After opening the door and waiting silently for Sara to enter, Mother Lucy returned immediately to her large crimson leather desk chair. Ignoring Sara's outstretched hand, she told her to be seated, then wasted no time on pleasantries. "Why did you apply for work here, Miss Hawthorne, when you were so eager to leave us before?"
Sara stared at the woman, at a loss for words. Even though she had a story prepared, Lucy's bluntness stunned her.
"Well?" Lucy demanded.
"I've spent many many hours in church, praying about this decision," Sara began. This was an out-and-out lie- she had never been a believer, and any leanings she might have had had been destroyed by the acrimonious nuns of St. Gertrude's, with their grim stories of devils and demons and the endless hours of indecipherable Latin recitations. There had been no warmth here, only chill judgment and disapproval; St. Gertrude's was truly a little piece of Hell on Earth.
"Miss Hawthorne? Continue, please."
Lucy was buying it, and that gave Sara more confidence. "I've felt guilt and great remorse since the time I ran away. I knew I was a coward, and no matter what I achieved, the feelings wouldn't go away. I thought they would disappear after I began my career, but they didn't; instead, the feelings grew stronger. I had to come back." She paused, keeping her gaze on Mother Lucy's beady little eyes, half believing her own tale, she'd rehearsed it so often. She took a deep breath. "I was called here, Mother, to serve you and St. Gertrude's and to help the soul of Jenny Blaine."
''Blaine . . . your roommate who committed the ultimate sin."
"Suicide," Sara murmured. "I didn't do my duty to her as I should have, and I feel that if I had, she might not be ... gone now."
''Explain."
"She was depressed, and she needed me to listen to her. I didn't take her seriously."
''She told you she was going to kill herself?"
Of course she hadn't-Jenny had been the only bright spot in Sara's life. She was the one who had listened to and consoled Sara, reassuring her that they'd both be free soon. They'd made plans. Jenny, due to graduate that year, would go to San Francisco, find a job, and go to college, and Sara would join her the following year. Jenny had even said she might be able to pretend to be a long-lost aunt and free her right away. Instead she'd died, horribly and alone, and Sara had gone north by herself. "Yes," she finally told the Mother Superior. "Jenny told me she was thinking about it, and I didn't believe her. I even teased her, and I doubt that God will ever forgive me. That's why I must spend my life in service. That's why I carne back. To face my demons." Literally, she thought, looking at Lucy's long, tight face.
"You've changed," the Mother Superior said, after a long pause.
"I hope so."
"You were a very quiet girl, good at your studies, but very nervous, as I recall. It was a shock to us when you disappeared. I hope you know how worried we were about your welfare."
About as worried as I was about yours. "I'm very sorry I worried you," she said humbly. "I was a selfish child."
"I'm glad you've realized that." Lucy fitted a pair of reading glasses over her narrow nose, looked at the papers on her desk- Sara's resume and cover letter- then removed the little half-glasses. "I'm impressed by what you've accomplished on your own."
''Thank you."
"We're glad to have you here with us at St. Gertrude's Home for Girls. We have a handbook," the nun said, opening a drawer and pulling out a blue booklet. "It outlines the basic rules and regulations for our students and teachers, our expectations for the behavior of both, and our policies on disciplinary actions." She passed the book across to Sara. ''Please read it before you begin work Monday morning."
"Thank you. I will. May I ask a question?"
Mother Lucy attempted a smile. ''Of course."
"Your caretaker, Mr. Boullan, told me that the teacher I'm replacing committed suicide."
"That's true."
"In the room I've been assigned?"
"Yes. What of it? Does it frighten you?"
It did, but Sara shook her head. ''No. I was just curious."
"We don't have any other rooms available."
"It's fine. Really. I was wondering, though, why there's no lock on the door."
Mother Lucy cocked her bead like a chicken, one way, then the other, her squinty eyes narrowing until they were barely visible. "There are no locks on any doors at St. Gertrude's."
I'll bet there's one on yours. "Why not?"
''Policy. It's in the handbook. Do you have any other questions?"
"Today's only Thursday. Why don't you want me to begin work tomorrow instead of Monday?"
''Tomorrow, you have to complete some tests. The weekend is yours, although after that, you'll be working half-days on Saturdays with the girls in some of their extracurricular activities. I'll have a schedule for you next week."
''Tests? What kind of tests?"
''The usual. Psychological evaluations, and a physical." Lucy paused, then added, with another fake smile, ''It's nothing to concern yourself with. Our Dr. Dashwood, as you may recall, has his offices in the basement of this building, and he will conduct the entire procedure. Be at his office at one o'clock sharp. You'll be done by suppertime. That's six P.M., in the cafeteria at the far end of this building. Or, if you like, as long as you're not on cafeteria duty, you may eat in your room. You must supply your own food, though."
Sara nodded impatiently. "Why do you have tests? I've been certified by the state, and I had a complete physical a few months ago. It's in my records."
"Policy-"
"It's in the handbook," Sara finished, barely containing her anger. "Is there anything else?" she asked, rising.
''Always be respectful, Miss Hawthorne. Our teachers are role models for our students."
"I'll remember that. May I leave?"
"Of course. Please close the door on your way out."
Sara took the handbook and moved to the door. "I will. Thank you for your time."
A bell rang as she let herself out of Lucy's inner sanctum. She crossed the lobby and opened that door-which had a locking knob-and walked out into a sea of girls clad in blue and white. Classes were out for the day.
There were all ages here, though most of the girls were at least twelve or thirteen. One group, junior or senior, she thought, stopped in their tracks and scrutinized her from her sensible, low-heeled shoes to the top of her head. The girls had a look she knew well, a certain perfection of hair and shortness of skirt that identified them as the reigning clique. At public schools, they were often cheerleaders who spent time flirting with boys and gossiping. She forced herself to smile at them. "Hello, girls."
They stared at her.
"I'm Ms. Hawthorne. I'll be teaching history beginning Monday."
''Oh," said the one who seemed to be the leader of the pack. She had long, wavy blond hair and cornflower blue eyes. ''What grades?"
"High school."
The blonde finally smiled. "Then we're all in your classes. Since Miss Tynan offed, I mean died, Sister Elizabeth has been substituting. She's kind of a pain."
Several of the other girls nodded.
"I might be a pain, too," Sara told them.
Another blonde, a tiny girl with short, curly hair haloing her face, giggled. "At least you're not a nun."
"No, I'm not." The girls were loosening up. Maybe this won't be so bad, after all. ''What are your names?"
"I'm Marcia Crowley," said the one with the long, wavy locks.
"Cindy Speck," said a pink-faced girl with straight, shoulder- length black hair. "And this is Marybeth Tingler." She punched the girl next to her, a fragile redhead with limpid green eyes, gently in the arm. "She's shy."
Sara smiled. "Hi, Marybeth." She looked at the remaining three. "And who are you?" she asked the little curly-haired blonde.
"Buffy Bullock."
"Jan Sutcliff," volunteered the girl next to her. She had wire-rimmed glasses, light brown hair, and an overdeveloped figure.
"I'm Blaire Fugate," said the last girl, who looked like she was twenty-one, at least. She had thick chestnut hair that curled under perfectly at her shoulders, large blue eyes, and lashes so thick and sooty that they made her appear to be wearing makeup. She was as tall as Marcia Crowley, but with a more developed figure. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth behind full lips, and although she had been the last to speak, Sara thought that she was probably second in command of the clique.
"I'm glad to meet all of you," Sara told them, then glanced at her watch. ''I have some things to do right now, but I'll see you this weekend, I'm sure."
"Okay," Marcia and Blaire said simultaneously. Sara saw them glance at each other and knew there was a rivalry between them. So what else is new? The girls said good-bye and started out the lobby doors. Sara followed slowly, and as she opened the door for herself, she saw a slightly younger girl, awkward and gangly, with wavy carroty hair, walk widely around them as she came up the steps to enter the building.
"Hey, Ghost Girl," called Marcia Crowley, "you'd better be careful or I'll get you put in solitary forever!"
The girl wrapped her arms tightly around her books and, head down, passed them. As she approached Sara, Marcia and Blaire turned around, mouths open. Seeing Sara, they shut them, turned, and hurried down the steps, the whole pack giggling.
Sara put her hand on the girl's shoulder. Startled, she flinched, then looked up, her eyes wide, like a frightened doe's.
"Are you all right?" Sara asked gently.
The girl nodded, not making eye contact.
"I'm Sara Hawthorne, the new history teacher. If you want to talk, come see me, okay?"
"Kelly Reed," came Mother Lucy's voice from behind. "You're supposed to be on your way to study hall." The nun approached, glaring at the girl.
"It's my fault," Sara began. "I stopped her. There was a little trouble, some girls teasing her-"
''The only trouble is Miss Reed," interrupted Mother Lucy."Don't let her shyness fool you. Run along now, Kelly." She clapped her hands twice and the girl took off, nearly running.
"She's a known thief, and her attitude is terrible," Lucy said. "I advise you to be very wary of her."
"I'll remember. I want to go to town to buy a few things before it gets much later. I'd better get going."
The Mother Superior nodded and Sara took off, walking rapidly around the school building and past the chapel, to the garage area, an old stable, at the rear of the grounds. Disgusted, upset, she unlocked her little white Sentra and slipped inside, dropping her briefcase on the seat next to her.
She ground the ignition and took off too fast, making the car buck. She slowed and drove the dirt path around the school and out. A mile of forest and she'd be among normal people. She was amazed; she hadn't thought St. Gertrude's could be as awful as she remembered. She'd been wrong.
Seventeen
Kelly Reed glanced behind her to make sure no one was looking, then quickly slipped out the door at the east end of the school building. There, she again checked for people, quickly ducking under the stair rail and jumping down behind the hedges as a small white car tore out of the garage. She caught sight of the driver- the new teacher who'd wanted to talk to her- just before the car disappeared behind the cemetery, heading toward the road to town. Maybe she was leaving already. Kelly didn't blame her.
She tucked her schoolbooks out of sight under the neatly trimmed hedge, then peered around. Everything was quiet. She unfolded her long legs and stood, stepped out, and walked slowly across the lawn toward the ugly stone chapel. If someone saw her, they probably would think that she was just taking a walk.
She walked up to the chapel's steps, feeling the gargoyles watching her from above. She hated the things and sometimes imagined she could actually see their stone breasts move as they breathed. But that was stupid. She walked along the back of the chapel and into the cemetery, crossing the small yard quickly, glancing up only as she passed the weeping angel. The statue was so beautiful that it seemed out of place; trapped here, just like Kelly.
A moment later, after making sure the road was clear, she slipped through the cemetery hedge, then darted across the road and into the pine forest beyond. Safe at last! Or she would be, once she was off St. Gruesome's property and into Witch Forest.
It took only ten minutes to get to the north fork of Moonfall Creek, but it always seemed much longer. The forest on this side of the stream looked no different from Witch Forest on the other side, but it felt very different, as if the trees, the pines and sycamores and oaks, were bending down, watching her, just waiting for the right moment to trip her with a root, then wrap her up in woody tendrils and pull her under the earth to feed upon at their leisure. She shivered and glanced around. ''Grow up," she muttered, as she sat down on a large boulder where she took off her shoes, stuffed her socks into the toes, then tied the laces together. Rising, she approached the edge of the creek, which was only about ten feet wide and fairly shallow this time of year. Still, she had to be careful because the water ran rapidly and the streambed was filled with slippery rocks.
Lifting her shoes by the laces, she twirled them above her head and let them fly across the stream. Her clothes would dry if she fell, but she couldn't take a chance on the shoes. That old bitch Lucy would stick her back in solitary, like last month, after Marcia had told her she'd stolen the locket. My locket.
Holding her skirt up around her thighs, Kelly began picking her way across the freezing cold stream. When she'd first been sent to solitary, she'd thought it was great to be locked, all alone, in the tiny room in the basement. She didn't feel imprisoned, but safe behind the windowless walls. There was a hard cot, a scarred up old desk and chair, and a lamp. And her schoolbooks, of course. Even in solitary, she was expected to do her work. The first few hours were fine, but there was no place to pee, except over a drain in the floor, and no water to drink. They left her there for a long time-later, she found out it was almost two days, and they hadn't given her anything to eat or drink. It was hell, and old Mother Lucy was right: she didn't want to go back.
She stepped out of the water on the east side of Moonfall Creek, retrieved her shoes, then sighed happily and lay back on the forest floor to let her feet and legs dry before putting the shoes back on.
It was amazing, the difference in atmosphere on this side of the creek. Maybe it was all in her head, but the trees seemed taller and more sunshine came through to dapple the ground, with its thick cover of pine needles, acorns, pinecones, and the first few red and yellow autumn leaves. She sat up and put on her shoes, turning so that she didn't have to see St. Gruesome's forest, which looked dark and grim. The trees reminded her of the Ents in The Hobbit.
She stood and made her way through the forest, moving with more leisure now, enjoying the singing of the sparrows, the harsh complaints of the obnoxious scrub jays. A gray squirrel saw her and sat very still for an instant, then scrabbled up an oak tree, where it watched her from a branch, its fluffy tail twitching. Kelly laughed. "Silly thing. I won't hurt you."
It occurred to her that she'd never seen a squirrel on the other side of the creek, and she began walking more rapidly. Soon, she heard the thunder of Witch Falls, and she considered going there, then remembered that's where they'd found Miss Tynan, who'd been so nice to her. She shivered and kept going until she came to the east fork of the creek and the narrow, well-worn footpath that followed it. Glancing up through the trees, she tried to gauge the time. Probably past three. That meant Minerva would likely be at her cottage by now, home from the Gingerbread House. She turned south and followed the path toward the cabin.
Ten minutes of travel brought her to Minerva Payne's house. She slowed as she approached, enjoying the sight, wishing she could move in and live with her.
The cottage, in the middle of a large clearing, was built of logs, like a cabin, but it had two stories, and there was a slight curvature to the walls that gave it a fairy-tale appearance, especially with its steeply pitch
ed thick-shingled roof and a river stone chimney rising gracefully into the sky. Around the cottage were stone-edged flowerbeds full of marigolds, petunias, and periwinkles, and instead of a lawn, the walkway was surrounded by vegetable gardens full of huge red tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, onions, zucchini, and melons. Once, Kelly had asked Minerva how she grew so many vegetables when they had sun for only a few hours each day, and the old lady had chuckled and told her that everyone knew she was a witch. Kelly didn't know what to say; then Minerva laughed and talked about composting, vitamins, and things like that.
Off to the side was a pumpkin patch that blazed orange, and behind the cabin were blackberry bushes and an herb garden filled with cooking herbs like chives and garlic, oregano and rosemary. There were other herbs, too, and shortly before Miss Tynan had died, Minerva had finally told her why there were all the stories about her being a witch: she was a healer, like a medicine woman, and that, she explained, was what real witches were, until the Christians came along and declared them evil servants of the devil-a devil the healers didn't even believe in.
Kelly loved to think about that and the fact that Minerva made no effort to hide her contempt for the nuns. She understood her fears about the ghost, and she even warned Kelly to be careful around the nuns and never to talk about her visits to the cottage. Yeah, like I'd ever tell them anything.
There was no smoke coming from the chimney, but the day was warm, and if Minerva was home, she wouldn't have built a fire yet. Kelly approached the door, which was made of heavy planks and had a black iron knocker at eye level. She rapped on it, but the sound seemed to be absorbed by the wood. The multi-paned kitchen window was open, so she leaned toward it and called Minerva's name.
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