The rustling stopped, replaced by a soft, anguished peeping. Alice started moving again, heading quickly for the bush and leaning over to peer inside. Her face fell. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said. “Mr. Price, come see.”
Thomas came, and saw.
A lanky, mammalian thing that looked something like a raccoon, as drawn from the description of someone who had never actually seen a raccoon, was huddled in a ball at the base of the bush. Its long, stripy tail was wrapped around its body, several times. It chittered when it saw them, but there was no real menace in the sound: the creature was hurt, and it no longer had the strength to do anything but cry.
“It’s a tailypo,” said Alice. “There’s blood, see? Something must have taken a bite out of it. Probably the angler tortoises. They’re always messing with the tailypo, and the tailypo are smart, but not smart enough to figure out that they can’t take out an armored reptile three times their size.” She shrugged out of her coat. “I should be able to reach it.”
“Allow me,” said Thomas. She blinked at him. He shrugged. “I have longer arms, and my house is closer. We can take the—tailypo? Regardless, we can take it back to my place. I should be able to scrounge some sort of box and bedding for it to use.”
“Thank you,” said Alice. Her smile was very bright. “Mind the teeth, and careful you don’t pull its tail. Tailypo hate to have their tails pulled.”
“It seems to be mostly tail,” said Thomas. “I can understand the hatred.” He leaned into the bush, using Alice’s jacket as a blanket as he swaddled and lifted the tailypo. It barely struggled. “Hello. Yes, hello, strange North American mammal. You have a lovely tail. Let’s see if we can’t keep you alive for another season of doing whatever horrible thing it is you do.”
“Mostly they knock over trash cans and make weird sounds outside your window while you’re trying to sleep,” said Alice. “Come on. We need to go this way.”
She began backtracking their path through the wood. Thomas, holding the tailypo against his chest, followed her. The tailypo hung limp and resigned to its fate. It probably expected to be eaten. To be fair, it wasn’t an unreasonable expectation, based on what he’d seen of the woods thus far.
“How did you learn so much about the woods?” he asked. “You’ll forgive me if this sounds condescending, but you don’t talk like you were formally trained.”
“I wasn’t,” she said. “Haven’t been, and probably won’t be if my father has anything to say about it. He’s sort of against me being involved with the family business. He says it’s not ladylike or safe.”
“What does he expect you to do, then?” asked Thomas dubiously. He hadn’t known Alice Healy for very long, but what he knew thus far didn’t leave much room for her becoming anything apart from what she was. She seemed to love the woods, and she definitely loved her knives.
“Get married and have about six kids and never set foot outside again,” said Alice. “If I really feel the need to have a career, he’d be happy with me teaching nursery school or becoming a library aide, I guess. He mostly looks pained when I bring it up, and then changes the subject.”
“I see.” So the latest generation of American Healys was expected to magically grow up to be a normal person. It seemed…unlikely, at best.
The trees were thinning. Alice all but skipped ahead, out into the light. “If we can use a cardboard box and an old towel—do you have old towels? You must, everybody has old towels—we can make a nice bed out on the porch. You don’t want a tailypo loose in your house. They have really clever hands.” She turned to face him, walking backward as she wiggled her fingers in demonstration. “They’ll take things apart if you give them the opportunity.”
“Are they intelligent?”
“No, but they’re wicked smart.” Alice dropped her hands. “It’s not always the same thing, you know?”
“I do,” said Thomas.
When they reached the house he climbed the porch steps and opened the door. “Will you come in?”
“No, thank you,” said Alice, sitting down on the steps. “I’ll wait here. You should fix your porch swing, you know. Then we could sit outside and talk.”
Thomas paused before quirking a faint smile. “Are you ever going to come inside?”
“Sure, if it’s raining.” Alice shrugged. “Creepy murder house. Not so fun for me.”
“I promise you it’s not haunted.”
For some reason, Alice seemed to find that particularly funny. “I know. No self-respecting ghost would haunt the old Parrish Place. I’ll be fine out here.”
“As you like,” said Thomas, and went inside.
As soon as she was alone, Alice stood, walked back down the steps to the yard, and drew a circle in the dirt with her toe. She sketched a large “X” through the center of it, like she was preparing to dig for buried treasure.
“Hey, Mary,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” said a voice from behind her.
“Mary!” Alice turned and threw her arms around the girl standing behind her—a girl who looked to be roughly her same age, but whose hair was prematurely white, and whose eyes were the color of a hundred miles of empty highway. “I hoped you’d be close enough to hear me call.”
“I usually am,” said Mary. She let Alice go, giving her a quick but critical once-over before she said, “So what’s the story? You don’t need a babysitter. You outgrew me years ago.”
“I’ll never outgrow you,” said Alice staunchly. “And the story is that someone bought the old Parrish Place.”
“Wait, seriously?” Mary turned to look at the house. “Are they crazy? Did the old Parrish Place sell to a crazy person? Or a swamp cultist? Please tell me you didn’t call me here because you’ve decided to join a swamp cult. You’re supposed to call me before you do things I need to talk you out of.”
“No, no swamp cults,” said Alice. “I just wanted to introduce you to the man who bought the house.”
Mary blinked slowly. “What?”
“His name is Thomas Price. He’s a member of the Covenant of St. George.”
Mary’s mouth dropped slightly open as she stared at Alice. “What?”
“He was sent here to spy on us, but he decided that would probably end with him getting shot in the head, so he’s being friendly instead. He’s inside, setting up a bed for an injured tailypo we found in the woods.” Alice grinned at Mary’s expression. “I really mean it. He’s really doing it, and I think he’s kinda the bee’s knees. But he keeps making comments about his house being haunted, so…”
“You know, most people say ‘ghosts aren’t real,’ not ‘let me introduce you to my babysitter,’” said Mary.
“Most people are boring,” said Alice.
“Oh, hello.” They both turned toward the sound of a faintly puzzled British voice. Thomas was standing in the doorway, a cardboard box in his arms. “You must be a friend of Miss Healy’s. I’m sorry I can’t shake your hand, mine are a bit full at the moment.”
“Hi,” said Mary. “I’m Mary Dunlavy. I used to babysit for Alice when she was a little girl. She speaks very highly of you.”
Thomas frowned slowly. “When she was…I see.” He walked across the porch to a sheltered corner, where he put the cardboard box down, snug against the rail. Then he straightened, and turned back to the pair, already beginning to roll up his sleeves.
Mary raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me he was a sailor.”
“I’m not,” said Thomas. “Since we’re on the topic of the undisclosed, you didn’t tell me you were deceased.”
“It’s always hard to work into a conversation, you know?” Mary spread her hands. “No one leads off with ‘and this is how I died.’ By the time it comes up naturally, it’s too late to say anything without giving someone a heart attack.”
“It’s okay,” said Alice. “Mary’s been dead since before she started sitting for me, and she’s never hurt me. Well, okay, she bumped my head a few times when she forgot that you can’t carry
babies through walls—”
“I thought we agreed never to mention that again,” protested Mary.
“—but that could’ve happened to anybody. She’s lovely. You’ll like her. And she can prove that your house isn’t haunted, which was sort of the point of calling her.” Alice looked hopeful. “Really. Mary’s the best, and you don’t need to be afraid of her.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” said Thomas, before relenting, and asking, “What type of ghost are you?”
“Crossroads ghost, and don’t ask me what that means, because I’m not allowed to tell you,” said Mary.
Thomas’s face turned solemn. “I think I have some idea,” he said. “So my house is unhaunted?”
“Yup,” said Mary. “All the ghosts around here have better taste than that.”
“Told you,” said Alice.
“I shall never doubt you again,” said Thomas. “What do I feed my new guest?”
“If he seems to be recovering from his injuries, some chopped liver and whole eggs would be best,” said Alice. “That’ll help him heal up faster. Oh, and water, of course. Tailypo need water.”
Now it was Mary’s turn to look amused. “New to town and already playing animal hospital with Alice, huh, Mr. Price? You’re doomed. You should just accept your fate now, and save us all the trouble.”
“Alas, I have never been good at accepting my fate,” said Thomas. The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the smile he was trying to conceal.
“Doomed,” repeated Mary. She glanced at the sky, and then back down to Alice. “Speaking of doomed, how grounded are you going to be if you don’t beat your father home?”
“Omigosh!” Alice clapped her hands over her mouth before rattling off, rapid-fire, “I had a very nice time Mr. Price I’ll be back as soon as I can to check on the tailypo I hope he’ll be okay I won’t blame you if he’s not okay bye!” Then she was running for her bike, swinging her leg over it, and pedaling off toward the road.
Thomas and Mary watched her go. Thomas was the first to speak.
“Is she always so abrupt?” he asked.
“Yup,” said Mary. “She’s still on her best behavior with you.”
“How can you tell?”
“Neither of you was covered in guts when I got here.” She looked up at Thomas. “Careful with her, okay? She’s sort of like the baby sister I never had. I won’t be thrilled if you break her heart.”
Thomas blinked. “I assure you, I have no interest in that direction. She’s sixteen. I have ten years and a lifetime of scars on her.”
“I’ve been sixteen for fifteen years now,” said Mary. “Sixteen year old girls have remarkably fragile hearts. Just be careful.”
“I will do my best,” said Thomas.
“Good.” Mary smiled at him and then, like a bubble bursting, she was gone.
Thomas looked at the place where she’d been for a few minutes before he turned, thoughtful, and walked back into the house. He rather thought he had some eggs somewhere, and he needed to make notes on the day.
It had been surprisingly productive.
Alice beat her father home by no more than ten minutes. She had just flung herself into a seat at the kitchen table when he came in, looking tired and frustrated after his day at work.
“Hello, Daddy,” she said brightly.
“Hello, sweetheart.” He paused to kiss the top of her head. “Did you have a good day at home?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding so fiercely that it felt for a moment like her head was going to come off.
Jonathan paused, seeing her dungarees—and more, seeing the mud on her thighs. “Alice?”
“She helped me move some wood from behind the barn,” said Enid, not looking away from the pot that she was stirring. “Winter will be here soon enough. It’s best to lay your stocks in while you can.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Jonathan, relenting. “I’m sorry, Alice. For a moment, I just thought you might have disobeyed me.”
“No, Daddy,” said Alice, and smiled serenely.
Her father—who had yet to realize that in his quest for a more dutiful daughter, he was making a much better liar—turned to his mother. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Spaghetti,” said Enid. “Go wash up. You, too, Alice. I want you out of those clothes and into something decent before you eat in my kitchen.”
“Yes, Grandma,” said Alice, bouncing out of her seat and running for the stairs.
“See you soon, Mom,” said Jonathan, and followed more sedately.
In very little time, Enid was alone at the stove. She sighed, content, and reached for the pepper. Things were finally changing again.
Maybe this time, they were changing for the better.
Lay of the Land Page 3
