Nathaniel

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The weeks passed quickly. Janet spent her time working on the little farmhouse that she was fast coming to think of as home. Prairie Bend itself was also becoming home, giving Janet a sense of belonging she hadn't felt since her childhood.

The village seemed to be making a project of her little farm. Every day, as she and Michael worked on the house, people dropped by. Some of them came to work, some of them came bearing supplies.

"Found this linoleum out in the shed. Just been sitting there for a couple of years now. Do me a favor and use it before it rots."

"Got an old wood-electric the missus won't use anymore. Think you might be able to find a place for it? It's not much, but it should last a year or two."

"Thought I'd use this lumber to build a new hog-shed, but I found a prefab I couldn't pass up. Maybe you can use it to brace up that old cyclone cellar. Fact is, I've got some time, and I could show you how it's done." That man spent the rest of the day and half of the next rebuilding her storm cellar with his own lumber, and acted as if she was doing him a favor by "getting him away from work for a couple of days."

And so it went. With each day Janet came to feel more a part of the community, came to feel the closeness of the people in Prairie Bend.

For Michael, though, it was a difficult time. He'd searched everywhere for Shadow, but been unable to find even a trace of the dog. The shepherd seemed to have vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. Every day, Michael asked his grandfather what had happened, and every day, Amos told him the same thing: "That's the way with dogs. They come and they go, and you can't count on them. Be glad that pain-in-the-neck beast's gone." But Michael was not glad, and no matter how Janet tried to cheer him up, his low spirits persisted.

Amos Hall pulled his Olds to a halt just before the driveway and waved the truck past him. That morning, the moving van had arrived from New York. Finally, after much delay and frustration, Janet and Michael were going to move into their own house. From the back seat, Amos heard Janet's sigh of satisfaction.

"Just look at it," she said. "It's perfect-just perfect."

"It did come out nice," Amos agreed. He glanced at Michael, beside him, but the boy remained silent. "We better get on up there before the movers wreck everything," Amos said. He started to put the car in gear, but Janet stopped him.

"No! I want to walk. I want to enjoy every second of it. After all the work, I just want to soak in what we've done. Come on, Michael!"

While the elder Halls drove on up to the house, Janet and Michael strolled slowly, enjoying the crunch of gravel under their feet.

At the top of the newly installed ramp that paralleled the steps to the front porch, Amos and Anna awaited them, and as Janet absorbed the scene, her eyes filled with tears. "I still can't believe it. Last week it was just a poor decaying wreck, and now it's-well, it's everything I ever dreamed of-"

"Except for the fence," Anna interrupted, her brow creasing fretfully as she shifted her gaze from the freshly painted house-white with green trim, just as Janet had wanted-to the remnants of the old fence that still stood as a bleak reminder of what the property had been. "I still think you should have gone ahead and let Buck put it in. Post-and-rail would look perfect here."

"It's not practical," Amos interjected, picking up the argument that he and Anna had been wrangling over for days, and which Janet suspected was about more than a simple fence. "What you need is some barbed wire."

Anna opened her mouth to contradict her husband, but Janet stopped her.

"Let's forget about the fence and go look inside before it gets all cluttered up."

Inside, the dinginess, and neglect were gone, replaced everywhere with a bright newness that belied the age of the structure. The off-white paint had, as Janet hoped, given the small rooms a more spacious feeling than had existed before. She moved from room to room slowly, placing furniture in her mind's eye, selecting papers for the walls that would bring the rooms to life while retaining their feeling of coziness.

In the kitchen, a blue-painted table with cane-seated chairs, rescued from someone's attic, sat next to the window, and an old, but serviceable, refrigerator purred next to the wood-electric stove that Janet had already come to love. She patted the imposing hunk of cast iron affectionately.

"I haven't seen one of those since I was a child. I'd have sworn they all wound up in the junkyards years ago."

"Out here we still need them," Anna replied ruefully. "When the power goes, sometimes it seems like it's going to stay gone forever." Then she smiled brightly. "But that's mostly in winter, of course. Until November, it's usually back on in an hour or two."

Suddenly Michael's voice interrupted them, shouting from the backyard. "Mom! Mom, come quick! Look!"

Janet stepped out onto the back porch, with Anna and Amos following behind her. Michael was pointing off into the distance, toward the newly plowed field that stretched away toward the river. Janet's eyes followed her son's gesturing arm, and in a moment she saw it.

It was Shadow, trotting slowly up the field, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his tail low to the ground.

"Shadow!" Michael yelled. "It's Shadow, Mom! Come on, boy. Come on, Shadow!"

The dog's tail came up and began waving like a banner in the breeze. His trot gave way to a dead run, and he charged up the field, barking wildly. A moment later he'd vaulted the fence separating the field from the barnyard and then was on top of Michael, knocking him off his feet, putting his forepaws firmly on the boy's chest while he licked his face.

As Janet watched the scene in the yard, she heard Anna's voice behind her. "So he ran away, did he? Gone for good, was he?" Then, for the first time, Janet heard her mother-in-law chuckle. "I think I like that dog. Yes, I think I do."

Amos, however, made no reply to his wife's remarks. Instead, he simply turned and wordlessly went back into the house.

A few minutes later, with Shadow on his heels, Michael burst excitedly into the kitchen. "Can I take him upstairs, Mom? I want to show him my room." Then he paused and cocked his head. "Mom? Can we sleep here tonight?"

"Of course," Janet replied. "Where else would we sleep? This is our home now."

"Oh, but how can you, dear?" Anna protested as Michael and Shadow pounded up the stairs. "There's still so much to be done. You don't want to try to live in the middle of all the unpacking, do you?"

Janet stopped her with a gesture. "Anna, if you were in my place, where would you stay tonight?"

Anna hesitated only a moment, then her habitual look of worry gave way to a tiny smile. "If it were me, you couldn't pry me out of here with a crowbar," she agreed. "I'd be up all night, putting things away, and making plans, and driving Amos crazy." She sighed as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and looked wistfully up toward the second floor, but said nothing about the fact that there was, at present, no way for her to get there. Then, after a moment, she smiled again. "It's a nice little house, isn't it?" she asked of no one in particular. "Such a shame, the condition it had gotten into. All those years, just standing here. And we let it go, too, of course."

Janet, who was already halfway up the stairs, paused and turned back to face her mother-in-law. "It wasn't you who let it go," she said, her voice low and her expression serious. "It was Mark."

Anna seemed to recoil from Janet's words, her right hand reflexively coming up to flutter at her bosom, her eyes clouding over. "Why, Janet, what on earth do you mean?"

Janet hesitated, wondering what exactly she had meant by her words. Indeed, she hadn't meant to say them at all. They had just slipped out, unbidden and unconsidered. And yet, as she thought about it, she realized she meant the words, realized that during the past weeks, as she'd worked so hard to restore the house to what it had once been, she'd begun to resent Mark's neglect of the place and, more and more, come to resent Mark himself. Mark, who had lied to her. A feeling had grown inside her that the past was not the only thing Mark had hidden from her and that as she began going through his papers-all the files he'd kept locked away in his office at the university, but that were now packed in cardboard cartons in the little parlor at the front of the house-she'd find more hidden things, find another Mark, one he'd kept as well hidden as this farm, whom she'd never known and wasn't at all sure she wanted to meet. And yet for Anna, there was no hidden Mark. There was only a memory of the boy who had been her son and who had run away from her, who had finaly come home only to be taken cruelly from her. How could she talk to this woman who had suffered so, about her own dark feelings?

"Nothing," Janet finally said. "Nothing at all, really. It's just that I don't want you to feel bad about the condition the house was in. After all, you gave it to Mark, didn't you? So it wasn't really your responsibility."

"But Mark was our son," Anna replied. "Everything he was or did was our responsibility, wasn't it?"

Janet met the older woman's intense gaze for a moment, wondering what, if anything, to say. Then, at last, she turned silently away, and continued on up to the second floor.

"It's perfect," Janet repeated an hour later when they were all gathered together again in the little parlor. Her eyes moved from Amos to Anna and then back again. "How can I thank you? How can I ever thank you for all you've done?"

"You don't have to," Amos Hall told her. "We did it because we belong to you, and you belong to us. You're ours, Janet. You must never forget that."

Janet returned her father-in-law's smile. "I won't," she whispered. "You can be sure I won't."

And then, with her son, Janet Hall was alone in her house.

It was late in the afternoon when Janet looked out the kitchen window and, for the first time, saw Ben Findley. He was in his barnyard, throwing feed to the chickens, and as Janet watched him he suddenly looked up, as if he'd felt her eyes on him. A moment later, he turned abruptly and disappeared into his house, and Janet heard the slam of his screen door echo like a cannonshot through the stillness of the prairie afternoon.

She stood thoughtfully at the sink for a moment, then made up her mind. "Michael?" she called from the foot of the stairs. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Michael called back. "Just sorting out my stuff. Can I use an old blanket for a bed for Shadow?"

"Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes. I just have to run next door."

Without waiting for a reply, she left the house, crossed the yard, and carefully worked her way through the barbed wire fence that separated her property from Findley's. A few minutes later she stood on his collapsing porch, knocking at his front door. When there was no response, she knocked again, more loudly. Again, there was only silence from the interior of the house. Just as she was beginning to think the man had decided to ignore her, the door opened slightly, and Ben Findley peered at her, his face lost in the shadows of his house, his veined eyes cloudy with suspicion.

"Mr. Findley?" Janet asked. "I'm Janet Hall-"

"I know who you are," Ben Findley cut in. "You're Mark Hall's widow."

Janet nodded, feeling faintly, foolish. Of course he'd know who she was. She decided to try again. "I live next door, and when I saw you in your yard, I thought it was time we got acquainted."

"Why?"

"Why?" Janet echoed. Of all the possible responses, this was the last she'd expected.

"I didn't ask you to come live there, and where you live is none of my business," Findley said in a harsh, flat voice. "Just because you live next door, don't think that's going to make us neighbors. It's not."

"But I only thought-"

"I don't give a damn what you thought, young woman," Findley growled. "I know how this town is-everybody knowing everybody else's business, and acting real friendly-like. Well, I can tell you, it's bullshit- Pure bullshit, and I don't want no part of it a'tall. Most folks out here have come to respect that, and they leave me alone."

Reflexively, Janet took a step back. "I-I'm sorry you feel that way."

Findley's eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. "Don't be. I don't want your pity. All I want is to be left alone. That's why I have that fence. It's not only to keep the critters in. It's to keep people out. I notice it didn't stop you, though."

Janet felt the first twinge of anger stab at her. "Mr. Findley, I was just trying to be friendly. We're going to be living next door to each other for a long time, and it just seemed to me that the least we could do is know each other. So I came over to say hello."

"You've said it."

Furious now, Janet glared at the old man. "Yes, I have, haven't I? And though I'm sure it doesn't interest you, Mr. Findley, I already wish I hadn't wasted my time." She turned away and started off the porch, fully expecting to hear the sound of the door slamming behind her. Instead, she was surprised to hear Findley's voice once more.

"Mrs. Hall!"

She turned back. The door was opened wider now. For the first time, she could see the shotgun cradled in Findley's arms. And for the first time, she got a clear look at Ben Findley's face. A shock of recognition surged through her, for what she saw was yet another version of Mark. The deep blue eyes, the strong features, the wavy hair. All of it there, but in Ben Findley, all of it worn and bitter. "My God," Janet breathed. "You're one of us-you're a Hall."

Findley glared at her. "I'm not a Hall," he replied. "We're kin, but I'll not claim to be one of them. I'll not claim to be family with Amos Hall. And if you're smart, you won't, either."

Janet swallowed, determined to control her temper. "Amos has been very good to me, Mr. Findley-"

"Has he, now," Findley growled. "Well, it's none of my business. All I want to tell you is to stay away from here, Mrs. Hall. Stay away from here, and keep that brat of yours away, too."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Findley?" Janet demanded, her voice icy.

"If you want to call it that."

"I do, Mr. Findley. And I can assure you that Michael will not be trespassing on your property. But in the event that he does, I will expect you to confine yourself to sending him home."

"I'll do what I have to do," Findley replied, his voice grim. "I don't like people around this place, and I particularly don't like kids. So you keep your brat to home, and everything will be fine. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Entirely," Janet snapped, boiling with fury at the old man. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I can assure you it won't happen again."

"I'll count on it," Findley said. The door closed in Janet's face.

Seething with anger, Janet turned away once more, and began walking down Findley's driveway. If he didn't want his fence climbed, then so be it! She would damned well walk all the way down his driveway and along the road, to her own house. Her back held ramrod straight, she marched along, feeling his malevolent eyes boring into her every step of the way. Only when she had reached the road did she pause and turn back to glare once more at the rundown shack the old man was so possessive about. And then, allowing herself the luxury of venting her rage in what she knew was a thoroughly childish way, she raised the middle finger of her right hand in a mock salute.

It was nearly eleven before they decided that the house was finally theirs. Their clothes hung in the closets, what little furniture there was had been placed to Janet's satisfaction, and the kitchenware had been stored away in a manner that, though she insisted it was only temporary, Janet knew would probably never be changed. Their beds, made up with the first bedding that had come to light, awaited them upstairs.

Now the two of them sat at the kitchen table sipping the cocoa Janet had made, while Shadow sprawled contentedly on the floor. "Well, what do you two think?" Janet asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them. "Did we do the right thing?"

Shadow's tail thumped appreciatively against the floor, but Michael only glanced up at his mother, then away, his serious eyes roving restlessly over the kitchen. "I guess so," he said at last, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "You don't sound very sure. Is something wrong?" Michael opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it abruptly. Puzzled, Janet repeated her question, "Is something wrong?"

Michael fidgeted in his chair, suddenly interested in the gummy layer that was forming on the surface of his untouched cocoa. He touched it with his spoon, watching it wrinkle, then reached down and carefully picked it up with his thumb and forefinger. "Ryan's mad at me," he mumbled at last.

Nonplussed, Janet stared at her son for a moment. "Mad at you? But why?" Suddenly she frowned, as she realized that it had been a while since she had seen Michael with his cousin. On the occasions Janet had been to visit Laura, still weak and bedridden from the stillbirth, Michael had not accompanied her, and she had chosen not to press the point. Now though, her anxiety was aroused. "Did you two have a fight?" she asked.

Michael shrugged. "I-I don't know," he mumbled. Then he looked up at her. "Is it okay if I go to bed now?" Without waiting for a reply, he scurried out of the kitchen, and she heard him hurtling up the stairs to his room. A moment later, Shadow followed his master.

Janet finished her cocoa, then slowly cleaned up the kitchen. At last she wandered through the downstairs rooms of the little house, locking up, and eyeing the mass of boxes that still waited to be unpacked. Finally turning out the lights, she went upstairs, but paused uncertainly outside the closed door to Michael's room. Though no light showed through the crack at the bottom of the door, neither did she hear the regular sound of her son's breath as he slept. She waited a moment, listening carefully, then tapped softly at the door. When there was no answer, she opened the door and peeped in. Michael, still fully dressed, sat on the floor beside the dormer window, staring out into the night. Shadow lay beside him, his big head cradled in the boy's lap.

"May I come in?"

There was no answer, so Janet stepped into the little room, closing the door behind her. She crossed the tiny alcove and joined her son on the floor. She let her eyes follow his and, in the distance, saw the dark outline of Findley's barn silhouetted against the star-filled sky.

She frowned, remembering her conversation with Ben Findley that afternoon, then decided the view had nothing to do with the crotchety old man. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"I like it," Michael replied in a neutral voice.

"Would you like to tell me what happened between you and Ryan?"

"He didn't believe me," Michael said. "He said I was crazy."

Janet's frown deepened. "Didn't believe you about what?"

Michael turned, his eyes searching his mother's face in the gloom. "I saw something that night," he said, and Janet knew instantly the night he was referring to.

"You mean something besides the car that almost ran over you?"

Michael nodded.

"I see," Janet said. "Would you like to tell me what you saw?"

Michael shrugged. "You won't believe me either. It sounds crazy."

"Try me," Janet offered, gently stroking Michael's hair.

"Never tell them the truth."

The words resounded through Michael's mind, and though he tried to ignore them, he couldn't. He wanted to tell his mother what he remembered, but he couldn't. Twice, he opened his mouth to tell her about Nathaniel. Each time, he felt Shadow stiffen under his hands, and thought he heard the dog growl softly. Twice, he closed his mouth without speaking, and felt the dog relax.

Finally, an idea came to him. "I-I think I saw Abby out in the field that night."

"Abby? You mean the ghost Grandpa told you about?"

Michael nodded uncertainly. "I-I think so. Anyway, I saw something out there."

"Maybe you only imagine you saw something," Janet suggested, but Michael shook his head.

"But I can't remember it very well anymore." He looked puzzled. "I can sort of remember what happened, and sort of remember what I saw, but I can't really remember how it felt anymore. You know what I mean?"

"Of course," Janet told him. "It's like a dream. You can remember every detail when you first wake up, but then, a minute later, it's gone, and all you can remember was whether it was a nice dream or a bad dream. Is that how it is?"

Michael nodded. "And I had a headache that night. But when I saw-" He hesitated as Shadow tensed, then: "When I saw her, it went away." Shadow's body relaxed. "Ryan thinks I'm crazy." He stared at her now, his large eyes frightened and appealing. "I'm not crazy, am I, Mom?"

Janet got to her feet, thinking hard. He hadn't mentioned having a headache before. Could that be the explanation? She reached down and touched his head, stroking his hair with her fingertips. "Of course you're not crazy. Don't ever think that. You just thought you saw something that wasn't there, that's all. It was probably the headache. They can do that to you, you know. Was it bad?"

Michael hesitated, then nodded. "It was a throbbing in my temples."

"'Did you take anything for it? Did you ask Mrs. Simpson for some aspirin?"

"No. I didn't get it 'til I was on my way back to Grandpa's house."

"Have you had headaches like that before?"

Again Michael hesitated before he said, "A few. But they aren't too bad, and they don't last very long."

"Well, that's good, anyway. But I think tomorrow we'll go have a talk with Dr. Potter. Maybe you're just allergic to something in the air. In the meantime, you just get a good night's sleep tonight. All right?"

Michael stood up and switched on the light that hung suspended from the center of the ceiling. The glare from the naked bulb filled the room with a harsh light that made Janet squint, but as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she studied Michael's face. For a moment, his eyes met hers, then drifted away, back to the window.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he said quietly. "You don't think I saw anything."

Now it was Janet who hesitated, and when she spoke, she chose her words carefully. "I believe you think you saw something, and that's what counts."

Then, in an instant, a searing pain slashed through Michael's head, and his eyes, frightened only a second earlier, suddenly turned furious. "I saw him," he shouted, his face twisting into a visage of anger. "I saw him, and I talked to him, and he's my friend. I don't give a fuck what anybody says."

Without thinking, Janet stepped forward and slapped her son across the face. "Michael! Don't you ever speak to me that way!" From the corner of her eye, Janet saw Shadow's hackles suddenly rise and felt a sudden pang of fear. What would she do if the dog decided to defend his master?

But as quickly as it had come, Michael's fury was gone, and as he calmed down, so also did the dog. Dazed, Michael stared at his mother, his left hand massaging his stinging cheek. "What did you do that for?" he asked. "Why'd you hit me?"

"You know why," Janet replied, her voice coldly controlled. "Now go to bed and go to sleep, and we'll forget all about this. But it won't happen again. Is that clear?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left Michael alone in his room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Michael, his cheek still stinging from the slap, undressed and then turned off the light. But instead of getting into bed, he went back to the window, staring out into the night, trying to figure out what had happened.

She'd said she believed him, and then she'd slapped him and told him not to talk that way again.

But he hadn't said anything. There'd just been a sudden pain in his head, and then the slap.

Still not sure what had happened, Michael crept into his bed. When Shadow climbed up to join him a moment later, Michael slipped his arms around the big dog, hugging him close…

Him . I saw him. I talked to him.

The words echoed through Janet's mind as she tried to fall asleep, and as she recalled the words, she pictured his face. Her son's clear features had been distorted with rage, his eyes glazed with a fury she'd never seen before.

What had he been talking about? It was Abby he'd insisted he'd seen that night. So who was he?

She turned over and closed her eyes, determined to sleep. And yet, sleep would not come.

It was the house, she decided. The strangeness of it, and the emptiness-that was all; that, and her loneliness.

At last, unable to sleep, Janet left her bed and went back to Michael's room. She found him asleep, his face peaceful, one arm flung carelessly over the edge of the bed, the other encircling Shadow's neck. And yet, as she watched his face, she thought she saw something besides peace.

She thought she saw the same loneliness in Michael's face that she herself was feeling.

Gently easing Shadow aside, Janet crept into the narrow bed and gathered Michael into her arms. And then, with her son's head cradled against her breast, she at last drifted off to sleep.