They watched as she ran off into the woods, moving quickly and surely through the trees, the white of her old nightgown glowing like the ghost she’d tried to be.

CLOSING IN

CHAPTER 12

Olive

JULY 8, 2015

Olive knew Nate didn’t really like her. He didn’t trust her, that was for sure. As helpful as she’d been over these last three weeks, as much work as she’d helped them accomplish (they’d finished framing the walls and roof and had moved on to putting plywood sheathing up), he kept looking at her like he was just waiting for her to screw up, to try to slip something in her backpack when they weren’t looking. He even went through a show of making her open up her backpack each day before she went home. Once a thief, always a thief.

Helen, she’d been great. Olive heard her snap at Nate, “Christ, Nate, what’s next—are you gonna strip-search the poor kid?” when she thought Olive was out of earshot. Helen had been a history teacher back in Connecticut, but Olive could tell she hadn’t been the boring kind of teacher at all. Olive wished Helen was one of her teachers. The way she talked about history, about how people used to live back before there was electricity, before cars, it made Olive feel like she was right there, like she could really imagine what it must have been like.

And she did it so naturally, just working all these cool facts into everyday conversation. Like now, they were driving through town in Helen’s pickup, passing by one old house after another, Helen pointing out the different architectural styles in a typical New England village like Hartsboro.

“That house on the left, it’s a classic colonial. See how it’s a simple two-story box—no eaves, shutters, porches? Such a clean design. The saltbox, what we’re building, is a variation on the style. And see that one across the street?” Helen asked, slowing as she pointed at a huge white house with peeling paint. “Greek revival. Look at the columns, the way the peak of the roof faces the street. All the cornice detailing. It’s really a work of art.”

A car behind her blew its horn and Helen sped up.

“It’s amazing that all these old houses were built in the days before electricity,” Helen said as they drove. “Just think of it—no power tools. Everything was cut with a handsaw. And they used axes to hew the lumber. Chisels to do all that finely detailed carving on the columns and trim.”

“Building a house must have taken for-ev-er,” Olive said.

“Sure, things might have taken longer, but there was more of a level of craftsmanship. There was real skill involved in shaping posts and beams and joining them, in doing all the delicate trim work by hand. Builders were artists.”