Rose laughed and felt one hundred percent better. She turned to the window. The hills looked purple and gold, and shafts of afternoon sun glowed on the melting snow along the road. A man wearing a bright plaid deerstalker hat was walking with his dog, both of them puffing in the cold. A tingle of Christmas excitement came over her. It didn’t matter that she no longer believed in Santa Claus. She still got excited about Christmas and its traditions. She, Dad and Jerram would go out to Ladyvale Farm and choose the best, most perfect tree. They’d stop at the farm shop for hot cider and doughnuts, and pick out a wreath and a new ornament for the tree from the display of local handicrafts. Last year it had been a small wooden sled with little packages, all wrapped and beribboned. They always waited until Christmas eve to decorate the tree. Mom would insist on messily stringing popcorn and cranberries, just as she’d done as a child. And it would all be accompanied by the soppy Christmas music record, even though they groaned at “Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer” and “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.

A dream is only a dream, Rose thought as she looked at the passing landscape. And at that moment, Nancy’s face appeared in the glass, staring at her with eyes red as blood, a twisted mouth screaming in a silent “Help!” Rose stifled her own scream and covered her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Grace asked. Rose forced herself to look again. Maybe Grace would see it, too?

Nothing there. They were drawing up to the stone house on Fanton Street where the little boy with the hearing aid lived. CAUTION DEAF CHILD, the yellow sign read. No sign of Nancy out there.

Just my own reflection, Rose thought. Some trick of light had turned the window into a mirror. “Something in my eye,” she said to Grace. Wasn’t that the truth?

She and Jerram got off next, and he moped up the drive behind Rose, earphones on his head, bopping to whatever music was going into his ears. She stopped short, and he bumped into her.

“Give a signal, can’t you?” he groused. “What’s up?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

Barney was heading toward their kitchen door. Somehow, Barney was always the bearer of bad news.

“Are we going to camp out here or what?” Jerram asked.

“You go on ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Take as long as you like, I’m not your mother.”

“Jerram, please, just leave me alone.”

He shook his head, adjusted his earphones and bopped up the driveway. He and Barney arrived at the kitchen door at the same time. He gave a low bow, held the door open and ushered her in.