Ernest shook his head. “We were playing hide-and-seek. It was William’s turn. I counted to fifty as he asked. I searched and searched—I looked everywhere—but I could not find him! I hoped he had come back here as a trick.”

I sighed in exasperation. If we delayed much longer, it would be dark before we returned home. Heavy clouds gathered on the horizon, promising a tremendous storm. All the brilliant grace of the day was gone. I was tired and cross and sore from sitting on the ground for so long.

“William! The game is over!” I sounded too annoyed. He would not be lured out by that. With Ernest and Judge Frankenstein at my side, I changed tactics as we fanned out through the trees and looked. “William! Oh, William! I have a pocket full of candy for the first person who finds me!”

Ernest adopted a similar ploy. Judge Frankenstein merely shouted the boy’s name, which was, I supposed, as much as we could ask from a man who had never done anything to care for his own children.

Ernest doubled back to check our picnic place again while Judge Frankenstein and I ranged in larger circles around the area William had last been seen. My voice grew hoarse, and I decided William would be forced to sit in the playroom all the next day with nothing to entertain him.

The sun was at the horizon, rain clouds quickly overtaking it all, when a howl of agony and terror came from behind me.

I ran toward the sound, pushing through clawing trees and branches that barred my path. When I broke through to the meadow that still held our abandoned picnic, I saw Ernest, kneeling on the ground with his head bowed. Before him, laid out on the blanket, was little William, fast asleep.

I did not know how he had beaten us back here and managed to fall asleep, but—

Why had Ernest made that sound?

Why had he not just called for us?

Why was William lying so still?

I stumbled forward. “He is sleeping,” I whispered to myself as a charm, willing it to be true. “He is sleeping.”

Dark bruises like a collar around his neck, his face peaceful.

I dropped to my knees beside Ernest. He collapsed into me, animal sobs wrenching from his throat. I could not cry, or move, or do anything but stare at little William. He was sleeping, and he would never wake again.

Chapter Fourteen: What Can We Suffer Worse?

I COULD NOT SAY how I was pulled from William’s side or returned to the house. Once securely back in my room—for death is, and always has been, the occupation of men—I was left alone to my astonished grief. Ernest, only eleven but suddenly a man, and Judge Frankenstein joined the local men to search the forest for William’s murderer.

Who would have done such a thing? For what purpose?