The Garden of Darkness

“It’s not harsh,” said Jem. “Rick knew better—he was right there when Noah died, and Noah was just a little older than you, Clare. We should be back on the road tomorrow.”


“Maybe,” said Clare.

“What we need right now,” said Mirri, “is to have a funeral.”





BEFORE THEY BURIED Rick, they stabled Sheba in the barn and searched the house for Tilda, in case she had heard them come in and was hiding. The house was like a rabbit warren, with passageways and unexpected rooms and additions to the original building. In the attic, a fine coat of dust covered the floor and motes danced in a beam of light that came in through a grubby window. Mirri opened a box on top of one of the trunks. It was filled with gold Krugerrands that she let slip between her fingers, laughing as they fell to the floor in a glittering drift of gold.

“Can I have them?” asked Mirri.

“Yes,” said Jem.

“I want to be rich.”

“You are rich,” said Clare.

Mirri gave her a look. “Don’t sound grownup. I mean rich with money.”

Bird Boy opened one of the trunks and pulled out a pink feather boa.

“This color is wrong for feathers,” he said. “Unless its flamencos.”

“Flamingoes,” Ramah said absently. She put the boa around his neck while she ferreted around some more in the trunk.

“Clothes,” she said. “Shoes, photographs, papers. These things look as if they’ve been here a hundred years.”

“What if the house’s haunted?” asked Abel.

“It’s not haunted,” said Clare.

“I like it,” said Bird Boy.

Next they explored the outbuildings beyond the barn, but there was still no sign of Tilda. Someone had left rabbit hutches open, but the rabbits were still there, feeding off the pellets in their bowls. Chickens and ducks had been released from their coops, but it looked as if they wouldn’t be hard to round up. In the pasture, the cows, along with two calves, came right up to them, and Clare saw why. Their udders were swollen with milk.

“Anyone here know how to milk a cow?” asked Jem.

“Actually,” said Clare. “I do.”

“Get out of here.”





THEY BURIED RICK in a shallow grave—the frozen ground wasn’t far under the surface, making deep digging impossible. As they had with Noah, they put rocks over the freshly turned earth so that it wouldn’t be disturbed.

Then Clare walked with Jem to the upper pasture, and they spoke together for a long time.

When they returned, Sarai came running for them.

“I couldn’t find anyone,” she said. “It’s Mirri. You have to hurry.”

“Mirri?” said Jem sharply. “What’s the matter?”

“She’s stuck in some kind of quicksand by the pond. We have to hurry.”

Jem was the first to reach Mirri, even though Clare was usually faster. He waded into the mire and stopped when he could reach out and take Mirri’s hands. Despite her shrieks, and Sarai’s dire predictions, the marsh gave Mirri up easily.

“It’s not quicksand,” Jem explained when he and Mirri were on the bank again. “It’s wet mud, but not, I think, deep enough to swallow you up. We won’t, however, try the experiment.” The swamp issued a few anaerobic burps, and the smell was a good old-fashioned stink, an innocent odor of fish and rotting vegetable matter. Clare breathed it in deeply. At spas, she knew, people paid for stinks like these.

But as they started back to the house, Mirri stopped and turned a white face to Jem.

“Something’s moving on me,” she said.

“Are you sure?” asked Jem.

“Where?” asked Clare.

Mirri patted her blouse, looking scared.

“I’ve got lumps,” she said. “On my stomach. D’you think they’re death lumps?”

“No, Mirri,” said Clare. “I am sure you do not have death lumps.”

“But there are lumps on my stomach. I’m probably dying.”

Jem bent over Mirri and then stood in surprise. “Come here, Clare,” he said. “There really are lumps.”

Clare lifted Mirri’s shirt. There were seven large black slippery objects on Mirri’s stomach. They were the size of banana slugs. Her torso looked like a road map of blood.

“Leeches,” said Clare.

“Don’t try and pull them off,” Jem said. “I bet Ramah will know what to do.”

They ran back to the house where Ramah, who had been wondering where they all were, took in the situation.

“Salt,” she said. Soon she was back with a box of iodized salt, which Jem poured liberally on the leeches. Clare told Mirri to close her eyes, worried that she might be queasy.

But it was Sarai who fainted. “I feel hot,” she said and slumped to the floor.

“Put her head between her knees,” Ramah said. “So her head’s below her heart.”

Then, as Sarai groggily came to, Ramah returned to Mirri. She and Clare brushed off the leeches, now loosened by the salt.

“They’re gone,” Clare said to Mirri. “They’re all gone.”

“How did you know about using the salt?” Jem asked Ramah.