Page 31 of Wildwood

“Do you think we could meet soon? To go over the history of Newfield Village?”

Madeline halts, gives an apologetic smile, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Of course. I’ve just been so busy I haven’t had a chance to gather everything. Soon. I promise.” And then she gives a little wave, and a little wink, and skips down the steps, striding through our backyard like we are very old friends.

When she’s out of earshot, I spin back to Topher.

“I found something,” I hiss. “Something that proves this place is haunted.”

He hesitates a moment. “What did you find?”

“A bunch of graves. In the woods.” I cross my arms across my chest. “And four of them are unmarked.”

I stand back, waiting for his reaction. Surely he’ll see it. But it doesn’t come.

“Well?” I ask. “Isn’t that weird?”

“Sure . . . I mean I guess it’s weird.” He’s nodding slowly, eyes moving back and forth. “But that might also be common in old settlements. The state is probably full of tiny, backyard cemeteries. But how does that prove Wildwood is haunted?”

“Because of the unmarked graves!” I nearly shout. “I mean, unmarked graves usually mean something bad happened. Like the person did something so unforgivable that they didn’t deserve to be recognized in death. And the graves look really old. Older than the ones in the cemetery across the street. Maybe that’s why I didn’t find anything nefarious when I researched the town. Maybe whatever happened, happened before the recorded history.”

Topher gently places his hands on my shoulders. “It’s not exactly a smoking gun,” he says softly.

“But there was this bird too.”

“A bird?”

“Yes, a black bird and it flew right at me. And the same thing had happened in the conservatory and that bird died and I had to bury it.”

My heart is thudding so erratically it seems impossible Topher can’t hear it. And suddenly, I see myself objectively, as Topher would. Pale, sweating, rambling about graves and dead birds.

“It means something,” I whisper, meeting Topher’s gaze.

“Okay,” he whispers, pulling me in to lightly kiss my forehead. “Okay. You are right. It is weird. And it’s creepy. And if ever one was going to think they were being haunted, it would be in a place like this.”

I let myself lean into his embrace, hoping that just, maybe, I’ve convinced him.

“But, Elinor, this is the real world. There are no ghosts. No haunting.”

And just like that, my hope crumbles like ash and I have to close my eyes against the disappointment threatening to overtake me.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “You are safe here. You are always safe with me.”

The words stir something in my chest. They feel familiar yet strange. Maybe they feel strange because they are coming from Topher. We’ve always been peers. Both smart, both driven, both scientific. But now that’s changed. Now, I’m pregnant and frightened, believing in ghosts. Now, my husband is looking at me like I’m something to be protected. The thought shouldn’t unsettle me, but it does.

Chapter 27

By the time I knock on Madeline’s door, I’m soaked to the bone. It’s pouring today, and my flimsy umbrella did nothing against the rain that slanted down on the walk over. I should have driven, but somehow felt silly doing so when Madeline lives right across the street.

She opens the door before I even knock, eyes widening at my state. “Let me get you something dry to put on,” she says before disappearing down the hall.

When she reemerges a few minutes later, she hands me an oversize sweater, blood red and buttery soft.

“Here, change into this.”

In the water closet, I peel off my wet T-shirt and pull on the sweater, noting the Cold Brook Cashmere label. Gold thread on black. The sweater feels glorious, I have to admit.

As I follow Madeline back to the kitchen, I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering how much I should confide in her. Too much weird shit has happened for me to ignore it. The dreams. The birds. The abandoned cemetery. But as scared as I am, I also feel resolved. I love Wildwood. I don’t want to be driven from my home. I can figure this out. I just need more information.

She leads me to her kitchen table, which is in front of magnificent bay windows looking out over the back property. Outside, the fields look moody, and the rain is creating rivulets down the large glass panes. The surface of the table is covered with reddish-brown and black-and-white prints, stacks of old photo albums, and newspaper clippings.