The Winter People (23 page)

“Hmm, not in the hall closet,” she said loudly. She turned and looked out the window in the front door. It had gotten dark. She flipped on the light, saw that it was snowing heavily. Ruthie hadn’t heard a forecast. Keeping track of the weather had always been her mother’s job. Ruthie relied on her each morning to know how cold it was going to be, if it would rain or snow.

“Where, oh, where can my lost little lamb be?” she asked, moving into the living room, the office, then the kitchen. She went to
the downstairs bathroom and flipped on the light. The pink tiles glowed as Ruthie pulled back the shower curtain to find the old claw-foot tub empty except for her mother’s chamomile shampoo and a lonely yellow rubber duck.

“Not here,” she said, making her way to the stairs, tired of the game already. She’d do a quick once-over of the upstairs, then call it off.

She looked halfheartedly through her room, Fawn’s room, the upstairs bathroom, announcing her location, wondering aloud where Fawn could be. Finally, she entered her mother’s room, though she doubted Fawn would ever hide there. Fawn wasn’t under the bed. The only other place in there to hide was the closet. She stood before the door, hesitant. Stupidly, she knocked. Nothing knocked back. She yanked open the door and was grateful to find it empty.

“Fawn?” she called out. “I give up!” She listened. Nothing. She went from room to room again, calling, then headed back down the stairs.

There it was again: the familiar panic. Fawn was missing. Really missing this time. Ruthie should never have agreed to play hide-and-seek again. Not in this house, where Sara Harrison Shea had called her little dead daughter back to her.

“Fawn!” she called, voice edgier now. “If you don’t come out right now, I’m never going to play hide-and-seek with you again!”

She was down in the office. Her father had kept it so tidy, the old mahogany desk clear, books carefully arranged on shelves, nothing on the floor but a woven rug. Now that it was her mother’s realm, chaos reigned. Papers, books, knitting patterns, poultry catalogues, and mail were piled in stacks on the desk and floor; there were tote bags full of wool and knitting projects in various stages of completion. Ruthie sat down in the chair and reached into one of the bags to pull out the hat her mother had been making when Ruthie last saw her.

It was New Year’s Day, and she was sitting on the couch knitting a hat on circular needles, using chunky yarn in bright colors: fuchsia, lemon yellow, and neon blue.

“Where are you off to?” she’d asked when she saw Ruthie head
into the hall and pull on her parka. She didn’t stop knitting, the needles clinking away in her hands while her eyes were on Ruthie.

“Buzz is picking me up. We’re going to hang out with some friends.”

The needles continued to move, stitch after stitch in the round.

“Be back before curfew,” her mom said, looking back down at her knitting.

Ruthie hadn’t answered. Hadn’t even said goodbye. She just opened the door and headed out into the cold, down the driveway to the road, to wait for Buzz.

A hand touched her shoulder. She saw it out of the corner of her eye—a tiny, filthy, flipperlike hand.

She flinched, and spun to see it was just Mimi the doll. Fawn laughed, hugged Mimi to her chest.

“Jesus, Fawn! Not funny. You were supposed to come out when I called you,” she snapped. “Those are the rules. Now, where were you?”

“Hiding,” Fawn said.

“Show me where,” Ruthie said. It was the second time Fawn had pulled this, and Ruthie wasn’t going to let her keep her new hiding place a secret any longer.

“No way,” Fawn said.

“I swear, Fawn, if you don’t show me, I will never play hide-and-seek with you again.”

Fawn stared at her for a moment, gauging her sister’s sincerity. She whispered in Mimi’s ear, then held the doll’s mouth against her own ear, nodding.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll show you.”

Fawn led the way across the living room to the front hall and flung open the closet door.

“But I looked in here!” Ruthie said.

Fawn pushed aside the hanging coats and parkas and pulled out the winter boots.

“Here,” she said, showing the wooden panels that made up the back wall of the closet. There were four panels, and they looked as solid as could be. “This one pops out,” she explained, working her
small fingers into the groove of the one on the bottom left, wiggling it until it came free.

“Holy shit,” Ruthie said. “How did I not know about this?”

She’d opened the closet door just about every day of her life, grabbing jackets and shoes and umbrellas. How many other secret hiding places did she walk past each day without realizing it?

“It goes way back,” Fawn said, sticking her head into the deep, shadowy hole.

“Let me see.” As Ruthie stepped into the closet, her claustrophobia kicked in right away. Her palms got sweaty, and her heart beat faster. Her mind screamed,
Get yourself out of here—now!

Ridiculous
, she told herself. It was only a closet. The same closet she hung her coat in every day.

“Let’s get a flashlight,” Ruthie said. Fawn nodded and ran into the kitchen, pleased to be given an important mission. Ruthie heard her pull open a drawer, rummage around, then come thumping back down the hall.

“Here,” she said, flashing the beam of light right into Ruthie’s eyes.

“Quit that,” Ruthie said, squinting. “Hand it over.” She took the light and aimed into the darkness.

“Hey, there’s something in there, stuffed way back.”

It was hard to make out much in the dark, but there, in the back left corner of the secret compartment, was some kind of bundle.

“Huh?” Fawn said, squinting in.

“Can you go see what it is?”

“Sure,” Fawn said, crawling into the space and reaching for the bundle. Ruthie, suddenly afraid, wanted to tell her to stop, hold on a minute. Who knew what Fawn might find? After she found the gun and wallets upstairs, anything seemed possible.

“It’s a backpack,” Fawn called out, pulling it over to Ruthie.

Ruthie reached for one of the straps and dragged it out into the open, relieved to be in the hallway once again. It was black, and heavier than she expected, with several pockets and zippers covering the outside. It wasn’t anything either of the girls recognized.

Fawn bit her lip. “What do you think’s in it?”

“One way to find out,” Ruthie said. She hauled the bag to the
living room, set it on the coffee table, and stared at it for a minute, fingers pinching the zipper. Her mind went to all sorts of terrible places when she imagined what might be inside: cocaine, more guns, snuff films, body parts.

She shook herself out like a wet dog, trying to drive all those thoughts away.

It was just a backpack.

She took a deep breath and yanked on the zipper. Fawn turned away.

“It’s camera stuff,” she reported, relief in her voice. The backpack was divided into small, padded compartments. She started pulling things out of the bag: Nikon digital SLR, three lenses, a light meter, a flash attachment, an extra battery pack, and a collapsible tripod. She’d messed around with Buzz’s camera and video equipment enough to know that this was the real deal—expensive stuff.

The only cameras she’d ever seen her parents use were the disposable ones you could get developed at the drugstore.

Fawn wandered off, dragging her doll.

“I think it came from the woods,” Fawn whispered to Mimi.

“What’s that, Little Deer?” Ruthie asked.

“Nothing. Just talking to Mimi.”

Ruthie picked up the Nikon, flipped the switch to
ON
, and looked at the screen. Nothing happened. She turned the camera in her hands, looking for some other switch, thinking maybe there was a trick to it—she’d have to have Buzz come take a look tomorrow.

“Ruthie?” Fawn said, her face pressed against the living-room window.

“Yeah?”

“There’s someone outside. Coming this way.”

“He’s coming closer.”

Fawn’s voice was strangely calm and matter-of-fact as she looked out the window—as if they had visitors all the time.

Ruthie hurried over to join her sister at the window, hoping against hope that it might be their mom. She imagined her mother walking through the door, shaking off the snow, and taking the girls in her arms. “I didn’t worry you, did I?” Ruthie could almost feel those arms around her, smell the damp wool of her mother’s shawl.

Ruthie put her arm around Fawn and squinted out the window, past the mirrored reflection of her and Fawn huddled together.

It was dark now, but Ruthie could make out a figure crossing the snow-covered yard. Whoever it was wore a bulky coat with the hood up and was hunched over a little, maybe from walking into the cold wind, or from the effort of wading through the deep snow. There was a scarf wrapped around his face, which gave him the appearance of being faceless, bandaged like the Invisible Man. Could it be their mother? No. Ruthie was sure she’d recognize her own mother’s walk. This person took small, almost cautious steps. Their mother did everything, including walking, with a bustling, determined sureness that Ruthie could sense a mile off.

“Who is it?” Fawn asked.

Ruthie only shook her head.

“And where did he come from?” her little sister asked.

There was no sign of a car. And this person wasn’t coming down the driveway—he was coming across the yard. He left a jagged trail through the snow behind him, a trail that seemed to lead out of the woods.

“Don’t know,” Ruthie mumbled.

Fawn squinted up at her sister, waiting expectantly to be told what they should do. Ruthie felt the overwhelming need to protect her sister. It hit her hard in the sternum:
Save Fawn. Do not let this man near her
.

The stranger had reached the front door. The first knock made Ruthie’s heart skip a beat. It was a loud and determined I’m-not-going-away kind of knock.

“Do you want me to get it?” Fawn asked. She was closer to the door.

“No.” Ruthie bit her lip.
Think
. What should she do? Her parents had always taught them never to open the door to a stranger. But her parents were gone now—her father dead, her mother missing. And what if this was a stranger with information, some kind of clue about where her mother might have gone?

But why had he come from the woods?

“Are we just gonna ignore him?” Fawn asked, hunkering down low, the way her parents had taught them to do when a stranger came. Ignore it. Stay down so they can’t see you. Eventually, they’ll go away.

And why, exactly, had her parents encouraged them to hide?

“If you ever see anyone you don’t know come out of those woods, you get inside, you lock the door, and you hide,” their mother had told them, again and again.

Never open the door. Even if it looks like someone nice, someone harmless, keep the door locked, and hide
.

It was as if her mother had been expecting someone all along—someone dangerous and evil.

But the reality was, they’d had few visitors over the years: the occasional Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness, census takers, a man checking facts for the town assessor’s office.

Ruthie checked her watch. It was nearly six on a Saturday evening.
No one with official business would be out now, not in this weather, not without a car.

She thought of
Visitors from the Other Side
, the idea that the dead could be awakened. Absurd, wasn’t it?

Maybe that’s what the man knocking on their door was—a sleeper from up in the woods. Maybe it was the ghost of Martin Shea, searching for his wife and daughter.

Stop it
, Ruthie told herself.
There’s no such thing as ghosts or sleepers
.

“Maybe he’s lost?” Fawn whispered.

The man knocked harder, louder. Called out, “Hello in there!”

Only it wasn’t a man’s voice. It was a woman’s.

“Ruthie? It’s Candace O’Rourke.”

“Oh,
shit
,” Ruthie breathed.

“Should I get it?” Fawn asked, moving right up to the door, putting her hand on the deadbolt.

“No,” Ruthie whispered harshly. How had Candace found them?

“I think I might have an idea about what happened to your mother. I’ve come to help you find her.”

Before Ruthie could stop her, Fawn undid the deadbolt and yanked open the door.

A gust of cold wind slapped them in the face.

“Hi, Ruthie,” Candace said, flipping back her hood and unwrapping the scarf from her face. Her cheeks were bright pink. “It’s so good to see you again. May I come in?” Behind the shock of wind, Ruthie caught the scent of expensive perfume, cigarettes, and booze. Without waiting for an answer, Candace crossed the threshold and stepped into the hallway.

She looked down at Fawn, who had scuttled back. “Hello there,” Candace said with a huge smile. “What’s
your
name?”

Fawn didn’t answer. She clutched Mimi tight against her, then slipped away back down the hall.

“Oh, she’s
shy
!” Candace said with amusement.

Ruthie shrugged.
Or she’s realizing that she just let a crazy person into our house
, she thought.

“It’s freezing out there,” Candace said, shivering for emphasis. She looked around the hall. “No sign of your mother yet?”

Ruthie stood still, not answering.

“I see there’s a truck in the barn. Is that your family’s only vehicle?”

Ruthie was determined not to tell this woman anything. Not until she got some answers of her own.

“Where did you come from?” Ruthie asked. “How did you find us?”

Candace only smiled and unzipped her coat.

Ruthie tried again. “You said you had an idea what happened to my mom?”

Candace smiled an all-in-good-time smile and stepped farther inside, moving right past Ruthie. “This is so nice,” she said, going straight for the woodstove in the living room, peeling off her gloves to warm her hands. “Really cozy.” She looked all around the room. Ruthie tried to imagine how it must appear to someone like Candace—the rough-hewn floorboards, the faded rugs, the beat-up couch and coffee table.