“For years I would sit here on the verandah looking down the road over there and then to the meadow across from the house, right across the way, expecting Rose to appear by the fountain. You’d hear her first. She’d sing when she’d go walking. Said it kept the coyotes away and celebrated Holy Mother Mercy all at the same time. It didn’t protect her enough, in the end, because Rose never walked back down that road again. But I don’t think it was animals that got her. I think she got away.”

Ondine was still sweating and a little draft lifted up and over the verandah railing, caressing her face. She felt dizzy and wondered if she needed more to drink or if the cold infusion itself had made her feel so disoriented.

“I see you aren’t making any notes. And your recording device has shut off.”

Ondine looked down. Her notebook and her phone were in her lap. The battery had died. She was stunned. She was sure she’d charged it. Her technical skills from years of research had been so reliable, habitual. The battery should have lasted for hours.

“See the whitecaps on the bay? The wind has come up. The tide is coming in now, as I said earlier it would do. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to the island out there? Those cliffs make it look like a fortress. Parker Island is the true name but most people just call it the Island. It’s a curious landscape here, ain’t it? Deep forest to the south behind the house, but here by the front verandah the land slopes downward for a few miles through the fields until it drops right off to the beach by the bay you’re looking at. I suppose if my great-grandfather never cleared them fields you’d think we were landlocked. But I always said being landlocked ain’t nothing but a state of mind. Closer to the shore there’s a constant wind but set back up here away from the water it’s only occasional. It comes when it sees fit. Rose loved the smell — pine and moss from the forest, and woven through with salt water. I take the sea air for medicinal purposes, for my lungs. No doubt you’ll notice when you leave this road you’ll feel light-headed.”

Ondine already felt light-headed. “Well, I should be leaving soon. It’s a long drive back to the airport and my phone has died. And I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

The old woman gazed at Ondine. “Time is all I’ve had these long years, time and all these stories.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes briefly and then opened them. Ondine handed the old woman the fan, wondering if she too was feeling woozy.

The old woman took the fan in her crooked fingers and placed it beside her leg on the seat of the chair. She let out a long sigh.

“I suppose you want an answer before you go. Answering your questions involves going back years and years. Rose disappeared after Elmore died on the farm. Elmore was my stepmother’s son, from her first marriage. He was a slow boy who would come and work. Rose was always so kind to him and our brother, Hiram, was so jealous. He was just like our daddy by the time he was becoming a man. Hiram couldn’t stand Rose paying attention to anyone but him. He even got mad if she spent time helping me. Poor Elmore was going to some fancy church camp that summer, down in the Valley on Lake of Redemption. Some missy hissy got him some money from a fund for country children. He was a sweet boy. Quiet in his mind but real kind. Elmore never made it to the camp. He was only fourteen. What a pity it was. Hiram said it was my fault, that I was driving too fast down the Flying Squirrel Road, but it was a lie.