Nathaniel

Janet's head turned, and she stared at Michael. "Stop it," she whispered. "Just stop saying those things." Her voice rose to the edge of hysteria. "They're not true, Michael. They're not true!"

Michael returned her gaze, his face suddenly angry. Then he left her alone, closing the door behind him.

A

In the hall, the clock began to strike, and A

"Amos? Is that you?"

There was no answer, but even as silence settled once more over the house, A

She tried to clear the fogginess from her mind, and opened her sleepy eyes to peer around.

Then, at the window, she saw it.

A face, a face she recognized.

It was Mark's face, but younger than he'd been the last time she saw him, almost as young as he'd been when he ran away so many years ago.

And yet it wasn't Mark's face. It was a face like Mark's, but different.

Then she heard the voice.

"He's dead, Mama. He's dead."

The words struck A

Then the voice came again. "He's dead, Mama. You must not be frightened anymore."

Then the face disappeared from the window, and once more A

She sat for a long time, listening to the soft ticking of the clock, amplified by the night, trying to decide what had really happened to her. Had it been real, or had it only been a dream?

Then, as the hours wore on, a sense of peace slowly settled over her, a sense of peace she hadn't felt in years, not since before the night so many years ago when she had given birth to her last child. Suddenly she smiled. That was who the face had reminded her of. The face at the window had looked like her last son, just as she'd always imagined he would look-if only he had lived.

And with the sense of peace came something else.

It was Amos of whom the boy had spoken. As the night wore on, and A

At last, as the clock was striking two, she heard a car pull up the drive. She rolled herself over to the window and stared out into the night, squinting against the darkness as she tried to make out the face of her visitor.

And then, as the figure of a man emerged from the pickup truck in front of the house, A

It was Ben Findley.

Trembling, A

"Hello, A

The seconds ticked by, and A

"You," she breathed at last.

Ben Findley nodded. His eyes left A

"The river?" A

Findley shrugged. "I called him today. I saw you and the boy this afternoon, and I told Amos I didn't want anyone poking around that field."

A

Findley shook his head; then, without asking A

Findley looked puzzled for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't. Why?"

A

Findley's body tensed, and his hooded eyes darkened. "How?" he asked. "How did you know?"

A

"Nathaniel…" Findley said softly.

A

"No, A

"Yes! He killed my children, Ben. He killed my children, and somehow, in his twisted mind, he managed to blame it on his holy Nathaniel. But it was a lie, Ben! Amos was insane, and a murderer. I could never prove it, but I knew. I always knew."

"How?" Ben Findley suddenly demanded. He rose to his feet, towering over A

A

"And is that why you stayed with him?" Findley asked. "Is that why you stayed with him all those years, A

A

Findley ignored her question. "And what about our child, A

A

"Tell me, A

"Dead," A

"No, A

A terrible silence fell over the house as A

And then, gathering her strength, A