I looked at my fingers. They were growing longer. I felt my cheeks. The bones were more prominent. Couldn’t he see the difference? Then I was completely Margaret Dorn and I could no longer remember Maggie Caine.

I reached for him and he yelled and ran out of the barn. I knew he would return, so I sat on the floor and waited for him. In a minute or two he came back wearing his stole around his neck and carrying a prayer book. Then he stood some distance away from me, reading from the book and raising his hands occasionally to make the sign of the cross while I shouted obscenities at him. At least I know now my words were obscene. Then I thought they were amusing.

After a while I went up the ladder to the loft and invited him to come with me. I had it in my mind to seduce him and then afterward kill him. I was sure I was strong enough to strangle him. However he paid no attention to my repeated invitations, and after a while I stretched out on the loft floor and went to sleep.

When I awakened, it was much darker and for a moment I couldn’t remember where I was. Then I looked over the edge of the loft and saw Father Jackson. He was seated on a wheel­barrow, still reading his prayer book.

“Hi,” I called softly. He looked up cautiously. “It’s me, Maggie.” I came down the ladder. “What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “Four-­thirty.”

“God. Are the kids home from school yet?”

“Your daughter is. She looked in here a while ago, but then she went away again without saying anything.”

“Did she know I was up in the loft?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I didn’t think you wanted her to see you. Did you?”

“Maggie Caine didn’t.” He didn’t reply. “Do you believe me now?” I asked.

“I believe there’s something wrong with you,” he said carefully. “Maybe you’re the one who’s a multiple personality.”

I was angry, but then I thought, maybe he’s right. My God, I hope he’s right. At least it would be something treatable.

“I don’t suppose your brother would want to see me.”

“I could call him. I don’t think he’d want to come here again, but we would drive up to see him.”

“No, I’ll go alone.” But then I thought, what if I get halfway to Cleveland and find myself in the buggy again.

“I don’t think I ought to go anywhere, Peter. I ought to be guarded and not let out of the house.” Then I told him what had been in my mind when I was up in the loft and also what had happened when I went in the Weber house.