I squint up at him, shading my eyes from the sun. “Briar Hollow Lane? I thought there was nothing down there but a water treatment shed. That’s what Gram told me.”

I look from Old Joe to Gloria in time to see a little frown cross over her face. Another lie, then.

“Well, it was a white lie,” Old Joe says, as if reading my thoughts. “Kids can be cruel to folks like Madeline. Not you, of course. But maybe you tell someone, and they tell someone, and the next thing you know, kids are daring each other to ring her bell in the middle of the night.”

“But did Gram know her?” I ask.

Old Joe nods. “Sure. They were friends a long way back. I think Madeline used to visit your gram when she was still ill.”

Gloria sucks in a sharp breath. Ruth looks suddenly interested. I feel my forehead wrinkle. “You mean when she had cancer?”

Old Joe shakes his head, slow as a cornstalk swaying in the breeze. “Naw, I mean when she was a child.”

“Now, Joe,” Gloria chides, her voice sharp. “I’m sure Emma’s not interested in ancient—”

“What do you mean?” I interrupt.

Nobody says anything for a minute. They don’t move, either. They just stand there, frozen, like three very wrinkly statues.

Then Old Joe’s jaw starts to work side to side. “Well, now,” he says sheepishly, “I’m not really the person to be asking about that kind of thing. In fact, I’d, uh, better be getting back to the fields. You tell your folks I say hello. Nice to meet you, Fina.”

He tips his hat at her, climbs up into his tractor, and rattles off.

Gloria looks furious. Ruth wears an amused smile. I have never been more confused in my life.

“What was he talking about?” I ask. “Gram never told me anything about being sick.”

“Emma, some things are between family to discuss,” Gloria says, turning back to her lights.

“Aw, psh,” Ruth says, waving her free hand. “Don’t you think that can of worms is open now, Gloria? Yes, your gram was a sickly child, Emma.”

“Joe, that old busybody,” Gloria grumbles. “Always had a mouth the size of Texas.”

“But sick with what?” I ask, ignoring her.

Ruth and Gloria exchange a look. “Now, that we can’t tell you and not because we don’t want to,” Gloria says. “One spring, she just stopped coming to school as much, and in the fall, she didn’t come back. We were told she was too sick to do much besides stay in Morning Glory Cottage.”

“They took her to the beach for the sea air, sometimes,” Ruth corrects her.

“It was the mountains for the mountain air,” Gloria argues.