Where in the house? In the storeroom? It certainly could be concealed there easily enough among all the large articles of furniture. I went to the barn door and looked up at the back of the house. For the first time I noticed that the building was easily high enough for a third floor.

But there were no third-­floor windows. Could there be another storeroom up there? Maybe that was where the General had worshiped the devil in his day, although he very likely could have held the ceremonies in any part of the house large enough to hold his congregation. Considering his reputation, he prob­ably had never been bothered very much by intruders.

I had moved outside and was still looking up at the house when I heard a footstep on the path. I turned and there was Duff, not six feet away. He stared at me coldly, even menacingly.

“You might have called or said something,” I told him when I could speak.

“Why?”

“You frightened me, coming up on me that way.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“What were you doing in the barn?”

“Duff, don’t speak to me that way!”

He blinked and then his expression softened. “Mother?”

“Who did you think it was?”

“My eyes . . .” He rubbed them. “It’s the sunlight.”

“There isn’t that much sun. Where are your glasses?”

“I left them in the house. A lot of the time lately I’ve been able to see pretty well without them.”

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“I got off early. My math teacher is sick.”

That I could check on. Then I thought, what difference will it make whether he’s lying or not? Seemingly I couldn’t do anything about it anyway.

“How did you get home?”

“Hitched. A man who lives up the road gave me a ride.”

“Duff, would you be willing to see a psychiatrist?”

“What for?”

“To talk about your problems. You’ll admit that you have had some, and you can talk about them—or about anything that might be bothering you.”

He considered it for a moment, then smiled and said, “Okay, Mama, if it will make you happy. I’ll see your shrink.”

“Good, I’ll have Father Jackson make the appointment.” Then I regretted that.

“Who’s Father Jackson?”

“The other priest at the church in Cainesville. The psychiatrist is his brother.”

“Did you have to bring a priest into it?”

“I just asked him to recommend someone—”

“Did you tell him anything about me?”

“No.”

“You did, you liar!” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. Then he stepped back, horrified, and ran into the house.

I sat on the back steps until I had regained some control and then went in. As usual, Jack was in the front room, writing on his yellow pad.

“You and Duff going around and around again?” he asked without looking up. “I just heard him running upstairs.”