too young for that—I mean, if he was a friend of Ty’s?”
“He was older. In his twenties, I think. Maybe his family owns the land.” He pushed his door open and stepped outside. “Let’s go. I want to know why I dreamt about this place.”
As the sun dipped toward the top of the trees, the four of them started across the field.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
They followed the fencerow toward the barn.
The late afternoon was crisp, cold, and full of the stillness of winter.
Underfoot, the snow came halfway to their knees, but was piled deeper near trees and fence posts where the wind had swept it into drifts.
For as much as snow anno ye d her, Mia did an admirable job of putting up with trudging through it without complaining.
The only sound came from the soft hush-crunch of their footsteps as they trekked toward the barn.
From being outdoors so much in the winter, Daniel had noticed it before—a quietness that’s so stark it becomes like a companion to you. Then, as if he were reading his mind, Kyle said, “‘Have you known The Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver . . .’”
“What’s that from?” Nicole asked.
“A poem b y Robert Service: ‘The Call of the Wild.’ He was a balladeer who wrote a lot about the Yukon. Probabl y his most famous poem is ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee.’ The gu y rocks.”
“The Yukon has snow,” Mia said. “Do not like snow. Remind me not to move to the Yukon.”
When they were nearly to the barn, Nicole asked Daniel, “Do yo u have an y idea what we’re actuall y looking for here?”
“Something to do with my past. That’s about all I can tell you.”
The hinges on the barn’s door creaked protestingly as Daniel and Kyle pushed it open.
Loosely strewn hay, along with narrow strips of windblown snow that had found its way in through the channels between the wallboards, covered the ground.
Where the roof had fallen in, the fading daylight made its way through the space high above them. A little light entered through the slits between the boards and, of course, through the open door, but most of the barn was held captive by a network of deep, cold shadows.
Daniel walked to a spot not far from the barn’s entrance. “This is where the girl’s nightgown burst into flames, where she . . . well . . . you know.”
Thinking that the location might hold some significance, they searched the area but found nothing.
A rusted John Deere tractor that must have been thirty or forty years old sat long-abandoned in the middle of the barn. Near the collapsed part of the roof was a pegboard and a workbench with decades-old hand tools.
A hayloft with a rickety-looking wooden ladder had been built on the other end of the barn. Even from Daniel’s vantage point he could see stacks of hay bales still on it.
The girl looked up there right before she burned up. She raised her arms toward that loft.
An old hay baler waited near the hayloft. It looked threatening with its spinning blades to chop up and draw in the hay before wrapping it into a bale.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years,” Nicole said. “I wonder why it was abandoned.”
Mia gazed around the barn. “We’d better get looking if we’re gonna have time to finish up and get back to the car before it gets dark.”
Kyle and Mia offered to search the main part of the barn while Daniel and Nicole headed toward the hayloft.
He went up the ladder first to test the rungs and make sure they were safe.
As he climbed, he finally recalled the last time he’d been in this barn, or at least he thought it was the last time.
He’d been nine years old and the memory lingered right on the brink of his forgetfulness like so many memories from childhood do.
He’d walked over here from his grandmother’s house. It was only sixty-four days before she died.
Math.
It was hard to turn it off.
Even when he wanted to.
Daniel reached the top and hefted himself into the loft.
Satisfied
“He was older. In his twenties, I think. Maybe his family owns the land.” He pushed his door open and stepped outside. “Let’s go. I want to know why I dreamt about this place.”
As the sun dipped toward the top of the trees, the four of them started across the field.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
They followed the fencerow toward the barn.
The late afternoon was crisp, cold, and full of the stillness of winter.
Underfoot, the snow came halfway to their knees, but was piled deeper near trees and fence posts where the wind had swept it into drifts.
For as much as snow anno ye d her, Mia did an admirable job of putting up with trudging through it without complaining.
The only sound came from the soft hush-crunch of their footsteps as they trekked toward the barn.
From being outdoors so much in the winter, Daniel had noticed it before—a quietness that’s so stark it becomes like a companion to you. Then, as if he were reading his mind, Kyle said, “‘Have you known The Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver . . .’”
“What’s that from?” Nicole asked.
“A poem b y Robert Service: ‘The Call of the Wild.’ He was a balladeer who wrote a lot about the Yukon. Probabl y his most famous poem is ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee.’ The gu y rocks.”
“The Yukon has snow,” Mia said. “Do not like snow. Remind me not to move to the Yukon.”
When they were nearly to the barn, Nicole asked Daniel, “Do yo u have an y idea what we’re actuall y looking for here?”
“Something to do with my past. That’s about all I can tell you.”
The hinges on the barn’s door creaked protestingly as Daniel and Kyle pushed it open.
Loosely strewn hay, along with narrow strips of windblown snow that had found its way in through the channels between the wallboards, covered the ground.
Where the roof had fallen in, the fading daylight made its way through the space high above them. A little light entered through the slits between the boards and, of course, through the open door, but most of the barn was held captive by a network of deep, cold shadows.
Daniel walked to a spot not far from the barn’s entrance. “This is where the girl’s nightgown burst into flames, where she . . . well . . . you know.”
Thinking that the location might hold some significance, they searched the area but found nothing.
A rusted John Deere tractor that must have been thirty or forty years old sat long-abandoned in the middle of the barn. Near the collapsed part of the roof was a pegboard and a workbench with decades-old hand tools.
A hayloft with a rickety-looking wooden ladder had been built on the other end of the barn. Even from Daniel’s vantage point he could see stacks of hay bales still on it.
The girl looked up there right before she burned up. She raised her arms toward that loft.
An old hay baler waited near the hayloft. It looked threatening with its spinning blades to chop up and draw in the hay before wrapping it into a bale.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years,” Nicole said. “I wonder why it was abandoned.”
Mia gazed around the barn. “We’d better get looking if we’re gonna have time to finish up and get back to the car before it gets dark.”
Kyle and Mia offered to search the main part of the barn while Daniel and Nicole headed toward the hayloft.
He went up the ladder first to test the rungs and make sure they were safe.
As he climbed, he finally recalled the last time he’d been in this barn, or at least he thought it was the last time.
He’d been nine years old and the memory lingered right on the brink of his forgetfulness like so many memories from childhood do.
He’d walked over here from his grandmother’s house. It was only sixty-four days before she died.
Math.
It was hard to turn it off.
Even when he wanted to.
Daniel reached the top and hefted himself into the loft.
Satisfied
Similar Books
