And I saw that for today, I would hear but that preface to the ghost story, for Papa had begun to climb the broad granite slabs that constituted an outer stair to the base of the tower. I turned to see what Mama did, and finding her bent to examine a clump of mushrooms, nosing the tip of her walking stick in between the furry heads, I spun to follow my father.

He had already disappeared through the squat doorway. I stepped up each stair in the dull vacuum of fog, my heels clicking on granite as I rose. Halcy’s white face flashed into my mind’s eye. Why did she appear to me now? Her wild visage confronted me again; she had looked at me, opening her mouth as if to call my name. I stopped on the stairs, my legs quivering beneath me. I closed my eyes, remembering Papa’s voice sounding the silence in the woods—it had been imagination. Her face sprang up beneath my lids.

A deafening crack split open the air. Another sharp crack sounded in the terrible high pitch of snapping wood, as if the backbone of heaven had broken. Papa screamed from inside. And then there followed a tremendous rain of sound, great crashing splinters falling in dull thuds into the hole beneath the tower.

Then, only silence. I could not move. A figure scrambled past me, racing to reach the door and pull it open, but it seemed the dreadful shift that had taken place inside had wedged the door anew in its casing. As I watched Mama tug at the slim handle, it came away in her hands.

“Papa?” I whispered, unbelieving. “Papa?”

I hurled myself up the stairs and pounded on the thick wood. I thought I heard Papa struggling on the other side of the door.

“Papa, wait! I’m coming.”

We were tearing at the door now, trying to pry an opening around the latch, the two of us frantic, clawing at the unforgiving wood. I whirled around and called back into the trees, “Help. Help us! Someone help us!”

But there was no one. My mind shied away from what it imagined on the other side of the door. Then I thought of Mr. Coates waiting in the cove. Mama seemed to have the same thought, for she pushed me away. But then, in a spasm, she clutched me back again, holding me to her so hard, I felt the edges of her heart beating through our two thin dresses.

“I will hurry, Mama.”

And she put me from her. I tucked my dress up around my waist and ran back into the darkened quiet.

Grange House

3 August 1896

Dear Mr. Lanman,