The Door to January
Page 17
Beneath the mailbox was a sign which read fresh eggs—milk—butter—cream for sale. Near the front door, another sign was nailed to the clapboards: leary farm 1770.
Teddy put his hands in his pockets. “I heard somebody had bought the place. I biked out here last month and was totally blown away.”
It took Natalie a long time to catch her breath. She fought not to cry with a smile on her face. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. It is.”
Natalie started walking up the driveway.
“What’re you doing?” asked Teddy. He caught up with her at the front door. “Are you nuts?” He stared as she rang the bell. “What’re you going to say?”
Natalie reached into her pocket and pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills.
“That I want to buy some eggs.”
CHAPTER 40
“It’s funny.” Angie McBride shook her head as she poured iced tea for the teenagers who’d come to her door, surprised at herself for inviting them to sit down at all. The girl was very quiet, taking everything in, from the appliances to the kitchen island to the prints on the walls. “When I was a kid, we used to sing hopscotch rhymes about Cind-er-ella dressed in yell-a, you know? Around here, it’s Par-ty dress so lil-y white, strang-ler come for you to-night.”
“I guess I must’ve missed that one,” said the boy.
“Oh, it’s real sick. Kids love that stuff, right? Like to spook each other. Around Halloween, we get the usual prank phone calls, toilet paper in the trees.”
“This room is great. You’ve done so much with it,” the girl said. Her gaze never stopped traveling.
“Well, thanks. You two want the ten-cent tour?” Now why did you just offer that? she wondered.
As they went from room to room, the boy and girl hung on every word she said about her family moving in, turning it back into a working farm.
“It doesn’t bother you to live here, knowing what happened?” the girl said.
“Eh. Houses are meant to be lived in. The real estate agent was very up-front about it. Hell, it’s silly. Plenty of people around here own places old as this one—they don’t think a few folks kicked the bucket in those rooms? With influenza and cholera and who knows what else, women having ten kids and losing five? Murder’s nasty, but it ain’t new. It just so happens that everybody around here knows about ours.”
She showed them out.
“You have a wonderful home,” the girl said, and to Angie’s bewilderment, the child was almost in tears. She had pale gray eyes like chips of ice. “I’m glad nice people are taking care of it.” She reached out and touched Angie’s hand. Something cold and electric passed between them, and then was gone.
Angie murmured thanks, watching them set their glasses on the countertop and head for the door.
“Honey, wait.”
The girl turned back to her, wide-eyed.
Angie picked up the cardboard container. “Don’t forget your eggs.”
Angie went to the dooryard and watched them drive away. They slowed down to look at the cows, then accelerated again and disappeared from sight.
Angie couldn’t seem to get the warmth back in her hands, and suffered from a chill the rest of the day. It was almost, she told her husband later with forced humor, as if the girl had been a ghost herself.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Melissa Kim and the team at Islandport Press for giving an unknown YA author an incredible opportunity; to Anne Romans, a superior library director and friend; Ellen Potter, whose editorial advice was priceless; and to my husband Darren, whose faith never wavered.
The Door to january
The Door to january