Then a thought came: those boots in Real Penny’s closet. There was a warm jacket, too. In the kitchen she could get some food and water. She’d have supplies and a better chance of surviving in the cold. She had her bearings now, knew the way to town because of what Poppa had told the clean man. Maybe it was a blessing in the skies, like her mom always said, even though Penny had no idea what that meant. When something was good that seemed bad? But what did that have to do with the sky?
Poppa hadn’t been home all day and sometimes he didn’t come back from town until the next day. Where he went or what he did, she had no idea and didn’t want to know. The house might be empty. She waited for the voice to tell her what to do, but the voice was quiet again. It was kind of like when her mommy was helping with homework. Is this the right answer? she would ask. What do you think? her mom would answer. But she could always tell whether the answer was right or not, just by the expression on her mommy’s face—a tiny, slightly worried frown or a hidden smile in her eyes. But the voice was just coldly silent. She hated the voice.
Bobo’s wailing cut through the night like an alarm, startling her into action. If Poppa was home, he’d surely come out in answer to Bobo’s call—probably with his gun.
She moved through the trees fast and quiet—her pain and fatigue forgotten for the moment. She paused at the clearing for the house and saw that Poppa’s truck wasn’t there. She waited, scanning the area, looking in the windows of the house, checking the shadows by the barn. It was quiet, just the lamp over the barn shining, casting a weak white circle of light, and the glowing orange eyes of the house.
She took a deep breath and then she sprinted to the house, limped up the creaky porch steps, turned the rattling old metal knob, and pushed inside. She shut the door hard and leaned against the wall, panting.
“Poppa!” she called. “Momma needs your help! Hurry!”
If he was there, he would race out to help Momma, wouldn’t he? Then Penny would have the time she needed to get supplies and go. She listened. Was he there and not answering? If he caught her in Real Penny’s room, what would he do to her?
But there was only silence; she waited, listening to her own breath, then started slowly up the stairs. The warm air in the house was a blessed relief but it made her skin tingle, and that heavy, tired feeling had come back. The snow tapped against the glass as she inched up one creaking step at a time.
On the landing, the hall loomed long. She wanted to be quiet, but instead she ran the distance to Penny’s room and burst inside, carelessly letting the door hit the wall. She moved immediately to the closet and removed the shining black boots, as well as the jacket. She didn’t know where Poppa was or when he’d be back. She didn’t know how long it would take Bobo to reach the house or what he might do when he got here. He was crazy; she’d seen it in his eyes, a kind of wild, horselike fear and a terrible rage.
She found a pair of socks in the drawer and slid them on. They were so warm, but it hurt, too. It hurt to go from cold to warm, a kind of throbbing pain. Then she pulled on the boots. Even though they were too big, her ankle screaming in protest at the pressure. Abbey wobbled with the pain, struggling to keep going.
A flash of light against the wall, a thud from outside brought her to the window, hiding behind the curtain.
She saw Poppa climbing from the truck, the snow falling heavily around him. He wasn’t alone. They were there, too, the other girls—though she knew Poppa couldn’t see them anymore. The girl who taught her how to milk the cow was standing by the barn. The other girl, the one who’d come after her and had only been here a short while, stood by the trees. And someone else lay on the ground, wearing a white dress, arms and legs spread wide, as if she were making an angel in the snow. She wanted to help them all, but she knew it was too late.
She ran noisily in the too-big boots, down the hallway. She had to get downstairs and toward the back of the house before Poppa came in. But she only made it to the landing in time to see the door open, then close. She was trapped upstairs, no way out. He moved into the house.
“Momma,” he called. He stood in the foyer a minute, listening. Then he moved toward the stairs.
TWENTY-FOUR
Finley and Eloise lounged on soft chairs, the sound of the ocean loud around them. The water was jewel green, white capped, lapping against sand as white as sugar. Finley wore a black bikini; -Eloise was conservative as ever in a chambray skirt and cream sweater set.
“You asked me what it is,” Eloise said.
“You didn’t answer,” said Finley.