John Saul - Nathaniel

Janet leaned over to give her mother-in-law a kiss on the cheek, but for the first time since they'd met, Anna made no response. Instead, she moved her face away, and continued darning one of Amos's gray woolen work socks.

"It was so good of you to get the truck for me," Janet began, but Anna glanced at her with a look that made Janet fall silent.

"We couldn't very well have you begging favors off strangers, could we?" she said in a distinctly cold voice.

"Strangers?" Janet echoed. "You mean Ione Simpson?"

"I'm sure Ione and Leif Simpson are very nice people, but you do have a family, Janet. If you need something, I wish you'd just ask us."

Janet sank into a chair across from the older woman, barely able to believe that Anna was insulted by what had happened yesterday. "Anna, Michael and I walked into town and had every intention of walking back. But we bumped into Ilone, and she offered us a ride."

"So you invited her to dinner? It seems to me that you might have thought of having us first. We've worked so hard on the place, and after all, it was our home-"

"-And it's still a mess," Janet interrupted, improvising rapidly. "Last night was hardly what you could call a party. Ione brought over some things she had in the 'fridge, and we just sort of had a picnic." She thought Anna's expression softened slightly, so she pressed on. "It was all very impromptu, but if I hurt your feelings, I'm sorry. Of course, I'll fix my first real dinner for you and Amos, but that's not what last night was. Forgive me?"

Anna's eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she smiled. "Of course I do. It's just that-well, you know how people gossip in small towns. I just don't want people to start claiming there's trouble between us. And that's what they'd say, you know."

"Why on earth would they?" Janet asked, now genuinely puzzled by Anna's words. There had to be more to it than simply an imagined slight.

"They've always talked about us around here, even though we've been here longer than anyone else," Anna replied.

"Well, you can believe I won't give anyone anything to talk about," Janet declared. Then, before Anna could begin worrying the subject any further, she decided to change it. "I think Michael and I found some of your things last night."

Now it was Anna who was puzzled. "Mine? What do you mean?"

"Late last night, we decided to explore the attic." She waited for a reaction, but there was none. Instead, Anna only looked at her with mild curiosity. "We found all kinds of things. I assumed they must have belonged to you."

Now Anna's brows knit thoughtfully. "If it was in the attic, it wouldn't have been mine. I don't think I've ever been in the attic of that house in my whole life. And when we moved in here, we brought all our things with us."

Janet stared at her. "You were never in the attic? But you lived in that house so many years-"

Anna's eyes met hers. "But I never went to the attic. I started to, once, but Amos stopped me. He told me there was nothing up there, and that it was dangerous. He told me the floor's weak, and if I went up there, I'd fall through and break my neck."

"And so you never went?" Janet asked, amazed. "If Mark had ever told me something like that, you can bet it would be the first place I'd go." Of course, she thought, Mark never would have told me something like that.

Anna set her darning aside and wheeled herself over to the stove where a pot of coffee was simmering. Picking it up with one hand, she used the other to maneuver herself back to the table, where she poured each of them a cup of the steaming brew. Only when she'd set the pot on a trivet did she speak. "Well, Mark wasn't Amos, and I wasn't you. When Amos told me to leave the attic alone, I did just that."

"But what about the children? Didn't they ever go up there?"

"If they did, I don't know about it," Anna replied. "And I suspect that if their father told them not to, they didn't. Both Laura and Mark had great respect for their father."

"But still, they were children-"

"Children can be controlled," Anna replied, her voice oddly flat.

Suddenly Michael's words flashed through Janet's mind, but when she spoke, she managed to keep her voice light.

"What did he do, beat them?"

Anna stiffened in her chair. "Did Mark tell you his father beat him?" she asked.

Janet shrank back defensively. "No-no, of course not."

"Amos may have used the strop now and then," Anna went on, ignoring Janet's words as if she'd never uttered them. "But I'm not sure I call that a beating." Her voice took on a faraway note that made Janet wonder if the old woman was aware she was still speaking out loud. "A child needs to know respect for his elders, and he needs controls. Yes, controls…" Her voice faded away, but a moment later she seemed to come back into reality. "Amos always controlled the children," she finished.

"But a razor strop-"

"My father used one on me," Anna replied. "It didn't hurt me."

No, Janet thought to herself. It didn't hurt you at all. All it did was make you think that whatever a man told you to do, you had to do. All it did was make you into a nice obedient wife, the kind of wife I could never have been, and the kind that Mark, thank God, never wanted. No wonder he ran away.

But even as she allowed the thoughts to come into her mind, she rejected them. They struck her as somehow disloyal, not only to Anna and Amos, but to Mark as well. Mark, after all, had been her husband, and she had loved him, and who was she to begin questioning the manner in which he had been raised, particularly when the people who had raised him were showing her nothing but kindness. Once again, she retreated to safer waters.

"But what about the things we found in the attic? What shall I do with them?"

Anna's eyes suddenly became expressionless. "I'm sure I don't know," she said. "I don't know what there is."

"There's a lot of silver and china. And there's a-" She stopped short, for Anna's eyes were suddenly angry.

"Don't tell me," Anna commanded. "There are some things I don't want to know about. If there were things in that attic, then Amos knew they were there, and knew what they were. They would have come from his family- that house was built by his ancestors over a century ago."

Janet's mind churned.

Abby Randolph's diary, written just a hundred years ago.

But Abby had died. All her children had died except Nathaniel, and then, after that terrible winter, Abby and Nathaniel, too, had died.

"… that house was built by his ancestors …" and then she remembered. According to the old legend and the diary, Abby Randolph had been pregnant that winter.

The child must have survived. It must have been a girl, and it must have survived.

Janet felt a sickness in her stomach as she realized what had gone on in her house so many years ago. She gazed at Anna, who had once more picked up her darning and was now placidly stitching her husband's sock.

How much did Anna know? Had Anna known she was living in Abby Randolph's house, that her husband was a descendant of the only survivor of that long-ago tragedy?

Janet decided she didn't, and knew that she would never tell her. Indeed, Janet wished that she herself had never found the diary. Suddenly, the ghosts of Abby and Nathaniel were very real to her.

Michael followed his grandfather into the barn, then up the ladder to the loft, where the bales of hay-what was left of last winter's supply-were neatly stacked under the sloping roof. He stood back while Amos cut the wire from three bales, and when Amos handed him a pitchfork, he seemed reluctant to take it.

"It won't hurt you," Amos admonished him. "Not unless you get careless and stick the tines through your foot."