Sally said plaintively. “Nobody meant to hurt your feelings.”

Michelle stared suspiciously at her friend. When she saw the concern in Sally’s eyes, she let her guard down a little.

“I don’t see why everybody kept insisting I saw something I didn’t see,” she said. “I was asleep, and I had a nightmare, that’s all.”

“Let’s go out in the hall,” Sally said, her eyes shifting to Corinne Hatcher. Understanding Sally’s glance, Michelle followed her out into the corridor.

“Well?” Michelle asked expectantly.

Sally avoided her gaze. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Then, staring at the floor, she said so quietly that Michelle could barely hear her, “Maybe you did only have a dream. But I’ve seen Amanda, too, and I think Susan Peterson has.”

“What? You mean you’ve had the same dream I had?”

“I don’t know,” Sally said unhappily. “But I’ve seen her, and it wasn’t a dream. That day I hurt my arm? Remember?”

Michelle nodded — how could she forget? That was the day she, too, had seen something. Something Sally had tried to pass off as “just the elm tree.”

“How come you didn’t tell me before?”

“I guess I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Sally said by way of an apology. “But, anyway, I saw her. At least, I think I did. I was out in the backyard, and all of a sudden I felt something touch my arm. When I turned to look, I tripped and fell.”

“But what did you see?” Michelle pressed, suddenly sure that, whatever it might be, it was important.

“I–I’m not sure,” Sally replied. “It was just something black. I only got a glimpse, really, and after I fell, whatever it was was gone.”

Michelle stood silent, staring at Sally, and remembering that night, when she and her father had been leaving the Carstairses’, and she had looked back.

There had been something at the window — something dark, like a shadow. Something black.

Before she could tell Sally what she had seen that night, Jeff Benson appeared at the end of the hall, waving to her.

“Michelle? Michelle! Mom’s here, and she needs to talk to you!”

“Just a second—” Michelle began, but Jeff cut her off.

“Now! It’s about your mother—”

Without waiting for him to finish, Michelle broke away from Sally and ran down the hall.

“What is it? Has something happened?” she demanded. But Jeff was already leading her out of the building to his mother’s car. A battered sedan sat by the curb, its engine running, Constance Benson fidgeting behind the wheel.

“What is it?” Michelle asked again, climbing into the car.

“Your mother,” Mrs. Benson said tersely, jamming the old car into gear. “She’s at the clinic, having the baby.”

“The baby?” Michelle breathed. But the baby wasn’t due for three more weeks. “What happened?”

Ignoring her question, Constance Benson let the clutch out, pressed on the accelerator, and moved away from the curb. As they drove toward the clinic, she chewed at her lower lip, concentrated on her driving, and maintained her silence.

Michelle sat on the edge of her chair, holding a magazine in her lap but making no attempt to look at it. Instead, she watched the door through which, sooner or later, her father would come. And then, as she willed it to happen, the door opened, and Cal smiled at her.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You have a baby sister.”

Michelle leaped to her feet and threw herself into her father’s arms.

“But what about Mom? Is she all right? What happened?”

“She’s fine,” Cal assured her. “And so is the baby. Apparently with your mother and your sister, time is not of the essence. Dr. Carson says this was the quickest delivery he’s ever seen.” Though he was careful to keep his tone light, Cal was worried. The delivery had been too quick. Abnormally quick. He wondered what had brought it on. Then he heard Michelle asking about the baby and put the delivery out of his mind.

“A sister? I have a sister?”

Cal nodded.

“Can I see her? Right now? Please?” She gazed appealingly up at Cal, and he hugged her close to him.

“In a few minutes,” he promised. “Right now I’m afraid she isn’t too presentable. Don’t you want to know what happened?” Cal gently pushed Michelle onto a chair, then sat beside her. “Your sister was almost born in the cemetery,” he said. Michelle stared at him uncomprehendingly, and the grin on his face faded a little.

“Your mother decided to take a walk,” he went on. “She was in the old graveyard when she went into labor.”

“The graveyard?” Michelle’s voice was low, faintly worried. “What was she doing there?”

“Who knows?” Cal asked wryly. “You know your mother — you can never tell what she might do.”

Now Michelle turned to Mrs. Benson. “But where was she when you found her? What part of the cemetery?”

Constance Benson hesitated, reluctant to tell Michelle where she had found June. But why not? “She was on Louise Carson’s grave,” she said, her voice quiet.

“On the grave?” Michelle echoed. How creepy, she thought to herself, clutching her father’s hand. “Is the baby all right? I mean, it’s sort of like an omen, isn’t it? A baby born on a grave?”

Cal squeezed her hand, then slipped an arm around her.

“Don’t be silly,” he said gently. “Your sister was born right here, not on anybody’s grave.” He stood up, drawing Michelle with him. “Come on, let’s go take a look at the baby, then see how your mother’s doing.” Without a word to Constance Benson, he led his daughter out of the reception room.

“Oh, Mommy, she’s beautiful,” Michelle breathed, staring down into the tiny face that nestled next to June. As if in reply, the baby opened one eye, peered vacantly at Michelle for a moment, then went back to sleep.

June smiled at Michelle. “Think we should keep her?”

Michelle’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “And name her Jennifer, just like we planned.”

“Unless,” Cal said, “you want to name her Louise, to commemorate the place of her first fuss.”

“No, thanks.” June’s voice was low, but emphatic. “There’ll be no Carsons in this family.” Her eyes met Cal’s, but he quickly broke the moment. Michelle, however, had seen the odd exchange.

“Mother,” she asked, her voice thoughtful, “what were you doing out there?”

“Why shouldn’t I be out there?” June replied, forcing her voice to be cheerful. “I was supposed to be walking every day, wasn’t I? So I walked to the cemetery, and then I decided to go in. Besides,” she added, seeing that neither her husband nor her daughter thought that was all there was to it, “Constance Benson told me the cemetery wasn’t safe, and I wanted to see for myself. She claimed it was about to fall into the sea.”

“Sounds to me like she’s full of a lot of nonsense,” Cal chuckled. “Just like this one.” He leaned down and stroked Jennifer’s brow. The baby opened her eyes, stared blankly at her father for a moment, then began crying.

“When can we take her home?” Michelle asked, reaching out tentatively to touch the baby. She wanted desperately to pick Jennifer up, but didn’t dare to ask.

“I’m bringing her home tonight,” June said. Michelle’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Tonight? Really? But I thought — I mean—”

“You mean you thought I should stay in the hospital? Why? Here I’d only have a night nurse to look after me, and Jennifer, too. But at home, I’ve got both you and your father to boss around.”

Michelle turned to her father for confirmation.

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t come home.”

“But the nursery — it’s not ready, is it?”

June smiled at her daughter, her eyes merry. “And guess who’s going to get it ready?” she asked. While Michelle listened, she began ticking off a list of things that needed to be done in the nursery before she and the baby were brought home. As the list lengthened, Michelle turned to her father, feigning exasperation.

“Isn’t she supposed to be weak, or asleep, or something?”

Cal chuckled. “That’s your mother — when she decides to do something, she does it — no muss, no fuss, no bother. I have a feeling even keeping her in bed for a couple of days is going to be a major project.”

June finished the list, and held her arms out to her daughter. “Now give me a kiss and run along. Mrs. Benson will take you home, and we’ll be there after dinner. You can eat with Jeff and Mrs. Benson — I’ve already arranged it.”

“But you haven’t even talked to her—” Michelle began.

“On the way here,” June said complacently. “And I’ll tell you something — having a baby isn’t nearly as hard as I thought.” She gave Michelle a quick hug, then sent her on her way. Moments later, as Cal watched, she began nursing Jennifer for the first time. The new parents looked happily at each other.

“Is she an angel, or is she an angel?” June asked.

“She’s perfect,” Cal agreed.

“Do you want us to stay with you?” Mrs. Benson asked as she pulled to a stop in front of the Pendletons’. She peered doubtfully at the old house, as if it was unimaginable to her that anyone Michelle’s age would be willing to venture inside it alone. But Michelle was already getting out of the car.

“No, thanks. I have all kinds of things to do before Mom and Dad bring Jenny home.”

“Maybe we could help,” Mrs. Benson offered.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Michelle said immediately. “It’s mostly just straightening up the nursery. It’ll be fun.” Then, before Mrs. Benson could protest further, Michelle asked what time they expected her for dinner.

“We always eat at six,” Jeff told her. “Want me to come over and walk with you? Sometimes it gets foggy around then.”

“That’s okay.” Michelle was just a little annoyed — what did he think she was, a baby? “I’ll see you at six, or a little before.” Waving good-bye, she ran up the steps and disappeared through the front door.

Michelle closed the front door behind her and went up to her room, dropping her bookbag on her bed, her sweater on a chair. Then she went to the window seat, and picked up her doll.

“We have a sister, Amanda,” she whispered. As she uttered the doll’s name, her dream of the night before, and the memory of the things her friends had said to her came flooding back. “Maybe I should change your name,” she said to the doll, staring into its sightless brown eyes thoughtfully. Then she thought better of it. “No! I named you Amanda, and you are Amanda, and that’s that! Do you want to help me clean up the nursery?”

Taking the doll with her, she went down the hall to the room next to her parents’ that was to be Jennifer’s. She went in, wondering what to do first.

All the furniture was there: a crib and a bassinet, a tiny chest of drawers with a top that converted into a changing table. The walls had been freshly painted, and at the windows there were curtains covered with Pooh and his friends. Propped up in the one full-size chair in the room was a stuffed animal — Kanga, with Baby Roo peeping shyly out of her pocket. Michelle propped Amanda up next to the toys, and set to work.

She soon realized that there wasn’t all that much to do. She found a pink blanket (edged in blue — just in case) and carefully arranged it in the bassinet. Then, picking up her doll, she went on to her parents’ room, where she changed the bed so June would find it fresh and clean.

When she had gone over June’s list in her mind several times, and decided she’d done everything she could remember, she took Amanda and returned to her own room, where she dumped her schoolbooks out of their bag. She stared at them resentfully. It was unfair that she be expected to do her homework on the very day when her baby sister had been born. Deciding that Miss Hatcher would understand, she returned to her window seat, her doll held comfortably in her lap.

As she stared out the window, Michelle’s mind began to wander. She wondered what things had been like when she had been born. Had she had a sister who had set up a nursery for her? Probably not. Unhappily, she reflected that she probably hadn’t even been taken home from the hospital, at least not until the Pendletons had come for her.

The Pendletons.

She never thought of them as anything but Mom and Dad. But, of course, she realized with a start, they weren’t really her parents at all.

What had her real mother been like? Why hadn’t she wanted Michelle? As she turned the matter over in her mind, she hugged the doll closer, and began to feel lonely. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t told Jeff and his mother to leave her alone.

“I’m being silly,” she said out loud, the sound of her own voice startling her in the silence of the house. “I have a wonderful mother, and a wonderful father, and now I have a sister, too. Who cares what my real mother was like?”

Resolutely, she left the window seat, and picked up one of her schoolbooks. Better to do her homework than make herself miserable. She settled herself on the bed, tucked Amanda under her arm, and began reading about the War of 1812.

• • •

At five-thirty, Michelle put her books aside and started out on the path along the bluff. It was still light, but there was a damp chill in the air. The fog would roll in off the sea long before she got to the Bensons’. She wasn’t sure she wanted to walk the path in the fog. Retracing her steps, she went back to the house, and down the driveway to the road. The trees around her were beginning to turn, and the tinges of red and gold among the green seemed to offset the grayness of the mists that were gathering over the sea. Then, as she came abreast of the old cemetery, she glanced eastward. The fog had, indeed, made its silent way to the bluff and was swirling softly toward her, its billowing whiteness turning to brilliant gold where the fading sun still struck it, then giving way to the chilly gray of the offshore mass behind it.

Michelle stopped walking, and watched the fog as it crept steadily toward her, flooding across the graveyard whose only visible feature, from where she stood, was the gnarled oak tree. As she watched, the fog engulfed the tree, and it faded away into the grayness.

Suddenly, something seemed to move in the fog.

It was indistinct at first, no more than a dark shadow against the gray of the mist.

Tentatively, Michelle took a step forward, leaving the road.

The shadow moved toward her, and began to darken, and take on a shape.

The shape of a young girl, clad in black, her head covered with a bonnet.

The girl Michelle had seen the night before, in her dream.

Or had it been a dream?

The beginnings of fear gripped Michelle, and a coldness surrounded her.

The strange figure moved in with the fog, advancing toward her. Michelle stood transfixed, staring, unsure of what she was seeing.

The fog drifted around the black-clad child, and for a moment it disappeared, until the wind shifted, and the mists suddenly parted.

She was still there, silent, completely still now, her empty eyes fixed on Michelle with the same milky pale, sightless stare that Michelle had seen the night before.

The figure raised one black-clad arm, and beckoned.

Almost involuntarily, Michelle took a step forward.

And the strange vision disappeared.

Michelle stood quite still, terrified.

The fog, very close to her now, was beginning to surround her, soft tendrils of mist, cool and damp, reaching out to her as moments before the dark apparition had beckoned.

Slowly, Michelle began to back away from the mist.

Her foot touched the pavement of the road, and the firm feel of the asphalt beneath her seemed to break the spell. Only seconds before, the fog seemed to have become almost a living thing. Now it was only fog again.

As the fading light of the September afternoon filtered through the mist, Michelle hurried along tibie road toward the comfort of the Bensons’.

“Hi!” Jeff said as he opened the door. “I was going to come and look for you — you were supposed to be here at six.”

“But it can’t be six yet!” Michelle protested. “I left home at five-thirty, and it only took me a few minutes to walk down here.”

“It’s six-thirty now.” Jeff pointed to the grandfather clock that dominated the Bensons’ hall. “What did you do, stop in the graveyard?”

Michelle gave Jeff a sharp look, but saw nothing in his eyes except curiosity. She was about to tell him what had happened when once again she remembered the conversation at lunchtime that day. Abruptly, she changed her mind.

“I guess our clock’s wrong,” she said. “What’s for dinner?”

“Pot roast.” Jeff made a face and led Michelle to the dining room, where his mother was waiting.

Constance Benson surveyed Michelle critically as she came into the room. “We were getting worried — I was about to send Jeff out looking for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Michelle said, slipping onto her chair. “I guess our clock must be slow.”

“Either that, or you were dawdling,” Constance said severely. “I don’t approve of dawdling.”

“It was the fog,” Michelle confessed. “When the fog came in, I stopped to watch it.”

Michelle reached out and helped herself to the pot roast, unaware that both Jeff and his mother were staring at her in puzzlement.

Constance’s eyes went to the window. If there had been fog, she certainly hadn’t seen it. To her, the evening looked perfectly clear.

CHAPTER 8

Cal reached out and squeezed June’s hand affectionately. They were nearly home, and he drove slowly, weaving back and forth to avoid the worst of the pits in the road, then sighed in relief as he turned into their driveway.

He parked the car as close to the house as he could, and took the baby from his wife’s arms. “Let me put Jennifer in the nursery, then I’ll come back for you.”

“I’m not crippled.” June eased herself out of the car and started toward the front door. “ ‘A little shaky, but on our feet.’ What’s that from?”

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Except it’s not apropos. The character was drunk.”

“I could use a drink,” June said halfheartedly. “I don’t suppose I can have one?”

“You suppose right.” He cradled Jennifer in one arm and offered the other to June, who took it gratefully.

“All right, having a baby wasn’t as easy as I claimed. Bed is going to feel good.”

They went into the darkened house. June waited at the foot of the stairs while Cal took Jennifer up. A moment later he was back, and, leaning heavily on him, June made her way slowly up the stairs.

“I hope there isn’t anything I have to do,” she said wearily when they had reached the top. “Is everything all ready?”

“All you have to do is get into the bed, which is all turned back. And Michelle left us a note. She wants us to call her at the Bensons’ as soon as we get home.”

“As if we wouldn’t,” June chuckled. “Leave it to Michelle to think of everything.”

She took off the robe and hospital gown they’d given her at the clinic. Then, before putting on her own comfortable flannel nightgown, she glanced at herself in the mirror.

“My God, are you sure I’m done? I look like I’m still pregnant!”

“You will for two or three weeks,” Cal assured her. “Nothing abnormal. Just a lot of extra tissue that has to go back where it came from. Now go to bed.”

“Yes, sir!” June replied, saluting weakly. She eased herself into the bed, and sank back against the pillows. “All right, I’m here.” She smiled up at her husband. “Why don’t you bring Jennifer in, then call Michelle? I’ll bet she saw us go by.”

Cal brought the baby from the adjoining nursery, and picked up the telephone. “She even left the Bensons’ number in the note,” he commented.

“I’d have been surprised if she hadn’t.” June lowered the top of her nightgown, and nestled the baby against her breast. Hungrily, Jennifer began nursing.

“Mrs. Benson? Is Michelle there?” Cal said into the telephone. His eyes remained fondly on his wife and infant daughter. He reached out to touch Jennifer’s tiny head as he waited for Michelle to come to the phone.

“Daddy? Are you home? Is Mom all right?”

“We’re home, and everybody’s fine. You can come back anytime you want to. And hurry. Your sister’s eating and growing, and if you want to see her as a baby, you’d better get here within the next ten minutes.”

There was a short silence at the other end. When Michelle spoke again, there was an element in her voice, an uncertainty, that Cal thought was unusual.

“Daddy? Could you come and pick me up?”

Cal frowned and June, noticing the change in his expression, looked at him curiously.

“Pick you up? But you’re only a few hundred yards down the road …”

“Please?” Michelle begged. “Just this once?”

“Hang on a second,” he said. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and spoke to June.

“She wants me to pick her up.” He sounded puzzled, but June only shrugged.

“So, pick her up.”

“I’m not sure I should leave you alone,” Cal said.

“I’ll be fine. You won’t be gone more than five minutes. What can happen? I’ll just lie here and feed Jennifer.”

Cal removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “Okay, honey. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Will you be ready?”

“I’ll be right by the front door,” Michelle replied, her voice sounding much stronger.

Cal said good-bye and put the receiver back on the hook. “I don’t get it. She’s so self-sufficient, and all of a sudden she wants to be picked up less than a quarter of a mile away.”

“I don’t think it’s so surprising,” June said mildly. “It’s dark out there, you have to go right by a graveyard, and, let’s face it, we’ve been pretty much ignoring her all day and she probably wants some attention. My God, darling, she’s only twelve years old. Sometimes I think we forget that.”

“But it’s not like her. She knows there are all kinds of things to be done—”

“She already did them,” June pointed out. “Now stop stalling, and go get her. By now, you could have been gone and back.”

Cal struggled into his coat, kissed his wife and baby, and left the house.

Before Cal could toot the horn, the Bensons’ front door opened. A moment later Michelle was in the car next to him.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” she said as her father put the car in gear.

Cal glanced at her curiously. “Since when are you afraid of the dark?”

Michelle retreated to the far side of the seat, and Cal was immediately sorry for his implied criticism. “It’s all right,” he added quickly. “Your mother’s in bed feeding the baby, and everything’s fine. But what spooked you?”

Mollified, Michelle moved closer to her father. “I don’t know,” she hedged, not wanting to tell him what she’d seen in the fog that evening. “I guess I just didn’t want to walk by the graveyard at night.”

“Has Jeff been telling you ghost stories?” Cal inquired. Michelle shook her head.

“He doesn’t believe in ghosts. At least that’s what he says.” She stressed the last word, just slightly. “But it’s so dark tonight, I just didn’t want to walk by myself. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

They made the rest of the short trip in silence.

“You were a busy girl this afternoon.”

With Jennifer sleeping peacefully in the crook of her arm, June smiled at her older daughter, and gestured for her to come and sit on the edge of the bed. “Everything was perfect. You must have worked all afternoon.”

“It didn’t take long,” Michelle replied, her eyes fastened on the baby. “She’s so small!”

“It’s the only size they come in. Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” Michelle’s voice was filled with eagerness.

“Here.” June lifted the baby, handed her to Michelle, then rearranged herself against the pillows. “You hold her just like a doll,” she instructed. “Tuck her into your elbow, and let her lie on your arm.”

As Michelle looked down into the tiny face resting against her chest, Jennifer opened her eyes, and burped.

“Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. If she starts crying, I’ll take her. As long as she isn’t crying, nothing’s wrong.” As if to prove her mother’s point, Jennifer closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

“Tell me everything,” Michelle said suddenly, her eyes finally leaving the baby and looking eagerly to her mother.

“Well, there isn’t much to tell. I was out taking a walk, and I went into labor. That’s all there was to it.”

“But in the graveyard?” Michelle asked. “Didn’t it give you the creeps?”

“Why should it?”

“But Jenny wasn’t supposed to come yet. What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Jenny just decided it was time, that’s all.”

There was a silence as Michelle turned things over in her mind. When she finally spoke again, her voice was hesitant. “Why were you at Louise Carson’s grave?”

“I had to be at one of the graves, didn’t I? I was in the graveyard, after all.” June was careful to keep her voice level, disarming. And she wondered why.

“Did you see her headstone?” Michelle asked.

“Of course I did.”

“What do you suppose it means?”

“I’m sure it doesn’t mean a thing,” June said, holding out her arms to take Jennifer, who was awake again and beginning to cry. Michelle handed the baby back to her mother almost reluctantly. “She needs to be fed,” June explained. “Then you can hold her again.”

Michelle stood up, uncertain whether she should stay in the room while her mother nursed the baby. “Why don’t you make a pot of tea?” June suggested. “And tell your father to come up. Okay?”

June watched Michelle leave the room, as Jennifer eagerly began sucking at her breast She tried to make herself relax, but it was impossible. Something had happened to Michelle. She couldn’t figure out what it was, except she was almost sure that it had to do with the graveyard. But what?

• • •

Michelle lay awake in bed, listening to the silence of the house. It seemed to her that it was too silent.

That, she was sure, was why she wasn’t able to sleep.

That, and the fact that she was all alone at her end of the house.

Down the hall.

That’s where everybody else was.

Her father, and her mother, and her baby sister. Everyone but her.

She got out of bed, put her robe over her shoulders, and left her room.

She stood outside her parents’ room for a moment, listening, then silently opened the door and went in.

“Mommy?”

June turned over and opened her eyes, surprised to find Michelle standing by the bed. “What time is it?”

“It’s only eleven,” Michelle said defensively. June pulled herself up to a sitting position.

“What’s wrong?”

“I–I couldn’t sleep.”

“You couldn’t sleep? Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said quietly, sitting down on the bed. “Maybe I drank too much tea?”

“That’s coffee, sweetheart.” She felt Cal shift next to her, then the baby suddenly began crying. Cal woke abruptly and switched on the light. Then he saw Michelle.

“What are you doing in here? Is that why the baby’s crying?”

Seeing Michelle suddenly on the verge of tears, June tried to save the situation. “The baby’s hungry, and Michelle couldn’t sleep. Why don’t you get Jenny for me, and then go down and reheat the tea? Michelle can stay with me while I feed little miss loudmouth.” She winked at Michelle, and Michelle suddenly felt better.

“I’ll get Jenny,” she offered.

Sighing heavily, Cal pulled his robe on and went downstairs. June waited until he was out of earshot, then tried to apologize for him. “He didn’t mean that it was your fault Jenny was crying. He was just asleep, that’s all.”

“It’s all right,” Michelle said listlessly. “I was just lonely, I guess.”

“Well, it’s a big house.” A thought struck her, and without waiting to think it out, she spoke. “Maybe we should move you down to this end, closer to us,” she suggested.

“Oh, no,” Michelle replied quickly. “I love my room. I feel like I belong there. Ever since I found Mandy …”

“Mandy? I thought her name was Amanda.”

“Well, it is. But Mandy’s the same thing, just like some people shorten my name to Mickey. Ugh! But Mandy’s pretty.”

Cal came back into the room, carrying a tray with three steaming cups of tea. “Only this once,” he announced. “From now on, just because Jennifer gets hungry it doesn’t mean we’re going to have a picnic. And you, young lady, are supposed to be in bed. You have to go to school tomorrow.”

“I’ll be all right. I just got lonely.” She took a sip of her tea, then stood up. “Will you tuck me in?”

Cal grinned at her. “I haven’t done that for years.”

“Just tonight?” Michelle pleaded.

Cal glanced at his wife, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “Finish your tea, and let’s go.”

Michelle drained her cup and leaned over to kiss her mother, then followed her father out of the room and down the hall to her own bedroom.

Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers snugly around her chin, and offered her cheek to her father. Cal bent down, kissed her, then straightened up.

“You’ll be asleep in no time,” he promised. He was about to turn off the light and return to June and the baby when Michelle suddenly asked him for her doll.

“She’s on the window seat. Could you get her for me?”

Cal picked up the ancient doll, and glanced at its porcelain face. “Doesn’t look very real, does it?” he commented as he handed the doll to Michelle. She tucked it protectively under the covers, its head resting on her shoulder.

“She’s real enough,” Michelle told her father. He smiled at her, then turned off the lights. Closing the door quietly behind him, he started down the hall.

Once again, Michelle was alone in her room, listening to the silence of the house. As the darkness gathered oppressively around her, she drew the doll closer, and whispered softly to it.

“It isn’t like I thought it was going to be. I was looking forward to having Jenny so much. But now she’s here, and everything’s so different. They’re all in there together, and I’m all by myself. Mommy has Jennifer to take care of now. But who do I have?”

Then a thought came to her.

“I could take care of you, Mandy. Really I could …”

She snuggled the doll closer, and a tear trickled down her cheek. “I’ll take care of you, just like Mommy takes care of Jenny. Would you like that? I’ll be your mother, Amanda, and give you anything you want. And you’ll stay with me, won’t you? So I’ll never be lonely again?”

Crying quietly, with the doll pressed close against her, Michelle fell asleep.

CHAPTER 9

Michelle awoke on Saturday morning to the soft sound of birds chirping. She lay still in bed, enjoying the knowledge that this morning she didn’t have to hurry, this morning she could stay in bed for a few minutes and enjoy the sun flooding her room, its warmth seeping through the blankets and filling her with a sense of well-being. Today was going to be a good day.

Today was the day of the picnic at the cove.

Until this morning, Michelle hadn’t been sure she would go to the picnic.

The pain of Susan Peterson’s taunting had begun to fade after three days; even the memory of the strange girl who had appeared first in her dream, then in the graveyard on Tuesday, was fading. And since the arrival of Jennifer, Michelle’s mind had been too full of other things to dwell on the black-clad image that had seemed to want something from her.

Now, surrounded by sunlight, she wondered why she had been worrying, why, when Sally Carstairs had called her last night, she had said she might not be able to go. Of course she would go. If Susan Peterson tried to tease her, she would just refuse to let it get to her.

The decision made, Michelle scrambled out of bed and put on a pair of well-worn blue jeans, a sweat shirt, and her sneakers. As she was about to go downstairs, her eyes suddenly fell on her doll, still resting on the pillow where she always kept it now at night. Picking it up, Michelle carefully propped it up on the window seat.

“There,” she said softly. “Now you can spend the day sitting in the sun. Be a good girl.” She bent over and kissed the doll lightly, as she had seen her mother kiss her baby sister, then left her room, closing the door behind her.

“Looks like somebody’s planning to help her father,” June said as Michelle came into the kitchen. She glanced up from the eggs she was frying, and, seeing the look on Michelle’s face, smiled at her. “Don’t look at me that way — I’m going right back to bed after I finish breakfast. But I have to start getting up — I need the exercise, I’ve been in bed for three days, and I’m going out of my mind up there!” Then, to prevent Michelle from protesting, she pointed to the refrigerator. “There’s orange juice in there.”

Michelle opened the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of juice. “Help Dad with what?” she asked.

“The butler’s pantry. Today’s the day the remodeling starts.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you want to help him?” June was puzzled. Usually Michelle couldn’t be kept away from her father’s side, but this morning she sounded almost disappointed at the prospect.

“It’s not that,” Michelle replied hesitantly. “It’s just that some of us were planning a picnic—”

“A picnic? You didn’t say anything about a picnic.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure I was going. Actually, I only just made up my mind when I got up. I–I can go, can’t I?”

“Of course you can,” June replied. “What are you supposed to take?”

“Take where?” Cal asked, emerging from the stairway that led to the basement.

“There’s a picnic today,” Michelle explained. “Me, and Sally, and Jeff and some other kids. Sort of the last day at the beach, I guess.”

“You mean you’re not going to help me with the pantry?”

“Would you give up a picnic?” June divided the eggs onto three plates, and led her husband and daughter into the dining room. “Maybe I’ll take Jenny, and join in.”

“But it’s just us kids,” Michelle protested.

“I was only kidding,” June said quickly. “How about if I make some deviled eggs?”

“Would you?”

“Sure. What time’s the picnic?”

“We’re all meeting down at the cove at ten.”

“Oh, great,” June moaned. “Really, Michelle, couldn’t you have given me just a little more warning? I’ll hardly have time to make the eggs, let alone chill them.”

“You won’t make them at all,” Cal announced. He turned to Michelle. “I only let your mother get up to fix breakfast if she promised to go right back to bed again. If you want deviled eggs, you’ll have to fix them yourself.”

“But I don’t know how.”

“Then you’ll have to learn. You’re a big girl now, and your mother has a baby to take care of.” At the look of dismay in Michelle’s eyes, Cal relented. “Tell you what,” he offered. “After breakfast we’ll send your mother back to bed, you do the dishes, and I’ll see what I can do about the eggs. Okay?”

Michelle’s face cleared — everything was going to be all right after all. But everything’s different, she thought as she began to clear the table. Now that they have Jenny, it’s all different.

She decided she didn’t much like it.

Michelle hurried down the trail to the cove. It was already ten-thirty, and she was going to be the last one there. In one hand she clutched the bag containing the deviled eggs. They were still warm, as her mother had predicted. Well, maybe no one would notice.

She could see them, a hundred yards north, scrambling over the rocks, following the ebbing tide, staying close to Jeff as he moved easily over the granite outcroppings. Only one person was still on the beach, but even from the trail, Michelle recognized Sally Carstairs’s blond hair. As she reached the beach, Michelle began running.

“Hi!” she called out. Sally looked up and waved to her.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Daddy just finished the eggs. Do you think anybody’ll notice that they’re not cold?”

“Who cares? I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

Michelle looked at Sally shyly. “I almost didn’t. But it’s such a nice day.…” Her voice trailed off, and Sally saw her staring out to the shelf of granite, where Susan Peterson was kneeling down next to Jeff. “Don’t worry about her,” Sally said. “If she starts teasing you again, just ignore it She teases everybody.”

“How’d you know that’s what I was worried about?”

Sally shrugged. “I used to worry about her, too. Just because her father’s a big shot, she thinks she is, too.”

“Don’t you like her?”

“I don’t know,” Sally said thoughtfully. “I guess I don’t think about it, really. I mean, I’ve known her all my life, and she’s always been my friend.”

“That’s neat,” Michelle said. She sat down on a blanket next to Sally and picked up a Coke. “Can I have a sip of this?”

“Take the whole thing,” Sally said. “I can’t drink any more of it. What’s neat?”

“Knowing somebody all your life. There isn’t anybody I’ve known all my life.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder who I really am.”

“You’re Michelle Pendleton. Who else would you be?”

“But I’m adopted,” Michelle said slowly.

“Well, so what? You’re still you.”

Suddenly wanting to change the subject, Michelle got to her feet “Come on, let’s go see what they found.” Far out on the rocks, everyone was clustered around Jeff, who was holding something in his hand.

It was a tiny octopus, only three inches across, and it was wriggling helplessly in Jeff’s palm. As Michelle and Sally approached, Jeff held it out to them, grinning.

“Want to hold it?” It was a dare. Sally shrank back, but Michelle put her hand out, tentatively at first, and touched the slippery surface of the octopus’s skin.

“It doesn’t bite,” Jeff assured her, casting a disdainful glance at Sally.

Hesitating, Michelle took the little sea creature in her hand, and carefully turned it over. It put out a tentacle, braced itself against her finger, and righted itself.

“Won’t it die out of the water?” Michelle asked.

“Not for a while,” Jeff said. “Is it holding on to you?”

Michelle took hold of one of the tentacles and pulled gently. There was a slight tingling sensation as its suction cups pulled loose from her skin.

“Ooh! How can you do that!” It was Susan. She stood back from Michelle, her hands protectively behind her back, her face screwed up in revulsion. Grinning mischievously, Michelle tossed the squirming creature at Susan, who screamed and ducked. The octopus fell back into the water, and immediately disappeared, leaving only a trail of disrupted sand swirling behind as it fled.

“Don’t do that!” Susan glared at Michelle.

“It’s only a baby octopus,” Michelle laughed. “Who can be afraid of a little tiny octopus?”

“It’s horrible,” Susan declared. She turned, and started back toward the beach. Michelle, suddenly sorry for what she’d done, tried to apologize, but Susan ignored her. The rest of the children looked first at Susan, then at Michelle, as if trying to make up their minds what to do. Then, as Susan continued picking her way across the rocks, they all began following her. Ony Sally Carstairs hung back.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do things like that,” Sally said softly. “It makes her mad.”

“I’m sorry,” Michelle replied. “It was only supposed to be a joke. Can’t she take a joke?”

“She doesn’t think things are funny when they’re on her. Only when they’re on someone else. She’ll probably start teasing you now.”

“So what if she does?” Michelle asked. Suddenly she felt very brave. “I can take it. Come on — we might as well go back to the beach.”

The sun was high in the sky, and the children were scattered over the beach, munching sandwiches and washing them down with an apparently endless supply of Cokes. Michelle was sitting with Sally Carstairs, but she was uncomfortably aware of Susan Peterson, a few feet away, sharing a blanket with Jeff Benson. Susan hadn’t spoken to her, but had kept watching her, as if sizing her up. Now she put her soda down, and stared at Michelle maliciously.

“Seen the ghost lately?” she asked.

“There isn’t any ghost,” Michelle said, her voice barely audible.

“But you saw it the other night, didn’t you?” Susan’s voice was louder now, insistent.

“It was a dream,” Michelle said. “Only a dream.”

“Was it? Are you sure?”

Michelle glared at Susan, but Susan returned her gaze unwaveringly. Michelle could feel anger begin to well up inside her. What is it? she asked herself. Why do I always make her mad at me?

“Can’t we talk about something else?” she asked.

“I like to talk about the ghost,” Susan said serenely.

“Well, I don’t!” Sally Carstairs exclaimed. “I think talking about the ghost is dumb! I want to hear about Michelle’s little sister.”

Michelle smiled gratefully at Sally. “She’s beautiful, and she looks just like my mother,” she said.

“How would you know?” Susan Peterson’s voice was icy; her eyes flashed with a gleeful malice.

“What do you mean?” Michelle asked. “Jennifer looks just like my mother. Everybody says so.”

“But you don’t even know who your mother is,” Susan said. “You’re adopted.”

Suddenly Michelle could feel all the children watching her, wondering what she would say next.

“That doesn’t make my parents any less my parents,” she said carefully.

“Who said it did?” Susan replied. “Except the Pendletons aren’t really your parents, are they? You don’t know who your parents are, do you?”

“They are too my parents,” Michelle shot back. She stood up, facing Susan. “They adopted me when I was just a little baby, and they’ve always been my parents.”

“That was before,” Susan said. She was grinning now as she watched Michelle’s anger grow.

“What do you mean, before?”

“Before they had their own baby. The only reason people adopt babies is because they can’t have one of their own. So what do your parents need you for anymore?”

“Don’t say that, Susan Peterson,” Michelle shouted. “Don’t you ever say that. My parents love me as much as your parents love you.”

“Do they?” There was a sweetness in Susan’s voice that belied the expression on her face. “Do they really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Michelle wished she hadn’t said them. She should just ignore Susan — just get her stuff, and walk away. But it was too late. All the other children were listening to Susan, but they were watching Michelle.

“Don’t they spend more time with the baby than they do with you? Don’t they really love her more? Why shouldn’t they? Jenny’s their real child. All you are is some orphan they took in when they thought they couldn’t have any kids of their own!”

“That isn’t true,” Michelle cried. But even as she spoke, she knew she wasn’t as certain as she was trying to sound. Things were different now. They had been ever since Jenny was born. But that was only because Jenny was a baby, and needed more than she did. It didn’t mean her parents didn’t love her. Did it? Of course it didn’t. They loved her. Her parents loved her!

Suddenly Michelle wanted to be home — home with her mother and her father — home, where she would be close to them, part of them. She was still their daughter. They still loved her — they still wanted her. Of course they did! Without bothering to pick up her things, Michelle turned and started running down the beach toward the trail.

Sally Carstairs jumped to her feet and started to run after Michelle, but Susan Peterson’s voice stopped her.

“Oh, let her go,” Susan said. “If she can’t take a little teasing, who needs her?”

“But that was mean, Susan,” Sally declared. “It was just plain mean.”

“So?” Susan replied carelessly. “It wasn’t very nice of her to throw that octopus at me, either.”

“But she didn’t know it would scare you.”

“She did too,” Susan replied. “And even if she didn’t, she shouldn’t have done it. I was just paying her back.”

Sally sank back on her blanket, wondering what to do. She wanted to go after Michelle, and bring her back, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. Susan wouldn’t quit — now that she knew how to get to Michelle, she’d just keep at it. And if Sally kept being friends with Michelle, Susan would start in on her, too. Sally knew she couldn’t take that.

“She sure can run, can’t she?” Sally heard the rest of the kids laugh at Susan’s question, and looked up. Michelle was almost at the foot of the trail. Sally decided that even if the rest of the kids were going to watch, she wouldn’t. Besides, she couldn’t If she did, she knew she would start crying, and she didn’t want to do that. Not in front of Susan.

Susan Peterson’s words pounded in Michelle’s ears as she ran down the beach.

What do they need you for?

Don’t they really love her more?

It wasn’t true, she told herself. None of it was true. But as she ran, the words seemed to follow her, swept on the wind, poking at her, prodding her.

She readied the trail and started upward.

Her breathing, already labored from her anger and running, came harder and harder. Soon she was gasping, and she could feel her heart pounding.

She wanted to stop, wanted to rest, wanted to sit down, just for a minute, to catch her breath, but she knew she couldn’t.

They would be back there, on the beach, watching her. She could almost hear Susan’s voice, sweet and vicious:

She can’t even make it up the trail.

She forced herself to look up, to see how far she had to go before she would be safely at the top, out of sight of the beach.

Far.

Too far.

And now the fog was coming in.

It was just a grayness at first, a slight mistiness that blurred her vision.

But then, as she forced her feet one after the other up the trail, it gathered around her, cold and damp, closing her off, isolating her, leaving her alone, no longer within sight of her tormentors on the beach, but far from home as well.

She must be close to the top. She had to be!

It was like a bad dream, a dream in which you have to run, but your feet, mired in some kind of mud, refuse to move. Michelle could feel panic closing in on her.

It was then that she slipped.

It seemed like nothing for a split second — just a slight wrenching as her right foot hit a loose rock and twisted outward.

Suddenly there was nothing beneath her foot to support her. It was as if the trail had vanished.

She felt herself starting to fall through the terrifying gray mist.

She screamed, just once, and then the fog seemed to tighten itself around her, and the gray turned into black.…

“Dr. Pendleton! Dr. Pendleton!”

Cal heard the voice calling to him. The terror it conveyed made him drop his hammer and dash into the kitchen. He reached the back door just as Jeff Benson leaped up onto the porch.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s Michelle,” Jeff cried, his chest heaving, his breath coming in heavy pants. “We were on the beach, and she was coming home, and — and—” His voice broke off, and he sank to the top step, trying to catch his breath.

“What happened?” Cal tried to keep from shouting as he stood over Jeff. “Is she all right?”

Jeff shook his head in despair.

“She was on the trail. We were all watching her, and all of a sudden she slipped, and — oh, Dr. Pendleton, come quick.”

Cal felt the first rush of panic, the same panic he had felt when he’d seen Sally Carstairs, the panic that was rooted in Alan Hanley. And now it was Michelle.

She’d fallen, as Alan Hanley had fallen.

Through his sudden terror he could hear Jeff Benson’s voice, pleading with him: “Dr. Pendleton, please — Dr. Pendleton?—”

He forced himself to move, off the porch, across the lawn, to the edge of the bluff. He looked down, but could see nothing on the beach except a cluster of children, gathered together below him.

Dear God, let her be all right.

He started down the trail, slowly at first, then recklessly, though every step seemed to take an eternity. He could hear Jeff behind him, trying to tell him what had happened, but the boy’s words made no sense to him. All he could think of was Michelle, her lithe body lying on the rocks at the base of the cliff, broken and twisted.

At last he was on the beach, elbowing his way through the group of children who stood, helpless, around Michelle.

Cal knelt beside his daughter, touched her face.

But it was not her face he saw. As had happened with Sally Carstairs, he saw instead the face of Alan Hanley, dying, staring at him, accusing him.

His mind reeled. It wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault. Then why did he feel so guilty? Guilty — and angry. Angry at these children who made him feel incompetent, ineffectual. And guilty. Always guilty.

Almost unaware of what he was doing, he placed his fingers on Michelle’s wrist.

Her pulse beat steadily.

Then, as he bent over her, her eyes fluttered, and opened. She looked up at him, her immense brown eyes frightened and filled with tears.

“Daddy? Daddy? Am I all right?”

“You’re fine, baby, just fine. You’re going to be all right.” But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were a lie.

Without pausing to think, Cal picked Michelle up in his arms. She moaned softly, then closed her eyes.

Cal started up the trail, his daughter cradled against his chest.

She’ll be all right, he told himself. She’s going to be just fine.

But as he climbed the trail, the memories came back to him, the memories of Alan Hanley.

Alan Hanley had fallen, and had been put in his care. And he had failed Alan — the boy had died.

He couldn’t fail Michelle. Not his own daughter. But even as he carried her to the house, he knew it was too late.

He had already failed her.