Tracy turned away from the window, and started toward the closet that had been her grandfather’s.
Had she stayed at the window a few more seconds, she would have seen the strange light at the mill again. She would also have seen that there were no cars moving along River Road.
She found the box where it had sat for as long as she could remember, on the highest shelf of her grandfather’s closet. She had seen it often there, but whenever she’d asked her grandfather what was in it, he’d told her only that when the time came, she would know.
Now she stared at it for several moments. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it — it was simply a rectangular metal box, with a metal handle. She could tell just by looking at it that it was very old. She reached up and gently eased it off the shelf, then carried it gingerly back to the parlor, where she sat down in her grandmother’s chair. When she pressed the button on its front panel, the latch stuck for a second, then popped open.
Inside, there was nothing but some sort of old book. She fingered it for a moment, wondering if she should read it here, then put the box back in her grandfather’s closet. But then, as the beginnings of an idea began to form in her mind, she picked up the box and left the suite of rooms, pulling the door shut behind her.
Back in her own room, Tracy put the box on her desk, then took the strange-looking book out of it. Taking the book with her, she went to her bed, got under the covers, then opened the book to the first page.
It was a journal of some sort, written by hand in black ink, that was barely legible. The spiky handwriting looked very old-fashioned, and for a moment Tracy wasn’t sure she would be able to read it at all. But then, remembering the book had something to do with Amy, she began studying the words more carefully. Slowly, deciphering the words one by one, she read through the old book.
By the time morning came, and she woke up from what had been a fitful sleep, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
She smiled, and hugged herself, luxuriating in the warmth of the summer morning, and the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, she would finally be rid of Beth Rogers.
I’m being ridiculous, Carolyn told herself as she sat at the breakfast table that morning. Everything is fine. Tracy is behaving like a perfectly ordinary child, and I have no reason to be suspicious.
And there was nothing going on at the table that should have made her suspicious, either. Beth and Tracy were talking together, and Tracy was suggesting that after breakfast, maybe she should give Beth a tennis lesson.
“But I’ve never even played,” Beth said. “I’ll just mess up.”
“Everybody messes up,” Tracy countered. “And besides, you can’t go to the club unless you play tennis.”
Carolyn felt herself stiffen, ready for the scornful comment that was sure to come. But instead, Tracy simply went on talking, nothing in her voice betraying the contempt for Beth she had always expressed before.
“Look. Everybody at the club plays tennis, right?”
Beth nodded.
“So if you don’t play tennis, what are you going to do? Just sit there?”
“Maybe I won’t go to the club at all,” Beth suggested.
Now Tracy rolled her eyes, and again Carolyn felt a pang of apprehension.
“So what are you going to do? Sit up here all by yourself? What fun will that be? And you know you don’t have any friends down in the village anymore—”
“Tracy—” Phillip interrupted, shooting his daughter a warning look. Instantly, Tracy looked apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Beth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Beth shrugged, and stared at her half-eaten grapefruit. “Why not? It’s true. They all think I’m crazy.”
“Who cares what they think?” Tracy asked.
Beth eyed Tracy suspiciously. “You think I’m crazy too. You said so.”
“That was before,” Tracy replied. “I can change my mind, can’t I?”
“But what about all your friends?”
“Stop worrying so much. Just let me teach you how to play tennis, and then next week I’ll take you to the club. And I’ll even let you wear some of my clothes. Or we’ll make Daddy take us to Boston, and buy you some of your own.”
“But what if I’m no good?” Beth asked, though her eyes were starting to betray her eagerness. “What if I’m terrible at it?”
“You can’t be any worse than Alison Babcock,” Tracy answered. “She can barely even hit the ball over the net. And when she serves, it’s like getting free points.”
“You won’t laugh at me?”
“I won’t laugh at you,” Tracy promised, suddenly grinning. “Anyway, I won’t laugh very much. Besides, who’s going to see you?”
Ten minutes later the girls dutifully cleared the table of everything except their parents’ coffee cups, and then were gone. A few minutes later, Carolyn saw them walking across the lawn toward the tennis court, Tracy already showing Beth how to hold a racket.
“Well?” Phillip asked, as if he’d been reading her thoughts for the last half-hour. “You don’t believe it, do you?”
Carolyn sighed. “I wish I could, but nobody changes as quickly as Tracy has. So, no, I don’t believe it at all. I’m absolutely convinced that she’s putting on some kind of performance, but I can’t figure out what it’s all about.”
“Don’t forget,” Phillip replied. “I gave her a choice — she either behaves herself, or she goes away.”
But Carolyn shook her head. “What she’s doing goes beyond that, Phillip, and you know it as well as I do. I keep getting the feeling that she’s up to something, and that she needs to get Beth’s confidence.” Then, at the hurt she saw in Phillip’s eyes, she tried to apologize. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m not being fair to her. But I just can’t see her changing overnight.”
“She probably hasn’t,” Phillip conceded. “But even if it’s just an act, it’s better than the way things were. And we have to give her a chance, don’t we? You know as well as I do that if she gets to know Beth, she’ll like her.”
“It’s all over now,” Phillip declared.
Carolyn wished she thought he was right. “Is it?” she asked. “What about Beth’s friend Amy?”
Phillip’s eyes clouded, and Carolyn had the feeling he was keeping something from her. But he shook his head. “She’ll forget about her. Beth was going through a rough period when she dreamed Amy up, but as things get better, she won’t need Amy anymore.” He looked at his wife pleadingly. “Honey, haven’t we had enough problems this summer? Do we have to start looking for more? And besides,” he added, “Beth hasn’t mentioned Amy even once since she’s been home, has she?”
“Can you blame her?” Carolyn replied more sharply than she’d intended. “Talking about Amy cost her every friend she had. If I’d been her, I’d have stopped talking about Amy long ago. But that wouldn’t mean I’d stopped thinking about her.”
Phillip frowned. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know!” Carolyn rose from the table, and moved to the French doors. Beyond the terrace and across the lawn, she could see Beth and Tracy on the tennis. Had it been any two girls but these, the scene would have looked perfectly natural. But knowing all that had happened that summer, and remembering what Tracy had said in the restaurant the night Abigail had had her first heart attack, there was something frightening about watching Tracy show Beth how to hold the tennis racket. The scene looked so innocent, but Carolyn couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that what she was watching was more than a simple tennis lesson. Tracy, she was increasingly certain, was up to something. But what? And then, as her gaze wandered past the tennis court and fell on the massive shape of the mill, it came to her.
