Julia let him help her up and stood on shaky legs.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” the fireman said. “The ambulance is on its way. Maybe someone should take a look at you.”
She swallowed and tried to find her voice. When she did, it was raspy and weak. “I’m fine.”
“All right,” the fireman said. “If you say so. But don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it.” He gave her a quick nod and went back to the trucks to help the others.
After a few minutes, Fletcher sped into the barn driveway and barreled over the lawn toward Julia and Claude. When he reached them, he slammed on his brakes and jumped out of his truck, his face pale, his eyes wide.
“What happened?” he said. “Are you guys okay?”
“We’re all right,” Claude said. He nodded once at Julia. “But she needs to sit down in your truck.”
“Come on,” Fletcher said to Julia. “You’re white as a sheet.” He took her arm and led her over to his truck. Claude followed and opened the passenger side door.
In what felt like a trance, she climbed in and sat with the blanket around her shoulders, her teeth chattering. Fletcher got in the driver’s side and turned on the heater while Claude stood in the open passenger door.
“What the hell happened?” Fletcher said again.
“It’s my fault,” Julia and Claude said at the same time.
She turned and gaped at Claude. Why was he taking the blame? She was the one who opened the house windows and started a fire in the side yard. She was the one who hadn’t been paying attention and let the flames get out of hand. Then another thought crossed her mind. Maybe she had been hoping it would happen. Maybe the horrible truth about her parents and the cruelty committed inside Blackwood Manor was too much to face. No, it didn’t make sense. She needed answers and now she might never find them. And she wanted justice, for herself and her sister. Now she had no proof her sister ever existed. Everything was gone.
“It’s my fault,” Claude said with more conviction.
Julia shook her head. “What are you talking about? I was the one who left the windows open. I was the one burning branches and not—”
“I knew about your sister,” Claude said.
“I know,” she said. “You told me that.”
Claude straightened his shoulders and stared at her, as if steeling himself for what he had to say next. Julia bit down on her lip and waited, her knees quivering with apprehension.
“There’s more,” he said.
“I know that too,” she said.
He blew out a hard breath. “You positive you want to know the truth?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Then if you’re feeling up to it, I want to show you something.”
She started climbing out of the truck.
Fletcher put a gentle hand on her arm. “What are you doing?” he said. “I don’t think you should leave. You might be going into shock, and the police will have questions about the fire.”
She gave him a weak smile and got out of the truck. “I’ll be fine. This is something I need to do.”
Fletcher frowned. “What the hell is going on around here? Can’t this wait?”
“We’re not going far,” Claude said to him. “When the police arrive tell them the fire was an accident and we’ll be right back. Do you have a flashlight?”
Fletcher sighed loudly and shook his head, clearly frustrated and confused. There was no arguing with Claude and he knew it. He swore under his breath, got out, and rummaged around behind his seat. He pulled out a flashlight, came around the front of the truck, and handed it to Julia, worry written on his face. “Julia, please,” he said. “You can do this later.”
“No,” she said. “I can’t. I have to do it now. I’ll explain everything when we come back.” She took off the blanket and looked at Claude, gripping the flashlight with both hands. “Lead the way.”
Claude turned and started toward the woods.
*
In the backyard behind the still-burning remains of Blackwood Manor, Julia followed Claude to the far edge of the lawn, through a narrow space between clipped hedges. Together they crossed a swath of dead weeds and icy puddles, then entered the woods and ducked between gangly saplings and pine trees. There was no need for the flashlight yet, but Julia was glad they had it just in case. When they followed what looked like an animal path deeper into the forest, a memory played around the edges of her mind.
As a child, she wasn’t allowed to leave the yard or go into the woods. But at age fourteen, she had ventured into the dark interior to smoke her first cigarette, curious why the kids in school and her father found them so appealing. After the first puffs made her cough and nearly throw up, she put the cigarette out, waited for the dizziness to pass, and started back the way she came. The sun was setting, the sky between the overhead foliage had turned purple, and within minutes she was lost, imagining her father finding her body, her arms and face gnawed by wild animals. She stumbled through the brush in a panic, Mother’s warning that bad things would happen when you misbehaved playing over and over in her mind. When, at last, she found her way out, she burst through the hedgerow into the yard, her face covered in scratches and tears, and vowed never to go into the woods again.
And yet, as she followed Claude on the winding path between tree roots and boulders, it seemed as though there was something else she should remember, something more than sneaking a cigarette, more than disobeying her parents, more than the fear of getting lost and eaten by wild animals.
High-skirted evergreens and branches rustled overhead, and the charred smell of the burning house filtered in through the woods. Where sunlight barely broke through to the musty forest floor, patches of snow and ice remained here and there among the scrubs and bushes. Damage from the ice storm disfigured the larger trees, their high limbs splintered and hanging, or broken and scattered on the ground. Claude cleared debris from the trail several times, and they had to climb over an old fallen oak in their path. The farther into the woods she and Claude went, the more the old fear of getting lost returned. The shattered trees and the death-like stink of smoke reminded her of a war zone or postapocalyptic wasteland, mirroring her frame of mind. Her entire world had been turned upside down and destroyed, and she had no idea where she was going.
But there was no turning back now. She had to know the truth. Besides, Claude seemed to know the way. Near what looked like the end of the path, he pushed aside the boughs of a tall spruce, held them back, and waited while she stepped through. On the other side of the spruce, hawthorn and juniper encircled a clearing full of tussocky, snow-covered grass, leaves and brambles, and moldering logs encased in ice.