Then they came in sight from behind the rose bushes. Mr. Winckler led the way. His face was set in a sanctimonious frown, but his little eyes shifted uneasily. Mrs. Grapow was behind him. Muller trailed her, at a safe distance. He was not carrying a gun. Ellen assumed the others had prohibited the weapon, not because they wanted to make a pacific impression, but because they didn’t trust their ally’s aim. Muller was weaving dangerously. Without his prop, he looked uncertain and ill at ease.

  Ellen left the porch and closed the screen door behind her. Standing on the stairs, looking down, gave her a psychological advantage, and she meant to keep the intruders as far from the house—and from Penny—as she could.

  Ignoring her peremptory gesture, Penny followed and stood behind her on the topmost step. It never occurred to Ellen to call on Norman for help or moral support; but a name entered her mind, and she suppressed a desperate, futile need to call it aloud.

  The pastor stopped when he saw her. Ellen didn’t give him time to speak.

  “What do you want here?” she demanded.

  “You know what we want. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A shadow fell over the clearing. A bank of heavy clouds obscured the western sky. From its edge, chunks and lumps of cloud scudded westward. They were dark, rimmed with reflected gold.

  Without warning, Ellen was gripped by a strange sensation. This had all happened before—a woman, standing at bay on the steps of her home facing a sullen group of attackers. Even the emotional climate seemed familiar—anger mixed with fear and a strong sense of danger. Psychologists called the experience déjà vu, and explained it with a variety of rationalizations.

  Ellen could have explained it too, but she didn’t try. She welcomed the feeling. The strength of that other woman’s contempt stiffened her body and allowed her to speak.

  “I don’t know,” she repeated, more strongly. “And I wouldn’t tell you if I did. Get off my property, or I’ll call the police.”

  Mrs. Grapow shoved forward.

  “Nobody’s gonna call the police. We won’t have that poor girl’s shame made public.”

  “It seems to me her shame is pretty public already,” Ellen said coolly. Her eyes moved to Prue’s father, who shied back. “If her father wants to spare her feelings, he had better go home and get rid of his gun.”

  “He’s got a right,” said Mrs. Grapow.

  “He has no such right! I warn you, and you had better believe me; if Tim is shot, I’ll have the police out here so fast it’ll make your heads swim. I’ll testify that you threatened him—all of you. Accessory before the fact is a serious charge. You could spend a lot of time in prison for that.”

  “Now you listen to me,” Winckler shouted. “This is our business, and we’ll handle it ourselves. We don’t want outsiders telling us what to do.”

  Mrs. Grapow nodded approvingly.

  “That’s right, Pastor. You tell her. Tell her we want to search this place.”

  “Mother,” said Penny, in an agonized whisper.

  Ellen raised her voice.

  “Penny, go in and call the state police.”

  “Wait a minute,” Winckler began.

  “Yes, let’s all wait a minute.”

  It was Norman’s voice. Ellen had been so preoccupied she had not heard him approach. He descended the first two steps and stood beside her.

  “Hank,” he said to the minister, “you’re out of line. You shouldn’t threaten Mrs. March.”

  “Well, now, I didn’t exactly mean—”

  Mrs. Grapow gave the little man a push. He staggered forward a few steps.

  “Oh, yes, we did mean,” Mrs. Grapow shouted. “Pastor, you get up there and tell ’em, or I will. Norman, you know what that boy is like. None of our girls are safe with him on the loose. Night’s coming on, and the good Lord knows what he’ll do in the dark.”

  “I’ve done everything I can,” Norman pleaded. “I think he’s gone, Mrs. Grapow. Left town. I tried to find him—”

  “You didn’t use the dogs. They’d find him quick enough. And spare us the trouble of shooting him.”

  Penny gasped, and Norman said weakly,

  “Now, Mrs. G., you don’t really mean—”

  “Stop it!”

  Ellen shouted. She felt odd. Perhaps it was anger that made her feel so dizzy and disoriented; never in her life had she experienced such outrage and hate. Yes, hate was the right word; she could have exterminated all three of them, including Muller, without a qualm of conscience. Norman’s ineffectual pleading angered her too. A lot of help he was; couldn’t he see it was useless talking to these monsters?

  She caught hold of the stair rail, and the hard, solid surface under her hand steadied her whirling thoughts. They were all staring at her. Why were they staring like that?

  “Stop it,” she repeated. “I won’t listen to any more of this obscene talk. Get out. Get out! And take that trigger-happy cretin with you!”

  She flung her arm out, indicating Muller.

  The whole group recoiled; it was as if she had flung a stone. Muller’s mouth hung open. A trickle of tobacco-stained spittle slid down his chin. He backed up, step by step, stumbling, but never taking his eyes from Ellen.

  Then she knew. They were afraid—even Mrs. Grapow, clutching the spindly arm of the minister. They were vicious and rotten with hate, and they were afraid. Of her.

  Something gripped her like a giant hand. It closed over her ribs and sent the breath rushing out of her lungs. The clearing darkened. She heard a voice shouting, hurling words like bullets. The words were unfamiliar, and yet some part of her knew them, knew their meaning and their power.

  She came back into her body—there was no other way of expressing it—to see the committee in full retreat. Muller was already out of sight. The minister had abandoned Mrs. Grapow; she thudded after him like an unwieldy brontosaurus.

  Norman stood at the foot of the steps, clutching the rail. His eyes were so widely dilated they looked black.

  Ellen swayed. Penny caught her by the shoulder.

  “Mom, Mom—are you okay?”

  “My God,” Ellen muttered. “That was me talking! What did I say?”

  “I don’t know. But it—it sounded sort of like Spanish.”

  II

  The living room looked very dark with the sun hidden in clouds. It was somehow unfamiliar; the furniture looked wrong.

  Ellen shook her head. She still felt queer, but she would not let the feeling conquer her again. It had helped once, but only temporarily. The real danger couldn’t be solved by curses.

  “Penny.” She caught the girl by the arm and turned her around. “Penny, I must talk to you.”

  “Not now, Mom. We’ve got to do something!”

  “We’re doing everything we can. Norman has gone home to check the house, as you suggested; he will make sure the dogs are securely chained. The next step is yours. Answer me, and for the love of heaven, tell me the truth. Do you know where Tim is?”

  Their eyes met, on a level. Penny had grown over the summer; they were the same height now. Through all the years of normal naughtiness and misbehavior, Ellen had been certain of one thing: Penny had never lied to her. Faced by a direct question, the girl lowered her eyes.

  “Think,” Ellen insisted, shaking her gently. “Tim is in danger if he stays around here. We must get him away, Penny.”

  She was winning. Penny’s lips parted. Then she shook her head.

  “Honey, please. I want to help Tim. You trust me, don’t you? You used to trust me….”

  Tears overflowed the girl’s eyes. She threw herself into Ellen’s arms.

  “I do trust you,” she mumbled against Ellen’s shoulders. “Oh, Mom, if you could only trust me!”

  “Honey, darling, I do. I know you have been acting as you thought best, but this is getting out of hand; you can’t cope with it alone. Go find him, Penny. I’ll call Norman, and—”

  She couldn’t see Penny’s face, but she felt every muscle in the girl’s body stiffen. When Penny spoke again, her voice was shrill with strain.

  “You don’t trust me, you don’t believe me. Oh, Mom, let’s get away from here. I can’t stand this horrible place. Please, please…”

  “All right,” Ellen said. She had dealt with hysterical girls before. The fact that this was her own daughter only increased her efficiency. “All right, Penny, we’ll go. I hate the place too. Stop that crying now, and we’ll leave right away. Where do you want to go?”

  She held the girl away from her. Penny’s face was smudged with tears, but she was calmer. Sniffing pathetically, she wiped her cheeks with her hand.

  “Washington? We could find a hotel, and call Jack—”

  “Sounds great to me,” Ellen said, with forced cheer. “Pack your toothbrush and let’s go.”

  They went upstairs and Ellen started packing an overnight bag. Secretly, she was happy to be going. Even the threatening sky did not worry her; if the weather got bad they would stop somewhere along the way. A neat impersonal hotel room would look like heaven, after Chew’s Corners.

  She felt a slight qualm at the thought of deserting Norman, but comforted herself with the knowledge that she was not abandoning Tim. Penny’s suggestion had been a dead giveaway. Tim wasn’t in the neighborhood, or Penny wouldn’t be willing to leave. Penny’s verbal hints, her inexplicable behavior—all pointed to the same conclusion. Perhaps she had arranged to meet Tim in the city. Ellen sensed it would be unwise to push Penny now; the girl was too frantic. But once they were away, Penny had a lot of explaining to do.

  Ellen went downstairs carrying her suitcase. Penny had already gone out to the car. Ellen left her bag by the front door and went to look for Ishtar. Her mind was running along familiar lines—cat food, litter, carrier—when the door opened and Penny came in. The girl’s face was ashen under her tan.

  “The car doesn’t work,” she said.

  “What do you mean? It started yesterday. Did you leave the lights on, or—”

  Penny shook her head. She looked like a mechanical doll.

  “The battery is okay. The tires are slashed and someone punctured the gas tank. There isn’t a drop left.”

  The other man, Ellen thought. Four people had gotten out of Winckler’s car, but only three of them had spoken with her.

  She stared speechlessly at Penny. There was no need to speak; the implications were clear, and far more unpleasant than anything Ellen had anticipated.

  “I’ll call Norman,” Ellen said.

  “No!” Angry color rushed into Penny’s face. “Is that all you can think of? Call Norman, tell Norman, help poor old Norman…. I hate Norman! I’d like to kill him!”

  “That’s enough,” Ellen said. The tone was one she seldom used, and it seldom failed to have an effect. This time it failed.

  “I thought it was Jack,” Penny went on. “All along I was hoping and praying it would be Jack. Then you come here, and that crazy, sick old—Can’t you see what he’s like, Mother? I didn’t think anybody who loved Jack would be dumb enough to fall for Norman. I thought you had better taste.”

  “Penny,” Ellen whispered. She felt as if she had been struck in the face.

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. If you just knew—”

  “I wish I did know. I’ve been trying to get you to tell me. What has come over you? I’m beginning to think this place is haunted!”

  “It is. But not the way you think. The town is okay, Mom. Some of the people are a little weird, but what town doesn’t have its collection of oddballs? It isn’t the town. It’s one person—one single individual—who is behind all this crazy business.”

  “Mrs. Grapow.”

  “No, not Mrs. Grapow!” The girl was frantic; she beat her small hands together and then whirled toward the window. “You don’t understand—and you won’t, not till it’s too late. There isn’t time. The time is going, running away—and in the night…”

  It was only six o’clock, but the sky was as dark as it would have been at that hour on a day in midwinter.

  “Maybe we’ll have another storm,” Ellen said.

  “No, it’s not going to rain. I wish it would. That might stop them….”

  “Penny, what are you afraid of? You don’t think we are really in danger, do you?”

  “Someone doesn’t want us to leave here,” Penny said.

  “That may have been a precautionary measure, to keep us from interfering, or to prevent Tim from escaping in our car. Penny, I can have the state police here in ten minutes!”

  Penny laughed.

  “Try,” she said.

  Ellen picked up the telephone. The line was dead.

  She had a hard time getting the phone back on its stand, her hands were shaking so badly. Strange, that it should have taken this to convince her; the signs were all there, and Penny had seen them. Still Ellen argued, with her own fear as much as with Penny.

  “Another obvious precaution. They don’t want us calling the police.”

  “All right,” Penny said, with a certain grim satisfaction. “At least that takes care of calling dear old Norman. Now, Mom, try this one. Suppose we are in danger. The car is out of commission, the phone is dead. What do we do?”

  “Why, I suppose we could start walking.”

  “They would have someone watching. At the road.”

  Ellen didn’t have to ask who “they” were. She was entering into the game, but in a schizophrenic manner; half of her mind “played” in order to calm the girl, but the other half knew it was not a game.

  “We could go through the woods.”

  “They know the woods better than we do.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” She added, with a feeble attempt at sarcasm. “I suppose you won’t let me suggest walking to Norman’s.”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “Set fire to the house,” Penny said.

  She was in deadly earnest.

  “Or maybe the shed,” she went on. “The whole town isn’t in this. Someone might see the flames and call the fire department.”

  “My God,” Ellen muttered. She said aloud, “All right, honey. I’ll get the kerosene and go out to the shed. You—you lock up the house.”

  I’ll run, she thought. Straight through the woods to Norman’s. Call Jack—a doctor—rescue squad, there must be one….

  “Oh,” Penny said. It was a high-pitched squeak of sheer surprise. “Oh, my gosh, you think I’m crazy, don’t you? You really think…. There’s no other way, then. I’ll have to tell you the truth.”

  Ellen dropped into a chair. Her knees would no longer hold her up, and her mind toyed with terrible theories.

  Penny turned on the lights. Now that Ellen could see her more distinctly, she felt less alarmed. Penny was pale but calm; her lips were tightly set as she moved purposefully around the room, drawing the drapes and bolting the front door. Then she went to the cellar door and opened it.

  “Come on up,” she said. “It didn’t work. The car—”

  “I know. I was listening.”

  Part of Ellen’s mind had suspected the truth, but it was still a shock to hear the deep voice, and see the boy standing there.

  He looked different, somehow. The clothes were the same tattered garments he always wore; they were in worse condition than usual, and she deduced that he really had spent at least part of the night in the woods. He had never been heavy, but now he looked gaunt, his cheek-and jawbones standing out sharply from the stretched skin of his face. But none of these changes accounted for the difference in his appearance….

  Then she knew. The sullen, shuttered look was gone. He stood tall, his shoulders back. The blue eyes were sunken with fatigue, but they met her eyes squarely.

  Penny closed the cellar door and came to stand beside him. She didn’t have to do that, Ellen thought dully. They stand together, even when the width of the room separates them.

  Ishtar sauntered in and leaned against Tim’s dirty ankles. For a while there was no sound in the room except the cat’s throaty purr. Tim bent over and picked up Ishtar, who nuzzled at his chin as he cradled her in his arms.

  “Ishtar likes me,” he said tentatively. He smiled, and Ellen thought, well, no wonder; if he had ever looked at me like that…. But he had, the night he brought Ishtar home.

  Ellen began to laugh.

  “She needs an aspirin or something,” Tim said, his smile fading. “Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, I don’t need anything.” Ellen giggled feebly. “I am a little hysterical. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t know what to say!” Penny moved forward and Tim followed, as if drawn by a magnet. “I’ve got to convince you, but quick, that I am right—me, your sixteen-year-old baby—and the whole rest of the world, including my omniscient mother, is wrong. How about that?”

  “Wrong about what?” Ellen felt oddly calm. It was the lull before the storm—or the eye of the storm; they had been through considerable uproar already.

  “Try this for a starter. That big white house up on the hill—who does it belong to?”

  “Not Norman?”

  “It belongs to Tim.” Penny gestured at the unlikely owner, who looked sheepish. “The house, the car, and about two million dollars. And on his eighteenth birthday, which is next month, he gets the lot.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ellen said. “Nobody gives an eighteen-year-old—”

  “Control of a fortune? I know most people don’t. You wouldn’t. But Tim’s mother was different. Didn’t you ever wonder where all the money came from? Why that house has been redone and redecorated so recently? Tim’s mother was a Peabody—one of the meat-packing Peabodys. When she was eighteen she ran away from home and married Tim’s dad. It was one of those crazy marriages everybody says won’t work, but it did. She hated the social bit. She just wanted to live in the woods with a lot of animals around. She said she had sense enough at eighteen to choose her own life, and she figured her son would, too.”

  “How do you know this?” Ellen demanded incredulously.

  “I was ten when she died,” Tim said, in the slow, deep voice that was so attractive without its bitter undertone. “We used to talk a lot. She didn’t talk down to kids. My dad was a pretty swell guy, too. Then, like overnight—” He made a helpless and very eloquent gesture; and Ishtar, whose bottom had been left dangling, bit him. He put the cat down and went on. “The lawyers said Norman was going to be my guardian. I never liked him much, before. He was, like, you know, kind of dumb with kids. Like ho ho ho, if you know what I mean. Kept looking like he wanted to pat me on the head, but he was afraid he’d get his hand dirty. I didn’t mind so much. I didn’t care about anything just then. And he wasn’t bad, you know? Just stupid.”

 

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