Towering

the rope of hair on the floor. “My hair grew. It grew very fast.”
    I nodded. “That’s weird all right. What else?”
    “When I was little, Mama used to brush my hair with a special brush, a silver one with a pattern of exotic flowers, orchids or lilies, I think.”
    “What?” I had seen the brush, or one like it, somewhere. Where?
    “A fancy silver brush. And then, one day, it disappeared, and I came here. But I have been dreaming of that brush, and dreaming of it all the time, as if it is the key to . . . something, to escape. And then, you showed up.”
    I nodded. “And that’s weird?”
    “Other than Mama, I haven’t seen another human being in years. But more than that . . .”
    Again, she stopped speaking and stared at the rope of hair on the ground.
    “What?”
    “More than that, you were in my dreams too. I don’t want to frighten you, but there was a boy, tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and green eyes. Do many people have green eyes?”
    I shook my head. “Some. But most people have brown. Or blue.” I looked into hers, which were a bright sapphire color.
    “Do many boys look like you?”
    “Exactly like me? No. So you’re saying I was in your dream?”
    She nodded. “I am certain of it. You are meant to be here.”
    “Then I’m certain too.” And I was, in that instant, I was. There had to be a reason I was here, a reason I’d heard a voice beckoning since I’d gotten here, a reason I’d left home, even. “But what was I doing in your dream?”
    “That is where it grows dim. There were people, somewhere. They wanted me to help them. They needed me to. It had to be me, only me. But I don’t know why or how. I thought perhaps when you came, you would tell me. But you don’t know either?”
    I shook my head. “Sorry. But maybe we could ask someone.” I thought of the old man again. Maybe he would know. Or Mrs. Greenwood. I wouldn’t tell them about Rachel. It would freak them out, and I wouldn’t want to get the old man’s hopes up if Rachel wasn’t his long-lost granddaughter after all. “Would you want me to?”
    “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was here.” She glanced out the window. “Oh, my, it is getting dark already. I don’t want you to leave, but . . .”
    I looked outside. The sun was already low in the sky. I glanced at my watch. It was already past four, and around here, it got dark early in winter. I had to get back to my car, this time without falling through the ice. “I don’t want to leave either. But I should.”
    “Come again tomorrow. Please?”
    “If I can. If not, the next day.” I stood up.
    She put her arms around my neck again. “Please come back. I never knew how lonely I was until you came.”
    I kissed her. “Me either. Don’t worry. I will. I promise.”
    The trip down the rope should have been easy compared to the trip up, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to make it. I didn’t want to leave. My hands ached until I felt I might fall, and even though my clothes had mostly dried, I felt bone cold. I finally reached ground and struggled across the trees to the car, then drove to Mrs. Greenwood’s house, but I was already plotting how to come back.
    I felt the chill of cold in my legs, my arms. Even my hair felt cold. But for the first time since Tyler died, I felt like something made sense.

Rachel
    I watched Wyatt climb down the rope, his dark hair against the snow-whitened pines. For an instant, I wondered if I should call him back, ask him to take me with him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
    Mama would be disappointed, for certain. But part of me said that it would be her own fault, for trapping me here, imprisoning me away from the world. That was what she was doing, wasn’t it? I remembered being outside with Wyatt, the sting of the cold air, the feeling of branches scraping against me. Why should this be so unusual?
    No. Mama was protecting me. But could she not protect me by bringing me someplace else, someplace where I could at least go outside? I knew from books that there was a wide world out there. I hadn’t seen it. If Mary, the heroine in The Secret Garden , could travel all the way from India to England to live with her uncle, why could I not travel to hide?
    Nonsense. Mama was an old woman. It would be too difficult for her.
    But what if the man who had killed my mother was gone? Or even dead? What if all my hiding was for naught?
    Oh, this was too much to think about. It