child.
The lights flickered as a fierce blast of wind struck the house. “Please, no twisters.” She gazed upward and mouthed a silent prayer. Just in case.
Sarah came down the back staircase into the kitchen, her eyes widening when she spotted her. “Pearl? You aren’t supposed to—”
“I remembered how much that last storm scared your li’l sister.” She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to study Sarah. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, too.”
“No, of course not.” Sarah licked her lips, and her gaze darted toward the door leading to the foyer. “It’s just that—”
The lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. Pearl sighed. She’d expected this.
“If your brother didn’t get his hands on it, the flashlight should be in this drawer right here.” She felt her way past the now-silent refrigerator to the second drawer, fumbled around, and flipped on the flashlight. “Fetch that oil lamp from the pantry. Better save these batteries. No tellin’ how long the power might be out.”
Pearl shone the light in the pantry while Sarah collected the lamp and a box of matches. Once the girl carried the items to the drop-leaf table beneath the window, Pearl passed her the flashlight. “Here, hold this steady.”
She struck a match and touched the flame to the wick. The golden flame cast eerie shadows along the walls and ceiling. “There, that’s better.”
Sure it is, Pearl.
She studied Sarah’s expression for several seconds. Pearl’s heart constricted. “You remind me so much of your momma when she was your age.” Shereached out and cupped Sarah’s cheek, detecting a faint tremor. “What is it, child? The storm?”
Sarah released a long, slow breath as a gust of wind shook the house and the lights flickered again, only teasing. They remained in darkness. Wind sifted in beneath the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the foyer.
“Hmm. Do you suppose your ornery brother left the parlor window open again? Let’s check. Then we’ll peek in on him and Grace.” She took Sarah’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Nothin’ to be afraid of now, honey. Pearl’s here.”
They pushed through the swinging door together. The front door stood wide open, transforming the foyer into a wind tunnel. A wet one.
“I do believe the devil has come a callin’,” Pearl muttered.
“The wind must have blown it open.”
“This floor is slicker than greased piglets, but we’ve gotta get that door shut.” Pearl released Sarah’s hand and trod carefully along the glistening wood. She held the oil lamp higher to flood the foyer with light.
Sarah gasped from behind her, and Pearl almost dropped the oil lamp. “What…? Who…? Lord have mercy!”
A woman lay flat on her face right inside the front door in a puddle of rainwater. Pearl handed the lamp to Sarah and hurried to the woman’s side.
Rain and wind slashed through the open door. “Sarah, shut the door,” Pearl shouted over the racket. “She’s either sick or hurt. Reckon I’d best see which.”
Sarah eased past them and closed the heavy front door. Without being told, the girl grabbed towelsfrom the kitchen and sopped up the rain from the wood floor, then brought more dry ones to Pearl.
“Do—do you know who she is?” the girl asked.
Pearl nodded. “The insurance investigator who was here earlier, talkin’ to your daddy.” She gave the woman a gentle shake. “Ms. Dearling, or something like that.”
“Dearborn.” Sarah blinked when Pearl glanced up at her. “I saw her card on Dad’s desk.”
“That’s right.” Pearl shook the woman’s shoulder again. “Ms. Dearborn? Can you hear me, ma’am? Are you hurt?”
“Help…me,” she whispered, though it sounded more like a groan. “Don’t…hit me.”
“Nobody’s hittin’ you, child.” Pearl stroked the woman’s damp hair and patted her back maternally. She couldn’t help herself—that was her way. Cecil swore she was forever bringing in
The lights flickered as a fierce blast of wind struck the house. “Please, no twisters.” She gazed upward and mouthed a silent prayer. Just in case.
Sarah came down the back staircase into the kitchen, her eyes widening when she spotted her. “Pearl? You aren’t supposed to—”
“I remembered how much that last storm scared your li’l sister.” She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to study Sarah. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, too.”
“No, of course not.” Sarah licked her lips, and her gaze darted toward the door leading to the foyer. “It’s just that—”
The lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. Pearl sighed. She’d expected this.
“If your brother didn’t get his hands on it, the flashlight should be in this drawer right here.” She felt her way past the now-silent refrigerator to the second drawer, fumbled around, and flipped on the flashlight. “Fetch that oil lamp from the pantry. Better save these batteries. No tellin’ how long the power might be out.”
Pearl shone the light in the pantry while Sarah collected the lamp and a box of matches. Once the girl carried the items to the drop-leaf table beneath the window, Pearl passed her the flashlight. “Here, hold this steady.”
She struck a match and touched the flame to the wick. The golden flame cast eerie shadows along the walls and ceiling. “There, that’s better.”
Sure it is, Pearl.
She studied Sarah’s expression for several seconds. Pearl’s heart constricted. “You remind me so much of your momma when she was your age.” Shereached out and cupped Sarah’s cheek, detecting a faint tremor. “What is it, child? The storm?”
Sarah released a long, slow breath as a gust of wind shook the house and the lights flickered again, only teasing. They remained in darkness. Wind sifted in beneath the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the foyer.
“Hmm. Do you suppose your ornery brother left the parlor window open again? Let’s check. Then we’ll peek in on him and Grace.” She took Sarah’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Nothin’ to be afraid of now, honey. Pearl’s here.”
They pushed through the swinging door together. The front door stood wide open, transforming the foyer into a wind tunnel. A wet one.
“I do believe the devil has come a callin’,” Pearl muttered.
“The wind must have blown it open.”
“This floor is slicker than greased piglets, but we’ve gotta get that door shut.” Pearl released Sarah’s hand and trod carefully along the glistening wood. She held the oil lamp higher to flood the foyer with light.
Sarah gasped from behind her, and Pearl almost dropped the oil lamp. “What…? Who…? Lord have mercy!”
A woman lay flat on her face right inside the front door in a puddle of rainwater. Pearl handed the lamp to Sarah and hurried to the woman’s side.
Rain and wind slashed through the open door. “Sarah, shut the door,” Pearl shouted over the racket. “She’s either sick or hurt. Reckon I’d best see which.”
Sarah eased past them and closed the heavy front door. Without being told, the girl grabbed towelsfrom the kitchen and sopped up the rain from the wood floor, then brought more dry ones to Pearl.
“Do—do you know who she is?” the girl asked.
Pearl nodded. “The insurance investigator who was here earlier, talkin’ to your daddy.” She gave the woman a gentle shake. “Ms. Dearling, or something like that.”
“Dearborn.” Sarah blinked when Pearl glanced up at her. “I saw her card on Dad’s desk.”
“That’s right.” Pearl shook the woman’s shoulder again. “Ms. Dearborn? Can you hear me, ma’am? Are you hurt?”
“Help…me,” she whispered, though it sounded more like a groan. “Don’t…hit me.”
“Nobody’s hittin’ you, child.” Pearl stroked the woman’s damp hair and patted her back maternally. She couldn’t help herself—that was her way. Cecil swore she was forever bringing in
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