Selene didn’t so much as glance at Eleanor. Turning her back on all of us, she went into the living room, sat down near the fire, and began whispering to Little Erica.
“My God, Mother,” Eleanor whispered. “She’s fifty-seven years old, but she looks like she did on the day she disappeared. How can that be?”
“I warned you,” Mrs. O’Neill said.
Eleanor took her mother’s arm. I could almost smell her fear and confusion. “Do you think she’ll remember me?”
“Maybe you should go sit beside her and tell her who you are.”
Eleanor looked so scared, you’d have thought Selene was a ghost—which in a way I guessed she was, a girl come back from the dead unchanged.
“What’s the matter?” Mrs. O’Neill asked.
Eleanor bit her lip just the way her mother did when she was nervous. “It’s a shock, Mom, seeing her again, looking exactly the same. I recognize her, but how can she possibly recognize me?” She glanced uneasily at the child in the living room. “I don’t know what to say, what to do.”
“Selene needs our help, Eleanor. She’s so unhappy, I fear she’ll fade away from us altogether if we don’t reach her.” Mrs. O’Neill patted her daughter’s arm. “Why don’t you talk to her awhile—win her trust, maybe.”
I watched Eleanor cross the room slowly. Sitting on the floor beside Selene, she smiled at her. “I’m Mrs. O’Neill’s daughter Eleanor,” she told her. “What’s your name?”
Without looking at Eleanor, Selene said, “I’m called Girl.”
Eleanor sent her mother an anxious glance. “I had a friend when I was your age,” she told Selene. “She looked just like you.”
“It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Her name was Selene, and she lived right up the road. We played together every day.”
“Well, I ain’t never played with nobody. I worked every day and half the night for Auntie.”
Eleanor glanced at her mother again. Mrs. O’Neill joined the two of them in front of the fire. “Try to remember, Selene,” she said gently. “You spent the first seven years of your life playing with Eleanor—hopscotch and jump rope and—”
Selene jumped to her feet, her face flushed with anger. “I declare I’m sick to death of hearing about that girl! My name ain’t Selene. How many times I got to tell you?”
Mrs. O’Neill reached out to pat Selene’s shoulder, but the girl pulled away from her. “Leave me be!”
Jumping to her feet, Selene ran from the room and up the stairs. Overhead, a door slammed shut.
Mrs. O’Neill started to go after her, but Eleanor stopped her. “You heard her, Mom. She wants us to leave her alone.”
Mrs. O’Neill looked upstairs. Even with the door shut, we could hear Selene crying. “She’s so unhappy, so confused. She needs someone to help her remember who she is.”
“I don’t know who she is, but she’s not Selene,” Eleanor said. “She can’t be—it’s simply not possible.”
I could tell that Eleanor’s attitude disappointed her mother. “You grew up here,” Mrs. O’Neill said. “You know about Old Auntie. She’s turned Selene loose and taken Daniel’s sister.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe those old stories anymore. Maybe that girl was abandoned in the woods and raised by wild animals. That’s no more far-fetched than your explanation. Call Social Services. They’ll know what to do.”
Mrs. O’Neill stared at her daughter as if she didn’t know her. “And let the child die like the one before her?”
Eleanor gathered up her coat and her purse. “I’m going home. Call me when you come to your senses.”
Mr. O’Neill came in from the kitchen, wearing his chef’s apron. “What’s going on?” he said. “Surely you’re not leaving before we eat. I roasted a chicken and made your favorite dressing.”
But Eleanor went on zipping her parka. Her face was determined. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t stay in the same house with that girl. It’s too upsetting.”
“We were hoping you could help her,” he said.
“There’s nothing I can do for her.” Eleanor took her mother’s hands in hers. “Please hand her over to the authorities.”
Mrs. O’Neill shook her head. “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. Selene stays here.”
Eleanor released her mother’s hands. “All right, do what you think is best, but don’t ask me to be involved.” She went to the kitchen door, but before she opened it, she looked at her parents. “I’m sorry, I really am, but there’s something very wrong with that child, and it scares me.”
As Eleanor stepped out into the cold, dark night, Mrs. O’Neill followed her to the door, as if she meant to call her back.
Mr. O’Neill stopped her. “Give her time,” he said. “Let her think about this. For fifty years she’s believed that Selene was dead. And now—put yourself in Eleanor’s place.”
Mrs. O’Neill sighed. “Well, dinner is ready for those who want to eat.”
Mr. O’Neill went to the foot of the stairs and called Selene. Silence. He called again. And again. After three tries, he climbed the steps and knocked on a door.
“Selene, dinner’s ready. Come down and join us.”
“I ain’t hungry,” she answered.
“It’s roast chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans.”
“I said I ain’t hungry.”
“We’ll save some for you,” he said.
While we ate, I glanced at the empty places set for Eleanor and Selene. I wished Eleanor had stayed and tried harder, but maybe Mr. O’Neill was right and she’d change her mind. I wished that Selene was sitting at her place, eating her food, and behaving like a normal girl.
But most of all, I wished that Erica was sitting beside me.
After dinner, Mr. O’Neill offered to drive me home. When we were alone in the car, he asked me how my folks were doing.
“Okay, I guess.”
He looked at me. “Okay, you guess? That doesn’t sound good.”
We were heading down the driveway toward our house, which stood out stark and gray against the snowy fields. One light shone in Mom and Dad’s bedroom window. The clock on the dashboard said eight fifteen. Too early for them to be in bed.
Mr. O’Neill parked beside the back porch. To my surprise, he walked up the steps with me. The door wasn’t locked—in case Erica came home, Mom said.
“Dad? Mom?” I called. “It’s me.”
Nobody answered. The kitchen was dark and cold.
Mr. O’Neill went to the foot of the back stairs and called, “Ted, you up there?”
A door opened, and light from Dad’s study spilled down the steps. “John, is that you?”
“Yep, I brought your boy home.”
Dad appeared at the top of the steps, backlit so we couldn’t see his face. “Good of you,” he said to Mr. O’Neill. “Thanks. I hope he wasn’t a nuisance.”
“Oh, no, not at all. Daniel’s no trouble.”
I turned on the kitchen light and watched Dad come downstairs. “Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“In bed, reading.” He went to the cupboard and pulled out a whiskey bottle. “Have a drink, John.”
Mr. O’Neill sat at the table, and Dad filled a couple of glasses. I opened a can of soda and started to join them, but Dad told me to go up to bed. I started to protest, but changed my mind and did what he said. Maybe a talk with Mr. O’Neill would be good for him.
Before I went to my room, I knocked on Mom’s door. “It’s me, Daniel,” I called softly. “Are you awake?”
“Come in,” she said.
“Are you all right?” I asked. She didn’t look all right—hair still uncombed, bags under her eyes, dressed in an old bathrobe over her pajamas. Huddled under blankets and quilts, she had the look of an invalid.
“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “You don’t usually go to bed this early.”
“The house is so cold
. I can’t get warm anywhere but here.” She looked around the room. “Why did we move here? Why did I let your father talk me into it?” She pulled the covers up around her shoulders and stared at the black night pressing against the windows.
“Mom,” I said. “I—”
“Who’s downstairs with your father?” she interrupted.
“Mr. O’Neill. He brought me home.”
“Did you see that girl at their house?”
“Yes. She’s staying with them.”
“She belongs in an institution.” Mom handed me an empty wineglass. “Make yourself useful, Daniel. Go fill this up for me. Red, not white. I hate white wine in the winter.”
I backed away from her, but she was staring out the window again. “Do you think she’s out there somewhere? Will she come back? Will we see her again?” She began to cry. “I can’t stand this. I can’t bear it. I want my daughter. I want Erica!”
“Mom—”
“Go to bed, Daniel. Let me alone, please, just go away.”
“But what about—” I held up the wineglass.
“No. I changed my mind. I don’t want it.” She lay down and hid her face in her pillows.
“Well, good night,” I said.
When she didn’t answer, I left the room and closed the door. What was I supposed to do? Nothing was right in our house. Not even me.
Seventeen
The next day, Mrs. O’Neill picked me up around three. Selene huddled in the back seat, hugging the doll, her face mournful. Snowflakes drifted in the gray air, floating up and down, swirling like tiny moths.
By the time we parked in front of Miss Perkins’s house, an inch of fluffy snow coated the old snow, making it look fresh and new. We walked to the front door silently. No one had said much during the ride into Woodville. I think we were each locked in our own thoughts, wondering what Miss Perkins might tell us. Each of us hoping, hoping, hoping . . .
We waited on the cold porch for at least five minutes before the door opened and Miss Perkins stepped aside to let us enter. Three cats shot out of the house and two ran in.
Inside, it was as dark and cold and smelly as before. A small fire burned low on the hearth, but we didn’t take off our coats.
For a while, no one spoke. It was as if we were waiting for Miss Perkins to tell us something and she was waiting for us to tell her something. A black cat crept into her lap, and two more emerged from the shadows to crouch at her feet. They watched us steadily, unblinking. I wondered how she told them apart.
The fire popped and crackled, and the wind did its best to squeeze in through every crack. Selene coughed. Mrs. O’Neill crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Somewhere in the back of the house, a cat yowled. There must be dozens of them, I thought, mostly black, gray, and dark tabbies.
“This is how it is,” Miss Perkins said suddenly. “Selene, there’s no way you can go back to my auntie. She don’t want you no more. You must learn to live in the here and now—or die. Them’s your choices. If I was you, I’d choose to live.”
Tears ran down Selene’s face, but she said nothing. She simply sat and stared as if she were a cat too, half wild, not one you dared to pet.
Miss Perkins turned her eyes to me. “She means to keep your sister for fifty years,” she said, “just like she kept Selene and all the ones before her.”
“There must be something you can do,” I whispered. “My family is wrecked. My mother, my father—” I couldn’t go on without losing my self-control and throwing myself at her feet, crying and begging for her help.
“I didn’t say there’s no way to get your sister back.” Miss Perkins spoke so sharply, the cat on her lap raised its head, startled out of its nap.
“Have you actually spoken to her?” Mrs. O’Neill asked.
“Not exactly.” Miss Perkins stroked the cat on her lap. “I got my ways of finding out things on the sly. Things folks don’t want me to know. Things I don’t want them to know I’m interested in.”
Mrs. O’Neill nodded as if she understood, but like me, I was sure she didn’t quite see what the old woman meant. But she was a witch, and we weren’t, so why should we expect to understand?
Miss Perkins stretched a hand toward Selene. “Bring me that dolly, dear.”
Selene gripped the doll. “What do you want with her? She’s mine.”
The old woman leaned toward Selene and stared into her eyes. “The dolly,” she said. “Give me the dolly.”
The air seemed charged with electricity, and my skin tingled as if a thunderstorm were rolling through the house. I wanted to jump up and run from the dark room and the craziness of the old woman, but something kept me where I was.
Selene rose slowly and gave the doll to Miss Perkins. “Good girl,” she said as Selene backed away and collapsed on the sofa. Mrs. O’Neill put her arm around her. For once, Selene did not pull away.
In the meantime, Miss Perkins turned the doll this way and that, studying her intently in the dim light of the fire. She caressed Little Erica, moved her arms and legs, and hummed to herself, as if she’d forgotten we were in the room. After a minute or so, she bent her head over the cat in her lap and seemed to listen. He made a strange sound, not a meow, not a growl, not a purr, but something like all three. She nodded her head slowly.
At last Miss Perkins looked up. Her eyes seemed unfocused, as if she weren’t seeing us or the room, but was looking at something far away. Selene and I moved closer to Mrs. O’Neill. She held us both tightly.
Miss Perkins slowly came back to the room and the fire and the three of us. Her sharp eyes fixed themselves on me. “Come here, boy. Come close.”
Even though I wanted to stay where I was, safe and warm beside Mrs. O’Neill, I did as she said. The old woman smelled of dried grass and herbs and flowers. A nice smell. I sniffed and breathed it in, feeling it spread through me like magic.
“How much do you want your sister back, boy?” she whispered. Her eyes probed mine.
“I’d do anything to get her away from Auntie.”
“Will you go to Auntie’s cabin tonight, all by yourself? No mammy, no pappy, nobody. All by yourself. Just you. Are you brave enough?”
I stared at her, almost speechless. “Tonight?”
“You said you want your sister back. You said you’ll do anything. This is the onliest way to do it.”
I glanced at Mrs. O’Neill to see what she thought. Her eyes were open but unfocused, as blank as Little Erica’s eyes. She and Selene seemed to be in a trance.
Miss Perkins leaned toward me and studied my face. “You brave enough? ’Cause if you ain’t, you’ll never see your sister till fifty years from now. And that one there will be soon be dead.” She nodded at Selene. “It’s for both these girls you’re doing it. You break the spell for your sister, you break it for Selene, too. Once the spell’s broke, Auntie will be finished. The dark will take her.”
I tried to stand tall and straight. Maybe if I acted brave, I’d be brave. “What do I have to do?” My voice came out in a squeak.
“You go to the door of the cabin at midnight—not one minute earlier, not one minute later. Knock three times. Auntie will call out, ‘Who’s that knock, knock, knocking at my door?’ You’ll say, ‘A poor traveler lost in the cold.’ She’ll say, ‘What you want with me?’ You’ll say, ‘To sit by your fire a spell.’”
Miss Perkins stroked the cat’s black fur and crooned to him. Except for the wind and the fire, the room was as still as death.
“She’ll ask you to tell her a riddle,” she went on. “First you say, ‘I brung you a cherry without a stone.’” Miss Perkins reached into her pocket and drew out a blossom. She laid it carefully on the table beside her. “A cherry don’t have a stone when it’s blooming.”
“Second, say, ‘I brung you a chicken without a bone.’” Miss Perkins took an egg from her pocket and laid it beside the blossom. “A chicken don’t have bones while it’s in the egg.”
“They’re old riddles,” she said. “
Everyone knows the answers, so she’ll ask for something harder, a riddle she’s never heard before.”
The old woman coughed and sniffed and fidgeted with the doll. “Last of all, say, ‘I brung you a servant that never tires and never grows old.’” She added Little Erica to the objects on the table.
“It ain’t a riddle she’ll have heard before. If she can’t guess the answer in three tries, she’s got to open the door and let you in.”
My heart knocked about in my chest, hammering and pounding my ribs. “But when she sees me, she’ll know who I am.”
“Auntie ain’t the onliest one that knows her way around the dark side of the moon. I got tricks of my own, boy. She won’t know you. I’ll see to that.”
The cat interrupted her with an odd, questioning sort of noise. Miss Perkins stroked him till he purred loud enough to make my bones vibrate.
“Soon as you’re through the door,” she went on, “Auntie will ask you for the answer to the riddle. Open the sack and show her the servant that never tires and never grows old. Once she sees that dolly, she’ll forget about your sister. At least for a while—”
“But—” I couldn’t stop myself from interrupting the old woman again. “She knows the doll belongs to Erica. And how can a doll be a servant? She’s plastic, she’s not alive, she can’t move or talk or—”
“Hush up and quit asking fool questions. You got to trust me, boy. Get your sister out of the cabin as fast as you can. She won’t want to come. You’ll have to drag her away. Run for home like you got wings on your heels or seven-league boots on your feet.”
“But what if—”
“Don’t vex me no more, boy. Do what I tell you, bring your sister home, and the spell will bust at sunrise—for both girls. They’ll remember who they are in this world, but they won’t remember nothing about Auntie’s world.” Miss Perkins scrunched her face into a tight fist, and the cat lashed his tail and hissed at me.
My brain whirled with questions, but my voice had dried up and my mouth felt numb, the way it does in the dentist’s office when he gives you Novocain. I nodded, as if I understood, and hoped I’d be able to do all she asked.
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