Only it didn’t.

He still saw that tableau of terror, in his mind.

Not with Dinah, but with Myrtle, Myrtle who was always laughing and chattering and teasing, silenced forever, her broken body sprawled in the snow with her legs twisted at odd angles under her.

A tortured moan gurgled in Val’s throat.

Under him Lady whinnied, the horse growing restless and tense.

“Easy, boy,” Val whispered, as much for himself as to the animal. He stroked the loyal mount on his withers as he so loved.

Then, miracle of miracles, the memories ceased. The haunting stopped.

For an instant.

And then he felt it. Because the devil was determined to torment him this night and every night . . . a bit of moisture. It touched his nose, wet and cold, and brought his mind waltzing back to that long-ago night.

He clenched his eyes, willing the song to stop. Pleading with God to win the battle over the dark lord so that Val might know some—any—peace.

But he proved as alone as Jesus himself had been in those forty days spent trudging through the desert, tested by his father. The lyrics of that German song his wife had softly sung right before the world had caught fire reached from within the carriage and spilled out into the countryside.

“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,

Hirten erst kundgemacht

Durch der Engel Halleluja . . .”

“Will you stop?” he rasped, the command barely audible to his own ears.

“Tönt es laut von fern und nah:

Christ, der Retter ist da!

Christ, der Retter ist da!”

“I said, ‘will you stop,’” he thundered, his voice booming around the sprawling, empty countryside, made all the quieter by the winter morn.

The driver instantly yanked on the reins, bringing the carriage carrying Myrtle to a dangerously jarring halt, one so quick it sent Val’s heart racing all the faster and nausea turning in his belly, as it careened left and then right in a moment that lasted forever and then stopped.

“Not you,” Val bellowed, even as he knew it wasn’t his brother’s driver’s fault. That he’d been responding to what he’d believed had been a directive sent his way. It didn’t help. Fear at the sight of that carriage carrying Myrtle listing back and forth still unleashed more of that dread inside.

The door popped open, and Myrtle appeared in the framed entrance. “Worry not.” Standing up and stretching on tiptoes, she arched up in a bid to see the man on the box. “He was talking to me. I, for one, am glad you stopped.” With that ominous pronouncement, the lady hopped down.

With a happy bark, Horace leapt down, and landing on all fours, he proceeded to dance a happy circle about the earth.

Cursing, Val swung his leg over and dismounted. Not breaking stride, he headed over to meet her. “What do you think you are doing?” he barked.

“Coming to speak to—”

“No.”