John Saul - Nathaniel

A few minutes later, Leif joined them in the kitchen. "You'd better call Buck," he told Janet. "It seems Amos Hall was out here tonight, and Findley thinks it must have been him shooting. But he hasn't seen Amos's light for a while, and he and I are going to go down toward the river and have a look around."

"Amos?" Janet repeated. "Why would Amos be out there? Where was he?" And then she remembered Ione's words. "Potter's Field?"

"That's what Ben Findley says."

"But-but why?"

"Don't know," Leif replied. "But he also said it might be a good idea if you got hold of a doctor."

Janet made the calls, then joined Ione and the children at the table. "All right," she said softly. "It's time for you three to tell us what you were up to tonight."

One by one, the three boys recounted the story of the evening.

Each of them told about sneaking out, and each of them told about making their way down the Halls' pasture, across the field, and into the woods.

Each of them told about seeing the light in Potter's Field.

Ryan and Eric talked about losing their nerve, and running pell mell back the way they had come, and bursting back into the Simpsons' house, too frightened to worry about the noise they were making.

At last Janet turned to Michael. "What about you, Michael?" she asked. "Did you come home when you saw the light in the field?"

Michael shook his head. "I-I went into Mr. Findley's barn," he said softly.

Janet frowned. "Weren't you frightened, too?"

Again Michael shook his head.

"But why not?"

Michael hesitated, and then he heard Nathaniel's voice:

"Tell them. Tell them now."

"Because of Nathaniel," he breathed. "Nathaniel and I killed Grandpa."

Janet stared at her son, his words battering at her mind. But Michael's face was placid, and his eyes were calm.

"Nathaniel said we had to," he went on. "Grandpa was going to kill us, Mom. He killed Daddy, and he was going to kill me, too."

A wave of dizziness swept over Janet, and suddenly the lights in the room seemed to go out.

Janet opened her eyes and stared without comprehension at the unfamiliar face that loomed over her. But then, as she came totally awake, she remembered what had happened. She struggled to sit up, but the stranger put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Don't," he said. "Just lie there, and try to take it easy. You very nearly lost your baby a little while ago. You didn't, but you're not out of danger yet. I'm Dr. Marsden," he added.

A small groan escaped Janet's lips, and she sank heavily back onto her pillows. "Amos," she whispered. "Did they find Amos?"

Marsden nodded. "He's downstairs." But then, as Janet sighed with relief, he went on: "They found him by the river, Mrs. Hall. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but your son couldn't have had anything to do with it."

Janet gazed at the doctor for a moment, then looked away, her eyes fixing on a point somewhere near the ceiling. "You mean he's dead?" she asked, her voice hollow.

"It looks like a heart attack. His gun was right next to him, and one of his hands was still on the stock. He must have been shooting at something, but whatever it was, it doesn't look like he hit it. Anyway, the men didn't find anything out there except Mr. Hall. In the morning, they'll look again."

"But Michael said-"

"I know what the boy said," Marsden interrupted. "Mrs. Simpson told me. But you heard the shots yourself, didn't you? Wasn't your son here at the time?"

"But you said they found him down by the river. That's where Michael said-"

"That's where the shots came from, Mrs. Hall. Now, I want you to rest. If I have to, I'll give you something-"

"No! I don't want anything, Dr.-" She struggled to remember his name, but couldn't. "I'll be all right. But I want to see Michael. Can I? Please?"

Marsden hesitated, then finally nodded. He left the room, and a minute later Michael appeared in the doorway. "Mom? Are you okay?"

Janet beckoned him over to the bed. "I'll be all right," she assured him. She reached out and took Michael's hand. "Honey, what you said just before I fainted. About killing Grandpa?"

"Uh-huh," Michael mumbled.

"What did you mean by that?"

"I already told you," Michael replied. "It was me and Nathaniel. Nathaniel told me I should wish him dead, so I did. And he died."

Janet fought the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. "But that's not possible," she told him, her voice unsteady. "You can't wish someone to death. You were here when Grandpa died. You were with me ."

Michael shook his head. "I was with Nathaniel," he said. "I had to talk to him tonight. Grandpa wanted to hurt us. He wanted to kill us, just like he killed Daddy, and Aunt Laura's babies."

"No, Michael," Janet wailed. "Grandpa didn't do any of that."

Michael's face set stubbornly. "Yes he did," he replied. "I saw him. Nathaniel showed me. And besides, the night Aunt Laura had her baby, I saw them. I saw them kill the baby, and then I saw them out in the field. They were burying Aunt Laura's baby. I was with Nathaniel that night, and we both saw it."

"But Michael, Grandpa was home that night, remember? When you came home, Grandpa was there."

"I don't care," Michael said. "I know what I saw, and I'm not lying."

Suddenly Janet wanted to shake Michael, as if somehow she might physically shake his impossible ideas out of his head. Where had they come from? What did they mean? Then her weakness overcame her, and she collapsed back onto the pillows. "Tomorrow," was all she could say. "We'll talk about it tomorrow…"

Michael got off the bed and started toward the door, but then turned back.

"Mom?"

Janet opened her eyes. Michael was studying her with an intensity so great she had to look away.

"Everything's going to be all right now," he said softly. "I don't think I'm going to have my headaches anymore. I think they only came when Nathaniel was showing me things." He paused for a moment, then went on. "We had to make him die, Mom. He was going to kill the baby. Even if he didn't kill me, he would've killed the baby."

Janet's head turned, and she stared at Michael. "Stop it," she whispered. "Just stop saying those things." Her voice rose to the edge of hysteria. "They're not true, Michael. They're not true !"

Michael returned her gaze, his face suddenly angry. Then he left her alone, closing the door behind him.

Anna Hall was dozing in her chair, her ever-present mending on her lap, her head lolling on her breast.

In the hall, the clock began to strike, and Anna came half awake, certain that Amos had finally come home.

"Amos? Is that you?"

There was no answer, but even as silence settled once more over the house, Anna had a strange sense that she was no longer alone.

She tried to clear the fogginess from her mind, and opened her sleepy eyes to peer around.

Then, at the window, she saw it.

A face, a face she recognized.

It was Mark's face, but younger than he'd been the last time she saw him, almost as young as he'd been when he ran away so many years ago.

And yet it wasn't Mark's face. It was a face like Mark's, but different.

Then she heard the voice.

"He's dead, Mama. He's dead."

The words struck Anna almost like a blow. For a moment she wasn't certain she'd heard them at all. There was a flat atonality about them that made her wonder if the face at the window had spoken the words, or if she'd only imagined them.

Then the voice came again. " He's dead, Mama. You must not be frightened anymore ."

Then the face disappeared from the window, and once more Anna felt the solitude of the house.

She sat for a long time, listening to the soft ticking of the clock, amplified by the night, trying to decide what had really happened to her. Had it been real, or had it only been a dream?