Ollie looked down at her watch again.FOOD, said the digital display.
“It might be all right,” said Ollie. “But we should be really careful.”
Cautiously they crossed the cottage garden and stepped into the lady’s neat white house. It was bright and tidy andcheerful and warm. A woodstove sat next to a wood rack in the corner. Ollie, despite herself, sighed in relief when the hot air from the stove touched her chilled face.
The house was old-fashioned. A big old cuckoo clock ticked away to itself. The stove gave off a soft, golden firelight, and there was an oil lamp lit on the table, like the pewter one her dad had and lit for special occasions. The woman had opened her oven, was peering into its depths. Ollie had a glimpse of a rich brown cake puffing up in its pan. It smelled fantastic.
“Nearly done,” said the woman. She banged the oven door shut and rubbed her back. “What brings you to these parts?” she asked. She had a full kettle on the stove and went to a cupboard and got out what looked like tea leaves pressed into a square. She began crumbling the tea into six cups.
Why six cups,Ollie wondered.Who are the other two for?
“Are you taken on to work at the farm for the summer?” the woman asked. She frowned at the kids’ backpacks and jackets, at Ollie’s rain boots. “You’re dressed strangely for it.”
“No,” Coco said in her best impress-adults voice. “We only went to the farm for the day. We have to go to school usually. But if you don’t mind, we’re looking for—”
The woman turned around suddenly, hands on her hips, and shook a teaspoon at Coco. “Well, look who’s high and mighty now,” she said. “No work, just becauseyou have to go to school! Well, I’ll have you know both my boys workandgo to school, and they are the better for it!” Her face turned red.
“Sorry,” said Coco. She was wearing her most angelic face, the kind that made adults pat her head. “We didn’t mean to offend you. Do you have a phone? I want to call my mom.”
Instantly the woman’s face softened. “No, pretty child, I am sure you meant no disrespect. And I do sometimes get it muddled—summer and winter—winter and summer. Funny how the seasons run together. I depend on my boys to tell me the day. They’re due back soon. If we all sit down together and eat gingerbread, they’ll be back before we know it.”
Coco and Ollie and Brian looked at each other. After a moment, Coco and Brian sat down, warily, but Ollie stayed standing.
“Yes,” the old woman went on, “they will be home soon. Very soon.” She bustled with the tea and gingerbread.
She whispered to herself as she worked. “Mother’s waiting. She’s waiting—” The lady opened the oven and took out the gingerbread. “Sometimes it seems like I do more waiting than not, these days.”
The gingerbread came plunk down on the middle of the table. The woman cut six generous slices and heaped each plate high. She smiled at her visitors. “There, dears,” she said. “Isn’t this nice?”
“Oh yes,” said Coco. “Very nice. I’m Coco Zintner. This is Brian Battersby and Olivia Adler. Thank you so much for the food. What’s your name?”
“I’m Mrs. Webster,” said the lady cheerfully. “Though everyone calls me Cathy.”
Brian’s glance flew to Ollie’s. Coco, intent on being angelic, hadn’t really registered the name.
“Do you know anything about the scarecrows?” Brian asked the woman.
Cathy was putting more logs on the fire. “Scarecrows?” she asked vaguely. “What, out in the corn?”
Cathy Webster is dead,Ollie thought.Her bones are in the graveyard.
“They’re so festive in the fall, with pumpkins,” Cathy went on.
Ollie broke in sharply, “Your sons, when are they coming?”
“Soon,” said Cathy, and smiled. “I’m keeping the stove hot for them. They will have baths by the fire, and good hot tea.”
Both Brian and Coco had picked up their steaming gingerbread as they listened.
“What are their names?” whispered Ollie.
The old lady looked surprised. “Why, Jonathan,” she said. “And Caleb, of course, my—”
Arapcame sharp on the window. Ollie spun. In each window was a face. Two smiling scarecrow faces, twoscarecrows dressed in old-fashioned black suits. Ollie screamed, short and sharp, just as Brian and Coco gagged together. It was not gingerbread they had bitten into. It was some foul thing, moldy and dry; they each spat out a mouthful of rotten dust.
They were on their feet, hemmed in, and then a bony hand wrapped around Ollie’s wrist. Ollie screamed again. The woman didn’t look alive anymore. Her face was shriveled, her mouth fallen in. “Tell them to come in,” Cathy whispered. “Please—tell them to come in. They come to the door, and I can hear them crying in the night. But they never come in. Tell them I’ve been waiting in this place—how long? I don’t remember anymore. Long and long and long and...”
The fire was out in the oven. The shutter rattled. The china was all covered with dust; it was icy cold.
