The Old Willis Place

Maybe she saw something, heard something, maybe—" She broke off and began to cry.
    "What could she tell the police?" Daddy asked. "She's been in the hospital since the children disappeared. Out of her head. Irrational. She couldn't possibly know anything about Georgie and Diana."
    Georgie and I hid in the shadows, yearning to tell our parents where we were and what had happened, but in those days, the rules held us fast. We dared not speak to Mother and Daddy.
    Long after the police and their dogs had given up the search for us, Mother and Daddy kept looking. We followed them through the woods, around the pond, along the creek, to every place we used to go. I think they expected us to pop out from behind a tree, laughing at the prank we'd played on them. At night, we listened to them weep for us, their lost children. We cried, too.
    If only we'd told Mother and Daddy about our secret room. They would have found the door and opened it. They wouldVe let us out and the bad thing wouldn't have happened.
    Weeks passed. Summer faded into fall. Miss Lilian came home from the hospital, leaning on a cane, a nurse by her side. In no time, she ran the nurse off. She said she didn't need anyone looking after her. Waste of money, she complained to Mother.
    Although the police never questioned Miss Lilian, Mother asked her if she remembered anything about the day Georgie and I disappeared.They were sitting on the terrace, Miss Lilian in a lawn chair and Mother on the lion bench, shelling peas into a bowl. Georgie and I hid in the boxwood, close enough to hear every word.
    "I had a stroke," Miss Lilian said, as if that were far more important than Georgie's and my disappearance. "I don't know anything about that girl and boy. Don't ask me again!"
    "But you must have heard something," Mother persisted. "A car, perhaps; a stranger's voice, a cry—"
    With some effort, Miss Lilian got to her feet. "I know nothing about it! Nothing! I almost died myself that day. Or have you forgotten?"
    Leaving Mother on the lion bench, Miss Lilian hobbled into the kitchen, thumping her cane with every step.
    Mother sat and wept quietly. Although we were near enough to reach out and touch her, we could do nothing but watch. The rules were strict. And harsh.
    After a while Miss Lilian came to the door. She stood there a moment, glowering at Mother. "I can't afford to keep you and your husband here any longer," she said. "I want you out of the tenant house in forty-eight hours."
    Mother stared at the old woman in disbelief. "But Miss Lilian, who will take care of you?"
    "I don't need anyone! Especially you, wasting my time and money moping around, crying, thinking of no one but yourself."
    We followed Mother back to the tenant house. Daddy was drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen.
    "Miss Lilian has dismissed us," she told him. "We have two days to pack up and leave the farm."
    Daddy sighed and set his cup down. "It's for the best, Alice. We can't stay here. It's too hard."
    Mother sat down at the table with him. "But what if they come home and we're not here?"
    Daddy shook his head, his face sorrowful. "Don't talk that way," he murmured. "They won't return. You know it and I know it. They're gone."
    Mother shook her head. "They're here on the farm. I feel them near me. So close, so..." Her voice broke and she began to cry. "How can I leave them?"
    Daddy reached for her hands and held them tightly. "They'll always be with us. As long as we live, wherever we go."
    And so two days later, Georgie and I hid in the woods and watched Mother and Daddy load their belongings, and ours, into a rental truck. Mother looked tired and sad. Daddy had no smiles, no jokes. He moved slowly, struggling with the weight of mattresses and furniture.
    After Daddy loaded the last box, they got into the truck and drove down the lane. Georgie and I followed them through the woods, silently begging them to turn back, to stay near us as we'd stayed near them.
    The truck stopped at the gate and Mother stepped out to open it. An autumn breeze stirred her hair and sent a scurry of leaves racing toward her. She looked back at the farm. Softly she called our names, as if she hoped we might finally hear and come running.
    Georgie made a move toward her, but I seized his shirt and held him back. "No," I whispered. "We can't go to her. You know that."
    He struggled for a moment and then went limp in my arms, his body shaking with sobs, his face against my chest. The rules kept us