A Darker Shade Page 13

  Until the lights went out, dropping a thick shroud of silence and darkness over the table.

  “Give it a minute,” came Nathaniel’s disembodied voice. “The generator will kick in after a few seconds.” Sure enough, a wheezing thump sounded outside and the room flickered back to life.

  “Oooh, spooky,” said Hailey. “We should tell ghost stories.”

  “We most certainly will not.” Prescott gentled his tone. “But if you’ve finished eating, we can make s’mores.”

  “That sounds lovely,” said Jennifer. “We haven’t made s’mores in years. Liza, why don’t you show Molly where the ingredients are.”

  A catty voice in the back of my head laid odds Jennifer hadn’t eaten a s’more since discovering the meaning of calories as I followed Liza into the kitchen.

  When we returned, hands filled with sweets, the others had formed a semi-circle in front of the fireplace. Hailey bounced slightly as she reached for the marshmallows. “Uncle Thane said we could tell stories.” She gave him a disgusted look. “Not ghost stories, just campfire tales. Did you ever go to camp?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, that’s okay. Uncle Thane can start. He tells good ones.” She shifted closer to her mother and patted the spot between herself and her uncle. So she hadn’t given up on her ambition keep me away from Matt, she’d just turned her ambitions to matchmaking. I took my place, careful to avoid touching Prescott as I sat. If he saw through her invitation, he did not let it show.

  The firelight played over all of us, and I felt I sat in a circle of intimate strangers. No one looks the same in uncertain light. Who were these people under the faces they wore during the day?

  “Tell the one about the Indian princess,” demanded Hailey.

  “Native American,” her mother corrected.

  “Right. Tell the one about the Native American princess.”

  Nathaniel took a deep drink from the wine glass in his hand before speaking.

  “All good stories begin with once upon a time,” he said, and his deep voice sent a shiver up my spine. “As, indeed, do the bad ones. Once upon a time not very far from here, lived on a secluded and heavily forested piece of land a royal family. Now, they did not think of themselves as royal, you understand, for what does ‘royal’ mean when everyone you know shares your blood, your beliefs, your heritage? But among those who resided in that part of the forest, this was the most respected family.

  “The people of the forest, the people of the dawn, lived peacefully. So the daughter of the family, Alawa, grew accustomed to walking where she would without fear, though she was but a child of eight.

  “Beyond the reach of the forest, however, away from the peaceable enclave, many men fought over land and water. Alawa’s three older brothers understood that their sister’s naive joy protected their way of life. Should she learn of the horrors outside the woods, a great part of the beauty of their lives would be lost. So each day, when she set out into the forest, one of her brothers shadowed her.

  “Now, one day Alawa’s brother Machk saw how near to the strangers she wandered and he raced to spirit her away. But one of the men shot him through the heart. Alawa, hearing the noise, turned just in time to see her brother die.

  “All her happiness shattered in an instant and with a great cry she fell upon Machk’s body, weeping and moaning. The outsiders pulled her away and tried to convince her to tell them where they might find her family. But Alawa refused to tell. So the men sent her away to a school that she might learn to be more like them.

  “Every night in her bed at the school, Alawa cried bitter tears, and the salt scorched the earth the outsiders had won in their wars so that the plants withered and the men began to starve. Only in the heart of the woods, in Alawa’s grove, did the earth still nourish those who walked upon it.

  “Many times, Alawa tried to escape. But for all her bravery, she was only eight. Then nine. Then ten.

  “At last, on the eve of her twelfth birthday, Alawa managed to slip away. During the next seven nights, she ran like a cheetah. During the day, she hid wherever she could. Finally, as the sun began to steal the sky from the moon on the eighth night, she arrived back at her grove.

  “Alawa had grown much in her years away but her brother Keme, the new leader, knew her immediately, and much rejoicing ensued.

  “Despite all her precautions, however, Alawa had been spotted by outsiders as she entered the forest. Soon they surrounded the grove, yelling in their strange language and waving guns. Alawa’s family readied their own weapons, but she begged to be allowed to speak with the intruders, for she had learned their tongue in her years away from her own people. Flanked by her brothers, she approached the leader of the outsiders. He eyed her with distrust, but he refused to admit fear of a child, and a girl at that.

  “‘Tell your people to surrender,’ he commanded.

  “‘My people will never surrender’ she replied. ‘And for every drop of our blood you spill, another patch of earth will grow barren. Have you not seen this yourselves? Every man you murder here will strangle the life from dozens of your own as they slowly starve.’

  “The men, hearing this, whispered among themselves of witchcraft and curses, for they were a superstitious lot. And though they wanted to believe their God protected them, evidence had of late been scarce. This, too, Alawa had learned at her boarding school, and she used it when she continued.

  “‘You think to commit murder in this green place, but murder is never rewarded. My people know how to make the land fertile again, as you see from the growth around you. If you leave us to live in peace, we will teach you how to treat the land so it will provide for you and your children.’

  “The leader of the outsiders looked around the grove and his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. ‘You will show us your secrets?’ he asked.

  “‘I will. But we will need your word that our people—all our people—will remain undisturbed.’

  “So they came to an agreement. But Alawa got the better side of the bargain, because once her tears ceased, the land began to heal itself and coaxing new life from it became easy. And because of the prejudices of the outsiders, when she insisted on protection for her people, they believed she meant those who lived well beyond her sphere of influence. Fearful of a return of the famines, the outsiders left those people alone as well.

  “And so for many years, Alawa’s family grew and prospered, and eventually she became their ruler, the wisest woman in the grove.”

  “And she got married,” Hailey added, “And they lived happily ever after.”

  Nathaniel’s lips twitched. “Of course. I always forget that part.”

  Hailey shook her head. “The happily ever after is the most important part.” She tapped me on the leg. “Now you go.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t know any stories.” I did, of course. Dozens, even hundreds. But I consumed them, I did not create them.

  “It’s easy,” she assured me. “You just start with ‘once upon a time,’ and end with ‘happily ever after.’”

  After a break for another round of s’mores, I stumbled my way through an abbreviated, fantasy-set version of Pride and Prejudice in which I cast Wickham as a troll possessed of a magical token which made him irresistible. It sounded ridiculous to my ears, but satisfied Hailey. Jennifer told a modern version of Cinderella, complete with a texting billionaire in place of a prince, and then it was time for bed.

  The night's darkness might have whispered as I climbed the stairs, but Hailey kept up a steady commentary on schoolwork, storms, and stories that blocked out any disturbing noises. Malignant spirits could not overcome the ego of a teenager.

  Later, as I lay in bed listening to the low murmur of Nathaniel's voice next door reading Little Women to his daughter, my mind returned to Matt's revelations that morning. Jim Prescott taught history. How much of Nathaniel's tale had come from him? I'd learned very little about Native American culture or history in school, but I
knew children had been taken from their parents and put in white boarding schools until relatively recently. And there had been no protective treaties negotiated by girls whose tears destroyed the earth, despite the fairy tale.

  But if Jim Prescott had run across the story of Alawa while researching his history of New England, might he also have discovered a tale or two about the property on which his house was set? I longed to ask Nathaniel for a copy of his father's book, but I did not dare. Such a request so soon after last night's horrors would give away my purpose and he’d fire me in an instant if he thought I believed the house haunted by some past occupant. Perhaps I could find a copy myself. Both the library and Jim Prescott's former office in the billiards room seemed likely spots. Not at night—I had no intention of leaving my bedroom in the dark—but maybe after breakfast.

  As predicted, the virus had run its course in two days, but between illness and lack of sleep, the fluffy bed wove its seductive spell even more quickly than usual, and moments after I curled onto my side and shut my eyes, exhaustion sucked me under.

  A child's cries woke me. It was still dark. Darker, in fact, than it had been when I'd climbed into bed. I groped for the nightstand, found the lamp, and pulled the chain, but it did not come on. Had the generator broken down? I listened for the wheezy rattle I'd heard as it worked earlier, but the child's sobbing drowned out everything else. I could not determine from which direction the sound originated. It echoed peculiarly.

  I sat up and tried to feel around on the floor for my canvas shoes with my toes. I had to get to Liza. But now, more than the crying registered. The house smelled wrong. The familiar wax and polish, dust and age hung on, but the scent of brine overlaid it all as if the sea had crept infinitely closer as we slept.

  A woman shouted in a strange language and a babble of men's voices—in English, but with words I could not quite catch—responded. Why could I understand nothing, no matter how I tried? And then it came to me and the building fear and frustration slipped from my body in a rush of relief. I had not woken at all. I had never recognized a dream for what it was, but Ali regularly did and she had told me she could force herself to wake from them when it happened.

  "Wake up," I ordered myself.

  The men's voices dimmed slightly, but multiple sets of footsteps sounded in the hallway. Too many.

  "Wake up," I said again. The footsteps thundered down the stairs. Voices rose again and the front door slammed.

  The crack of the door woke me. Really, this time. The room glowed in the surreal, almost fluorescent light of the moon shining on snow. No child cried, no men shouted, no steps pounded down the hall. Only my heart raced, refusing to let go the fear that drove it into an unnatural rhythm.

  I took deep, slow breaths, letting the normalcy of the surroundings seep in and replace the stress. I needed no supernatural cause to explain this dream: I'd merely blended Nathaniel's tale with my own loneliness and need for family. Alawa's tears had created the strange odor, the voices belonged to the men who had taken her away from her happy grove.

  By morning, the storm had blown over and the sun shone painfully bright on the icy white landscape. In the kitchen, I found Jennifer pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “That’s brave,” she said as I buckled on my snow boots. “Are you sure you’re ready for the mailbox hike yet?”

  “Oh, yes. I feel fine.” And I did. After the dream, I’d slept like the dead, and the last vestiges of the virus had fled. Even my mind felt sharper and I realized that Jennifer might prove a valuable resource if approached correctly. As Nathaniel had not appeared, I could safely ask about his father’s work.

  “The girls aren’t terribly excited about American history,” I said. “Unless, of course, it’s related to fashion. I’ve been trying to come up with other ways to connect them to the material and I thought I might find something in the book Liza’s grandfather wrote. Have you ever read it?”

  “Jim Prescott’s magnum opus?” She laughed. “No, I’m afraid I’m not that scholarly. I glanced through it once thinking it could be interesting, but dry does not begin to describe it. The girls would hate it.”

  “Oh, dear. I hoped Liza might find it compelling since her grandfather wrote it. Matt mentioned that he’d researched this land and if anything historically significant happened here they might at least enjoy hearing about that.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Matthew said that?”

  I nodded.

  “I didn’t realize he’d gotten through it, though God knows Jim gave our parents a copy.”

  “I don’t suppose it matters. If you haven’t seen one around here, the whole question’s irrelevant.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’ve looked for one. He was ridiculously proud of that book. I’m sure he had a stash of them here to pull out when anyone visited. We could hunt them up if you really think there might be anything in it for the girls.”

  “I need to motivate Hailey any way I can. She’ll be going into a new school with children who are used to studying together. If she had personal stories about what they study, it could give her an in with the other students.”

  “I suppose it could.”

  Yeah, it sounded thin to me, too, but I wanted Jennifer’s help.

  “I’ll have a look around.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” I pulled on my jacket and Rocky leaped to his feet and rushed over. “I don’t think you can come with me today, little man. The snow’s taller than you are.”

  “Thane plowed the driveway,” Jennifer said. “You don’t have to take the dog, of course, but you certainly can.”

  My shoulder blades twitched. I’d assumed Nathaniel was still asleep, though I should have known better. I couldn’t help myself, I checked over my shoulder to see whether he’d come in while we chatted.

  “The agency told me plowing wasn’t possible, that we’d be stuck here when it snowed.”

  Her laugh tinkled, ice cubes in a cocktail. “In a real snow, that’s true. All we have is a portable plow Thane attaches to the front of the Rover. It can handle ten to twelve inches, especially if the snow is fluffy, but not much more and not even that if it’s heavy and wet. We’ll have plenty of the nasty stuff as the winter goes on, I promise.”

  “Then I suppose this little guy ought to get his exercise in while he can.” I hooked Rocky’s leash to his collar, swallowed the last of my coffee, and waved goodbye to Jennifer as I pushed out the door.

  A few flakes drifted through the air, chips off the pale china bowl of the sky overhead. Rocky bit at the walls of snow on either side of him and I had to drag him along, ruining his fun, until he finally gave up and darted ahead of me. Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen, and the thick coat of snow muffled all sound but the occasional crack of a branch breaking beneath its weight. Rocky and I might have been the last two creatures on earth. Winter had come upon us in all her glory and soon enough the pond would freeze.

  I secured my letters into the outgoing mail clip and raised the flag. Ali would reply immediately. Nadya would take longer. I wished I could correspond with Mama the same way. Send a letter off into the great beyond and simply check a box every day until a response arrived. You could try the Ouija board, a traitorous voice whispered. But I wanted to talk to Mama, not to that strange, haggard creature who had stalked my dreams my second night at Rook’s Rest. No, I would stick to the plan and search Jim Prescott’s book for clues.

  Footsteps crunched behind me and I whirled, nearly slipping on the icy ground. I steadied myself on the mailbox and clutched at Rocky’s leash, but it was only Nathaniel. He carried a near empty sack of clay and sand mix, and I could see that he’d been sprinkling it along the path as he walked.

  “I didn’t expect you to be out this morning,” he said.

  “I had letters.” I glanced up and down the road. The plows had been by overnight and less than an inch of snow coated the tarmac. “There will be pickup today, won’t there?”

  “Absolutely. We
’re a hardy lot. Something important in your mail?”

  “Not at all.” Why did I always, always feel gauche, awkward, and faintly guilty around him? “Just letting my family know I’m doing okay. They will have seen the weather reports.”

  “The roads are slick but safe. If you want, I can drive you into town and you can text or email. And I believe the house phone is still working, too, if you don’t mind using that.”

  “Oh. No. Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. I don’t want them to get used to hearing from me every time there’s a storm. My little sister will start to rely on it and then freak out when I don’t call.”

  “You must miss them. Sandy said you don’t usually live in with families.”

  “I don’t. But my sister’s away at school, so we don’t see each other all that much, anyway. I imagine living here is hard for you. Do you see your brother everywhere?”

  “It’s not so much that—he’d moved away long before he died—but my life would be a whole lot easier if I could chat with him the way Liza did with Marianne before she stopped talking altogether. What if I could just pick up one of the old Ouija boards Danny and I used to muck about with in the playroom and ask him what he wanted me to do for his family?”

  His words, so similar to my own thoughts, gave me a jolt and I stumbled slightly. His hand grabbed my elbow, holding me upright.

  “I didn’t meant to startle you. I have no intention of actually playing with the board. I’m not my daughter.”

  “No.” I tried to laugh. “Of course not.”

  Chapter 14

  “I don’t want to go outside,” Hailey whined when, schoolwork finished, I told the girls to put on their coats. “It’s cold. It’s nasty. Can’t we just skip that part today?”

  I looked out at the snow-covered yard. The sun still shone, but an icy draft slipped through the gaps in the old window frame. I could not claim any enthusiasm myself for heading back out, but phys ed was on the program.