Mary Clark: A Cry In The Night

Jenny could not get enough of being with the children: of being able to kiss the soft cheeks, hold the sturdy little hands, hear the prayers, answer the endless questions. Or listen to the frightened confidences. “Daddy scared me so much. He used to put his hands on my face like this. He looked so funny.”

For so long she had wanted to go back to New York, to leave this place. Dr. Philstrom warned her against it. “Those ponies are the best therapy for the children.”

“I cannot spend another night in this house.”

Mark had provided the answer: the schoolhouse on the west end of his property that years before he’d converted for himself. “When Dad moved to Florida I took over the farmhouse and rented this place, but it’s been empty for six months.”

It was charming, with two bedrooms, a roomy kitchen, a quaint parlor, small enough that when Tina cried out in terror-filled dreams, Jenny could be at her side instantly. “I’m here, Tinker Bell. Go back to sleep.”

She told Luke of her plans to turn over Krueger Farm to the Historical Society.

“Be sure, Jenny,” he told her. “It’s worth a fortune and God knows you earned the right to have it.”

“There’s plenty for me without it. And I could never live there again.” She closed her eyes against the memory of the bassinette in the attic, the panel behind the headboard, the owl sculpture, the portrait of Caroline.

Rooney visited frequently, proudly driving the car Clyde had bought her, a contented Rooney who no longer needed to wait home in case Arden chose to return. “You can accept anything, Jenny, if you have to. Not knowing is the worst torture.”

The people of Granite Place came calling. “It’s about time we welcomed you here, Jenny.” Most of them added: “We’re so sorry, Jenny.” They brought cuttings and seeds for her.

Her fingers in the soft, moist earth as she planted her garden.

The sound of the comfortably shabby station wagon in the driveway. The girls running to meet Uncle Mark. The joyful awareness that like the earth she too was ready for a new season, a new beginning.

MARY HIGGINS CLARK is the bestselling author of fifteen novels and two collections of short stories. Beginning with the phenomenally successful Where Are the Children?, her books have sold more than thirty million copies in the United States alone. Born and raised in New York City, she has served as president of Mystery Writers of America. Mary Higgins Clark makes her home in Saddle River, New Jersey, and in Dennis, Massachusetts.