“I care,” said Brian.
“Where’d you even learn to talk like that, anyway?Star witness.”
“Law & Order,” said Brian at once. “My mom’s a fan. You still haven’t said thank you.”
“Because I—” Ollie began hotly, then stopped. Brian stopped too, weirdly. Why didn’t he say have a nice day and go away? Worse, he was still talking.
“You know, Ollie,” he said, “that was a really good throw. With the rock.” He made a rock-throwing gesture. “You were like twenty meters away.” Brian was born in Jamaica; his parents had moved up to Evansburg to open a spa when he was a toddler. You wouldn’t know where he was from by talking to him, except that sometimes he saidirieinstead ofgoodor usedmetersinstead offeet. Also he was black, which was notable in small-town Vermont. “Then it was just likewham—”
But Ollie had stopped listening. She had paused at awindow that looked out at the old hickory tree and beyond it to the muddy soccer field. The rain hurried down, sleek and silver, the kind of rain that seems to gather mist as it falls and fill the air with water. It had been raining that day last January, a weird, unseasonable, smoky rain: rain that washed away snow and iced up engines. It had been raining that day when her dad came to school, and just there under that tree he had said...
“Never mind,” she said. “The bell’s about to ring.”
With that she hurried off, leaving Brian puzzled behind her.
6
THE CLASS WANDERED IN,or sprinted in just as the bell rang, to find the promised donuts nestled in a white box at the front of the room. Mr. Easton knew the value of food bribes, especially on a cold, wet Farm Day.
Ollie took a plain cake donut. She would save her chocolate chip muffin for later. Munching, she stowed her stuff and pulled outSmall Spaces. She’d just read for a minute.
The next day, Caleb came back.
He was pale and blue-lipped; his eyes were strange and distant. I remember thinking, with a shiver, that a drowned man breathed back to life would look like him. But it was really him. It was his voice, his smile. Only the look in his eyes had changed, and he would not say where he had been. “I don’t remember,” he said. The towndecided that he must have hit his head and wandered for days insensible. I made myself believe it too.
I have never seen anyone so glad as Cathy was when her two sons came back to her. She cried with joy and didn’t even notice the look in Caleb’s eyes.
The next pages dealt with Beth’s wedding, the honeymoon. Ollie began to skim. She wanted to know the end; she wanted to know what had happened with the smiling man. She caught snatches along the way.
Caleb was best man at the wedding, standing silent at his brother’s side. Cathy cried again when we said our vows. She loved her sons very much.
We were a month in France after the wedding, and I did not think the Mediterranean was as beautiful as Smoke Hollow in spring.
The night you were born, it snowed in May.
I have never loved anyone so much as I loved my Jonathan, except for you, dearest daughter. There was so much joy—so much peace in our house.
Until one night.
Ollie began reading properly again.
It was autumn. There had been cold rain all the day,and the mist was rising in the corn. It was just after the harvest, and the stalks rustled, gray and dead. Jonathan had been out late. In the barn, I thought. One of the cows was calving out of season.
Jonathan came in, wet, his hair plastered down. He didn’t smell like the barn, not at all. His eyes were white-rimmed, wild.
“He came back, Beth my girl,” he said, sank into a chair near the woodstove and buried his face in his hands. “The smiling man came back.”
“Isaid,” Mr. Easton’s voice broke in, “what is the significance of Misty Valley Farm, Ollie?”
Ollie looked up, a little wild-eyed herself. Oh, right. Class must have started, and she hadn’t noticed. Well, it wasn’t the first time. Ollie’s shoulders stiffened; she took a bite of donut and said, without missing a beat, “Misty Valley Farm is the best example in the state of Vermont of the possibilities achievable in small-scale farming.” Giggles swept the room; she was imitating Mr. Easton in lecture mode. Ollie thought she heard Mr. Easton sigh.
“The farm has had tremendous success cultivating corn and wheat, along with apple, plum, and pear orchards,” Ollie continued. “They also run an extensive dairy operation and side businesses in local florals and sugaring. During harvest time, they are one of the biggest employers in the county.”
Ollie remembered nearly everything she read, a vital talent for any girl who reads novels in class and doesn’t pay attention. Having neatly recited the introduction to Misty Valley from its website, Ollie tried to find her place again in her book. Without looking up, she could feel the words trembling on Mr. Easton’s tongue.What is that you’re reading, Ollie? Now is not the time for novels. Put it away.
But—sympathy face again. Also, Olliehadanswered his question. When Coco Zintner’s hand shot into the air, Mr. Easton only said mildly, “That is correct, Ollie,” and turned to Coco. Ollie wished she hadn’t made fun of him.
“Do you have something to add, Miss Zintner?”
