The Homing

by John Saul

  Julie stared down into her lap, feeling suddenly ashamed of herself. Why had she said that about Russell’s first wife? “I—I’m sorry, Mom,” she mumbled. “I guess—I don’t know, I—well, sometimes I guess I say stupid things.”

  “You say stupid things all the time,” Molly announced from the backseat, garnering a nasty glare from her sister.

  Again Karen chose not to respond to Molly’s words. “Just give it a chance, Julie,” she said. “Please? For me?”

  Julie hesitated, then nodded. “I guess,” she whispered. “But Mom, it’s all so different here. I don’t know anyone, and—well, what if no one likes me?”

  Instantly, Karen’s eyes went to the rearview mirror, and she saw Molly gleefully preparing to seize this perfect opportunity to needle her sister. “Not a word, Molly,” she said, “I’m warning you.” As Molly subsided back onto the seat, Karen turned to Julie. “Everybody’s going to like you, honey,” she said softly. She reached out to brush a strand of Julie’s long dark hair away from her face. Even with no makeup, Julie’s eyes were large and heavily lashed, and her features, inherited from her father, were far finer than Karen’s own. “You’re pretty, and most of the time you’re very, very, nice,” she said.

  Julie looked up, and for the first time since they’d left Los Angeles, a smile broke through her gloom. “But when I’m bad, I’m really, really, rotten, right?” she asked.

  Karen pulled Julie close and gave her a quick hug. “You said it, not me. Now come on—it’s time for you to meet your stepbrother. In fact,” she added, nodding toward the house, “there he is now.”

  Julie followed her mother’s gaze to see Russell Owen standing on the wide veranda that fronted his house. Next to him was a boy about Julie’s own age. His hair was dark blond, and even from the car she was pretty sure he had blue eyes.

  But he also looked to Julie like he had the kind of good looks that usually made boys so conceited that they never even spoke to her. He also looked like he might be a couple of inches taller than her, and maybe a year older.

  But so what? She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and even if she were, it sure wasn’t going to be her hick stepbrother!

  The car shuddered to a stop. Molly threw the back door open and raced up the porch steps to hurl herself on Kevin Owen, to whom she had attached herself like a small limpet the moment she’d met him the previous spring. At the same time, a large dog of indeterminate breed pushed the screen door open and leaped onto Molly. “Hi, Bailey,” Molly cried, letting go of Kevin to throw her arms around the dog’s neck. But as she petted the dog, her eyes fixed once more on Kevin. “Will you show me the colt?” she asked. “Is he okay? How big is he?”

  Kevin hoisted Molly off her feet and held her high in the air, then lowered her just enough so they were eye to eye. “How ’bout I meet your sister and say hello to your mother, first?” he asked.

  Molly giggled happily. “Okay.” Kevin swung the little girl around in a circle while Bailey barked wildly, chasing after them. When Kevin set the little girl back on the ground, the dog happily lunged at her, toppling her over and licking at her face.

  Julie, watching her sister play with Kevin and the dog, wondered if maybe she should’ve come up here for spring vacation after all.

  It was as if somehow everyone had already formed a family.

  A family to which she didn’t belong.

  Ten minutes later Kevin finally let Molly drag him off toward the barn where she’d witnessed the birth of the colt only ten weeks earlier. “Can I ride him yet?” she begged as she tugged at his arm, trying to get him to walk faster.

  “No, you can’t ride him yet,” Kevin patiently told her. “But you can pet him, and feed him, and wash him and groom him.”

  “Really?” Molly asked, her eyes shining with excitement. “I can groom him? Will you teach me how?”

  As they disappeared into the barn, Karen slipped her arm around Russell’s waist. “I’m sorry, but I think the colt means more to her than anything else right now. It’s all she talked about on the way up—in fact, it’s all she’s talked about since we were up here.”

  “Then I guess she’ll like her wedding present,” Russell said as he pulled her close and inhaled the scent of her hair.

  “Her wedding present?” Karen echoed blankly.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Russell replied. “I think we ought to give Molly the colt.”

  “Give it to her?” Karen asked, her eyes widening. “But—”

  “Every kid who lives on a farm should have a horse,” Russell broke in, silencing her objections with a gentle finger on her lips. “So I thought we should give Molly the colt, and Julie its mother.” He turned to Julie. “Do you know how to ride?”

  Ride? Julie echoed silently. When would she ever have had a chance to learn to ride? And who cared about riding, anyway? Back home, only the snobby girls with rich parents rode horses.

  But even so … a horse of her very own?

  Despite her conviction that Pleasant Valley was going to be the worst experience of her life, she felt a thrill of excitement run through her.

  A thrill she was determined not to reveal even to her mother, let alone to Russell Owen. “I—I don’t like horses very much,” she said.

  “They just take some getting used to,” Russell replied, choosing to ignore Julie’s sulky tone. “Why don’t you go have Kevin show her to you? Then you can make up your mind whether you want her or not.”

  Julie hesitated, still torn between her determination to hate everything about the town and the farm, and her growing interest in the animal Russell had just offered her. In the end, her curiosity won out. “I—I guess I could go see it,” she finally conceded. She set off toward the barn, walking slowly, determined that it appear she couldn’t care less about the horse.

  Russell and Karen watched her walk away and exchanged a glance, both positive they could detect a certain eagerness in her gait that Julie couldn’t quite conceal.

  “I think we just found the first chink in her armor,” Russell observed, pulling Karen close.

  Karen smiled up at him gratefully. “I don’t know what to say,” she began, then realized she’d brought nothing at all for his son. “But I—well, I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything for Kevin.…” Her voice trailed off as she saw Russell eyeing her barely functional Chevy.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he said. “He’s sixteen, and he got his driver’s license two weeks ago.”

  Karen’s jaw dropped as she realized what he was saying. “My car?” she gasped. “You want me to give him my car?”

  “Well, why not?” Russell asked. “What else are we going to do with it? We’ve already got two almost-new cars and a truck on the farm, and I don’t think we should just turn one of them over to Kevin.”

  Karen’s brows arched. “But I should turn mine over to him?” Then, as she replayed his words in her mind, she began to understand what he was saying. “It’s in really terrible shape,” she said, her voice speculative. “It tends to overheat, and the brakes are almost shot. And it’s eating oil like crazy.”

  “Which means he’ll have to do a lot of work on it,” Russell went on, nurturing her logic. “And that means he’ll be a lot more careful of it than if we just give him a car that’s already in good condition.”

  Karen pressed herself close to him, wondering how she had ever been lucky enough to find this wise and loving man.

  It was going to be all right.

  It was going to work.

  They were going to be married, and live happily ever after.

  She and Russell and Kevin and Molly, and even—maybe—Julie.

  Except there was one other person on the farm.

  Otto Owen—Russell’s father—who had barely even been polite to her when she’d been up here at spring break.

  And now he was nowhere to be seen.

  She looked once more up into Russell’s strong, handsome face—an older, more weathered version of his son
’s. “Where’s Otto?” she asked, her voice apprehensive.

  Russell hesitated, but finally tilted his head toward his own house, the bigger one. “Up there,” he said.

  There was something in Russell’s voice that sounded a warning bell in Karen’s mind. “He doesn’t want us to get married, does he?” she asked.

  “It’s not his decision to make,” Russell said, but there had been just enough hesitation before he spoke the words—and just enough anger in his voice as he uttered them—to tell Karen that something unpleasant had happened between the two men. But before she could say anything, Russell spoke again: “I’m afraid he’s being a little old-fashioned about all this.” His face reddened with obvious embarrassment. “Aside from not wanting me to marry what he keeps calling a ‘city girl,’ he’s also decided that you shouldn’t stay in my house before the wedding.”

  “You’re kidding,” Karen said, barely able to believe what she was hearing. Then, as she saw the abashed expression on Russell’s face, her mouth dropped open. “And you’re going along with him?” she asked.

  Russell’s feet shuffled nervously. “It’s only for a few days,” he said. As Karen started to interrupt him, he plunged on. “Come on, honey—he’s lived out here all his life, and he’s too old to get with the modern world. Can’t we just humor him on this one? At spring break, you stayed at the motel—”

  “And at spring break we hadn’t decided to get married, either,” she reminded him. “Russell, it’s ridiculous!”

  Russell nodded, but his hands spread in a gesture of helplessness. “I know,” he sighed. “But I figure if I gave in on this one, at least he might behave himself at the wedding.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Or do you really want him to stand up in the middle of the ceremony and call you a harlot in front of the whole town?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Karen said. Then: “Would he?”

  Russell shrugged. “He might. Anyway, it’s only for three nights, and it occurred to me that you and the girls might like to have a few nights by yourselves before you get swallowed up by all of this.” His right arm moved in a graceful arc that encompassed the surrounding acreage. “So I agreed that you’d stay in his house until the wedding, and he’ll use the guest room in the big house. Okay?”

  What was she supposed to say? Karen wondered. That she didn’t want to stay in a house owned by a man who obviously disapproved of her? That she wanted to be with Russell, and that she didn’t really care what his father thought? But then she realized that Russell was right—it was only a few nights, and it was quite possible that the whole idea of having three new people on the farm might be as upsetting to Otto as the idea of moving to Pleasant Valley was to Julie. She would simply think of the next few days as a buffer zone—a time of transition for all of them. “Okay,” she agreed.

  “Then, let’s get your suitcases inside,” Russell told her.

  He began pulling her baggage out of the trunk of the old Chevy. Karen was about to pitch in, too, when suddenly she felt an eerie chill run down her spine.

  The kind of chill you feel when you know someone is watching you. Certain she knew the source of the chill, Karen turned to gaze up the hill at the house that, in just a few more days, would become her home.

  In the front window she could see a silhouette.

  Otto Owen, watching her.

  Watching her, but not coming outside to greet her.

  What if, after all, Julie had been right?

  What if coming back to Pleasant Valley wasn’t the best thing she’d ever done?

  What if it turned out to be the worst?

  Shuddering at the thought, she instantly rejected it. The day was perfect, and she was in love, and Pleasant Valley was beautiful, and she wouldn’t let anyone ruin it for her.

  Least of all Otto Owen.

  When she glanced up at the window again, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 2

  Molly Spellman awoke with the first crowing of the cock, threw the cotton quilt back and scrambled out of the bed she was sharing with Julie for the last time. While Julie grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her, rolling over to bury her face in the pillow against the brightening morning, Molly scurried over to the window and gazed rapturously out over the broad expanse of countryside surrounding the house. To her, every day on the farm brought a new adventure, and today’s was going to be the biggest yet.

  Her mom and Kevin’s dad were getting married.

  It seemed to Molly as if she’d been thinking about it forever, but she still hadn’t quite decided how she felt. Mostly, she thought it was going to be great, since after her mother married Russell, Kevin would be almost like her real brother, and a big brother was what Molly had always wished for most—even more than a horse.

  Now she would have both—the colt, whom she’d named Flicka, after the one in her favorite book, and a brother, too!

  And she really liked Russell, although she still didn’t know what she was supposed to call him. She couldn’t call him Dad, since he wasn’t really her father, and “Uncle Russell” seemed kind of stupid. Why would her mother be married to her uncle, anyway? So far, she hadn’t been calling him anything. Pretty soon she’d have to make up her mind.

  The only thing that made everything less than perfect was Kevin’s grandfather. Whenever he looked at Molly—or her sister and mother—he always appeared angry.

  And he hardly ever even spoke to them, unless he absolutely had to.

  Yesterday she’d asked Kevin why his grandpa was mad all the time, but Kevin had just told her not to worry, that after a while he’d get used to having them all around and then it would be okay.

  But what if he didn’t get used to them?

  And what was it he had to get used to, anyway? There wasn’t anything wrong with them!

  A vision of Otto Owen’s angry face, his eyes smoldering deep in the wrinkled folds of his leathery skin, suddenly rose in Molly’s mind. In her imagination he was staring at her, his gaze boring into her, making her heart pound with fear. Then, as she struggled to banish the terrifying face from her imagination, the old man himself appeared in the yard outside.

  Molly felt a chill as he glanced toward her, and she quickly backed away from the window. She began getting dressed, fishing yesterday’s jeans out from the jumble of clothes on the chair in the corner, and scrabbling through her open suitcase for a clean T-shirt. Stopping in the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice from the pitcher in the refrigerator, she peered warily out the window, searching for Otto Owen. If he was in the barn, she didn’t want to go down there at all.

  But what about Flicka?

  Her eyes moving away from the barn, she searched the pasture next to it, but neither Flicka nor any of the other horses were out yet, which meant that Kevin must still be asleep.

  Should she go down to the barn by herself? Kevin had shown her what to do the day after they’d come to the farm, and yesterday she’d gotten all the chores done without forgetting anything. Maybe by the time Kevin came down, Molly thought, she could have the chores finished.

  But what if Kevin’s grandfather was there?

  She thought it over, then made up her mind. The horses needed to be fed, watered, and turned out into the pasture, and even if Kevin’s grandfather was in the barn, he wasn’t going to hurt her. He was just a cranky old man, and she wouldn’t pay any attention to him.

  She picked up some sugar lumps from the bowl on the kitchen table, pulled on her windbreaker against the morning chill, then resolutely marched out the back door and crossed the yard to the barn.

  But when she got there, the courage she’d carefully constructed in the security of the kitchen failed her.

  What if he was inside?

  What if he yelled at her?

  She listened at the door, but all she could hear from inside was the sound of the horses nickering quietly in their stalls. Finally, working her nerve up once again, she pulled the big barn door wide open, then stood at the center of the openi
ng, staring into the gloom within.

  “M-Mr. Owen?” she called out, her voice cracking slightly. “Are you in there?”

  There was no reply, and her voice echoed hollowly back at her.

  As she took a tentative step into the shadowy interior of the barn, the courage she’d felt in the bright sunlight deserted her. She’d been in the barn yesterday morning, and the morning before that, and it hadn’t been scary at all, she told herself. But Kevin had been with her yesterday, and the morning before, Julie had been there, too.

  Now she was alone. And the barn seemed much bigger than it ever had before.

  “H-Hi, Greta,” Molly called to Flicka’s mother, who was gazing placidly over the door of her stall. Though she’d spoken more to hear the sound of her own voice than to greet the horse, the big bay mare whinnied in response. Encouraged by the sound, Molly screwed up her courage to move farther into the barn, stepping carefully through the gloom to the stall shared by Flicka and Greta.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out some of the sugar lumps, feeding one to the colt, then one to the big mare. As the animals munched the sugar cubes, Molly moved across the stall and opened the outside door. The horses followed her into the pasture, nuzzling at her pockets in search of more sugar. Molly, giggling, pushed them away, then went to the trough and turned on the water tap, letting it run until it flooded over, just as Kevin had showed her. While the water ran, she filled the feeding trough with fresh alfalfa, then returned to the barn to get a coffee can full of oats to add to the fodder.

  It was while she was scooping the oats from the barrel near the tack room that she first heard the sound.

  A faint humming noise, coming from somewhere in the barn.

  Molly peered upward into the darkness of the loft, but could see nothing.