Ceremonies

'I swear I shall-' He caught himself. 'Ah, Adam! Werner!' He came forward, a dark bear of a man, nodding to the other two. He turned to Carol, and his eyes narrowed with interest. 'And who might this be?'

'I'm just visiting,' she said timidly. 'With him.' She made a vague gesture toward the other aisle.

'Be right with you, Brother Rupert!' came the voice of the storekeeper. He rejoined the group, followed by Freirs, who was carrying a hefty-looking metal canister.

The larger man ignored him. 'Ah, yes,' he said, as soon as he saw Freirs. He looked from him to Carol and back again. 'You'd be the one from the city, yes? The one who's stayin' with Sarr Poroth?'

'That's right,' said Freirs, his voice level. 'I'm the one. And you are-?'

'Rupert Lindt.' He stuck out a beefy hand which swallowed Freirs' up whole; but if his grip was painful, Freirs made no sign. 'And this here's Adam Verdock and Werner Geisel.'

Freirs shook both their hands as well. 'I've been drinking your milk all week,' he said to Verdock. He turned to the third: 'And judging from your name, you must be related to our neighbor.'

'I guess you're right,' said the other. He was the oldest in the room, his head nearly bald, his beard shot with grey. 'You know my brother Matthew, do you?'

'Sure,' said Freirs. 'He lives just down the road from us. In fact, you might say-'

'And then again you might not,' said Lindt. 'Fact is, those Poroths are off on a road by themselves – like they are in a few other ways, as well. Matt Geisel is on the other branch, the one that doesn't run so far from town. Tis a good – oh, what would you say, Werner, a mile or two closer?'

The other nodded uneasily.

'Lord knows why they bought it,' Lindt continued. 'Old man Baber hooked himself a proper one when he sold that place to Poroth. 'Tis a ways too far from the rest of us, if you ask me.'

'And a ways too close to the Neck,' added the storekeeper, ringing up the purchase on the cash register.

Freirs looked startled. 'What neck?'

'McKinney's Neck,' said Geisel. 'You don't want to go pokin' your nose around there. The ground's treacherous this time o' year, and you're liable to get yourself drowned.'

Lindt seemed to find this funny. 'Heck, nobody's gonna drown in a little bitty patch of mud, leastways nobody whose mama taught him to walk right.' He cast a cold eye on Freirs, then a warmer one on Carol. She felt her heart beat faster. 'You goin' for walks in the woods with this fellow?' he demanded, nodding toward Freirs. 'Or you come out here to give that Deborah woman a bit of competition?'

'Now come on, Rupert!' It was Adam Verdock who spoke. He was the tallest and thinnest of the men, the one with the gravest expression. He'd been the one speaking when the two of them had entered the store. 'Brother Rupert's only jesting with you,' he explained. 'I was talkin' to Sarr and his woman only this morning, just after worship – he's my nephew; as you young folks may know, I married his pa's sister – and he says everything's goin' just fine, you're the best guests a man could want. Says he'd like to put up a whole string of guest houses, if he could.'

Lindt snorted derisively. 'Sure, and maybe get himself outa debt!'

Freirs took the spray can – Carol was afraid, for a moment, that he was going to aim it at the larger man's face – and slipped his hand protectively in hers. 'Come on,' he said, 'let's go.'

She held back a moment; she had a sudden vision of herself and Jeremy up to their necks in quicksand. 'Tell me,' she said nervously, turning to Geisel, 'just in case we do decide to take a walk in the woods, should we avoid that McKinney section you mentioned?'

'Well, like I say,' the old man answered, 'it's a little treacherous out there in the Neck, especially for a stranger. And there are some' – he cast a sidelong glance at Steegler – 'who say the place is haunted.'

The storekeeper stepped from behind the counter. 'Now, now, Werner,' he said testily, 'I don't claim that. But you know perfectly well the place has a mighty peculiar history.'

'What's this about haunted?' asked Freirs. Carol could almost see his ears perk up; this was probably just the sort of thing he'd come out here for.

It was Lindt who answered, looking somewhat amused. 'I believe they found a girl hanged out there, back before the war.' He nodded to Carol. 'A nice young girl, she was, pretty much like yourself. Ain't that right, Werner?'

The older man nodded. 'Twas in the thirties, I recollect.'

'Suicide?' asked Freirs.

'Not likely. There was talk of other things that had been done-'

'Beggin' your pardon, all of you,' said Verdock, looking pained, 'but I don't think this is a fit subject for a Sunday.'

'You're right,' said Freirs hastily, to a chorus of nods and omens. 'Anyway, we've got to go. Sarr and Deborah have a nice dinner ready for us… debt and all.' He glanced quickly at Lindt. 'Mr Verdock, Mr Geisel – a real pleasure.' As he took Carol's hand and began walking out, he called over his shoulder, 'And Rupert, next time you're in New York, be sure to look me up.'

She was glad when they were back outside on the street.

They didn't go right back to the farm, though. Freirs was now excited. He dragged her across the street toward the line of massive oaks and, beyond them, the schoolhouse.

'Come along,' he said, 'I've got a sudden yen for local history. Let's look up that murder.'

'But where are we going?' asked Carol, as she followed him across the dusty brown playing field.

He nodded toward the red-brick walls of the school. 'The town library. It's supposed to be here in this building.'

Carol laughed. 'This is turning into a busman's holiday!'

'Oh, don't expect this place to be like Voorhis. Sarr says it's hardly more than a school library – and Bible school, at that. He warned me about the place, in fact. He told me, 'You'll not find the shelves filled with pornography, the way they are in New York.' ' Freirs shook his head. 'Good old Sarr! He really thinks we're next door to Gomorrah.'

The library proved to be on the first floor of the building, and, true to the Brethren's work ethic, was open even on a Sunday. Poroth, they soon discovered, had not been exaggerating about its contents. As the two of them surveyed the narrow room with its meagerly stocked shelves, they saw nothing that would have corrupted the most innocent schoolchild. There were cookbooks, books on farming, and books of household hints, but the bulk of the works were religious, and most of them appeared to have been written in the days when people still drove Model T's to church. An entire shelf was devoted to refutations of Darwin; another bulged with temperance literature, most of it written before the start of Prohibition.

'Sarr was right,' said Carol. 'There's certainly nothing here to make the blood race.'

'Yeah,' said Freirs. 'Too bad!'

Carol looked in vain for a librarian. There appeared to be no one around, nor even a desk or a counter where one would have worked. Voorhis seemed very far away. The only other person in the room was a short, portly woman who was fanning herself vigorously as she peered through a section of inspirational novels.

'I've read every one of 'em once or twice before,' she confided, after they'd walked over to introduce themselves, 'but I like 'em even better when I know how the story comes out.' She explained that, in fact, there was no librarian on duty – 'leastways not summers, when the school's closed down. Folks just come in, take what they please, and bring the books back when they can.'

'No kidding,' said Freirs. 'What's to stop somebody from just walking in and stealing all the books?'

The woman seemed surprised. 'The sort of folks who come in here ain't the sort who steal,' she said, regarding him with suspicion. 'And the sort who steal ain't the sort who come in here.'

Freirs, having sized up the woman as a regular, explained what he was looking for. She led him and Carol to an alcove near the back where floor-to-ceiling shelves sagged beneath the weight of thin brown books the size of atlases, piled flat. They were bound volumes of the Hunterdon County Home News.

'Perfect,' said Freirs.

'Back before the war,' Rupert Lindt had told them. The two scanned the shelves for the volumes from the thirties, and found them in a pile near the floor. From the way the books stuck together from the heat when Freirs pulled out the one marked 1937, Carol guessed they were rarely consulted.

He flipped through the volume. The newspapers were yellow with age and smelled like a damp cellar. Over