distance between their houses used to be.
She started toward the front door, then changed her mind, and skirted around to the far end of the house. Somewhere, she knew, there had to be a back door, and all her life she’d been used to using her friends’ back doors. You only went to the front door on special occasions.
Finally she found the little terrace behind the kitchen, and knocked loudly on the screen door. A moment later, Beth herself appeared on the other side of the door. “I knew you’d come around here,” she said, holding the door open so Peggy could come into the kitchen. “Want a doughnut or something?”
Peggy nodded mutely, and Beth helped herself from the plate on the kitchen table, handing one to the other girl. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. I want to show you something.” They pushed the screen door open, and let it slam behind them, Beth calling out an apology even before Hannah could admonish her. Then, with Peggy following behind, Beth led her back around the corner of the house, and across the lawn toward the trail to the mausoleum.
Patches snorted, pawed at the stable floor, then stretched her neck out over the half-door, whinnying eagerly.
“Not yet,” Tracy Sturgess told the big mare. “Not till I’m done grooming you.” She gave the horse’s lead a quick jerk, but instead of obediently backing away from the door, the horse only snorted again, and tossed her head, jerking the lead from Tracy’s hand.
“Stop it!” Tracy snapped, grabbing for the lead, but missing. “Peter! Come make Patches hold still.”
“In a minute,” Peter called from the other end of the stable.
“Now!” Tracy demanded. She moved carefully around Patches, then grasped the horse’s halter, and tried to pull her back into the stall. Again, the horse snorted, reared slightly, and tried to pull away.
“What’s wrong with you?” Tracy asked. Then, her hand still clutching the halter, she looked out into the paddock to see what had attracted the mare’s attention. The paddock, though, was empty.
Tracy raised her eyes, and then, past the rose garden, saw the movement that had distracted the horse.
It was Beth, walking across the lawn with someone else, a girl Tracy didn’t recognize. Tracy frowned, then jerked the horse’s lead again. Patches whinnied a loud protest, but a moment later Peter came into the stall, took the lead from Tracy, and gently pulled the animal away from the door. Tracy remained where she was, staring out at the retreating figures of the two girls.
“Who’s that?” she asked, her back still to Peter.
“Who?”
“That girl with Beth.”
Peter shrugged. “My sister. Her name’s Peggy.”
Now Tracy turned around to glare angrily at the stableboy. “Who cares what her name is? What’s she doing up here?”
Peter reddened slightly. He’d known this would happen. Now he’d be in trouble for sure. “Beth invited her up.”
“Who said she could do that?” Tracy demanded. “This isn’t her house. She doesn’t have the right to invite people up here.”
“Her mom said it was okay. She said Peggy could come up anytime she wanted to.”
“Well, she can’t!” Tracy exclaimed. “And I’m going to tell her so!” She stamped out of the stall, leaving Peter to finish the job she’d begun, then ran through the rose garden and around the corner of the house just in time to see Beth and Peggy starting up the trail toward the mausoleum.
She was about to call out to them, and tell Peggy Russell to go home, when she changed her mind. Maybe it would be more fun to follow them, and find out what they were doing.
*
Peggy stood staring in awe at the strange marble structure that was the tomb of the Sturgesses. “Wow,” she breathed. “What is it?”
Beth explained the mausoleum as best she could, then pulled Peggy away. “But this isn’t what I wanted to show you,” she said. “It’s down here. Come on.”
They started down the overgrown path on the other side of the mausoleum, walking carefully, their feet crunching on the thick bed of fallen leaves and twigs that covered the old trail. Here and there the path seemed to Peggy to disappear completely, and several times they had to scramble over fallen trees. And then, just as Peggy was sure the trail was coming to an end, it suddenly branched off to the left. Peggy looked around. At the place where the two paths converged, she spotted a sign, old and rusty, its paint peeling away, hanging crookedly on a tree.
PRIVATE PROPERTY
NO TRESPASSING
“Maybe we’d better go back,” Peggy said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she glanced around guiltily.
“It doesn’t mean us,” Beth replied. “It’s just marking the place where Uncle Phillip’s property starts. It’s for people coming up the hill, not going down. Come on.”
With Peggy following somewhat reluctantly now, Beth started along the track that would lead to the little meadow.
“Where are you going?” Peggy asked.
“You’ll see,” Beth replied. “Don’t worry.”
“But what if we get lost?” Peggy argued. “How do you know which trail to follow?” More and more, she was wishing they hadn’t come down here at all. It seemed to her that the woods were closing in around her. She wished she were back up on the top of the hill, where at least everything was open.
“I’ve been down here before,” Beth replied. “Mom and I came down here one day, and Uncle Phillip and I came out here on the horses. Stop being chicken.”
Peggy hesitated, wondering what to do. Maybe she should turn around, and try to find her own way back. But if she did that, she’d have to go by herself.
Making up her mind, she followed Beth. They had gone only about a hundred yards when Beth stopped. “Look,” she said softly. “Here it is.”
Peggy stared around the little meadow. Saplings stood here and there in the clearing, and the underbrush came nearly to her waist. But there didn’t seem to her to be any difference between this meadow and any of the others that dotted the woods around Westover.
“What’s so special about this?” Peggy complained. “It’s just a clearing, isn’t it?”
Beth shook her head, and led Peggy across the meadow to the place where she’d found the small depression last time she had been there.
She pointed to it silently, and Peggy frowned in puzzlement. “What is it?”
“It’s a grave,” Beth said.
Peggy’s eyes widened. She glanced around nervously, wishing she were somewhere else. “H-how do you know?” she breathed.
“I just know,” Beth replied. “I found it the other day.”
“Whose is it?” Peggy whispered, her wide eyes fixed on the odd depression. “Who’s buried here? Is it one of the Sturgesses?”
Beth shook her head. “They’re all buried up in the mausoleum. I think—” She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I think this is where Amy’s buried.”
“Amy?” Peggy repeated blankly. “Who’s Amy? What’s her last name?”
“I … I don’t know,” Beth admitted.
The two girls stood silently for a moment, their eyes fixed on the odd sunken spot.
“Maybe it isn’t a grave at all,” Peggy suggested. “If it was a grave, wouldn’t there be a headstone or something?”
Beth’s eyes flicked up the hill, toward the spot where the mausoleum lay hidden in the woods. “There isn’t any headstone because they didn’t want anyone to know,” she said in a whisper. “They didn’t want anyone to know
