John Saul - Nathaniel

"The doll?" Ione asked. "Could we find out how much the doll is?"

"Oh, you just take it, and anything else you want. I'll keep track of it all, and Buck can tell you some other time how much it all comes to. I don't usually work here, you know," she said, turning to Janet again. "Fred always thought a woman's place was in the home, and until he died, that's where I stayed. I'm afraid Buck thinks the same way as his father did. He only lets me in here when he absolutely can't be here himself, and that's only when Laura's having one of her-"

And once again Lulu Shields fell silent, the last, unspoken words of her sentence hanging on her tongue like wineglasses teetering on the edge of a shelf. But in the end, they didn't fall. Instead, Lulu stepped back from Janet, though her eyes suddenly went to Ione Simpson. "You girls just prowl around and find what you need. All right?"

"Fine," Janet agreed, then turned away to begin her shopping before Aunt Lulu could wind herself up again. Thirty minutes later she and Ione left the store together, their arms filled with packages. Behind them came Michael, totally occupied with coping with the giant Raggedy Ann.

"Do you have a way to get home, or were you planning to haul all this stuff by hand?" Ione asked as they approached her car.

"Well, we were planning to walk, but I hadn't really realized how much there was going to be."

"Say no more," Ione declared. Then she suppressed a giggle. "That's what I should have told Lulu Shields. Isn't she something else? And don't you believe she never said a word to her husband. There's a lot of people around here, me included, who think she talked him into an early grave, and that he wasn't the least bit sorry to go."

The three of them piled into the front seat of Ione's car. Raggedy Ann and the groceries occupied the rear. "You don't suppose she really thinks Laura's miscarriage was my fault, do you?" Janet asked as they left the village behind and started out toward their farms.

Ione glanced at her over Michael's head. "With Lulu, you can count on her not thinking at all. I can't imagine why she said that." Then: "Yes, I can. She didn't think. But she didn't mean anything by it, either, so don't worry about it. She's just a little batty."

"She's weird," Michael said.

Janet frowned at him. "She's just talkative. And don't you dare start to get in the habit of calling people weird." She turned her attention back to lone. "Who's Becky?"

"Becky?" Ione repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"The girl they bought the doll for. That's what Lulu said before she said they bought it for Ryan."

"I didn't hear that." Ione shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't hear a lot of what Lulu says. I just tune her out after a while." Then her brow furrowed. "Are you sure she said 'Becky'? As far as I know, there aren't any little girls named Becky in Prairie Bend."

"I bet they killed her," Michael suddenly said as Ione turned into Janet's driveway.

Janet stared at her son. "What a terrible thing to say!"

Michael's eyes narrowed. "I bet that's what happened to her. I bet they buried her in Potter's Field."

And then, as the car came to a halt in front of the house and Janet got out, Michael slid off the seat and jumped to the ground. "Is Eric home, Mrs. Simpson?" he asked.

"He's cleaning out the stable-" Ione faltered, shaken by Michael's strange pronouncement.

"I'm gonna go help him. Okay, Mom?"

Janet, as shaken as lone, nodded her assent, and Michael ran off. They watched him until he'd scrambled through the fence that separated the two farms and disappeared into the Simpson's stable, then began unloading Janet's packages from the back seat of Ione's car.

"What on earth was Michael talking about just now?" Ione asked when they were in the kitchen.

Though her heart was suddenly pounding, and she hadn't the least idea what the answer to Ione's question might be, Janet feigned nonchalance. "Nothing, really. It's probably just an association with that horrible ghost story Amos told him just after we arrived, and the coincidence of names." She smiled weakly. "They used to bury paupers and unknowns in potter's fields, you know."

"Oh, come on, Janet," Ione protested. "There's got to be more to it than that! When was the last time you heard of a graveyard called a potter's field? The term's obsolete! And even so-something like that in Prairie Bend? As far as I know, we've never even had a stranger or a pauper here. And the idea of anybody burying a baby out there- well, it sounds crazy!"

Janet sighed heavily, and sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I know," she agreed. "And I have to confess I'm a little worried." She glanced up, wryly. "In fact, I took him to Dr. Potter this morning." She hesitated. "Michael's been having some headaches. But the doctor couldn't find anything wrong. He says it's probably all a reaction to Mark's death."

Ione's eyes reflected her chagrin. "Oh, God, Janet, I'm sorry. It was stupid of me not to think of that. I must have sounded just like Lulu Shields. Forgive me?"

Janet smiled. "There's nothing to forgive. But you could do me a favor-"

"Anything!"

"Help me out with Michael. I think he just needs some time to get used to things. He's lost his father, and he's living in a new place, and he hardly knows anyone. And I know how kids can be. They can gang up on someone and make his life miserable."

"And you think that might happen to Michael?"

"Apparently Michael and Ryan Shields had an argument. Ryan already told him he's crazy."

Ione's eyes narrowed as she remembered the boy's odd behavior the night Magic had foaled. "Well, we'll just see to it it doesn't happen with Eric, okay?" She paused for a moment, then: "Janet, I don't want you to get upset, but if you think you'd like Michael to talk to someone, I know a good psychiatrist in Omaha."

"A psychiatrist? Come on, lone, Michael's just a little boy. He doesn't need-"

"I didn't say he does," Ione interrupted. "But you said yourself he's been through a lot, and sometimes children can have problems their parents aren't even aware of."

Janet looked quizzically at the other woman. "Why does it seem to me unlikely that a farmer's wife in Prairie Bend would be acquainted with a psychiatrist in Omaha?" she asked.

Ione burst into laughter. "Because I'm a nurse, that's why! Not everybody in this town never got out. I got out for eight years. But then I reverted to type, and married the boy next door. Anyway, I know someone in Omaha in case you ever need someone for Michael. Okay?"

Janet hesitated, then offered Ione a small smile. "Okay," she agreed. "And thanks." Suddenly she brightened. "I have an idea. Why don't you come over for supper tonight? All of you. It'll be my first party in my new house, and I can't think of better people to have than my neighbors."

"What about your family?" Ione asked. "Don't you think maybe your first guests ought to be Amos and Anna or the Shieldses?"

Janet considered it, then shook her head. "I'll have Laura and Buck as soon as Laura's better, and Amos and Anna must be sick and tired of me by now. Besides, if it's just the six of us, who's going to know? Or care?"

Ione shrugged. "Okay, if that's the way you want it, it's fine with me." A wry grin came over her face. "But I can tell you one thing: everybody in town is going to know we were your first guests. Mark my words!"

Michael stepped out of the sunlight into the shadows of the Simpsons' barn. "Eric?" he called out. When there was no reply, he went farther into the barn. A soft whinny came from Magic's stall, and Michael paused to pat the big mare's muzzle. "Where's Eric?" he asked, and Magic, almost as if she'd understood the question, pawed at the floor of the stall, neighed loudly, and tossed her head. Michael grinned, then called out his friend's name once again, more loudly this time.