“There were all sorts of rumors flying,” Ruth says, tapping her cane against the sidewalk. “Polio. Tuberculosis. A schoolteacher died from meningitis that year, remember, Gloria? She was so young. Pretty thing, too.”

“Isabella Fortune,” I say, thinking of the stone in the graveyard. “Gram told me about her.”

Gloria nods. “Poor woman. Anyway, I’m not sure anyone outside the family really knew what was wrong with your gram,” says Gloria.

“How long did she stay in the house?” I ask.

“A long time,” Gloria says.

“A year,” Ruth adds, “or two.”

“Two years?” I ask, my mouth dropping open.

My head is buzzing, and my heart is beating fast, for some reason.

“Oh, they came to church service most weeks,” Gloria is saying. “’Course, her daddy was the mayor back then and thinking about running for governor, so it would have looked bad not to have the whole family there. But they came in late and left before it was over, as I remember. She was too fragile to be caught in a crowd. I visited her once or twice, but it was a bit—well—frightening. Your great-grandmother kept her room so dark. The light gave your gram headaches.”

“Then one day, she was back,” Ruth barks, snapping her fingers for dramatic effect. “Still a sickly thing to look at, but recovered, apparently.”

“And you didn’t ask her what was wrong?” Fina asks.

“It was a different time,” Gloria replies. “In those days, illnesses weren’t talked about in the open. They were whispered about behind closed doors. Anyway, it was obvious your gram wanted to put it behind her. It was the kind thing to do not to ask imprudent questions. We were all just thankful she was back again.”

My hands tremble a little as I untangle the ancient lights from one another. At the same time that I’m hurt that Gram kept all this from me, I feel a deep pain in my heart for her. What could keep a child that sick? Was it cancer? Could you get cancer as a child and then again when you were old?

“But what about Madeline?” I ask. “Joe said she visited Gram. Maybe she knows more.”

Gloria gives her narrow shoulders a brittle shrug. “Maybe. All I know is your gram and Madeline were thick as thieves after your gram came back to school.”

“But they grew apart in the end,” Ruth adds.

“What happened?” Fina asks. “Did they have a fight or something?”

“Nothing as dramatic as that,” Gloria said. “But as Ruth says, Madeline has some strange ways about her. From the time she was a child, she was timid as a church mouse.”

“Afraid of the world,” Ruth croaks, before coughing loudly into her mittened hand.