Detective O’Hara called back. She didn’t think it was just a crank call. She asked a lot of questions.

“It was him,” Rose said. “He knew things.” How could she explain?

“Next time he calls, try to get more information,” O’Hara said and Rose laughed inwardly, imagining herself asking for an address and telephone number. They would see about tracing calls, but in the meantime the police assured the Potters that patrol cars were keeping watch. Mom was skeptical. She looked out the window hourly and muttered, “I don’t see any of these famous patrol cars.”

Jerram was the only constant. He was solid as a rock. “You can bag it,” he said. “Don’t put yourself through it, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to do it, I’ve got to get it over with,” Rose told him.

They were going to Miss Mackey’s, and they would do the regression.

Whether Mom knew or not was beside the point. Rose felt Mom didn’t have a say in it now. Nor Dad. She had tried to talk to him about it, after Mom told her what happened before her birth. Dad had always seemed easy to talk to so Rose was astonished at the way he acted now.

“We don’t need to be talking about that, darlin’,” he said uncomfortably, looking at her over the top of his reading glasses.

“But don’t you see, it could be the answer to everything about what’s happening to me.”

“Your mama,” he said, harking back to the way he used to refer to her when Rose was a baby, “she gets these ideas. I’m sorry she discussed it with you, to tell the honest truth. Because I don’t think there’s any sense in it.”

“It might be connected to my getting messages from the dead.”

“Now, we don’t know that,” Dad said. “And what we don’t want to do is get carried away by conjecture. Act on the facts. Dreams are not facts.”

Rose didn’t understand. “You defended me against Mrs. Emerson, against Reverend Fairley!” she said to him.

“And I’m defending you now,” he said quietly.

Jerram kept trying to cheer her up as they took the shortcut through the woods to Martha Mackey’s house. The day was grim, with a leaden overcast sky. Thomas Hardy would have loved it.

“We should have brought bread crumbs,” Jerram joked. “This is just like ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ ”

“Yeah, complete with the wicked stepmother,” said Rose.

“Don’t be so hard, Rose. It’s not Mom’s fault.”

“Part of it isn’t. The other part I’m not so sure. Her being scared makes me scared. I always thought a mother could protect you from anything. But, listen, thanks for being here through it all. Nobody else would understand the way you do.”

“Not even Daniel?” Jerram asked tensely.