'Kate,' she cried as she rounded the final bend of trees, 'I'll have you fired for this!'
Her barn jacket sat crookedly on her shoulders, buttoned incorrectly, its mismatched front flapping open. Long strands of hair had come loose from the clasp that held it at the back of her head. The fury on her face was far out of proportion to a spray-painted patch of bam.
'We can discuss it later,' I said, 'when you have your temper under control.'
'We'll discuss it now. Brook told me what that monster did.'
'I was talking to Brook before we left the house,' I said, glancing back at Patrick. He was still on the logs. 'Why didn't he say something then?'
'He just received a call from the bam and relayed the message to me. That child is a juvenile delinquent,' she hissed.
'Patrick or Brook?'
'By the time he is ten, the police will be picking him up.'' 'That's absurd, and you know it. In any case, Patrick didn't go near your barn.'
'It's a child's work,' she insisted. 'The groom said so.'
I glanced back again at Patrick, then turned to her. 'Most people could imitate a child's painting. Even Brook would be capable,' I added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
'He's a hateful child. Hateful!' Her fingers flexed with anger.
I found myself staring at her hands, her bitten-off nails. One of them was bloody.
'Adrian should take a strap to him,' she said. 'If he doesn't, I will.'
'You touch Patrick, and I'll have the authorities here in a flash.'
She smiled. 'If you're still here.'
'I will be.'
Robyn looked past my shoulder. 'Not the way you're tending to Patrick.'
I spun around. He was on the ice, hurrying across it. 'Patrick! Patrick, stop!'
I rushed toward the pond and halted at its edge. He was already ten meters from shore. 'Help me,'' I called to Robyn. 'Patrick, come back!'
At last he stopped and glanced around warily. Though he looked straight at me, he didn't act as if he saw me. We had been talking about Ashley: Was he seeing the present or the past? I wondered.
'Don't move.'
I quickly surveyed the ice, trying to see which sections appeared most solid. My weight might be too much for the area he was on. I needed a long branch, one I could extend to him.
I glanced over my shoulder. Robyn was gone. She didn't care if he drowned-she was crazy, truly mad with jealousy. I continued to look for something that could be used as a pole. The logs were too heavy; the lighter branches and hockey stick were shorter than I wanted.
Patrick had turned his whole body around now and was watching me.
'Walk toward me,' I called.
He stood still.
If I moved toward him, he might retreat onto thinner ice. Oh, God, I prayed, tell me what to do, tell me how to get him back. Aloud, I said, 'Patrick, you need to get on shore. Come here.'
He gazed at me, but his mind was elsewhere. He was like a person on a phone, listening to a voice I couldn't hear.
'Patrick, come here!'
He didn't blink.
I picked up the longest branch within reach and started across the ice. Its surface was soft, uneven. My heart pounded. If he fell through, it would be hard to find him in the black depths. He might panic and swim under the ice.
I wanted to race to him. Even so, I forced myself to move slowly, steadily, afraid the impact of running steps would break the ice.
I was seven meters from him and getting closer. 'I want you to grab hold of the branch,' I said.
He edged away from me. He looked afraid.
'Grab the branch and-' He took a step back. I heard the soft crunching, then the sickening sound of fractures running through the ice. Patrick tumbled into the water. I screamed and raced forward. For a moment his snow jacket buoyed him up, and I thought I could reach him before his head went under. Then he flailed his arms, compressing the air pockets that kept him afloat. He was still on the surface, but barely. I trained my eyes on him, memorizing his position relative to the shore.
I was caught by surprise when the ice gave way beneath me. Frigid water rushed over me. I gulped it, then thrust my head upward. The pond water ringed my throat, but I could touch ground-both feet touched ground. I pressed forward.
'Float! Turn on your back and float!' I cried.
Patrick was terrified and choking down water.
I couldn't move fast enough. It was like walking against a wall of mud, the heavy pond water feeling solid to my neck.
Patrick's clothes, weighted with water, sucked him under. I could still see the top of his head, his hair floating near the surface. Two steps more-l moved in slow motion. Help me God, please.
I reached out and grabbed him. My cold hands felt as lifeless as shovels, my fingers so numb they were unable to grasp. I held him against me with just the strength of my arms. He was breathing, still breathing-and coughing.
I waded toward shore, continually pushing against an edge of ice. The upward slope of the pond's floor seemed steep as a mountain. As I struggled, I thought about what to do next-call 911. Get him to the warm barn.
The water grew shallower and Patrick heavier. When the water was at my hips I struggled to hold him and reach for my cell phone. The sooner I called the paramedics, the sooner they would get here. It shouldn't have been hard to push 911, but my fingers couldn't feel the buttons. The phone slid into the dark water and disappeared.
Keep going, you have to keep going, I told myself.
Patrick felt twice his weight, but it was easier now to kick at the ice and push my way through it. At last I was on shore. He breathed heavily, sounding congested. I debated what to do. 'Mrs. Caulfield?' I called out in the desperate hope Robyn had stayed to watch. There was no answer.
If I laid him on the ground, I might not be able to pick him up again, and I didn't know how to administer the medical care he needed. I kept going, finding the trail through the wood, amazed that my feet could walk with no sensation of ground beneath them. When I got to the end of the path, I stopped and screamed for help, hoping someone in the barn would hear me.
From the road that led to the employee cottages, Roger shouted back. He streaked toward me, calling to the barn as he did. Someone responded.
With Patrick still in my arms, I dropped in a heap, unable to do one thing more.
Toger called 911, then contacted Emily, who rushed down from the house followed by the others. The paramedics from the volunteer fire department arrived. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Mrs. Hopewell informed them that their assistance would not be needed after all — the boy was nothing more than cold. They looked at her as if she were quite mad, then followed Emily's instructions. Emily insisted that I, too, be checked at the hospital, and I agreed because I wanted to be with Patrick.
Adrian called the hospital from his attorney's office and was assured by the E.R. staff that Patrick was stable. An hour later, when Adrian arrived at Easton Hospital, Patrick's body temperature and other vital signs were normal. The doctor informed Adrian that I was unharmed and Patrick would be ready for release in another hour, as