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peace, knowing that none are vampires. But if there is a vampire coming to us from the Arden graves, the ritual must be performed! This is our only recourse.” The room fell silent. No one rose to speak, but many heads nodded in agreement.
    Father stood slowly, grasping the chair beside me. “The thought of disturbing the peace of my wife and children sickens me. I do not believe in this superstition, but I see no other way.” He glanced toward Winston, then said, “If I refuse, I have no doubt that some other will take the task upon himself. He takes a great deal upon himself, but the thought of his hands on my wife’s remains—” He broke off, and I saw that he was trembling, not in fear, but in anger. He looked around the room, but many of our neighbors would not meet his gaze. “I will agree to the ritual,” he said at last, “but no one else will touch my wife.”
    The exhumation was set for two days hence, and under other circumstances, would have occupied all my thoughts. Instead, all my energies were taken up with the care of Nathan, whose condition suddenly worsened. He bore it bravely, worrying more about his father than himself. “Papa is troubled,” he said, and pleaded again and again with me to tell him what had so disturbed our parent.
    On the night before the exhumation, I told my father that Nathan’s condition terrified me. “He needs a doctor! He has night sweats now, and the coughing is ceaseless. He has so little strength and—”
    â€œI know, John. I know.”
    I was silent.
    â€œWith all that has befallen us,” my father said, “I’m sorry, John, I cannot afford to bring Ashford here again, even if he would come.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘if he would come’? Of course he would!”
    My father shook his head. “I have not wanted to tell you this, son, but—the last time Dr. Ashford saw him, three weeks ago, he told me Nathan’s case is hopeless. Your brother is dying.”
    I had known it, of course, without being told, but still it was a blow. Childishly, I struck back. “So you resort to Winston’s witchcraft!”
    He looked into my eyes and said, “Do you think I would hesitate for a moment to save any of your lives by any means I could? By God, I’d offer my own life if it would save his!”
    â€œPapa—I’m sorry! I just can’t understand why you’ve agreed to this ritual. It didn’t work for Jane Gardner. I’ve heard of other unsuccessful cases—”
    â€œI don’t do this because I believe it will cure consumption. But it is a cure for mistrust. A bitter remedy, but a necessary one.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œYou will go back to school soon, and perhaps you will never return to Carrick Hollow. No, don’t protest—whether you do or not, Noah and I will continue to live here. We who live in the countryside depend upon our friends and neighbors. My neighbors are depending on me now, to do something which they have come to believe will keep them safe and well. No matter how repulsive I find it, John, I must do this to keep their trust.”
    That night, my sleep was fitful. Nathan’s cough was horrible, and nothing I did could bring him any relief. My brief dreams were filled with images of decaying flesh and bones, of coffins unearthed, of Winston’s thick hands reaching into my mother’s grave.
    The morning broke bright and warm, unusual for an early spring day in New England. We had agreed that Noah would stay with Nathan; a suggestion that he met with both relief and some guilt. But my father knew that Noah’s anger toward Winston had already nearly led to blows, and asked him to stay home.
    A group of ten men, including poor Isaac Gardner, gathered in the village. Winston tried to lead the way to the cemetery, but Isaac shouldered him aside, and let my father go ahead of them. I