THE MYSTERY OF THE CRIMSON GHOST

Phyllis A Whitney

1
The Crimson Light
My name is Janey Oakes, and I might as well tell you straight off that I have a very serious and painful disease. I call it "horse fever." It can attack when you're young, and I understand that it can last until you're grown-up and so busy with other things that you feel only twinges now and then. It is incurable, but not fatal. The painful part grows out of not owning a horse when that is what you want more than anything else in the world.
There are a good many cases of this disease because it isn't easy these days for a girl to have her own horse. Boys as well as girls catch the fever, but for some reason girls tend to have it worse. I have it very badly. Of course, if you're lucky enough to own a horse, then you don't suffer at all.  That wasn't the case with me.
I'm telling you all this so it will be clear why the news that Mother and Dad and I were going to the country for the summer—and might even stay there for good —made me very happy. We've lived on Staten Island out in the harbor of New York ever since I was born. There I could ride a rented horse, but Dad always said no to owning one because we had no place to keep it, and also because of the expense. Now we were going to spend the summer with Dad's widowed sister out in Sussex County in northern New Jersey. And in the country there are horses!
I suppose I began to plot secretly the minute I knew we were going to visit Aunt Viv, though when we started out I didn't dream that this disease of mine was going to plunge me into some pretty scary happenings. In fact, the first strange thing occurred before we arrived. There was a slowdown on the Jersey Turnpike that made us late so that we had to stop on the way for dinner, and it was already dark by the time we reached Sussex County. After following for some time the country roads that wound through wooded hills, Dad said we should have reached Lake Kimi. But we hadn't found it and he decided to stop at the next house to ask directions.
Out in the country there aren't too many houses. We were driving along a dirt road that followed the side of a steep hill. Off to our left was a valley rimmed with dark hills, and while lights shone here and there, they were a long way off. We saw nothing nearby until Mother glimpsed a light high up the pine-covered hill on our right. Dad slowed the car to watch for a way up the hill, but when we came to the private roadway, we found a chain across it, and an unfriendly sign told us to Keep Out.
Nevertheless, Dad braked the car and took out his flashlight. "I'll go up on foot," he said, "and see what I can find."
Mother wasn't feeling well, so she decided to stay in the car and wait for him. Since I didn't want to miss anything, I hopped out and followed him to the chain. He raised it to let me under and then stepped over with his long legs.
Though the summer day had been hot, the night was cooler than nights in New York, and I was glad of my sweater. Rough gravel crunched underfoot as the road wound between tall hemlocks and cedars marching up the hill. Now and then we caught a glimmer of lights from the house above, and the night wasn't really dark because there was a fair-sized moon sailing the sky, surrounded by a million stars. Somehow I felt a pleasantly scary excitement as we climbed through the piny-smelling summer night together. Perhaps it was the chain and the Keep Out sign that gave me a feeling of mysterious adventure ahead in that unknown, hidden-away house.
Before we reached the top of the curving road Dad stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting as loud as he could: "Hallo! Anybody home up there? We're lost—can you help us?"
It was surprising how much noise his shouting made. The sound seemed to strike echoing cliffs and go rocketing along the hillside, repeating itself endlessly.
He looked at me in apology, since he hadn't expected to make such an uproar. "That's so they won't set a dog on us," he explained.
There was no answer to his shout and no sound of barking either, so we went on around the last turn where the road came to an end in a wide clearing. Before us spread an enormously wide building, in which every window was dark, with not a light showing anywhere.
"They've turned out the lights," I said in surprise.
Dad nodded doubtfully. "Not very friendly, are they?"
My father is a high school science teacher and he says scientists are always curious.   They keep asking Why? and seldom take no for an answer, so he didn't accept the rejection of those queerly disappearing lights. We really were lost and Mother wasn't feeling well, so he wouldn't give up easily.
We walked toward wide steps that seemed to climb to a dark doorway. The moon had gone behind a cloud, so Dad flashed his light on the stone steps as we went up, and then through the open doorway—into nothing. There was only the starry sky and open air beyond. You can't imagine what a queer feeling it gave us—to find that tall, arched entrance going nowhere. Beyond it we could make out high stone foundations stretching away, but there were no walls, no roof—just shapes in crumbling concrete that showed what must have been rooms sometime in the past before the whole place fell to ruin.
It was very queer to stand there with shadowy darkness all around us, hemlocks whispering softly in the breeze, and not a light anywhere because there was no place where a light could have burned. I moved closer to Dad, feeling that something was terribly wrong. There had been yellow lights showing up on the hillside. We had seen them.
The ruined building seemed to cover an unusual amount of space for any ordinary house. As we stood looking around, I heard an odd shuffling, snorting sound. Dad didn't hear it because he had moved on to flash his light farther along the flat cement floor of the foundations until it was lost in reaching darkness.. There seemed to be some sort of structure rising on one side—perhaps a part of the house that was still standing. The snorting sound had come from the other direction.
"Come along,'' Dad said. "Let's not give up until we've had a better look at this peculiar setup."
In spite of the creepy feeling the place gave me, I hung back, listening as hard as I could. Almost right away the sound came again. A soft shuffle, a stomp, a faint snuffling. I'd have known those sounds anywhere, just as I'd have known the smell that drifted toward me through the darkness. The wonderful, warm, live smell that meant only one animal to me.
"There's a horse back there," I whispered to Dad.
He was already at the foot of the steps. "Oh, come on, Janey," he said. "You've got horses on the brain. Look—the rest of the house is over this way. You coming with me?"
I realized that I couldn't go stumbling around broken foundations looking for a horse, when what we needed was to find the way to Aunt Viv's. So I hurried down the steps after him and crunched along a cinder walk that led to another door.
The moon came out again and we could see the shape of the building more clearly. A good half of this place must have burned down years before and most of the wreckage had been cleared out, leaving only the stone foundations and those steps that climbed through a ghostly doorway into nothing. The rest of the place was still standing, and it was as enormous as the part that had burned down.
Dad found more steps and a closed front door with dark windows on each side and overhead in the second story. I had a feeling that whoever was in there must be watching us from behind the curtains, keeping very quiet so we would give up and go away. But this time Dad marched up the steps and banged on the door good and loud.
"Anybody home?" he shouted, and reached out a hand to pull me over in front of the door so anyone looking out could see that Dad was accompanied by a girl of twelve. Perhaps that way they wouldn't be so afraid of opening up and talking to us.
Again there was silence, but I could see that the upstairs windows were unshuttered and open to the cool night. When I stared upward I was sure I glimpsed a face that appeared briefly to look out at me—pale and round in the moonlight—only to draw quickly back into shadow. A moment later there was the sound of a drawn bolt and the door opened a crack.
A woman's voice, strong and vigorous, said, "What do you want?"
Dad did the right thing. He turned his flashlight on us both as we stood there, so the woman could see that we looked harmless enough.
"We're trying to find Lake Kimi," Dad said. "We're strangers here—my wife and daughter and I—and we seem to have missed the turning."
The woman widened the crack in the door, and somewhere behind her a light was switched on. I could see that she was tall and straight, even though she wasn't young. She wore faded dungarees and what looked like a boy's shirt. I could not see her face, but the light behind her made a white aureole of her short hair. Beyond her I could see the boy who had turned on the light. He was as tall as the woman, and he wore Levis that were cut better than the rough dungarees the woman wore. Lamplight shone on his sandy hair and good-looking face. He was older than I am —probably sixteen or so—and as the woman turned her head to nod to him, he came toward us across the room.
"They're looking for Lake Kimi!" the woman said with a little snort that reminded me of the sound I had heard in the ruins. "Tell them, Roger."
"You're practically there," the boy said. "From the ridge of our hill you can look right down on the lake. I suppose you want one of the houses on the other side? There's no one on this side but us."
Dad nodded. "We want to find Mrs. Vivian Kayne's house. So if you'll set us on our way—"
The tall woman made a sharp sound of disapproval, and for just a moment I thought she might shut the door in our faces. But the boy, Roger, put a hand on her arm.
"Take it easy, Gran," he said. "I'll go out and show them the way."
Apparently this place was across the lake from Aunt Viv's house—which meant I had to ask the question that was stirring at the back of my mind, no matter how unfriendly the woman might be.
"Do you have a horse up here?" I asked, waving my hand toward the ruins.
It was the first time I'd spoken, and I had a feeling Dad would have liked it better if I'd kept still. He broke in right away, to get me off the subject of horses.
"Thank you very much, Mrs.—uh—er—" he began.
"Burley," the woman said. "Mrs. Harris Burley." And then to me, "Maybe you'd better ask your Mrs. Kayne if we've got a horse up here!"
The words sounded cold and bitter the way she spoke them and the boy came quickly through the door as if he wanted to stop his grandmother from saying more. She turned away abruptly and disappeared inside without even a good-night.
"Don't mind Gran," he said, sounding unhappy, as though his grandmother's behavior had embarrassed him. "She gets notions sometimes. And she worries when strangers come up here. Lately too many people seem to disapprove of us."
That seemed a strange thing to say, but he didn't explain any further. He walked with us, showing us the way, but he said nothing about the mysterious horse, or why his grandmother feared strangers. He seemed anxious to get us away from the house, and I let him go ahead down the road with my father, while I hung back for a moment longer, looking toward the dark area of ruins and then at the lighted lower windows of the part that was standing. There was still no light upstairs, and this time the person at the upper window did not draw back but leaned on the windowsill, watching us go. I could see the white oval of a face quite clearly, but I couldn't tell whether it was man or woman, boy or girl. Suddenly whoever it was must have seen me, because hands reached out and slammed the window shut.
All the way down to the car I was dying to ask questions of Roger, but I didn't dare, and I knew Dad wouldn't. Anyway, Aunt Viv would know all about this place and the people who lived in it, and I could ask her later on. But what a queer way Mrs. Burley had put her remark about asking Aunt Viv whether they had a horse.
Mother was out of the car walking up and down, waiting for us anxiously.
"Bill!" she cried when we came into sight. "I thought I'd lost you both for good!"
Dad introduced Roger, who said his name was Burley too and flashed a friendly smile at Mother. Then he pointed down the road, showing Dad which turns to take to drive around the end of the lake and reach the Kayne house. When we were in the car and ready to leave, he stood at the side of the road and waved to us, still smiling and friendly. I had a feeling that he was lonely for company and that if it had been up to him, he might have invited us into that huge, strange place up the hill.
We had no trouble finding our way. Two right turns through woods that bordered the road brought us out on the opposite side of the lake. We could see the water, brightly rippled in the moonlight, with the thick woods of the far hill rising beyond. The Burley place was hidden in the trees up there and I could no longer see its lights. On this side there were several houses set far apart.
"There's Viv's place!" Mother said, pointing, and we could see the house rising into sight on its own hilltop ahead. We knew it from the snapshots Aunt Viv had sent us. It was a raised ranch type, which means it occupied two floors. All its windows were bright with welcome, and a light shone over the front door. The road dipped into a hollow where we turned past a row of mailboxes and took the steep drive up to the house.
I had a special reason for being interested in Aunt Viv's house. I knew she hoped to sell it to us before the summer was over, so she could move to a smaller place in town. If we bought it, we could stay here for good. If, of course. If Dad and Mother liked living in the country, If they liked the house. If Dad got a job teaching in a New Jersey high school not too far away. If all sorts of things that simply had to come true. Without even stepping inside I knew I wanted to stay in this heavenly place—and have a horse of my own!
While Dad and Mother were greeting Aunt Viv, I got out of the car on the lake side and stood looking around. The carport was on a level above the lake and the road, with the house rising still more levels above. The lake shimmered bright gold and shiny black, where shadows and moonlight mingled across the water. The air smelled wonderful—clean and fresh, and carrying scents I couldn't identify. But the country night wasn't quiet, as I'd expected it to be. The whole lake must have been alive with thousands of frogs, and they were all twanging away in different voices—from high tenor croaks down to a surprisingly deep bass-fiddle note. The insects were almost as noisy as the frogs, chirping and buzzing and whirring—a whole orchestra of sounds made with wings and saw-toothed legs and even with their bodies. I wasn't a science teacher's daughter for nothing, so I knew how they made those sounds, even though I had never heard so many of them before.
Mother's voice broke into my trance. "Janey?" she called. "Are you coming indoors?"
I slapped at a mosquito—there were those, too— and ran around the car and up a steep flight of flagstone steps that led from the carport to the house.
I had not seen Aunt Viv for a long time and I felt a little shy with her at first. But she is not a shy person, and she gave me a hug right away, looking really happy to see me. I knew more than ever that I was going to like it here.
Uncle Martin, Aunt Viv's husband, had died two years ago. I hadn't seen him since I was small, and I didn't remember him very well. Aunt Viv visited New York now and then and had come out to the Island to see us, so I knew her better. I had always found her a lively, interesting person. For one thing, she is the outdoor type. She rides and swims and plays tennis— and even flies a plane. Uncle Martin used to be a pilot, and since there was a small airport not far from Lake Kimi, he had taught her to fly small planes and she loved it. To look at her, you wouldn't think she was very strong. She's quite small—not nearly as tall as Dad —and she's pretty and slim in the attractive sweaters and pants she likes to wear. She cuts her brown hair short so that it doesn't get in the way, and combs it back from her ears in a boyish style. Another thing I like about her is that she is always sure things will come out right in the end, no matter what. Dad is just the opposite. He looks at everything inside out, takes it apart, and puts it back together again, so he can see all its dreadful possibilities, even if they never happen.
Now Aunt Viv was breezing around the big downstairs rumpus room, eager to show us the house. But Mother's headache was worse and it was getting late, so Dad settled things in his own decisive way. Mother and I ought to get to bed as soon as we could, he told us. Then he and his sister could sit up for a while and talk things over, get reacquainted. He went out to bring in our bags, while Mother sat down, looking a bit pale and ill. I was dying to tell her about the Burley house and our queer reception there, but this wasn't the time. So I kissed her cheek and said good night, hoping she would feel better tomorrow. Mother isn't awfully strong, and I have a very unsettled feeling when she is ill.
Aunt Viv showed me into the small bedroom that she had fixed up for me on this lower floor. It opened off the rumpus room and had big double windows looking out upon the lake.
"The bedrooms upstairs face in other directions,"
Aunt Viv said, "so I thought this lakeside room should be yours. That is, if you don't mind being down here alone. You can even have your own bathroom—it's through that door beyond the stairs."
Being able to look out at the lake seemed perfect, so I didn't mind having the only bedroom on the lower floor. Dad brought in my suitcase and Aunt Viv went upstairs to get me a glass of milk and some cookies.
The room was too small to hold much furniture. There was a bed just the right size for me, a bureau with three drawers, an easy chair, and a lamp. An oval rug in a pattern of rose and brown lay before the bed, and there was even a tiny closet for my clothes. On the wall hung a painting of a lake with tree-covered hills all around—undoubtedly Lake Kimi on a sunny autumn day, with leaf colors reflected in the water.
By the time I had put on my pajamas Aunt Viv was back. "Drink this up and pop into bed," she said. "Unpacking can wait until tomorrow."
I was sleepy enough to agree, but there was still something I had to ask before she went away.
"We stopped at the big house on the hill across to get directions," I told her, nodding toward the lake.
Aunt Viv had reached the door and though she usually moved fast, she turned rather slowly and stared at me across the room. "Yes?" she said.
Somehow her tone did not invite me to go on. Just the same, I had to blunder along, now that I had started.
"I think they have a horse over there," I said. "But when I mentioned it, Mrs. Burley told me I should ask you whether or not they keep a horse. What did she mean by that?"
All the smiling quality had gone out of Aunt Viv and I knew she was upset, though I couldn't see why.
"Let's leave it for now, Janey dear," she said. "Time enough to talk about the Burleys in the morning."
I hated to be put off again, but I sensed trouble here and I could not go on in the face of it. A sudden uneasy suspicion came to me.
"You still like to ride, don't you?" I asked anxiously.
The abrupt way in which she answered wasn't like her. "Not anymore. I've given it up. Good night, Janey dear. Sleep well." And she was gone before I could think of anything else to say.
Her words left me feeling both shocked and mystified. If Aunt Viv had given up riding, it might not be easy for me to ride this summer. Also, the feeling was growing in me—the same feeling that had started when Dad and I had climbed up to the strange house across the lake. Something around here was terribly wrong. Something that had to do with the Burleys and Aunt Viv.
I couldn't solve it now, though, no matter what, and that soft bouncy bed looked inviting. Nevertheless, to comfort myself before I got into it, I opened my suitcase and took out the pieces of my horse collection I had brought with me. At home I have three hundred and twenty-six horses—all different. They are made of wood and china and glass and plastic—in fact, of everything imaginable. Of course I had brought only a few with me. I unwrapped the little horses from the cotton I had packed around them and set them out in a row on my bureau, where they pranced and galloped and stood on their hind legs across the top. Just looking at them made me feel better. I picked up a carved chestnut mare named Brown Clover, my favorite, and brushed her neck with one finger.  The smooth feel of the wood was soothing. Somewhere, somewhere there had to be a real live chestnut horse like Clover waiting just for me. It was up to me to find her!
The emptiness of having only a carved wooden horse as a substitute for a real one made me ache with unsatisfied longing. Dad was sometimes impatient with what he called my "mania." Mother tried to understand—and perhaps she really did—but it couldn't be as important to her as it was to me. Oh, I knew about horses being expensive to buy and to keep, and a great deal of trouble besides. But knowing all that didn't help the soreness inside me to go away.
With Brown Clover still in my hand, I turned out the green-shaded lamp on the bureau and got into bed, slipping the carved horse under my pillow. A cool breeze blew in the window beside my bed, and I pulled up a blanket. But before I snuggled down to go to sleep, I sat up close to the window for a moment and looked out across the lake. In spite of moonlight, it was very dark where the shadow of the wooded hill blackened the lake. Frogs and insects were as loud and as busy as ever and there was no other sound anywhere, except for a soft murmur of voices upstairs.
I waited for my eyes to get used to the darkness of the lake and opposite hillside, but even then I could see no lights showing through the trees. That is, not at first. After I had searched the hillside where the house must be, I suddenly found that I could make out a light, after all. It was a strange light to see up there—not the yellow-gold of lamplight, but something that glimmered bright crimson among the dark trees.
As I stared, with my heart thumping faster, a yellow light came on over in the lived-in part of the house, and now I could tell that the crimson light must be in the empty ruins where I had heard the shuffling of a horse. But why should a red light burn over there? It was very queer and somehow a little frightening. Red stood for all sorts of things. Red for blood, red for warning— red for an unfriendly Keep Out sign.
Suddenly my downstairs room seemed lonely and far away from the rest of the house. I lay down, pushing my cheek into my pillow, pulling the blanket over me. It was good to find that the red glimmer was out of sight when 1 was lying down. I would hate to have that one warning eye staring at me all night long.
Now I discovered that as I looked up toward the sky through my window, I could see stars spangling the darkness high overhead, and the sight was reassuring. How wonderful to lie in bed and be able to see the stars! I reached under my pillow to touch Clover as I fell asleep. And at once I was off in my favorite dream, galloping across a meadow on a real mare of my very own—one that looked exactly like Brown Clover.
I do believe that even as I dreamed, a secret plan was beginning to form in my mind. A plan to find out about that mysterious horse across the lake at the Burleys'. During the night the scheme kept growing, so that when I wakened next morning I was ready for action.
2
Girl with a Secret 
Aunt Viv stood beside my bed smiling down at me. I blinked at her sleepily, noting her green slacks and pale yellow shirt, and how bright and wide awake she looked.
"Breakfast's nearly ready," she said. "We'll let your mother sleep this morning, but I thought you'd like to be up early so you can start exploring."
Her words brought me straight up in bed to look out at the lake through the big windows beside me. The sky was pale blue and the sun was already up, casting a satiny sheen over the green water. Across the lake the thickly wooded hillside was solid green and there were no houses at all, except for a roof and high windows that looked out from a clearing at the very top. That was the Burley place, and my dream plan came to life and started its urging at the back of my mind. The problem would be how to get across the lake to the opposite shore without going all the way around by the road. Once across, I might go quietly up through the trees and . . .
Aunt Viv's voice broke in on my thoughts. "I'll get back to my bacon and eggs. Come upstairs as soon as you're ready."
It didn't take long to pull some clothes out of my suitcase, dash across the rumpus room to the bath and do a very fast scrub-up. Then I put on denim pants with rolled-up legs and a blue, sleeveless blouse. Like Aunt Viv's, my brown hair is short and slightly curled, so I could run a comb through it and be ready fast.
A flight of steps with iron railings led upstairs and I ran up them, turned down a hall, and stepped into the most beautiful room I had ever seen. It was L-shaped, with the long part forming the living room, and one end of the foot the dining room. I walked across soft green carpeting toward the front of the house and found that it was enclosed by huge panels of glass, with glass doors on each side opening onto a redwood deck. I had a quick impression of dark wood walls and brown and green furniture—all very quiet, with just that big expanse of the outdoors to decorate the room.
A table had been set in the dining area, where the woods of Aunt Viv's hillside came right up to the door at one end. Hungry as I was, I had to go through that door and out upon the deck. Dad was already there, leaning on the railing, and sliding the screen door open, I went to join him. The coolness of early morning felt wonderful as I took long deep breaths of fresh air.
"Like it?" Dad said when I came to stand beside him.
I could only nod. Imagine being able to live in a place like this all year round! As we stood there watching the brown surface of the lake, something moved on the driveway below the deck, and I looked down in time to see two chipmunks dart into the crevices of a rock wall. They were darling little striped things with bright brown eyes and waving tails.
I heard my own deep sigh and knew why I sighed. Everything about Lake Kimi was perfect, except for one thing—I had no horse.
"Riding would be wonderful around here," I said softly, my eyes following the dirt road that ran below the house. Hard pavement was no good for a horse, but on a dirt road you could gallop if you wanted to.
Dad made a grunting sound that meant he was tired of the subject of horses before I even started. "If someone around here keeps a horse and is willing to let you borrow it or rent it, you can ride," he said.
Even though I knew better than to continue when he sounded like that, I went on. I had to. "But, Dad—this would be a lovely place to keep a horse. So why—"
He really snapped at me. "For one thing, we don't live here!"  Then, as sometimes happens after he has been cross, he was sorry right away. He turned from the rail, his expression serious.  "Janey, I don't mean to be impatient when I know how much you want a horse.  But it isn't possible and you have to face that fact. You're old enough to understand that a horse is a luxury we can't afford.  If we decide to stay in this part of New Jersey we'll need to buy a house.   That will be all I can manage at the moment, and we'll be paying for it for some time to come.  A good horse— and you wouldn't want anything else—is expensive to buy and expensive to keep after you buy it.   What's more, it requires an endless amount of time and work. Since horses can get sick, just the way people do, there are sure to be veterinary expenses besides, coming at awkward times. A horse can't be neglected, and you'd find—"
I had to break in.  "I'd never neglect a horse of my own!" I cried.
Dad threw up his hands in despair. "Janey, you have a completely one-track mind! Did you hear one thing I said to you just now? You aren't past the main obstacle yet. I am not going to buy you a horse."
This sounded dreadfully final, but it was the same old story that I had heard all my life, and somehow I could never really believe it. Everything Dad said was reasonable and true, and I knew he was right, yet I never gave up trying to find a way to have my own horse. All along I had been hoping that our trip to the country would change everything—but now it was discouragingly clear that it had not. A couple of years ago I had started saving my earnings from baby-sitting, but I had hardly enough to buy a saddle, let alone a horse.
Behind us Aunt Viv came onto the deck, spatula in hand, and a green apron tied over her slacks.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she said. "Marty and I loved living here." There was a hint of sadness in her voice, but Aunt Viv never let herself brood and she brushed her feeling away quickly and pointed. "Look at those blue jays! They've built a nest right in the roof of the carport, and they fuss every time I come down there."
"Nice place for a vacation," Dad said, "but I'll bet it gets cold here in the winter."
Aunt Viv's eyes sparkled. "Indeed it does. The lake freezes over and we skate and sail iceboats. And back there on the hill above this end of the lake we can ski and toboggan. Besides, there are a few other families here, and it never gets lonely."
"How do you plow out that steep driveway, when there's a snowstorm?" Dad asked, always practical.
I knew he'd keep on finding objections if she let him continue, so I asked a question of my own. "Does anyone on this side own a horse?"
Aunt Viv shook her head. "We're not allowed to keep horses in the lake area. You can ride here, of course—but first you have to find a horse and I'm afraid there are none available nearby. I tried hard to find one for myself, until—until—" She stopped abruptly, staring off across the lake.
Clearly she was shutting out any possibility of riding that horse owned by the Burleys. I stayed quiet, not listening, letting Dad and Aunt Viv talk about whatever they liked. From up here on this high deck the Burley place, standing still higher across the water, was more visible than from my downstairs room, and I stared at it, trying to figure out the puzzle of that half-ruined building. Now I could see that a long white veranda ran across the front of the undamaged part clear to the place where the ruins started. Then the veranda stopped as suddenly as if it had been cut in half. Perhaps it really had been cut by that long-ago fire. The ruins we had glimpsed last night could not be seen because underbrush had grown up to screen them from the lake, but I knew where they were. That was the area where I had seen the crimson glow during the night.
"What happened over there?" I asked Aunt Viv. "Did part of the house burn down?"
A frown came between her eyebrows, as it had the night before, when I had mentioned the horse. "Oh, that happened years and years ago. Thirty years, at least. The place used to be a summer hotel, you know. It was very popular in its day. There is a good spring with water that is supposed to cure you of practically everything. They called the place Decker House when it was built and the Burleys kept the name when they took it over. People used to come here from all around, I understand. But the railroads closed down and people began to fly to other places, so its popularity died even before the night it burned down—or at least the half with the guest rooms burned. It must have been a terrible fire, and it's a wonder they saved the middle section where the office was. Of course that's built of stone, so it stood a better chance, and it protected the ballroom and dining area on the other side from the flames."
Staring at the hillside where the long white veranda stretched, I could imagine the dreadful sight those flames must have made in the darkness, leaping along the hilltop, eating up the veranda and all the building behind it.
"Was anyone hurt?" Dad asked.
"There were only a few guests at the time," Aunt Viv said. "Harris Burley managed to get them out. Tragically, he was caught by a falling beam and killed that night."
She was silent and I found myself looking at the white veranda with a feeling of shock and sadness.
"Why didn't they rebuild afterward?" Dad asked.
"I suppose Mrs. Burley didn't have the heart," Aunt Viv said. "Without her husband as a partner, she didn't want to go on with the hotel. But since she had enough insurance money to invest and live on, she stayed in the office part of the building and closed up the rest. She has made it her home ever since. Her two sons grew up there and moved away. There's only one of them living now—a Dr. Henry Burley in New York City. The old lady could go and stay with him in a minute, but she chooses to stay here. When her younger son and his wife died in an accident, she took their two small boys and raised them herself over on her hilltop."
Admiration for that unwelcoming old woman whom I had met under such strange circumstances last night was rising in me.
"What a good thing for her to do," I said.
Aunt Viv shook her head. "I'm not so sure. You don't know what you're talking about, Janey. Perhaps it was all right at one time, but it isn't anymore. She's in her seventies, and while she seems healthy enough, she has been doing some very strange things. Besides, that is no life for two boys who are growing up." She glanced suddenly toward the kitchen and flung up her hands. "Oh, gracious—my scrambled eggs!"
Off she flew, waving her spatula. Dad grinned in amused affection. "Viv hasn't changed. We always used to claim that burned toast was her specialty."
I stayed at the rail, still staring at the Burley place, trying to overcome my discouragement. Dad had said I could have no horse—but I could ride if I found a horse available somewhere. And so far Aunt Viv had not told me why Mrs. Burley's horse wasn't. There was nothing to do but find out about that horse for myself as soon as I possibly could. Which meant right after breakfast.
Dad stretched his long arms over his head and yawned mightily. "Let's get in to breakfast while there's still something to eat."
"How is Mother feeling?" I asked as we walked around the redwood deck together and went through the sliding screen door.
"She's better, but ready for more sleep and rest, so we'll indulge her this morning."
I went into the small, not very neat kitchen to see what I could carry in for Aunt Viv, and she promptly handed me a plate of food. The scrambled eggs were safe, after all, and the bacon, though pretty well done, wasn't burned. Toast ticked away in the toaster and there was a coffee odor that is always the smell of breakfast. Even though I don't like coffee, I enjoy the smell of it. When I had poured milk for myself into a tall blue glass, I sat down at the table. In the center a crystal bowl of what Aunt Viv said was sweet alyssum added perfume from tiny white flower clusters to the rest of the breakfast scents.
While Dad and Aunt Viv talked over old times and discussed her plans for the future, when she would move to nearby Newton to live, I hardly listened. As I crunched bacon and ate my buttered toast spread with strawberry jam, my mind was working on the puzzle of the Burley house. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I had to break in.
"Did you say there are two grandsons over there?" I asked Aunt Viv. "Last night there was only a boy named Roger around."
"There's a younger grandson who is thirteen," Aunt Viv said. "Denis and I used to be good friends, but I don't know whether we are anymore."
I thought about this. Denis must be the owner of the face I had seen looking out of an upstairs window last night. He would be the one who had slammed the window shut in that unfriendly way.
"Why aren't you friends now?" I persisted.
Aunt Viv's brown eyes had a troubled look.   "Old Mrs. Burley doesn't approve of me. She doesn't want him to see me anymore."
Dad whistled. "Since when are you a bad influence for the young, Viv?"
"I like the wrong things, and I do the wrong things," Aunt Viv said. "It's because— Oh, let's not talk about it! Not at breakfast. Something quite awful happened. Something terrible that was my fault. I can't blame Mrs. Burley for the way she feels, but at the same time I don't think that's a healthy life for those two boys. Not when they have to be cooped up with an old woman who may be a little bit crazy. Roger and Denis ought to escape and grow up somewhere else—preferably with their uncle in New York. But that's enough of the Burleys for now. Janey—I meant to tell you last night that there is a girl your age, or a little older, who lives in a house near this end of the lake. The other families have small children, so she has been looking forward to your arrival. I invited her to come over after breakfast and get acquainted."
This was good news. A girl my age might mean an ally, a helper for my plan. Perhaps she liked horses too. And if she lived here at Lake Kimi, she would know the answers to some of the questions Aunt Viv didn't want to discuss.
"That's fine," I said. "What's her name?"
"Coral," Aunt Viv told me. Coral, not Carol. Coral Moller. Her father is a builder in this area, and her mother works in a store in Franklin, so sometimes Coral is lonely during summer vacation. Her grandmother is home, but no one else.
My mind had wandered off again on all those unanswered questions. I decided to try Aunt Viv on one more.
"Why does a red light burn at night over in those hotel ruins?" I asked.
She drank a sip of coffee and then gave Dad an odd, quick look, as though she didn't want to talk about this before him.
"I don't know why there would be a red light in empty ruins," she said cautiously. "It doesn't make much sense, does it? Are you sure you saw such a light?"
That put the whole thing right back in my lap. But she hadn't said there was no red light, or that she had never seen one. I let the matter go and gave my full attention to breakfast. Just as I finished up, the chimes rang for the front door.
"There's Coral now," Aunt Viv said. "Let's go and meet her."
We went downstairs together and found Coral waiting outside the door. Aunt Viv introduced us and we smiled at each other in a guarded way, because of course neither of us could be sure how we'd get along. Dad says kids have a way of sniffing one another out that is a hangover from caveman days when all strangers were regarded with suspicion.
Coral isn't as tall as I am, and she is thinner. I'm the sturdy type, I suppose, while Coral is slim. I have dark-brown hair like both Mother and Dad, while Coral's hair is blond and straight and very fine. She wears it hanging to her shoulders and caught back with a white band over the top of her head. Everything she wore this morning was white—her shorts and blouse, and even her clean sneakers that made my own look extra grubby. Her legs were bare and nicely tanned, where mine were still light-colored down to my loafers. Her white clothes certainly didn't look practical for being outdoors in the country, but I couldn't tell whether she dressed this way all the time or whether it was special for some reason. I soon found out.
While we looked each other over, Aunt Viv was making suggestions. "The water is probably too cold for swimming this early in the morning, but if you want to go out on the lake, you can use my boat. I know you both swim and row, and you're old enough to know how to be careful in a boat, so go ahead if you want to."
A strange thing happened then. Strange because it was so sudden and because it happened to us both at the same time. Coral and I brightened up and smiled at Aunt Viv and at each other. Of course I was eager for the chance to go out in a rowboat because that was a way to get over to the Burley side of the lake. But the strange thing was that Coral seemed just as eager. There was something almost intense about her eagerness that made me a little uneasy. I had a good reason for wanting to cross the lake. But what Coral's reason was I couldn't tell. I began to have the feeling that she was up to something secret, something she did not want me to guess.
3
Star of Sussex
AUNT Viv realized by our faces that everything was settled and she shooed us down the steps to the driveway. Coral crossed the drive and hurried down a grassy hillside dotted with blue and yellow wild flowers. She knew the way and I followed her willingly.
Apparently Aunt Viv owned some land on the edge of the lake, and Coral showed me a rough path leading down to a small sand beach that the Kaynes had put in on their property. There was a wooden dock, too, recently painted gray, and a green rowboat pulled up on the sand. The oars were hidden in a nearby grove of trees. Coral found them and brought them down to the boat.
"I'll row," she said. "Do you want to get in?"
I like to row myself, but that could wait. First I wanted to find out whether Coral and I might become friends. So far there had been no time to say much to each other, but I had a feeling that she was driven by some purpose as strong as my own, and that she knew exactly where she was going, and why. I might as well go along and find out what she was up to.
We shoved the boat to the edge of the sand and I crawled into the stern seat, while Coral took the seat between the oars. Before she sat down she looked carefully at the green crossboard, gave it a quick wipe with one hand, and then trusted her white shorts to its surface. This seemed awfully neat behavior to me. But I didn't know what she planned, or why she was so dressed up.
With a bit of pushing and wriggling, we got the boat into deep water, and Coral raised the oars and dipped them, pushing us off. She turned so that the prow would head out across the lake, and gave all her attention to pulling on the oars. For a few moments I had nothing to say. I sat there watching the calm water slip by, watching the peaceful, wooded hillside ahead, where the roof of the Burley house was lost among the trees.
The morning had turned hazy and the lake was a dark olive green, not reflecting the sky or anything else. When I swiveled my head I could see Aunt Viv's house high on its hill behind us—a pale, lavender-gray, with light-blue shutters.
I decided to start out with Coral by trying a harmless subject. "Why is the lake called Kimi?" I asked. "I suppose it's an Indian name?"
Coral nodded and continued rowing. "The Indians around here were the Leni-Lenape and in their language 'kimi' means secret, or surrounded."
That was interesting. I could see how the name fitted this secret, well-surrounded place. Now perhaps I could go on to a question closer to what I wanted to know.
"Is there a path up the far side?" I asked.
"A path where?" Coral sounded as cautious as Aunt Viv.
I tried to pretend it really didn't matter. "Oh—along the edge of the lake, or up the hill."
"Brush and weeds grow too thick for you to walk along the shore in the summer," she said. "But there's a path up the hill through the woods."
I looked ahead and saw that a rough clearing had been made at the edge of the lake. There was a dock running out into the water—not clean and freshly painted like Aunt Viv's dock, but dingy with long weathering, the boards grown furry with rot.
"Does the path go up to the Burleys'?" I asked bluntly.
Coral let us drift while she stared at me with eyes as blue as the wild flowers in the field below Aunt Viv's. Yet somehow her blue look was guarded. I decided that it was time for me to talk. I told her about stopping for directions last night, and about the queer reception we'd had from Mrs. Burley. As I went on with my story, Coral began to row again, turning her head occasionally to watch the shore and the point for which she was heading. I had a strong feeling that something important was going on beneath her quiet manner—all sorts of thoughts and plans she wasn't giving away to me.
Finally I came to the main point. "Last night I thought I heard a horse stomping around up there," I told her. "Do the Burleys keep a horse?"
Coral nodded her smooth blond head. "Do you mean the mare—Star?"
Something inside me started to tingle, but I tried to hold back my excitement. I had no idea how Coral felt about horses, and someone who isn't interested can think you're silly for being crazy about them.
"Is that her name—Star?" I asked.
"Yes—for Star of Sussex," Coral said.   "She was named after her famous ancestor, a great racing horse. But Denis just calls her Star, poor thing."
I couldn't tell whether Coral meant that Denis or Star was a poor thing, but I didn't ask.
She looked up from her oars to meet my eyes and suddenly a wave of color swept across her face, as though she had said something wrong and was a little frightened and embarrassed. I felt more and more impatient and mystified.
"What in the world is going on up there?" I demanded, snapping without meaning to. "A crimson light at night, and a horse no one wants to talk about, and Aunt Viv saying that something terrible happened—yet refusing to tell me about it. And there's that boy, Denis, who slammed a window shut last night when he saw us, as though he wouldn't be friendly no matter who we were. The only one up there who seemed nice was Roger, the older boy."
Coral ignored everything else I'd said and pounced upon the subject of Roger with a sudden interest that gave me the answer. Roger was several years older than Coral, but she had a crush on him just the same.
"He is nice," she agreed warmly. "He's not a bit like his brother and grandmother."
So far my crushes have been mainly for horses, though of course there have been some boys I've liked. Anyway, knowing this about Coral, even if I thought her silly, made me feel kinder toward her. She probably could not help being nutty any more than I could.
"Can we go up there now?" I asked. "I'd like to see that mare."
Coral was more than willing. "We can try, if you like."
I didn't know why she used the word "try," as though something might stop us, but again I didn't ask. She began to row hard and we shot across the water, swerving a little because she pulled more strongly with one arm than the other and had to keep correcting her direction.
"Do you like horses?" I asked her.  "Do you ride?"
"I'm scared to death of them," she admitted. "I'll take a bicycle any day. But I've seen that red light up there sometimes. Have you heard the ghost dog yet?"
I stared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sometimes it bays in the middle of the night. But only when that light is on." She lowered her voice, as though someone might hear us in the middle of the lake. "It's haunted up there, you know. No matter what anybody on our side says, those ruins are haunted."
I couldn't believe in this sort of thing, and I suppose I sounded scornful. "Haunted by what?"
Coral turned her head, sending her fair hair over one shoulder as she cast a nervous glance toward shore. "Maybe by Harris Burley. And by the ghost of his dog that died up there too, the night of the fire. Everyone around the lake is getting upset about it. Dad helped to build the houses around here, and he has an interest in the lake, so this worries him."
We were nearing shore now and Coral pulled hard on both oars so that we nosed in through thick rushes and ran the prow of the boat up on muddy land. At once a swarm of insects rose in the air and tried to eat us alive. Coral jumped out of the boat and ran up the bank, flailing her arms about her head to beat away the midges. I followed, slapping and swatting, and we climbed out of the rushes and away from the cloud of insects.
Coral glanced doubtfully back at the boat and shrugged. "I guess it's all right there," she said.
I noticed that she'd left the oars in the oarlocks, hanging over the sides. That did not seem a good idea, so I squinted my eyes against the midges and trudged back through rushes to tug the boat well up on land where it could not drift away. I lifted the oars over the sides to rest them on the seats and went swatting my way back to Coral.
The silence seemed even greater here on the wild side of the lake, though it was a stillness laced with bird calls and the sound of a mourning dove. As I listened a horse whinnied, far up the hill, and my heart quickened with eagerness.
"Come on," I cried. "Let's go up!"
Coral dusted off the seat of her white shorts and smoothed her hair before she started up a path that was barely visible winding upward through the trees. I knew now why she had dressed up and was trying to stay clean. Roger was the reason.
"There used to be a good road on this side," she explained as we climbed. "When there was a hotel up on the ridge, guests used to walk down the hill and go swimming at the beach near where we landed. Of course everything's grown over with weeds since then, and it's hard to find where the sand used to be. The road is lost in the brush."
"Who were the people that owned it first?" I asked.
"I think the Deckers were distantly related to Mrs. Burley," Coral said. "She was born in Sussex County and there were some Deckers on her family tree, so they kept the name for the hotel. It's a name you hear a lot around here because it belonged to an early settler. The town of Sussex used to be called Deckertown. My father grew up here, so he knows a lot about it. He was a little boy when Decker House burned. He still remembers hearing people talk about it. But he says it's time the old place was torn down and a decent modern house put up over there. He thinks the boys should be sent to their uncle in New York. He'd like to be rid of the Burleys."
She sounded as though she couldn't agree with her father and for a while she said nothing as we climbed the steepening path.
"Do the boys want to go away?" I asked, following her.
"They can't leave old Mrs. Burley," Coral said. "And she fights anyone who tries to get her out."
Once more I heard the horse whinny, and I began to hurry. It wasn't the Burleys or Decker House that interested me, so much as it was their ownership of a mare called Star of Sussex.
The hill on this side was steep and the rough path went straight up the hillside, but since I was used to Staten Island hills, I didn't mind. Halfway up, Coral stopped so we could rest, and I found that I could look out between the trees toward the opposite side. Over here the hill was one straight ridge, while across the lake separate hills folded over one another, with little valleys between. From the main road over there a broad meadow rose part way up the highest hill and it was covered with pale lavender flowers.
"It's so beautiful," I said raptly.
Coral saw the direction of my gaze. "You should see the hills in springtime when they're yellow with wild mustard.   But the lavender bee balm is pretty too. Only, you'd better keep out of it because the bees really go crazy over those flowers. Well, let's go up again."
This time we climbed steadily through the trees until we came out near the top of the ridge. What was left of Decker House occupied the higher ground above us. We stood on a path that led below the veranda fronting this end of the building. Its paint was cracked and peeling, and not as brightly white as it looked from across the lake. The blackened, crumbling ruins began farther along on our left. Behind the veranda all the windows were shuttered and some had boards nailed over them. I stood for a minute looking at those blind eyes that had once been open to sunlight and the beautiful view.
"That was the ballroom up there," Coral whispered —as though she was afraid of being heard by someone inside. "Roger's grandmother often talks about the fine parties they used to have in that room, with music and dancing and soft lights."
Coral looked quite pretty and dreamy, as if she could imagine herself dancing in a place like that. It made me warm to her to know that she could have dreamy notions just as I did—though most of my dreams had to do with horses.
We followed a path beneath the long veranda until we came to the office section that was now the living quarters for the Burleys. By daylight I could see that this part was stone and did not match the other section. It was two stories high, with a peaked attic gable above. Beyond it began the empty foundations where the fire had burned everything else away. So far no one seemed to have looked out the windows and no one had come to stop our progress.
Coral put a finger to her lips, her eyes dancing as though she enjoyed what we were doing, but I felt uneasy and uncertain. I did not know this girl very well, and I had no idea whether she was any more welcome over here than I was. More and more I began to feel that we were trespassing and that Mrs. Burley was not going to like it if she caught us here. When Coral hurried on, I was glad enough to duck under the branches of a big oak tree and follow her out of sight of the living quarters of the house.
We did not go far, however, because there was a sound ahead, and I looked up to see a boy of about thirteen coming down a board ramp from the high foundations. One hand held the halter of the young mare he was leading. When I saw her I stood still and stared—not at the boy, but at the horse.
So this was Star of Sussex! I loved her at first sight. In every way except one she looked exactly like the favorite chestnut-colored carving that I'd named Brown Clover. The exception, of course, was the white star in the center of the mare's forehead.
But before I could really study this beautiful animal as I wanted to, the boy came to a halt on the path before us, and there was nothing friendly in his greeting.
"How'd you get up here?" he demanded. "What do you want anyway?"
Star came to a stop beside him, her long tail switching and the whites of her eyes showing nervously. I put my hand on Coral's arm, and she stood still beside me. It was the tone of Denis Burley's voice that had upset the mare, but she might be uneasy with strangers besides. Much as I wanted to, I could not go over and touch her. It was necessary to be quiet and wait.
4
Watcher in the Brush
Denis Burley was neither as tall nor as good-looking as his brother, Roger. He had the same brown eyes and sandy hair, but right now his hair was thoroughly uncombed. He was a thin boy—really skinny —but he looked sinewy and strong, and he had long hands that rested surely on the mare's halter. He was taking care that we didn't startle his charge further, patting her neck and talking to her softly, even while he gave us a look of hostility that matched the way he had slammed the window down practically in my face last night.
Coral, however, paid no attention to his unfriendly manner. "Hi, Denis," she said cheerfully. "Is Roger around?"
Denis shrugged and turned Star to walk her along the path curving around the far end of the ruined area. "I don't know where Roger is, but you know Gran doesn't want you up here."
Again Coral paid no attention. She winked at me brightly and beckoned as she followed Denis and the mare.
"This is Janey Oakes," she called after him.   "I thought maybe you'd like to meet her, since she'll be spending the summer at Lake Kimi."
"I know who she is," Denis said gruffly. "I saw her last night." And he kept right on walking the mare away from us.
My chance to get close to the mare was vanishing. I wanted to touch her, make her acquaintance, find out if she would be friends with me. I couldn't go back down the hill without even trying. Quickly I slipped past Coral on the path and walked wide around the boy and the horse, so as not to come up from behind. When I was well ahead of them, I stopped and faced Denis pleadingly.
"Could I just pat her?" I asked. "Could I talk to her a little?"
"She doesn't like strangers," Denis said, and that seemed to be the end of that.
Perhaps I'd have accepted his refusal, however much I hated to, but something happened just then. We all heard the sound of a small plane flying over the lake. It was not far away, as jet planes fly, but right overhead. I'm used to planes in the sky over Staten Island, and I might not have looked up, except for Denis' reaction.
He halted the mare so that he could stop and look wonderingly up into the sky, watching the plane with longing stamped all over his face—watching it until it buzzed away into the distance out of sight.
Beyond Denis, but well out of reach of the mare's heels, Coral gave me an impish signal. She gestured in Denis' direction, raised her eyes to the disappearing plane, and circled one finger beside her forehead. I knew what she meant. Denis Burley was crazy about airplanes.
I took one step nearer the mare. Star pricked up her ears in an interested fashion and stared at me with no sign of alarm. Her tail had stopped swishing and her soft brown eyes looked at me with no showing of the whites.
"I don't think she'll mind if I pat her," I said to Denis.
The boy brought his roaming attention down from the sky and scowled at me. He was ready to snap out another refusal. I stepped still closer to Star, holding out my hand with the palm up. The mare could not reach me, but she stretched her neck in my direction and made a soft, snorting sound that was not unfriendly.
"The way I feel about horses," I said, "is just the way you feel about airplanes."
Denis looked at me then. Really looked at me, without all that quick anger rising in him. I'd had the luck to slip past his guard by touching on something he cared about. A lock of sandy hair had curled down his forehead into his eyes and he brushed it back with his free hand.
"O.K.," he said, and walked the horse slowly toward me.
That was when I saw there was something wrong with Star's gait. Her right foreleg moved with a slight limp and her knee showed a scarred place where a wound had healed.
"What's happened to her?" I asked.
Instantly the hostility was back in Denis' face and I knew I had lost my chance to touch the mare. "Ask your Aunt Viv what happened to her!" he snapped and walked Star wide around me, leading her away on a path that led into the woods.
My hand had been outstretched to stroke her forehead and my fingers knew very well how smooth and hard her long muzzle would feel beneath my hand, how velvety her nose would seem to my fingers. My hand almost ached for what I couldn't touch.
Coral came up behind me and jogged my elbow. "I don't think Roger's around," she said. "Maybe we'd better go back."
She sounded disappointed too, but her feeling had nothing to do with the mare, I was sure. She couldn't have understood how I felt. There was nothing to do but follow her along the ridge to the downhill path. I didn't speak again until we were well out of hearing of the house.
"What happened to Star?" I asked. "What has any of this to do with Aunt Viv?"
"Denis and your aunt used to be friends," Coral said. "He's nutty about planes, and she has taken him up a few times at the airport. So when she wanted to ride the mare he let her—though he knew his grandmother would have a fit. Anyway, she galloped her along the shore on the other side of the lake and Star stepped into a woodchuck hole and fell. Your aunt wasn't hurt, but Star's knee was badly injured. Though the vet managed to get the place healed, he doesn't think she will ever walk properly again. She can still gallop, but she won't have the speed old Mrs. Burley expected her to have."
I followed Coral downhill, feeling unhappy and discouraged. Of all the dreadful things—to have that beautiful mare injured! And by my own aunt, so that now Mrs. Burley and Denis wanted to have nothing to do with Aunt Viv, or anyone related to her. Of course it wasn't sensible for them to hold what had happened against me, but apparently both of them did. Now I would never be welcome up here, and certainly I would never get to touch Star of Sussex, let alone ride her.
It was especially dreadful to know of her injury, because I realized very well how perfect she was otherwise. I had never been around really fine horses much, but I had read a lot and looked at pictures of the great horses in books, so that I knew good lines, good conformation, when I saw them. Star of Sussex was just about everything a mare should be—as beautifully fashioned by good breeding as Brown Clover was perfectly fashioned by an artist's carving. Yet now Star had been put completely out of my reach. Not only were there no other horses around Lake Kimi that I might ride, but the one that would have been exactly right was barred to me.
With all these unpleasant thoughts stirring around in my head, I felt quite awful by the time we reached the foot of the hill. Branches had slapped my face, and brambles had scratched my bare ankles—all without my feeling much more than a sting, because the main hurting was inside me. I paid no attention to Coral ahead. She reached the old dock before I did and walked out upon it to stand looking down at the rushes where we had left Aunt Viv's boat.
She cried out to me at once. "The boat's gone! You must not have pulled it up on shore carefully enough."
That brought me back to the present. I ran onto the dock beside her, stepping carefully to avoid rotting boards, and looked at the place where the boat had been drawn up onto nearby land. There was a triangular mark in the mud where its prow had rested, and I knew perfectly well that I had hauled it too far out of the water for it to get loose and drift away by itself. Coral was unfair to blame me. If it had been up to her, the oars would have been left drifting in the oarlocks and the boat would certainly not have been as far up on shore as I had pulled it.
But there was no use arguing with her. The important thing was to figure out how we were to return to the opposite shore. First we had to locate Aunt Viv's boat.
A step on the dock behind us made us look around to see Roger Burley coming toward us. He was not smiling the way he had last night, and he seemed to know right away what was wrong. By daylight he was even better-looking than I had thought him last night. I could understand why a girl like Coral might feel the way she did. But he was much too old, and I was sure he thought of us both as children.
"Hi, Coral," he said. "Hello, Janey. Lost your boat, have you?"
A warm flush of color went up Coral's face and her eyes widened in an entranced stare as she looked at him. Her smile was so uncertain and breathless that I wanted to poke her and tell her not to look so silly. Of course I didn't. This was her business, after all. Roger paid no attention to the way she looked at him. He went to the end of the dock and stood searching up and down the shore for the missing boat.
"Janey didn't pull it far enough up on land. I guess it drifted out on the water," Coral said, playing with a long strand of fair hair that fell over her shoulder.
This time I came to my own defense. "That's not true! I certainly did pull the boat up on land. You can see the mark it left right there. Somebody would have to push it hard to get it loose."
Roger looked at me soberly. "Yes," he said, "that's what must have happened."
Coral gaped at him. "But who on earth—"
He shook his head in warning and she broke off. Then he did something odd. He turned toward the shore and began studying the thick brush and trees that crowded almost to the edge of the water on this side. He wasn't searching for the boat over there, I was sure, as I began to follow the thick line of brush with my own eyes. Quite suddenly I made out what he must have been looking for. A face stared out at us from the leafy cover. Someone was over there, half hidden, watching us look for the boat.
"Who is it?" I whispered.
"Never mind," Roger said curtly. "Stay here and I'll see if I can get your boat back for you."
He walked a little way into the brush behind the dock and pulled out another rowboat hidden there. Moving quickly now, and not looking again in the direction of the watcher, he pushed the boat down to the water's edge, got in with a quick, graceful movement and shoved it out upon the water. We watched him row, while the back of my neck prickled with the feeling of eyes staring at us.
"Who is that back there on the shore?" I whispered to Coral.
She stood close to me, as if the uneasiness had touched her too. "It's the old lady. Mrs. Burley. She's the one who pushed our boat adrift. I'm sorry I blamed you. She's full of tricks like that. Dad thinks she's really crazy."
I had to turn my head to look again—and immediately wished I hadn't. Old Mrs. Burley had stepped boldly from her hiding place.   I had a quick impression of a brown, angry face and white hair untidily adrift, as she started toward us.
"She's coming," I whispered to Coral. "And she's awfully mad."
Roger must have seen her too. He hailed us from the water. "I've spotted your boat," he called, waving an arm. "It's around that point of land. You can reach it if you hurry. Come on—be quick!"
We hurried gladly. The direction was away from the advancing woman and we tramped through brush without worrying about poison ivy or burrs, and never minding the gnats and mosquitoes. In a moment we were out above a stand of brown cattails that grew near the water's edge and we could see the boat, nosed in among them.
Coral rushed down the bank and stepped into wet muck to haul the boat to where we could get into it, not minding the mud on her clean white sneakers now. I got in as fast as I could, and once more we pushed off and Coral rowed us out on the lake. I sat in the middle of the stern seat, holding on with both hands—as though that old woman might come running down the bank to pluck me right out of the boat.
Roger waited for us in his own boat. Not until we came alongside him did I look back. When I finally turned my head, there was no one in sight on the shore.
"Why would she do a thing like that?" Coral asked, reaching over to hold on to Roger's boat.
"Why does she do anything?" Roger said miserably. "How do I know?"
"My father says—" Coral began, and then broke off, realizing that she couldn't tell Roger Burley what her father said.
"I know what they're saying," Roger admitted. "I think she's grown worse since Star was injured. That really set her off. I suppose that mare is the one thing she has pinned her hopes on for years. So she can't forgive Mrs. Kayne and Denis for wrecking her plans."
"What do you mean?" I asked. "What did she pin her hopes on?"
Roger plucked at a mended place in his Levis and stared at the hill rising above us. "Gran thinks Star had all the marks of a great racing horse. She wanted her to repeat what her famous ancestor did and win races for the Burleys. She thought Star would make her rich, or something." He shrugged and drew his mouth down in a grimace. "It's all make-believe, you know. There isn't any way we could take on the expense of turning Star into a racing horse. There's no money in her unless we sell her for breeding. So maybe it's just as well this happened. It makes things real again. Except that it has upset Gran so badly that there's hardly any living with her now. Denis gets blamed worse than I do because it was his fault for letting Mrs. Kayne ride. I'm sick of the whole thing, but there's nothing to be done."
Roger leaned over to push his boat away from us and Coral let him go. She sat with her oars quiet, watching Roger row toward shore. Then she drew a deep sighing breath and began to row back to our own shore. She seemed to forget that I was there, and I watched her curiously as she bent over the oars. Her long fair hair swept forward over her shoulders, and she rowed with her eyes fixed on a distant point behind me, so that she followed a more or less straight line across the lake. I still couldn't tell whether Coral and I would be friends or not. Having to pal around with a girl who liked to stay dressed up and was mostly interested in a boy didn't sound like much fun for the summer.
When the boat was safely beached on Aunt Viv's side, we walked together up the hill toward the house. On the way Coral suddenly put out a hand to stop me, whispering, "Sh-sh!" Aunt Viv had been gardening on the mowed hillside just below the house, and a pair of old work gloves lay on the grass. Coral picked them up and slipped them on quickly.
"Look," she said, pointing ahead.
I caught my breath as I saw what she meant. There on the grass, looking like no more than a tiny brown hummock, was a baby rabbit. It must have seen us coming, for it went loping away a bit clumsily and not very fast. Coral overtook it and scooped it gently up in the big gloves. The tiny thing gave a pitifully frightened sound, like a crying baby, then snuggled into the hollow Coral made with her cupped gloves and was utterly still, watching us with bright brown eyes.
I had never seen such a small, darling creature, but when I wanted to pet it, Coral shook her head. "Don't touch it. It's a wild thing, you know, and it's terribly frightened. I can feel its heart thumping. I only catch them because it's dangerous here where the grass has to be mowed. This one is old enough to find its own food, so I'll carry it to a safer place."
I watched while Coral took the little thing across the road and set it down where weeds grew thick to give it a hiding place. I saw the gentleness in her face, the tenderness with which she let the tiny creature go free. When she'd tossed Aunt Viv's gloves back on the grass, we continued up stone steps leading behind the lavender-gray house. For the first time I really liked Coral. I smiled at her as we climbed and she smiled back.
"You're dying to ride that mare, aren't you?" she said unexpectedly. I was surprised that she had noticed how I felt.
I nodded, able to talk to her now about what mattered most to me. "There has to be a way! If I could just make friends with Denis—"
"Oh, him!" She sounded scornful. "He's such a grumpy, suspicious boy. And he's mixed up about everything. In fact, if we hadn't seen him up the hill with the mare, I might have thought he was the one who shoved our boat into the water. It's just the sort of thing he'd do."
I was not so sure. I had seen Denis Burley's gaze follow an airplane yearningly across the sky. And there had been a moment up on the hill—before I said the wrong thing—when he'd softened toward me. He had meant to let me touch the mare, only I had spoiled everything by reminding him of her injury— and who had caused it. Just the same, there had to be another time. I had to try again, and next time I would go up there alone.
The very thought brought back that tingling sense of excitement I had felt earlier. In spite of Mrs. Burley, in spite of Denis, I would somehow make friends with Star. It must mean something special that the mare was almost exactly like my beautiful carved Clover.
When we reached the top of the rock steps, I saw that Mother and Aunt Viv were out on the sunny hillside behind the house. One look told me Mother was feeling better. She has a way of smiling with her eyes, even behind her glasses, more than with her lips. She did that now when she saw me, and held out an arm. I went into the curve of it for a good-morning hug, then introduced Coral to her.
I don't know exactly why, but I often feel proud of my mother when I introduce her to my friends. She is such a quiet person that it's surprising how people of all ages take to her right away. I've never brought home a friend who didn't like her immediately. I never have to worry about her being in the wrong mood, or acting as though I had brought someone home at the wrong time, the way I've seen some mothers do. She has brown hair that she winds into a squiggly thing at the back of her head, and her brown eyes have the longest lashes I've ever seen, except on television. But hers are real. She isn't pretty in the way Aunt Viv is. She isn't strong and athletic and all those exciting things, but she thinks about what is happening around her, and in the world outside, in her own special way. She tries to understand what I'm thinking, and why. I love my mother very much. Sometimes I wish I could tell her how much, but it's hard to say, and I feel shy.
Now she was exactly right with Coral. Without saying very much, she drew her into our group and made her feel welcome.
"Where is Dad?" I asked.
Aunt Viv answered. He's gone to town on an errand for me. If you'd been around, you could have driven in with him."
"I suspect Janey and Coral have been having their own adventures," Mother said. "What happened when that boy rowed out to find your boat?"
Surprised, I looked between walnut and maple trees toward the lake. The haze had cleared and the opposite side was bright green in the sunlight—all shades of green, from the light colors at the edge of the water, to the thick dark green of rising treetops.
"We're not sure what happened," I said. "Maybe you know better than we do how our boat got loose?"
Mother shook her head, and Aunt Viv said, "We saw Roger Burley row out, and we saw you climb down through the brush to the place where the boat had drifted."
Coral stuck out her lower lip in annoyance. "Old Mrs. Burley shoved it off the bank," she said.
"Is that what happened?" Aunt Viv glanced uneasily at Mother. "How can you be sure?"
"You know why I'm sure," Coral said with some meaning I didn't understand.
"I suppose I do." Aunt Viv sighed. "If only Thelma Burley would get over being angry about the accident to her mare! I paid all the vet's costs, and I'll take care of any more treatment the mare may need. It was my fault for not thinking about chuckholes, but there's no way I can make up for what happened. However, I think it's absurd of her to behave as though Star were a valuable racehorse. She isn't anything of the kind. I'm afraid Mrs. Burley isn't a well-balanced person. Fran"—she turned to my mother—"you know our other neighbors aren't like the Burleys. There are lovely people living here at the lake, and I'm sure—"
Mother laughed. "Don't worry, Viv. We won't turn down your house because of Mrs. Burley, so don't be nervous about that. But perhaps it might be wise if Janey doesn't go where she isn't welcome."
I opened my mouth for a loud protest, but Aunt Viv gave me a look and answered for me. "On the contrary, Fran. Perhaps Janey will be the very one to make peace. I hope so, at least for Denis' sake. And Roger's too. I don't think that unhappy old woman should be allowed to cut her grandsons off from all their friends. You go right ahead, Janey, and see if you can break the ice."
Coral wriggled delightedly at Aunt Viv's words. She didn't want to be cut off from climbing that hill to the Burleys' either—though her interest up there wasn't in a horse.
Anyway, thanks to Aunt Viv, that was how it was left. I don't think Mother was convinced, but she has a habit of thinking things out quietly until she knows everything she can find out about a subject. So I knew she was marking time for now, and I had better act fast, no matter what Aunt Viv said. I wished I did not feel quite so uneasy about all this. I wished I didn't have a sneaking suspicion that Mother's judgment might be better than Aunt Viv's.
5
Mrs. Burley Surprises
During the rest of that first day at Lake Kimi, I found myself looking across the lake a dozen times toward the place where the Burley rooftop rose among the trees. The building had begun to seem a romantic place, with its shuttered ballroom, the long stretch of columned veranda that was cut in half, and those blackened ruins reaching beyond the middle section. It seemed especially romantic to realize that somewhere in the ruined part a stall had been set up for a mare that was the descendant of a famous racehorse. An injured mare that would never have the bright future that should have been hers.
All day long the thing kept nagging at me. In the late afternoon Coral had some chores to do at home, so I was alone. The sun had begun to dip toward the opposite side of the lake, and I could see that twilight would come early over there because of the height of the hill. I simply could not wait until tomorrow for my second attempt with the mare. Waiting, even when it is sensible, always makes me terribly restless and impatient. So in the late afternoon I asked Aunt Viv if I might go rowing again by myself. She had no objection, since Kimi isn't a very big lake, and I know the rules about sitting quietly in a boat, and I'm a good swimmer besides.
With the shadows growing long across the water, I got into the rowboat and set off alone. I loved having the oars in my own hands, and the whole lake to myself. I braced my feet against the opposite seat and pulled hard, dipping the oars with as little splash as possible, to send the boat gliding over the water straight toward the opposite shore. It was lovely and peaceful and quiet, with the water so calm—almost like being in a separate world.
Halfway across, I saw Coral come out on the grass in front of her yellow lakeside house and stand there watching me. I stopped rowing long enough to wave, but I did not go back to pick her up. I wanted to be alone this time. I had my own plans, and what I meant to do would be harder with two people than with one.
When I neared the Burleys' side, I headed toward the cattails around the concealing point of land where we'd found the boat that morning. If I left it there, perhaps no inhospitable person would notice it and push it out on the water. This time I made very sure the boat was pulled safely up on the shore, in spite of a wild attack by insects that seemed to be biting worse than ever at this time of day.
When I was sure of the boat, I slapped myself free of pesky bugs and started up the same path that Coral and I had followed earlier. It was growing dark in the woods on this side of the hill, even though there was still plenty of bright sunlight overhead. I hadn't expected it to be so eerily dim, and I began to feel uneasy as I climbed.
I had an uncomfortable suspicion at the back of my mind that if I really stopped to think about what I was doing, I wouldn't go on. But, as Dad sometimes says, I'm good at ignoring anything that might interfere with plans I've set my heart on. So I didn't want to think, and I kept on climbing. Not for anything would I turn back. There was a magnet drawing me to the top of the hill—a lovely chestnut-brown magnet named Star of Sussex. This time I meant to have her to myself.
When I neared the lived-in part of the old hotel I could hear voices inside. I could not tell who was talking, or if everyone was indoors, but I crept softly beneath the long veranda, bending over so I wouldn't be visible unless someone happened to look out of a window.
I was glad to find that there was more sunlight up here in spite of long shadows cast by the pine trees. When I reached the place where the high foundations began I watched for the ramp down which Denis had led Star.
As soon as I came to it, I ran lightly up into the area where all the guest rooms of the hotel had been. The wooden floor had been burned away, leaving a long stretch of cement, with the inner walls gone and no divisions showing to mark off what had once been rooms and corridors. Dry leaves and pine needles had drifted over its surface, weeds were growing in the cracks, and even a few wild flowers bloomed in crevices where earth had sifted in to give them a hold.
Everything was very quiet, with the only sound a breeze sighing through pine branches overhead. Golden bars of sunlight lay across the floor at my feet, alternating with black shadow, but there was nothing alive to be seen. I thought of that crimson glow I had glimpsed over here last night, and my uneasiness increased. I was afraid that one of the Burleys might show up at any moment and catch me here. I particularly did not want to be found by Denis or his grandmother.
Once or twice I glanced toward the office section of the building, but while there was a door in the blackened stone wall, there were no windows. Probably the wall had once been part of the structure that extended from it. So no one could look out and see me, unless the door was opened.
I moved on slowly, crunching over dry leaves and bits of broken stone. At the far end not all the charred ruins had been cleared away. The stone frame of a large doorway remained, opening into what must have been some sort of big lounge room. Through the doorway blackened beams still leaned against one another, almost lost among vines and weeds that clambered over them. On the far side of this wild space a brick chimney rose above the ruins, with vines crawling over its face clear to the top, hiding the old fireplace below.
I certainly didn't want to clamber into this wilderness, even though the doorway still offered an entrance. If there was any haunting going on up here, this would be the place for it, but it was Star I looked for, and there was no sign of her that I could see.
As I walked back along the downhill side of the building, I came upon the stall—a sturdy shed that had been built in a cleared section of the ruins. It was open on one side, with a slanting roof overhead. Inside were feed boxes, and straw had been scattered on the floor, so that it was neat and clean. This must be where Star was sheltered when the weather was bad. But where was she now?
There seemed to be no place else to look except inside the huge ruined room at the very end, and surely no horse would be in there. I went back to the ramp and down to the well-trodden pathway leading around the end of the house and into the woods. Here several tall hemlocks raised their heads in the late afternoon sunshine—strange trees like none I had ever seen, because their trunks still wore the black mourning they had put on the night of the fire. Their lower limbs reached out twisted and leafless and gray—like arms outstretched to hold off danger. Yet overhead, especially on the side away from the fire, green branches struggled for life, and the trees had managed to survive. To me they seemed like ghost trees and I hurried past them toward the woods where I had seen Denis leading Star that morning.
I ran toward the path, and in a moment I was safely out of sight on its turnings. It led along the ridge of the hill, with trees dropping toward the main road on one side and clear to the lake on the other. Across Lake Kimi, Coral's house stood out, a sunny yellow, its roof shingles shining like silver as the shadow of the hill crept toward it.
At least this path seemed to go somewhere. It was well trampled, and in the earth here and there I found the marks of a horse's hooves. Encouraged, I hurried along until the path wound into a meadow that opened at the top of the hill. There in the center of her own pasture, Star of Sussex was grazing. This was a wonderful place for her, where the hill leveled and widened, and I saw that it was fenced around with wire, so she could not get out. Here she had room to run and play and be out in the open.
With the concealing woods behind me, I could do as I pleased, and I went to the wooden gate and climbed upon its bars. I knew better than to go over the gate right away and run toward Star. I sat astraddle the top bar and talked to her softly.
The mare saw me the moment I climbed the gate, but she did not scamper away to the other side of the field, as I had been afraid she might. She stood quietly, listening to my voice, her ears quirked forward in an interested, alert way. Though she didn't know me, she wasn't afraid or skittish. After I had spent a few minutes telling her how beautiful and splendid she was, I reached into the pocket of my jeans and took out the carrot I had brought from Aunt Viv's kitchen. I held it out to the mare, talking to her a while longer. She liked the idea of the carrot, but she approached only a little way and then stood her ground cautiously.
"Come here, Star," I coaxed. "Come over here, you beauty. I've brought the carrot for you. Just so you'll be friends with me."
Perhaps the words were silly, but it was the sound of my voice that mattered. She could tell I was a friend, and she came a little closer before she stopped again, nickering at me softly. I knew it was safe now. I slipped down inside the gate and went toward her one slow step at a time, holding out the carrot and talking to her. When I was close she extended her handsome neck and took the carrot politely from my hand, not snapping or slobbering—but neatly, like the lady she was. Nor did she rush away from me while she chomped it up. I stood close to her. When I reached up to pat her, she did not jerk away. My heart was thumping hard as I stroked the lovely white star on her forehead and ran my fingers down her velvet nose. The thumping came from joy, as well as excitement, and from all the love I was so ready to pour out to her. Of course I had loved other horses before this. I had given my affection to some pretty broken-down nags from the time I was five years old on. But never had I been near as perfect an animal as Star of Sussex.
The wonderful part was that she accepted me. When I reached up and put an arm around her neck and leaned my cheek against hers, she nickered and snuffled her nose into my collar. We already liked each other. I know we did.
I'm not sure how long I stayed there. I could not bear to pull myself away and I would probably have been late for dinner at Aunt Viv's if Star herself had not ended our meeting. She raised her head to neigh lightly and I turned around. What I saw made me feel a little sick.
Beside the gate stood old Mrs. Burley, resting her brown, stringy arms on the top bar, her white hair as untidy and wild as ever, looking like the crest of some tall, thin bird. But no bird's eyes had ever watched me with such an angry stare.
I had no idea what to do or say. I was where I did not belong and I had no excuse for being there. She had made it very clear that she did not want me around—and here I was, against her wishes, fondling her precious horse.
"Come here!" she ordered, when the silence grew too long between us.
I seemed to be tongue-tied for good. I took my arm from around Star's neck and gave her a pat on the flank to send her galloping away. Somehow I didn't want Star to listen to the scolding I was about to get. I was afraid of this old woman, who might be a little crazy, yet I had to walk toward her, instead of running away as my feet wanted me to do. Whether I liked it or not, I had to see this awful moment through.
"City kids!" she said scornfully when I approached the gate. "Don't you know any better than to get into a pasture with a strange horse? Don't you know that mare could kick you, hurt you?"
"But she didn't," I said, very low.
Mrs. Burley heard me well enough. "That's no thanks to you!"
I suppose I wasn't afraid of Mrs. Burley for myself. I mean that I didn't know whether she might be mad enough to hit me, or something, but that wasn't the worst part. If she tried that, I would just run away out of reach, knowing she was too old to catch me. Even if she made trouble for me at Aunt Viv's, I could live through that. Just having been able to stand with my arm about Star's neck would make everything worth it. The thing that really had me shaking inside with fear was that now I might never be able to see Star again. Old Mrs. Burley could easily fix it with my parents so that I could never come here again. Because of this I dredged up enough courage to keep on walking straight to where she leaned on the gate watching me with thundercloud eyes.
When I stood about a foot away, I picked up the last thing she'd said. "Yes, it is thanks to me that Star didn't hurt me. I didn't jump at her. I talked to her first. I went to her slowly. And I fed her a carrot. By the time I touched her she trusted me."
The old woman had the most expressionless face I've ever seen. It was all deep brown lines that dropped the wrong way, as though she never smiled. Some people show everything they're thinking and feeling. But Mrs. Burley had just one expression—she looked as sternly unyielding as an old brown rock, and nothing in her face or eyes ever seemed to change.
"When you talked to Star, what did you say?" she demanded.
I was so surprised by her question that I answered with the truth, not trying to hide it the way you have to sometimes with grown-ups, so they won't laugh. "Why —I just told her how beautiful she is. And how much I could love her."
Mrs. Burley had pale-gray lashes, just a little darker than her white hair, and she blinked them a few times, staring at me.
"Love her!" she said. "Ha! What do you know about horses, anyway?"
"I know this one is just about perfect," I told her. "I know she comes from a famous racehorse and is named after him. I know she is the most beautiful mare I've ever seen anywhere."
Once more the old woman batted her pale eyelashes. "Can you ride?" she said.
I opened my mouth and gaped at her, because the question was so unexpected.
"When you do that you look half-witted," she snapped at me. "Though I don't think you really are. I asked you a question. Answer it."
"Of course I can ride," I said.
She tossed her white head in a gesture that made me think of a horse tossing its mane. "Of course, nothing! How many kids do you know these days who can ride?"
"Well, I can," I repeated stubbornly.
She lifted the bar on the gate and opened it so I could step through without climbing over.   Then she shut it behind me and gave me a rough little push on the shoulder.
"I hope you know your way home," she said.
I told her I did. Then I turned and looked at Star for the last time. The mare was watching me, her brown, liquid eyes soft and friendly. It was terribly hard to turn my back and walk away. I started down the path toward the house without a word to Mrs. Burley. There was nothing more I could say.
She followed me, not walking like an old woman, but with the free stride of someone used to rough ground, someone who walked easily out of doors, like a young person. I hurried to get away from her because I didn't want to hear the thing she was sure to say before I was out of sight—that order to stay away for good. I almost escaped, but just as we reached the house and I was ready to break into a run, she called after me.
"Come back tomorrow," she shouted. "Tomorrow morning at ten."
I stumbled to a halt on the path and whirled around. I was wearing my idiot expression again, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't believe what I had heard and I didn't know what it meant.
"Thought you wanted to ride," she said scornfully. "Of course, if you don't—"
I gabbled a little, trying to speak. "You—you mean —ride—ride Star? Me?"
"I don't see anyone else around to ask," she said. "If you own riding boots, wear them."
Suddenly I was smiling at her, choking a little at the same time. Somehow I managed a few sensible words before I turned around and tore off down the hill. "I'll be here at ten!" I promised—and ran before she could change her mind.
I didn't quite get away, however. Suddenly Denis stood before me, blocking my path. He must have thought I was stealing something, or running away when his grandmother was trying to catch me, because his face was dark with the same thundery look the old lady usually wore. Without a word of warning he took a flying tackle right through the air and brought me down flat on a bed of pine needles.
"I've got her!" he shouted to his grandmother. "I won't let her get away!" He held me down easily with both hands, so I could not wriggle free.
I could only lie helpless on my back, with the breath knocked out of me, and Denis staring triumphantly down at me.
6
A Sound of Baying
Denis was a very strong boy. He pinned my shoulders to the ground so I couldn't get up, even if I tried.
"Stop it!" I grunted. "You're hurting me! Let me go!"
"Not till you tell me what you're up to," he said, leaning over me with that angry look that made him resemble his grandmother.
I kept expecting Mrs. Burley to catch up with us and tell her grandson to let me go, but nothing happened. My breath came back a little and I began to struggle in earnest. I managed to get my arms up so I could knock one of his hands from my shoulder. Then while I was still fighting, someone else reached out and caught Denis by his collar, pulling him to his feet.
At once I scrambled up from the ground and saw that my rescuer was Roger Burley. Old Mrs. Burley was nowhere in sight. Probably she had gone around to the front of the house and had not seen what happened.
"What do you think you're doing?" Roger demanded, giving Denis a shake. "Is this any way to treat a visitor?"
Denis scowled at his brother and pulled out of his grasp. "She's not a visitor! If she's a visitor, why didn't she come to the door? She was sneaking around out here, and I caught her running away from Gran."
I'd recovered my breath enough to do some angry shouting myself. "I wasn't running away! I was only running home. And I was talking to your grandmother about Star."
Clearly Denis didn't believe a word I said, but when he started to contradict me, Roger reached out a warning hand.
"Hold it, Denis," he said. "Let her talk."
"And what's more," I went on, "your grandmother invited me to come back tomorrow morning and ride Star!"
Roger and Denis exchanged a look. Now neither one believed me.
"Gran said she would never let anyone from outside ride Star again," Denis said in denial.
Roger regarded me a bit sadly, as if he was sorry that I had told them such a lie.
"Look," I said, "you don't have to believe me if you don't want to. All you have to do is ask your grandmother."
Denis glared at me for a moment longer before he turned away. "All right, I will," he said, and disappeared around the house.
"It's true, you know," I told Roger. "She really did say I could come back tomorrow morning and ride Star."
Roger sighed. "Sure," he said. "I expect she did, if you say so. But I wouldn't count on how she'll feel when you come up here tomorrow.   She can change her mind six times an hour these days. That's why Denis is jittery and gets mad so easily. What's happening to Gran is pretty upsetting. Maybe it would be better if you'd just forget the whole thing. Because I think she will."
He glanced toward the ruined part of the house, and there was something in his look, as if he held back other words he might speak. I had the feeling once more that here was a boy who was terribly lonely. Just the same, I didn't want to believe what he said. Mrs. Burley had asked me, and I knew she meant it.
"I'll come anyway," I said doggedly. "I'll be here at ten with my riding boots on. If she wants to send me away then, she can tell me herself."
He grinned in a lopsided way, as if what I said was only half funny. "You get your teeth into things, don't you, Janey? Well—you do as you want. Did Denis hurt you?"
"Of course he hurt me!" I snapped, brushing leaves off my jeans and pulling them out of my hair. "I expect I'll be black and blue tomorrow. He came at me like a football player. I didn't enjoy it one bit. I'll bet your grandmother wouldn't like it either."
I started indignantly toward the downhill path, and Roger fell into step beside me.
"It could be you won't tell her?" he said.
It was a question. I looked up into his face and then shrugged. "O.K. I don't want to make any more trouble. But it's a good thing you came along and stopped him. He's a very rough boy."
Roger came all the way down the hill with me and helped me with the boat. No one had disturbed it this time, and it had stayed well hidden behind the cattails.
When I was in my seat and had my oars in place, ready to go, he took hold of the prow and kept the boat from floating out on the water.
"Janey," he said, "will you do something for me?"
I was feeling annoyed with all the Burleys by this time, so I gave him a grudging answer. "Maybe. Depends on what it is."
He grinned at my disgruntled words and reached into a pocket of his Levis, pulling out a folded envelope. "I wanted to get this over to Coral Moller," he told me. "Do you suppose you could deliver it for me?"
I could imagine how pleased Coral would be to get a note from Roger, so I took it from him, nodding. "I'll stop at her place before I go home."
"Thanks," he said and shoved my boat out onto the water.
I pulled hard at the oars to get away from the dark shadows of the bank and over to the brighter side of the lake. It seemed as though I needed that last bit of warming sunshine to make me feel better.
As I rowed away from the shore, I could see Roger standing there on the bank watching, and I wished he would go away. I had felt so wonderful when I'd left Mrs. Burley to run toward home. I'd been eager to get off by myself in the boat where I could think about what had happened to me and enjoy it all over again. But now that I was out on the lake, I wasn't ready to think about it, after all. Denis had spoiled the happy part by putting in something ugly and hurtful. And Roger had thrown further discouragement on my dreaming by telling me his grandmother might not mean what she said. Neither of them believed Mrs. Burley would really let me ride Star.
Something was wrong up there.   Terribly wrong.
I had felt it from the first, and the feeling was growing all the time. But I still could not understand what it might be. Perhaps I did not want to understand. I only wanted to remember the moment when I had put my arm about Star's neck and felt that she liked me. What a comforting moment that had been! Now even that memory was smirched and I was very unhappy.
This time as I crossed the lake I rowed toward Coral's house. Nearing the shore, I looked behind me to see her come out the door and wait for me near the Mollers' small dock.
"I've got something for you," I called when I was close. I held on to the edge of the dock with one hand and passed the folded envelope up to her with the other.
She tore it open right away and stood on the boards above me reading, her blue eyes ashine with excitement. I think she nearly forgot I was there, because when she had finished reading she went to the end of the dock and waved an arm toward the opposite shore where Roger stood watching. He waved back, then disappeared out of sight on the path through the woods.
Gush and goop! I thought disgustedly. I certainly hoped I would never be like that. Sure, I liked boys. Some I liked better than others. But I wasn't sickeningly moony over any one boy, thank goodness.
When Roger was out of sight, Coral remembered me. "Why did you go over there?" she asked. "What happened, anyway?"
I began to push the boat away from the dock. "It's a long story. I'll tell you some other time."
She wasn't really interested, because she had something of her own to think about. She waved a hand at me and walked off, reading her note from Roger again. I rowed along the water's edge to Aunt Viv's patch of sand and beached the boat. Taking the oars out, I put them away in their hiding place. The lake was for the use of the families that lived here, but Aunt Viv said that sometimes strangers came in and tried to use the boats and the main swimming beach.
By the time I climbed the hill to the house and started looking for whoever was around, I felt a little better because I was beginning to bubble with plans again. Dad says my theme song is I'm not down yet! I guess it's true. There is always some way to pull up and out of almost anything, it seems to me.
Dad was reading a newspaper in the living room, while Mother and Aunt Viv were busy in the kitchen, just off the dining L. It was a small kitchen, so I was quickly underfoot and they pressed me into useful service. This was dishing-up time—that meant everything was crucial and had to be sent to the table piping hot. I carried in dishes and made no attempt to break my big news until everything was on and we were sitting around the table. With glass panels all around us, it was as though we were eating outdoors at a picnic.
Since my place faced the biggest panel of glass, I could see everything that went on outside, including the visits of birds in the big maple tree beyond the deck. I was in the right place to see part of the road, too, so I caught a glimpse of Coral when she went pedaling past on her bicycle, heading toward the far end of the lake where the entrance road curled around. Had she gone to meet Roger? I wondered, and wrinkled my nose in disgust.
"Don't you like my spaghetti?" Aunt Viv asked, catching my look.
"It's delicious," I said and took a big mouthful to reassure her.
Mother was watching me through her dark-rimmed glasses, as she had started to do the minute we sat down. She knew very well that the face I'd made had nothing to do with food.
"Did you have an interesting time over at the Burleys'?" she asked.
I suppose that is one trouble with living on an open lake. Everyone down the entire shore can look out and see what you're doing and where you're going, once you're out on the water. But I didn't mind Mother's interest. It gave me the opening I wanted.
"I had a lovely time," I said as soon as I could chew up a large meatball. "I've seen Star close up. I've made friends with her. Aunt Viv, I took along a carrot to give her. I hope you don't mind."
"Good for you!" Aunt Viv said. "I knew you'd be an icebreaker. What else happened?"
"Mrs. Burley found me there and she said I could come back tomorrow morning at ten and go for a ride on the mare."
"That's my daughter!" Dad broke in. "Get her near a horse and there's no holding her back."
But Aunt Viv was looking doubtful. "Oh dear, Janey—I'm afraid that isn't going to work out. I've already made arrangements at the airport for a plane. We're all going out there to do some flying tomorrow, and I can't change that now. Perhaps you can ride Star some other time."
After what Roger had said, I didn't know if I would even get to ride her this time. I stared at Aunt Viv in dismay.   Who wanted to go up in a plane when there was a wonderful live horse waiting to be ridden?
"I've invited Denis to come with us," Aunt Viv went on. "I thought this might be a way to make friends with him again, since he is crazy about flying. Don't look so disappointed, Janey. Besides, I'm not altogether sure you should ride that mare. She's pretty spirited and tricky. I'm surprised at Mrs. Burley—that she'll let you try."
Mother reached out to touch my hand. She knew how I was feeling, even when I hadn't said a word. "After dinner you can phone and ask Mrs. Burley if it will be all right to come another time, Janey. I think it's fine that you've made friends with her."
I didn't want to phone her. I didn't want to talk to Mrs. Burley again until I was right there in the meadow with Star, and all set to ride her. Only then could I be sure she would let me. I had a horrid feeling that this postponement would give her the very excuse she might want to change her mind.
"Let's not have gloomy faces with dinner," Dad said. "How many girls your age get invited to go up in a plane with an expert pilot?"
I glanced at Mother and she gave me a slight shake of her head. After that I couldn't swallow much dinner, in spite of how hungry I had been earlier. In fact, it was all I could do not to disgrace myself by bursting into tears of despair, just as though I'd been a small child. Not until strawberry shortcake came along did I recover enough to eat my dessert at least.
After dinner I stayed around to help in the kitchen. Since Mother was tired, Aunt Viv sent her off to join Dad in the living room, and she and I put everything in the dishwasher. While the machine was clunking away and we were doing pans, Aunt Viv talked to me a little about flying.  I had never been up in any sort of plane, so I listened to her as politely as I could and tried to put off my disappointment. Later on I was going to take my feelings out and really suffer, but not until I could be by myself.
"I do hope Denis will come tomorrow," Aunt Viv said, leaning over the sink to scrub the bottom of the big pot she had cooked the spaghetti sauce in.
Her face had almost the same look when she talked about flying that mine has when I get off on the subject of riding—bright with eagerness because this was something she loved to do. Only, she was luckier than I because she was grown-up and could do whatever she pleased, while I had to depend on chance to help me.
"Denis hasn't flown with me in the months since Star was injured," Aunt Viv went on, "though he used to go up with me once or twice a week before that."
"I saw him watching a plane fly over the lake," I said. "I saw the way he looked."
Aunt Viv nodded. "I wasn't able to talk to him when I phoned to invite him to come with us tomorrow. Mrs. Burley answered and she was short with me. She said he could if he wanted to. We are all to be out at the airport at ten. If he doesn't show up here, we won't wait for him."
That reminded me of the phone call I had to make, and as soon as I finished wiping the last pan I went into the hall to look up the Burleys' number. Nobody could see me out here, and I hoped they couldn't hear me either. If I went blundering along, I knew Dad would ask me why I hadn't thought about this ahead of time. Which was sensible, but not really possible. My mind was absolutely blank with disappointment, and I couldn't imagine ahead of time what I was going to say. The last thing I wanted was to announce that my aunt had made other arrangements for me and I could not be there at ten o'clock tomorrow after all. Then the whole thing was sure to be over. Mrs. Burley would never give me another chance.
It was Denis who answered my ring. "Hello," I said. "This is Janey Oakes. Is your grandmother there?"
"She's gone out in the jeep," he said. "I don't know when she'll be back."
I wanted to hang up, because I didn't like Denis Burley. Just talking to him made a bruise on my shoulder start to hurt. But I knew that if I hung up, I'd have to do the whole thing over again later—and I couldn't bear the thought.
"Will you give your grandmother a message from me?" I asked, sounding as grumpy as I felt.
For a few seconds there was silence at the other end of the line. I found myself looking out of the door that opened onto the deck as if I could see across the lake and glimpse Denis on the phone. Then he began to. talk in a hesitant, awkward way.
"Hey, Janey—" Silence again. "Janey, Gran told me she talked to you and what you said was true. I— I didn't let her know I knocked you off your feet. Roger didn't tell her either. I guess she'd be pretty upset if she knew."
I made a sound like "Humph," because I wasn't going to be coaxed. The next time I saw his grandmother I meant to let her know what a rough, rude grandson she had.
"You can go ahead and tell her, if you want," he said. "I don't blame you. But you'd better know about tomorrow. She says she'll give you just five minutes to prove whether or not you can ride Star. So you'd better be good."
"That's what I called up about," I told him. "1 have to go out to the flying field with Aunt Viv tomorrow morning, so I can't come then. Do you suppose your grandmother would let me ride in the afternoon instead?"
"I don't know," Denis said.
I waited, hoping he would offer to ask her for me, but he seemed to have nothing more to say, so I took things into my own hands.
"Will you tell her I'll come tomorrow afternoon at two?" I said boldly.
His answer was grudging. "I'll tell her, if I remember."
I let it go at that because I didn't think he could possibly forget, and also because this way I had a date without risking a refusal.
"Then I'll see you at the airport tomorrow morning," I said.
Silence again. I could imagine how he was looking—with his eyes fixed on distance, as if he watched a plane flying over and longed with all his heart to be up there in it. Unexpectedly, I felt a twinge of sympathy for Denis Burley.
"Aunt Viv really wants you to come," I urged.
His answer was careless, offhand, but that didn't fool me. "Well—maybe I'll be there."
When I had said good-by and hung up, I went out on the redwood deck and looked across the lake to the place where I could see lights in the upstairs windows of the Burley house. Yellow lights—not red. To my left, beyond Coral's end of the lake, there was a gap where the hills dipped down and misty blue mountains showed in the direction of the Delaware River. The sky in the gap was gold and pink with sunset, and that end of the lake wore a bright patch of the same golden pink, though at this end the water was black glass, as if all the light had sunk to the bottom.
The air was turning cooler, but I stayed out a little longer, liking the feeling of being alone with the sunset. Everywhere in the trees about me birds were going to bed, singing their defiant evening songs that said, "This is my branch—keep away!" Out along the shore the biggest bullfrogs were tuning up their deep, twanging chug-gu-rum. I felt peaceful and happy again. Of course I would rather not wait until tomorrow afternoon to ride Star, but perhaps the morning would be fun after all. It might even be exciting to go up in a small plane. I wondered if Aunt Viv would fly us over Lake Kimi, so I could see how everything looked from high up in the air.
From my place on the redwood deck I could just see the lights of Coral's house through a clump of maple trees close to the lake. I wondered again about the note Roger had written her and what that was all about. But I wasn't terribly curious, and in a little while I went inside and found a book to read.
That was when the first unwelcome hint of worry touched me. Instead of following the words on the page, I began to think of what Denis had said about Mrs. Burley giving me just five minutes to prove that I could ride Star. After all, what did I know about the mare? I had loved her right away, and she seemed to accept me. But that didn't necessarily mean she would be happy to have me ride her. The tone of Denis' words came back to me—as if he knew something about Star that I didn't, and I began to feel much less confident than I had when I was talking to Mrs. Burley. Aunt Viv had been surprised too that Mrs. Burley would let me ride the mare.
Before I knew it, nine o'clock had come, time for a bath and bed. I took my worry with me and let it grow, the way worries will if you keep turning them over and over in your mind.
When I was snuggled down in my bed, with the windows beside me looking out over the moonlit lake, Mother came to tuck me in and kiss me good night. She sat on the edge of the bed and we talked about a number of things. I even told her about that bad moment when Mrs. Burley had surprised me with Star. Telling her the nicer part was like living it over again. I suppose that is because Mother really listens. Dad means to listen, but he's often busy with school problems and scientific projects. So sometimes I'm not sure he's really there when I'm talking. But Mother hears me and thinks about what I'm saying.
"Mrs. Burley doesn't sound so dreadful after all," she said when I was through. "And I'm not worried about your proving that you are a good rider."
Her words gave me a little more confidence. After all, I had ridden in shows put on by the riding academy in Staten Island. Not important statewide shows, but I had done fine locally anyway. A voice at the back of my mind tried to whisper that none of the horses I had ridden so far were Thoroughbred stock, and that riding a mare like Star of Sussex was a very different matter.
Mother kissed my cheek, pulled the covers over me, and went softly away, turning out the light as she left. I hadn't told her much about Denis. Perhaps he had his own troubles, having to live over there with only his brother and elderly grandmother for company. How awful it would be not to have parents, I thought, feeling suddenly grateful for mine. Probably Denis and Roger would rather live somewhere else, but had to stay here in the country because their grandmother needed them. Somehow I couldn't blame Denis for the way he acted, but there must be a better way for him to get the things he wanted.
Already drowsy, I fell quickly asleep. I must have slept for some time without even dreaming. The sound that jerked me up in my bed was a perfectly horrible noise—a high, throbbing howl that ran up and down the scale, spooky and strange and unreal.
That shivery baying kept on and on, and I leaned on my windowsill, trying to see out into the night. The moon sailed high above. Except for the moon's bright path on the water, the lake below was black. So was the opposite hillside—except at the very top where the ruins of the old hotel stretched out along the ridge. No lights burned in the house, but once more an eerie crimson glow shimmered through the trees from the direction where that weird howling swelled. I could imagine that a wolf howl might be like that sound, quivering as it rose. The lake echoes caught it up and repeated it again and again, as if a whole pack of ghost hounds must be haunting the ruins of what had once been Decker House.
Once more I felt too much alone—here in my downstairs room, I didn't want to stay by myself and listen to that dreadful sound.
7
Denis
Before I could scramble out of bed to run upstairs, a light flashed across the walls of my room and a voice spoke from my doorway. I was so startled that I squealed and turned away from the window. Luckily it was only Aunt Viv, wearing a long robe and carrying a flashlight.
"I didn't mean to surprise you," she said and switched on the lamp on my bed table. She came to sit on the edge of my bed, as Mother had done earlier. "I was afraid that awful baying might disturb you, so I came down to tell you not to worry about it."
"Wh-what is it?" I quavered, feeling very glad to see her.
"It's some sort of hound," she said. "A hunting dog. Almost every time we have a full moon, or one that's nearly full, this baying starts, and it can be repeated for several nights."
"Why don't the Burleys keep their dog quiet?" I asked.
Aunt Viv seemed to hesitate. "They don't have a dog," she admitted. "Or at least they claim not to own one. When their last dog died, Mrs. Burley wouldn't replace him."
"Was their last dog the one that died the night of the fire?" I asked, moving a bit closer to Aunt Viv. "Do you suppose it's that one coming back?"
Aunt Viv laughed without sounding amused. "Oh, come now, Janey—you've too much good sense to believe that. And of course the grandsons have had several dogs since the one that died in the fire before they were born. It's a real dog, all right, though its baying is magnified by echoes. Everyone around here is getting more and more upset about this nighttime howling, but when we ask Mrs. Burley to have it stopped, she's no help at all. I don't think she realizes how much harm she is doing herself. The more eccentric her behavior grows, the more anxious people are to do something about her."
"Do something?" I repeated uneasily.
"Let's not talk about it now, Janey. I'm too cross and sleepy. And we want to get an early start tomorrow. Don't worry about the dog or the light now. We'll work this out eventually. It's not your problem. It will stop of its own accord after a while. Get back to sleep if you can."
She leaned over to kiss me, turned off the light, and went away. At least I could pull the covers over my ears and try to muffle the sound. There seemed to be so many strange things happening in that house across the lake. Not even the prospect of riding Star made me happy now, because if old Mrs. Burley was capable of such unpleasant tricks, goodness knows what the outcome of my ride might be—if ever I had a chance to ride.
After a time the baying stopped, as Aunt Viv said it would, and I fell asleep.
When I next awakened, morning light flooded the room—a pale, misty light that made me sit up in bed to look anxiously out of the window. Curls of fog were drifting close to the water, with the wooded hillside rising above, as if the treetops floated on air. Fog did not promise well for flying, so I might get out of that. But the day might not be good for riding either.
As I dressed, however, the sun began to turn the mist to gold and it thinned and faded, drifting down the lake until the trees stood out in soft bright shades of morning green.
At breakfast Aunt Viv seemed cheerful again. She had put on tapered green slacks and a pale-green blouse, and tied a printed green and orange scarf about her head.
Across the lake everything was quiet at the Burley house. The only sounds were nearby birds chirping their welcome to the light. As I breakfasted I watched barn swallows swoop in and out of the maple tree in front of the house and wondered about the mystery of their flying. It didn't seem believable that I would soon be carried high in the air like that. To see planes flying overhead every day, taking them for granted up there, was one thing. Going up in one was quite another. I wondered if I would be scared.
By the time breakfast was over, the mists had closed in again and the sun had vanished. I went outside on the redwood deck and walked around with a feeling of being on a ship high above an ocean of mist. When footsteps sounded below me on the gravel drive, I could not see who was coming up the hill. Then a voice hailed me and I knew it was Coral.
"Janey? Is that you? Is it all right if I come up for a minute?"
"Of course," I said, glad to see her, now that I was not engaged on my own secret mission.
Aunt Viv heard her voice and joined me on the deck, where we watched Coral rise into sight through the mist as she climbed stone steps up the back way.
"Good morning, Coral," Aunt Viv called to her. "Are you coming with us to the airport?"
Coral shook her head as she joined us on the deck. She was not dressed up today. Her blond hair had been braided into pigtails, and she wore faded jeans and an old blouse. All of which must mean that she had no plan to see Roger this morning.
"Dad doesn't like planes," she told us. "So I can't come. He sent me up with a message, to catch you before you leave. Mrs. Kayne, he wants to know if you will come over to our house around eight o'clock tonight. Some other people from the lake are coming too. It's to be a meeting."
"Because of that hound baying last night?" Aunt Viv asked.
Coral nodded and I sensed excitement rising in her. "Dad says we can't take it any longer. He belongs to the Lake Kimi Company and they're hoping to sell more property around here. He says this sort of thing is going to hurt us all. He thinks you should talk it over so some plans can be made to deal with Mrs. Burley."
• Aunt Viv perched herself on the top rail of the deck and sat swinging her legs, looking off across the ocean of mist toward the Burleys' rooftop.
"I'm not sure it's the old lady herself we need to deal with," she said doubtfully.
I wondered what she meant, but before she could explain, Coral went on, her excitement growing.
"Last time the dog started howling Dad went over there. I guess you don't know about that because he didn't want to tell anybody what happened. It was too upsetting. He was pretty mad that night over being wakened up again, so he dressed and drove the car around the lake and up to the Burley house. By that time everything was dark. There was no red light anywhere and not a sound of a dog baying. He banged on the front door and got old Mrs. Burley to come down and open up. And what do you think she said?"
Neither Aunt Viv nor I could guess, and I prodded Coral to go on.
"She acted as though it was Dad who'd waked her up. She had the nerve to bawl him out and behave as though everything was his fault."
"But what did she say about the dog and the light?" Aunt Viv asked.
Coral's eyes were round with wonder. "She said there wasn't any howling dog, and there wasn't any light. She said she hadn't heard a sound and he was imagining things."
Aunt Viv sighed despairingly. "The poor old thing! I suppose his coming up there frightened her so badly that she had to lie."
Since I couldn't know about any of this, I had said nothing. But at Aunt Viv's words, I suddenly found myself speaking.
"I don't think Mrs. Burley is a poor old thing," I said.
Coral and Aunt Viv both looked at me in a pitying way.
"Janey dear, I'm afraid you don't really understand what has been happening.   I'm glad if you've made friends with Mrs. Burley, but I think you must be warned about her.  She is not a—a stable person."
"Dad says she's a nut," Coral announced bluntly.
"Let's put it that she may be growing old and confused," Aunt Viv said. "I'm sure she would be better off in a nursing home, or at least living with a family, so she can be prevented from doing strange things that affect other people."
"Dad says we've got to get hold of that son of hers— the doctor—who lives in New York."
"That's what I meant," Aunt Viv said. "I don't think we can deal sensibly with the old lady herself if she behaves as she did to your father that night."
"But what happened to your father after he talked to Mrs. Burley?" I asked Coral. "Didn't he go out and look for the dog?"
"Of course he did," Coral said. "He got Roger to come with him and they went out into those old ruins. Roger took him around with a flashlight—and there wasn't any dog to be seen. All Dad found out there was Star, bedded down in her stall for the night. But he says the horse was nervous and she stomped around a lot while they were there, as though something had upset her too."
"What did Roger say?" Aunt Viv asked. "Didn't he offer your father any explanation?"
"Not exactly. Dad says Roger acted as though he was scared about something—afraid of his grandmother. He wouldn't admit to hearing the dog, though he didn't actually say there wasn't any dog. Roger thinks—" Coral broke off suddenly and stared across the lake with a vague look on her face.
"Go on," I said.
Coral shook her head.   "I'd better not.   I know what Roger thinks, but he wouldn't want me to say it. He's worried about his grandmother."
While we were talking, the mists had once more begun to thin and drift away, gathering in a thick cloud at one end of the lake, while blue sky emerged above and the olive-green water was visible again. Aunt Viv gave a quick look around and jumped down from the rail.
"Let's get started right away," she said. "Coral, tell your father that of course I'll be there tonight. I'm glad he has called this meeting. It's time we took some sort of action."
Coral waved a hand. "See you later," she said to me. "Don't get in any crashes—" and she went off down the hill.
"Percentage-wise, there are more automobile crashes than there are plane crashes," Aunt Viv said, looking after her indignantly.
Mother was working on breakfast dishes and Aunt Viv hurried into the kitchen, waving her hands in protest. "Leave them, Fran! Don't bother. Dishes will always keep. Do find Bill and we'll get started."
Mother has a thing about dirty dishes. Sometimes I wish she would leave them once in a while. But at home she never does. Here, however, she gave in to Aunt Viv, and we all got ready to leave in Aunt Viv's big station wagon.
Apparently Denis wasn't coming with us, since he had not appeared. I had hoped he would come because there were a number of things I wanted to ask him about, if I had a chance. I wanted to know what he thought about the baying dog and the crimson light. I wanted to make sure it would be all right with his grandmother for me to ride Star this afternoon.
And—most important of all—I wanted to find out more about Star before I got onto her back.
On the drive to the airport I tried to ask Aunt Viv a few questions, but Dad was with her up in front, while Mother and I were in the seat behind, so I couldn't really get her attention. When I tried to ask if she knew whether Star had any special tricks, she admitted that she hadn't ridden the mare enough to know, but she was a spirited animal. It was probably better if I did not try to ride her, no matter what Mrs. Burley said.
Mother looked worried. "But surely Mrs. Burley wouldn't let Janey ride if—"
"I don't know," Aunt Viv said over her shoulder. "It's one thing for Janey to break the ice up there, but quite another for her to ride that mare."
I hated the way things were going. Any minute now either Dad or Mother would tell me I couldn't go across the lake anymore. I found a distraction as fast as I could.
"There's the airport!" I cried, and they both looked out the window and forgot about my riding Star.
The road had wound out from among the little Sussex hills, where bee balm turned the meadows to pale lavender, and into a broad, flat valley. We drove up before a low building with a wind sock blowing from a pole on its roof. Huge yellow letters on the slanting roof announced: Sussex Airport.
We left the car and walked past the building, to find Denis already ahead of us watching a small plane take off down the single runway. There were a great many-small planes lined up in rows along the side of the field, each one tethered securely to prevent damage in case of a storm.
Aunt Viv explained some of these things to me on the way. As we walked toward the plane we were apparently going to use, she told me that she would take Denis and me up first and Mother and Dad later.
That suited me fine. I was curious to find out what flying was like, but even more I wanted a chance to talk to Denis.
He seemed more on guard than ever today. Even his "Good morning" had a cautious sound. I had a feeling that he had braced himself against any remarks that might be made about the baying dog. But Aunt Viv said nothing about our lost sleep as we left Mother and Dad and walked up to the plane.
"Want to sit with me in the copilot's seat up front?" Aunt Viv asked Denis.
Denis was trying to make everything he did seem grudging, but I could sense an eagerness he found difficult to conceal. After I was seated in back, he got into the right front seat and settled down as though he belonged there. It was disappointing for me to be put in the back seat, because that meant I could not talk to Denis easily. However, I had to sit where I was told, and I certainly couldn't ask him to sit back there with me. So far this morning he had hardly spoken to me, and whenever I looked directly at him, he turned away.
The only opportunity I had to talk to him came while Aunt Viv was walking around the plane, making various checks before we took off, while Denis watched her, his eyes bright and interested. I spoke to him from the seat behind.
"Did you ask your grandmother if it's all right for me to come for a ride this afternoon?"
He twisted around and stared at me for a moment, not friendly at all. Then he said, "You're not to come. She'll be busy. She's changed her mind about letting you ride."
Disappointment was like a hard blow. I slumped in my seat and the way I felt must have shown in my face because Denis softened a little toward me.
"Look, Janey, it's better if you don't ride Star. It's better if you don't come up to our place at all. Gran is upset right now about—about—"
I supplied the words he hesitated over. "You mean about that dog?"
His eyes shifted as though he could not meet my look.
"So there is a dog?" I said.
It took him a moment to answer. "Of course there's a dog. I suppose everyone heard it last night."
"But your grandmother told Coral's father there wasn't any dog, or any red light," I pointed out.
This seemed to upset Denis still more and he groped for a way to answer me, his mouth pressed into a straight angry line. As Aunt Viv returned and swung herself up into the plane, he mumbled something so that I barely caught the words.
"I've seen the dog," he muttered, and threw me a quick, frightened look that told me how scared he was. If Denis was afraid, when he was right there where the thing was happening, that was pretty scary in itself. I had to know more about this.
But Aunt Viv was already at the controls, looking over her shoulder to make sure my seat belt was buckled tight. She pressed the starter and the prop started turning over in a jerky motion, then spun in a blur as the engine came to life. I couldn't possibly say anything else to Denis because of the noise.
We taxied toward the end of the single runway and stopped just short of the end as Aunt Viv revved up the engine, warming it for a few minutes, while the plane bounced against its brakes like a pony pulling at the reins, wanting to be off. I could see Dad and Mother standing at the fence near the building. I waved to them, but they were too far away to see me through the window. I was glad they couldn't hear the way my heart was beginning to thump. I wasn't thinking about horses now.
Denis glanced around at me, the guarded look gone from his face. He was doing what he liked best to do and he was happy, as I was happy when I was riding. He must have seen my face, because he shouted to me over the sound of the engine.
"Your aunt's a real good flier—don't worry!"
It was surprising that sometimes Denis Burley could be considerate, when other times he was so mean.
Aunt Viv carefully searched the sky for other planes, eased off the brakes and swung around onto the runway. In a moment we were moving down the runway faster and faster. Now I thought about nothing except the lump in my throat, and the way the ground was falling away. Even as I watched, everything grew smaller—and we were flying! I had not realized the exact moment when we took to the air. The bouncing feel of the runway had given place to the smooth motion of flying without my knowing it. At least it was smooth part of the time. There were a few air bumps up here, it seemed.
I found that I could not put my face too close to the window because the wind slapped by outside with a great deal of force, but I could manage to look out and down, and I was surprised to find that I had no feeling of dizziness or height. I had felt much worse looking down from the top of the Empire State Building. Except for the vibration of the plane and those bumps now and then, there was no feeling of speed. There was nothing close by to zip past and give me a sense of going fast.
Below us, the country had turned into a wide relief map, with little colored bugs that were cars running along its curving lines. The hills had somehow become flat areas of fluffy green that looked soft as cotton—as though you could float down into them without harm—though I knew that wasn't true.
Off to one side stretched a thin curve of blue water. We must have been approaching it quickly, because it kept growing larger, though flying did not seem nearly so fast as riding in a car on the ground.
"Is that Lake Kimi down there?" I shouted to Aunt Viv.
She nodded over her shoulder. "I thought you might like to see how it looks from the air."
I leaned over to the side, peering down as we flew over. I could easily pick out Aunt Viv's white roof and see the yellow paint of Coral Moller's house. There was someone down there jumping up and down, waving at the plane. It was probably Coral, and I waved back. Then we were crossing the end of the lake, high above the dam, and circling back down the other side, following the wooded ridge. I could see the break in the trees where the Burley house stood, with the empty, burned-out part reaching along the hill and disappearing in undergrowth. Nothing down there moved. The place might have been deserted.
When the trees closed together beneath the plane I glimpsed the path winding toward the open pasture.
In seconds we were over the pasture and there was my beautiful Star of Sussex galloping across the grass toward the gate. This must be just about the time when I should be having my promised ride, if I had not been forced to break it off. What Denis had told me—that I couldn't ride at all now—came back to my mind to crush me once more with disappointment. No matter how worried I might be about riding Star, now that the opportunity was gone I wanted to ride her more than ever.
Already the plane was curving away from the lake, the pasture slipping out of sight behind us. I couldn't care much about flying now. All I wanted was to be down there on the ground with the mare that was so very much like my Brown Clover.
When I turned from the window, I discovered something surprising. Denis, in the copilot's seat, was flying the plane. Aunt Viv had her hands off the controls on her side, and Denis had his feet on the rudder pedals, his hands on the wheel. We seemed to be flying just as smoothly as before, with only an occasional air bump now and then, and the plane seemed to be holding level. I couldn't see his face, but I knew very well that it must be alight with happiness, just as mine would be if I were down there riding Star.
I left the plane to Denis and turned my thoughts back to my own problem. How was I to get over wanting to ride—not just any horse, but only that beautiful mare that belonged to Mrs. Burley? At the back of my mind a thought was beginning to grow. What if I put what Denis had told me right out of my memory? What if I behaved as though I didn't know about Mrs. Burley's refusal? What if I went up to the pasture anyway this afternoon? I began to tingle with excitement at the thought. If I just ignored the word Mrs. Burley had sent me by Denis, if she found me in the pasture with Star, then I would talk to her about riding the mare, and perhaps persuade her to let me, as she had first promised. Or, if Mrs. Burley did not come out, then I could get further acquainted with Star and begin to make her my friend. Even if I couldn't ride her, I could touch her and talk to her. And if I could meet her secretly enough times, perhaps I could even ride her bareback. I had never tried that, but I had seen it done by girls who owned their own horses. In fact, a friend of mine in Staten Island had told me that riding bareback is more exciting, more fun, than with a saddle and stirrups. You have more of a feeling of being part of your horse. But you have to have a good knee grip to stay on. Since I've ridden quite a bit in a ring at the academy, practicing with my knees, I'm pretty good that way.
While I was daydreaming, the plane had turned back to the airport and I discovered that we were coming in fast toward the runway. I looked at Denis, but fortunately he was no longer handling the controls. Aunt Viv had taken over. It was a little scary as we zoomed in right over a road and treetops and wires that seemed closer than they probably were. Then we were dropping down, touching our rear wheels. The front wheel touched as the nose came down and we were moving fast until Aunt Viv braked the plane and turned it around to taxi toward the airport building.
When she cut off the engine and we came to a stop, the silence surprised my ears. Up in the air I had grown used to the roar, but now the world was quiet again. Denis opened the door on his side and jumped to the ground. Aunt Viv got out on her side and helped me down.
"How did you like it?" she asked. I tried to tell her that I'd enjoyed it very much, but all the time I was thinking about new plans for Star and about the question of the baying dog.
As we walked around the tail of the plane—because you never crossed before the propeller, Aunt Viv said —I thought again about Denis' claim that he had seen the baying dog. I had to know more. Everything that happened at the Burleys' concerned me now.
The three of us started toward Mother and Dad, and I pounced on Denis before he could escape me again.
"You said you saw that dog that does the howling? When did you see him? How?"
He gave me a disgusted look. I think he would have walked away without answering, but Aunt Viv had heard and she was interested too.
"Did you really see him, Denis?" she asked. "Tell us about it."
There was no way he could avoid answering without being rude to Aunt Viv, but he did not look at us as he spoke. His eyes followed another plane that was taking off, as if he wished he were on it.
"I got up one night and went out there by moonlight," he said abruptly. "I—I wanted to know whether it was a real dog, or—or something else."
"Yes?" said Aunt Viv, prompting him to go on.
"When I went to Star's stall I saw something over where there are still burned timbers. The sound was coming from that part of the old ruins, and it was pretty scary close up. Something was moving around in there too, making other noises with its feet. The moon went behind a cloud and the night got awfully dark, but all of a sudden that light came on. And I saw the dog."
Denis gulped and came to a stop. He wasn't watching the sky now. His eyes were on Aunt Viv's face in a strange way—almost as if he pleaded with her for help.
"Go on, Denis," she said.
He swallowed hard. "It wasn't a real dog. It was all shimmery crimson in the darkness around—as if it were on fire. It was a—a ghost dog in flames. It's like Gran says—the dog that died that night in the fire trying to save my grandfather comes back to the house on moonlight nights."
"Oh, Denis!" Aunt Viv said, sounding pained and disbelieving. "Denis, why are you making this up? What do you really know about that dog?"
Denis grew angry at once, but somehow he could no longer meet Aunt Viv's eyes. "O.K.," he said, "if you know all about it, you tell me what's happening over there."
Aunt Viv didn't mind his angry words. She walked beside him with a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "I'm afraid we both know what is happening," she said. "And if something doesn't stop it soon, I'm sure that steps are likely to be taken."
Denis pulled away from her hand. "What steps? What do you mean?"
"Mr. Moller has asked some of us to come over to his house tonight to talk about what can be done. Perhaps you should let your grandmother know about the meeting. Perhaps she needs to become worried about this."
Slowly the anger went out of Denis. The frightened look was in his eyes again. He stared at Aunt Viv for a moment as though he couldn't think what to say. Then he turned and ran across the field away from us. Watching him go, Aunt Viv shook her head.
"He's trying to protect his grandmother, I'm afraid. He'd rather believe in a ghost dog than in what is really happening up there."
Once more I found myself feeling sorry for Denis. I didn't know what to believe about Mrs. Burley.
When we reached the airport building, where Mother and Dad waited, Denis was nowhere in sight. Probably he would walk home by some shortcut across the hills. Aunt Viv asked Mother and Dad if they were ready for a flight, and if I would like to go up with them again. I suppose I must have nodded, because we all started back toward the plane together. Somehow, though, I wasn't quite there. I was lost in my own thoughts, wondering about Denis and about what I meant to do that afternoon. I was thinking harder than ever about riding Star.
Nothing had changed my feeling about that. I knew what I was going to do.
8
Treachery
That afternoon when I went down to the lake to get into Aunt Viv's boat I took a big red apple with me. I had not told anyone my plan and had said nothing about Denis telling me the invitation had been canceled. I let it stand that Mrs. Burley expected me to come ride Star. After all, my purpose was innocent enough—just to make friends with that lovely mare. Just the same, to be prepared I wore riding boots with my jeans pulled over them.
This time I managed to cross the lake without having Coral see me. Leaving the boat among the cattails, I stole as quietly as any woods animal up the trail to the top. I hurried past the house, and no one stopped me or challenged me.
By the time I reached the path through the woods on the ridge of the hill, I felt safe, and I was running when I came to the turn that led to the pasture gate. As I dashed toward the fence, I saw that Star was nowhere in sight on this side and I climbed the gate, searching the wide meadow for her. I did not see her until I reached the top rail. Then I could only sit there frozen in dismay.
Star was on the far side of the pasture, but she was not alone. She was saddled and bridled, and old Mrs. Burley was trotting her gently around the pasture. If either the mare or her rider saw me, they gave no sign, and after a minute or two I began to relax. This wasn't what I hoped for, but at least it gave me my second chance to talk to Mrs. Burley and persuade her to let me ride the mare. Having decided to stay, even though I felt a bit scared, I began to watch horse and rider with appreciation.
Mrs. Burley wasn't posting the way I had been taught to do at the academy. She rode as though she were part of her horse—in the Western way—and she looked wonderfully straight in the saddle, with her shoulders back and her head held high. Today she wore good Levis, a clean blue shirt, and Western boots, looking much less sloppy than before. Her white head was bare, her hair ruffled by the wind, and it became her to have a windblown halo around her face. From this distance she looked strong and young, and a feeling of admiration for her began to grow in me. I had never seen her like this before.
As I watched, she pressed the mare into an easy canter, following the fence around the meadow, and by the way Star moved I would never have guessed that her right knee had been injured. They were approaching now, and I sat straighter myself, braced for whatever might happen and all the more determined to talk to Mrs. Burley. After all, I had tried to make another appointment. It wasn't my fault that the first one had to be broken. But as Star drew near, I saw Mrs. Burley's cold, disapproving look, and a flutter of uncertainty started up inside me. This wasn't going to be easy.
She gave me no chance to speak first. "Well!" she said, reining Star close to the gate and staring at me with thundery gray eyes. 'Wow you turn up! I thought you wanted to ride this morning?"
"But—but I did," I faltered, taken aback. "Only, I couldn't because I had to go flying with Aunt Viv."
"Then you might have let me know," Mrs. Burley snapped. "After all, I have a telephone. I waited for you for an hour out here this morning. What have you to say for yourself?"
That awful Denis! I thought despairingly, shocked at his treachery. Now I was in a worse position than before. I took a deep breath before answering.
"I phoned last night and asked Denis to tell you I couldn't come," I said. "I asked him to see if it would be all right for me to ride this afternoon instead."
Mrs. Burley's look did not soften. She sat with the reins in one brown, gnarled hand, and every downward line in her face told me she did not believe a word I was saying.
"Denis never tells lies," she said sharply. "I could trust him with my life."
"Neither do I tell lies," I said. "Maybe—maybe he just forgot."
Mrs. Burley lifted the reins, and Star turned from the fence, trotting away from me into the pasture. The old lady's back was very straight, and if a back could express indignant dismissal, hers did. It seemed there was nothing for me to do but climb down from the gate, give up, go home.
But if there's anything I hate, it's giving up. Just the same, perhaps I would have, except that just then Mrs. Burley wheeled Star and came back to me at a fast trot. This time she stopped to face me head on, and Star seemed to regard me with the same bright intelligent look I had noticed before. I had stuffed my apple into my jeans pocket, where it made a big bulge, but I did not dare to take it out and offer it to her just then.
"I see you're wearing boots. Do you want to ride now?" Mrs. Burley asked coldly.
I almost fell off the top of the gate. "Oh, yes—yes!" I cried and jumped to the ground too suddenly, startling Star, who shied away from me.
"That's not a good beginning," Mrs. Burley said. Nevertheless, she swung her right leg over Star's hindquarters and dropped lightly from the saddle. Then she stood for a moment at the mare's head, gentling her, talking to her softly.
I came close without any more sudden moves, and Mrs. Burley looked down at me from her tall height.
"How good a rider are you?" she asked.
I didn't want to brag until I'd found out what it was like to ride Star. Horses are different, just like people, and this mare wasn't used to being ridden by strangers.
"I've ridden in some small shows on Staten Island," I told Mrs. Burley. "But I've never ridden a horse like this one."
For the first time her look seemed kinder, as though she approved of my answer. "All right," she said, and held out the reins to me. "Hold her while I shorten the stirrups."
This was what I wanted. I took hold of her reins up close to the bit and used my other hand to smooth the mare's nose and her long head with the white star in the center, talking to her all the while. Just soothing words that would quiet her and get her used to me.
Mrs. Burley seemed to size up the length of my legs at a glance, and when the second stirrup was shortened, she came around to me from the far side.
"I'll give you a leg up," she said. "Star's a bit high for you."
She took hold of my knee and my foot and heaved me up so I could throw my right leg over the saddle. And there I was, with my hands light on the reins, the balls of my feet pressing into the stirrups, comfortable and secure. Star stood quietly, listening to my voice, the skin of her neck twitching a little in a friendly way as I patted her.
Mrs. Burley moved toward the gate. "You're on your own," she said. "Just don't go any faster than a trot until I see how you can do. Star can be hard to control when she goes into a gallop. The best course is around the fence, since we watch that part for chuck-holes. But you can walk her anywhere."
I turned Star's head toward the course around the fence and pressed her sides lightly with my knees. She broke into a trot and we went along together beautifully, with me coming up and down in the saddle with just the right timing. I felt very conscious of the way I looked, and I tried hard to impress Mrs. Burley by sitting straight and keeping my knees and elbows in— doing all the things I had been taught at the academy.
The saddle was Western-style, with a high pommel —which I liked better than English saddles—and I felt sure of myself astride it. Star was beautifully trained. I suppose she knew right away that I could ride, because she behaved herself and did exactly what I wanted her to do.
Sometimes people ask me why I am so crazy about riding, and it's a hard question to answer.  I thought about it a bit while I was riding Star. I suppose it's as though you're really on top of the world when you're high in a saddle—bigger than anybody. People on foot are little beside a man on a horse, and even a young person like me gets the feeling that she's bigger than anyone, riding. But it's more than a sense of being tall and able to move faster than you can on foot. When I'm on a horse, everything else falls away and stops bothering me. I mean everything that worries me, all the things I can't solve, even the thought of things I don't want to do—everything fades into the background. I'm free—-and that is a wonderful feeling. Besides, I have with me something that is alive and that responds to me—a horse I have an affection for and who likes me.
I held Star to a trot till we'd gone once around the meadow, and then I walked her about the center. Once or twice I looked toward Mrs. Burley to see if she trusted me enough to give me a signal to go faster. What I saw was not reassuring. Denis had appeared and had climbed to the top of the gate. I wasn't close enough to see his expression, but I had a mixed-up feeling—-of triumph because I was riding Star in spite of him, but also of worry because he might make more trouble for me. Mrs. Burley still watched me, but she made no gesture that meant I could try a faster pace.
By the time we had crossed the meadow and reached the far fence, Star was going so well that the temptation to show off increased in me. More than anything, I wanted to prove to Mrs. Burley, and to Denis as well, what a good rider I was. If I proved myself now, perhaps I could come back and ride again, and even Denis would stop trying to do mean things to keep me away. I leaned over Star's neck, whispering softly into her ear, stroking her neck lovingly. I could almost feel her answering me, responding, just as she had done when I had first approached her on the ground yesterday. I knew absolutely that this had been love at first sight between us and that we trusted each other.
"Let's do it," I whispered to her. "Let's show them we belong together. Will you help me show them, you beautiful thing?"
Star's ears pricked forward with interest and she did what was almost a waltzing step as we neared the fence. I turned her along it where a course had been worn in the grass by her flying hooves and, leaning forward on her neck, gave her my heels.
I could feel her great muscles gather, feel all her power as she took off under me like a streak. I knew she could have been a great racer. This was no gentle canter—she was running at full gallop, stretched out as she followed the course around the fence and back toward where Mrs. Burley and her grandson were watching. I think the old lady shouted something at me, but I couldn't hear her words, and I didn't want to anyway. What was happening was heavenly. If you know how to stay on, riding fast is easier than holding to a bone-shaking trot. I didn't mean to rein Star in until we got near our audience across the field.
I've never had such a lovely ride, never felt so completely in control. I could understand all the more why Mrs. Burley was angry with Aunt Viv—if she had wanted to train Star for racing.
As we neared the gate and the two who waited there, I pulled the mare in a little, slowing her so that we could wind up with the showy effect of my being in perfect control of my horse.
It was at that moment that Star played her trick.  I was still leaning forward in the saddle—and then, without warning, I was in the air, flying straight on over her head, sent out of the saddle by a jolt that was totally unexpected.
It happened so fast that I didn't have time to be frightened. I landed on thick meadow grass with a thud, jarred clear through. When I looked up, Star was galloping away across the pasture, stirrups flapping and the reins loose on her neck. This was double treachery!
My tumble had landed me practically at the feet of Denis and Mrs. Burley. I pulled myself up, feeling wobbly, and stood before them, weaving a little and completely bewildered. How had this happened to me when I was doing so well?
Denis was laughing out loud and that gave me something to be mad about. I walked straight over to Mrs. Burley, who wasn't laughing at all, and braced myself, with my feet apart, because I still felt jolted and not too sure of my legs.
"Why didn't you tell me she might play a trick like that?" I cried. "Why didn't you warn me?"
"Why do you think I told you not to go any faster than a trot till you knew the horse?" Mrs. Burley snapped. And to Denis, "Hush up, boy! I've seen you go over Star's head too."
Denis smothered his laughter, growing red in the face with the effort, but I gave him no more than a scornful glance. I was probably red in the face myself. Pride had certainly gone before this fall and I felt angry and disgraced and indignant—all rolled into one state of being thoroughly mad.
"Well, come on out," Mrs. Burley said. "I think you've proved yourself for the day, and apparently you haven't broken any bones. The meadow's a good place for a fall if you can't stay on your horse. Open the gate for her, Denis."
She talked as if I couldn't even climb over the gate without falling off. I stayed where I was, my feet still braced apart.
"I'm not coming out," I said. "I'm going back and ride her again."
They both stared at me, and Denis stopped smothering laughter and grew serious. Surprisingly, Mrs. Burley smiled—a quick, sharp grimace, as if she had not practiced smiling lately.
"And so you should," she said, "but I didn't think you'd have the nerve. All right—go ahead and ride her. If you can catch her. And if you can mount her."
That put the whole thing up to me. I felt pretty dogged as I started across the pasture toward Star who cropped innocently at a patch of grass. Her sides wore streaks of white lather from her run. The sting and shock of my fall were fading, and I had stopped hurting. As I went I called the mare's name and talked to her, but my tone was a lot less loving than before. She raised her head and looked at me wickedly. If a horse could smile, she was smiling—laughing at me as Denis had laughed, wonderfully pleased with herself.
"You've behaved terribly," I scolded her. "I don't know how you could do a thing like that to someone who trusted you. But just the same I'm going to ride you, and you're not going to play that sort of trick on me again."
She pranced a little, and I could see a shiver run along her skin. I knew she was ready to run from me as soon as I got close enough, so I took the apple from my pocket and held it out.
"This isn't a reward because you're an angel," I said. "This time it's only a bribe. Come here and I'll let you have the apple. But not unless you come close." She made a nickering sound, stamped the earth impatiently with one foot, and then trotted toward me, interested and greedy.
"Stand," I said, when she was close. She knew the command and I managed to get the reins into one hand before I held out the apple. I was careful to keep my palm flat, and she took it from me, munching it with strong teeth. I led her to the stump of an old tree near the fence, and got myself quickly into the saddle. Then I walked her in tight circles, first one way and then the other, talking to her soothingly. When some of her energy and excitement had been used up, I let her straighten out. I was a little scared to urge her into a canter this time, and I didn't let her out full as I had before. My hands were tighter on the reins, holding them short, my feet pressed firmly into the stirrups.
When she repeated her jolting stop, I was ready for her. I grabbed the saddle horn and hung on. She looked around at me with a comical expression when I didn't sail over her head, as though she couldn't understand why I was still up there on her back. I gave her a hard swat on the neck with my hand and made her walk in circles again. When she balked and wanted to skitter away, I held her, kept her in line, and gave her a good scolding at the same time.
When we had pranced around a bit, with me both angry and scared at the same time, she quieted down. I had a feeling she would behave for me from now on. "All right," I said, "we'll try it again. But don't think you're going to toss me over your ear, because you're not!"
She went straight into a gallop this time, moving smoothly, powerfully, under me, heading back toward Mrs. Burley and Denis. This time I didn't think about how free and powerful I was, high on the back of a horse. I kept my mind on every move the mare made, kept myself ready. But I had been right about her. This time she eased into a slower pace, dropped back to a walk without any attempt to toss me out of the saddle. We came smoothly even with the pasture gate. I stood up in my left stirrup, threw my right leg over the mare's back, balanced for a moment with my hands on the saddle, and then dropped to the ground, the reins still securely in my grip. I felt wonderful. Star was my friend now, and she knew who was master as well.
"Good for you," Mrs. Burley said. "At least you're not a quitter. If there's anything I hate it's a quitter. Denis, walk Star until she's cooled off, then give her a rubdown and take care of her tack."
Denis grimaced. "Horses are too much trouble!"
"I could do that," I offered. I really wanted to. One of the best ways to know a horse is with a currycomb in your hands. Horses love to be groomed.
Denis gave me an odd look when he took hold of Star's bridle. As though he still didn't want me around, but might be sorry about laughing earlier. However, he made no comment, when his grandmother opened the gate. He silently led the mare through and went off in the direction of her stall.
Mrs. Burley looked after him, shaking her head. "I don't know how a grandson of mine can care more about planes than about horses. Well, I can't change that. As for you—at least you're a better rider than your aunt."
"Did Star throw Aunt Viv with her trick?" I asked.
Mrs. Burley's expression hardened, but this time I knew she did not mean her resentment for me. "The mare never had a chance to play tricks. If she had, she might have taught your aunt a lesson without damaging her own knee. Denis says he warned Mrs. Kayne, but she's so sure she can do anything and come out on top that she wouldn't listen. So the mare stepped into a woodchuck's hole on the first run they made. Denis should never have let your aunt ride on ground he didn't know thoroughly—but the boy has no real feeling for horses. All he has on his mind is airplanes."
It must be awful, I thought, to do the wrong thing, as Denis had, and then have your punishment go on permanently. Even though his grandmother had suffered most, Denis probably continued to blame himself for what had happened. Perhaps that was what made him prickly and quick-tempered most of the time, and eager to keep me away from his hilltop.
"It seems as though Star could still race," I said hopefully.
Mrs. Burley shook her head. "The weak knee would always do her in. She can't be counted on to stay the course. I've tried her out myself. She had everything it takes to make a great racehorse—but not now. I think she'd have been faster than the first Star of Sussex, and I'd trained her to run since she was a filly."
The old lady leaned against the fence, with no sign of wanting me to leave, and I listened eagerly. Because of Star, I wanted to know everything she could tell me.
"My husband and I used to breed racehorses when we were young," she said. "We've always loved this Sussex countryside where I grew up, and I've never wanted to live anywhere else. We were fairly successful, made some money, bred some fine horses from a good bloodline. We raced Star of Sussex under our own colors. But my husband had a restless streak. Harris always wanted to try something new as soon as one job was going well. All my life I've been crazy about horses and I never wanted anything else but to breed and raise them. Though, of course, I had to do as Harris wished."
I began to feel that the old lady wasn't really talking to me anymore. Her look wandered off toward a distant hilltop and I think she had almost forgotten I was there as she put her feelings about long-ago happenings into words. I kept very still so she would continue.
"Harris and I did a lot of things after that, before we wound up with the hotel. Though we always stayed here in this county where we wanted to live. Nothing we tried was very successful. We lost most of our money, and we had a lucky buy, or we wouldn't have been able to pick up Decker House for a bargain when the former owners wanted to sell out. We did all right up here. It was hard work, but interesting because of the people who came to stay with us. And I always kept one horse of the Star of Sussex line, because this gave me the hope of raising another great racer. Star is the last of the direct line. Now we can breed her, but that's all. I'm too old to see another horse like the first Star go into racing."
There was so much sadness in her voice that something in me hurt, listening to her. More than she knew, I could understand how she felt, how she must have loved those horses of the first Star's breed, and how she must have counted with all her heart on this young mare. Though she had not mentioned the fire and her husband's death, I knew how much tragedy she had lived through, how much loss she had suffered.
When she left the pasture gate and walked toward the house, I went with her. She glanced at me now with eyes that recognized I was there. Perhaps she knew we had something in common because we both loved horses.
"How do you like Sussex County, Janey Oakes?" she asked as we neared the house.
I could answer warmly. "I love it here! I wish I could stay in the country always."
She smiled a bit stiffly. "Perhaps I owe you an apology, young Janey. I suppose you've wondered why we're so unfriendly to strangers up here, and why we don't encourage visitors from the other side of the lake. I made an exception with your aunt because Denis is so crazy about flying, and she was kind enough to help him. But after what happened to Star, I didn't want any more of her. I'd rather frighten people off by being rude to them, than suffer the sort of interference that might come about."
"Interference?" I repeated uneasily, thinking of that meeting tonight at Coral's house.
"Oh, I know what they're saying!" She tossed her head and the white aureole of hair danced above her forehead. "There are those who think I'm a senile old woman who ought to be put away someplace— taken care of! They think my grandsons should be sent to New York. But I won't have any of that! I know what's best for me, and best for my boys. As long as I'm strong and able, I'll make a home for them here.
Roger might do all right in the city, but Denis—never! No matter what he thinks about chores and taking care of a horse, country life is best for him now."
I thought of the crimson light, the baying dog. Were these old Mrs. Burley's means of frightening people away so they wouldn't come close and interfere? If they were, then she was doing the wrong thing because they really set people against her more than ever. I wondered how I could hint at this. She seemed so reasonable now, and anything but crazy.
"Perhaps—perhaps if that dog didn't howl at night —" I began.
At once Mrs. Burley grew agitated. "I thought you'd have better sense!" she cried. "There's no baying dog up here. And there's no light. Don't you think I know what I'm talking about, when I live right here?"
She paused on the path beside me, and I could see her expression clearly in the bright-patterned sunlight that fell upon her face through tree branches. Her look frightened me. A few minutes before she had sounded calm and sensible, but now she looked a little wild, as though something had unbalanced her, changed her into a different woman—a woman I was suddenly afraid of.
I began to walk away rather fast, and she came after me, stumbling once or twice, as though she suddenly felt her age.
More and more I hated the thought of that meeting tonight. Everything was so mixed up. Mrs. Burley claimed there was no baying dog, no crimson light, though everyone had heard and seen these things. Denis, on the other hand, said that he had seen the dog and that it wasn't real, but the ghost of his grandfather's dog.
"Denis says—" I began, but she cut me off at once.
"There isn't any dog! That's all nonsense, all lies. If you're going to believe what people are saying, I don't want you up here."
She walked past me on the path and climbed the ramp that led up to the empty floor of the ruins. I had been dismissed without any invitation to ride Star again. For a moment I thought of following her, trying to talk to her, so I could learn when I could come back. But I didn't dare risk it while she was in this disturbed mood. It would be better to chance coming back another time rather than be told definitely to stay away.
I could see Denis up there, currying the mare in her stall, but I didn't stop to ask if I might help. I ran past the house and started down the steep path to the lake. Once the woods closed in around me, I could put Mrs. Burley out of my mind. I had to forget her so I could dream again.
After all, I had ridden Star! I had done what my riding instructor had said and gained the mare's confidence. I had not let her beat me. So now—in a strange way—-she belonged to me just a little. She was mine in a secret sort of way. Mrs. Burley understood how I felt about Star, and I didn't think she would keep me away for good. Tomorrow, surely, I would ride the mare again. And the day after that! What was more, if we stayed here and bought Aunt Viv's house, my friendship with Star could go on for years. I could almost pretend that she was mine.
By the time I burst out of the woods at the foot of the hill, my spirits were flying high again and triumph was sailing like a kite.
A surprise waited for me at the edge of the lake.
Aunt Viv's boat had been pushed out from among the cattails, and in it sat Roger Burley, the oars in his hands. He smiled as I came down to the water.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. "Get in and I'll take you for a row. I want to talk to you, Janey Oakes."
9
Splash of an Oar
For A moment I stood still in surprise. But with all my pride in what I had done flying sky-high, I couldn't keep it to myself.
"I rode Star!" I cried out to Roger. "Your grandmother let me ride her!"
Roger grinned at my excitement. "The point is, did you stay on her?"
"Not the first time," I had to admit. "She tossed me right over her nose. But I didn't hurt myself— much. And the next time I rode her, I made her behave."
"That's more than I've been able to do," Roger said. "You'd never get me aboard that crazy animal again."
I did several enthusiastic steps among the cattails, and a few hundred insects buzzed up around me. After that I stopped celebrating and stepped quickly into the boat. I was eager to get back to Aunt Viv's and tell everyone what I had done. I didn't especially want to stop and talk to Roger Burley, but since he had the oars, there was nothing to do but listen to whatever he had to say.
He rowed along the shoreline toward the dam. Everything was in a wild tangle on this side of the lake, and there would be no one along the bank to hear a word we said. I wondered if that was why Roger was coming this way. But when he spoke, it was to give me a warning.
"Don't get your heart set on riding Star all summer," he told me. "She may not be around here much longer."
My high spirits came plummeting to water level. "What are you talking about? Why won't she be around?"
"Gran is going to sell her," he said.
I sat on the seat opposite him and hung on to the sides of the boat with both hands because I needed a good grip on something to steady me. When I didn't say anything, Roger went on.
"There's a man coming to see Star next week. A man from a farm that raises horses. The mare ought to bring a good price—and Gran is desperate for money. Things get worse all the time, and Denis and I can't earn much till we're older."
"But—don't you have an uncle in New York?" I protested. "Won't he help his mother if she needs it?"
Roger shook his head. "She won't let him help. She's too proud and she has strong notions about being independent and no trouble to anyone. He can't do anything about Denis and me because she's our legal guardian. She does everything she can for us—she's been wonderful—but her money's running out and there's nothing coming in anymore. If she sells Star for a good price, she can keep going for a while longer, I suppose. I wish she would let somebody help, but she's stubborn about that, and I guess it's up to her."
I felt a little sick, not only because of the disappointment I would feel if my plans for a summer with Star had to be changed, but also because of Mrs. Burley. I was remembering the sad things she had told me, and about how she had tried to keep one horse of the first Star's bloodline in her possession all these years. Mrs. Burley was old and perhaps she had little time left for dreaming. How awful she must feel about sending for this man who might buy her precious Star of Sussex! Tears began to burn in my eyes.
Roger rested one oar on the side of the boat and reached out to pat me on the arm. "You're a good kid, Janey. I'm sorry I told you this, if it upsets you. But I thought you'd better not count too much on riding Star this summer."
I swallowed hard and pressed my lips together so they wouldn't quiver. When I had myself in hand, I asked a question.
"Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?"
Roger began to row along the shore again, taking us in closer to the dam. Bee balm made a lavender shading along the cleared spaces, and a bush with great red sprays of blossoms hung over the boat as we went past.
"I know about that meeting tonight," he said, "and I think there's something you ought to tell your aunt. Then, if she wants to, she can talk about it at the meeting. It's about that dog and the red light that is upsetting everybody."
I stared at him. "Denis says it's a ghost dog, and your grandmother says there isn't any dog."
"I know what they say." Roger sighed. "Gran gets up at night sometimes and wanders around with a flashlight. I've heard her and once or twice I've followed her out to the ruins."
"That crimson light isn't a flashlight," I said.
He agreed. "I know. Look, Janey—how can I come out and say things about my own grandmother? But just the same—this shouldn't go on. A few months ago I wrote my uncle and asked him to come out here. All he did was phone Gran and ask if she wanted him to come. When she said no, everything was fine, he wouldn't come. He's a doctor and very busy, I suppose."
I hated all this. Once I had been curious to know exactly what was happening, but the closer I came to the answer, the less I wanted to be sure. I told myself that I didn't want to be mixed up in something so spooky and unpleasant, but there was more to my feeling than that.
"So what am I supposed to tell Aunt Viv?" I asked grudgingly.
"I don't know exactly," Roger said.
He looked increasingly unhappy and I could guess what was troubling him. He was torn between a loyalty to his grandmother and the feeling that he must hint to Aunt Viv about what might be going on—hint that his grandmother was up to something that ought to be stopped.
"Have you seen that dog?" I asked him straight out.
He was turning the boat, to start us across the lake before reaching the current that spilled water over the dam. For a few moments he rowed in silence. Then he turned the boat back along the opposite shore.
"Yes, I've seen it," he said. "But I don't want to talk about it."
I thought he was looking a little scared himself, and after that he wouldn't say another word.   He rowed us down my side of the lake and beached the boat at Aunt Viv's. When I asked how he would get back he told me he would walk, and he went off quickly before I could ask any more questions. I had a feeling that he had done something he felt he must do, but he wasn't happy about doing it.
I climbed the hill to the house, wishing I had not met him. My high spirits had been thoroughly dashed and now I could take very little pride in the fact that I had ridden Star. What good would it do me if the whole thing was to end so quickly? By this time Star wasn't just any horse to me—she was something very special. She was a friend who could not be replaced. Even if, in some unexpected way, I should find another horse to ride this summer, it would never be the same. I could even appreciate the trick Star had played on me because she was proud and wouldn't let just anybody ride her. But by this time I wasn't "just anybody" to Star, either. I knew she liked me too.
When I climbed the stone steps, Mother and Aunt Viv were sitting in deck chairs in the little woodland clearing back of the house. I did not want to stop to talk, but Aunt Viv called to me and asked about my afternoon. So there was nothing to do but sit down on a flat rock and tell them about riding Star. I tried to put my heart into the story because I wanted to get back the wonderful feeling I'd had earlier. But now none of it came out right and I knew Mother sensed that something was wrong.
She had been lying back with her glasses off and her eyes closed while I was talking, but now she put them on and looked at me. "It sounds very exciting," she said. "So what is worrying you, Janey?"
I looked at Aunt Viv and said what I had to say. "Roger wants me to tell you that his grandmother gets up in the middle of the night sometimes and wanders around in those ruins. He thought you ought to know before the meeting tonight."
"I see." Aunt Viv considered my words soberly. "Do you suppose he was hinting that Mrs. Burley is responsible for the howling dog and the red glow? Of course that's what we've believed all along, but this may add some strength to our concern about Mrs. Burley."
I couldn't bear to admit that I agreed, so I shrugged and got up to go into the house.
"Thank you, Janey," Aunt Viv called after me. "I'll bring it up at the meeting and see what the others make of it."
I went inside at the upper level, and downstairs to my room. There I shut the door and picked up my beautifully carved Brown Clover. I smoothed her mane and tail with my fingers and stood her upon my palm, where she pranced with one hoof lifted and her head tossed. She looked a great deal like Star of Sussex, but she did not comfort me at all. She was only a piece of wood and not warm, mettlesome flesh like Star.
If I had enough money, I would go right across the lake and buy the mare from Mrs. Burley myself. But of course I had only a few dollars. And I knew better than to ask Dad again.
Next week the man Roger had mentioned would come and take Star away. And after the meeting tonight there would probably be an end to Mrs. Burley's living over there with her grandsons and causing trouble with crimson lights and baying dogs. I felt increasingly squirmy and uncomfortable. I didn't know Coral's father, but I wished he had not called this meeting. I wished Aunt Viv had not approved of it.
The rest of that afternoon I wandered around feeling at loose ends. When Mother tried to find out what was wrong, I couldn't talk to her. There was no use making her feel sorry for me, when there was nothing anybody could do to help.
The only way I knew to make my restless feeling stop was to think of some action to take. By late afternoon, since I couldn't solve any of the big problems that faced me, I began to break them down into smaller ones. That led me to a decision that wasn't very important, but at least gave me something new to think about. And it might get me through the long evening of waiting for the meeting to end so I could find out what had happened. I didn't mean to tell Aunt Viv— but I meant to attend that meeting. She had already mentioned that there would be no young people there —not even Coral—so I could not ask her to take me along. But, just the same, I meant to figure out a way to attend.
Mother and Dad weren't going, because they were outsiders, and besides, Aunt Viv didn't want them there. She was already worried because the lake was not as quiet a place as she wanted it to be—as it had to be if Dad was going to buy her house. Dad hates feuds and neighborhood troubles. He gets enough of that sort of thing from parents at school. So I didn't breathe a word of my plan to anyone.
After dinner I began to yawn and let my eyelids droop until I really began to feel sleepy. I was practically falling out of my chair when Dad told me I'd better get to bed. That was what I wanted. This way I would not be fooling anybody by saying that I wanted to go to bed. I simply gave another wide yawn and stretch, kissed Dad and Mother good night and stole downstairs. It was only eight o'clock.
Aunt Viv had just left for the meeting, and when I looked out of my front window I could see the headlights of several cars coming down the road. I knew that the rest of the lake people were getting to the Mollers' on time.
Of course Mother would be down shortly to tuck me in, and perhaps ask a few questions about what was worrying me, but I had enough time before she appeared. I found a scratch pad and wrote her a quick note:
I have to go to that meeting. It's awfully important. I have a flashlight and it's only a little way. Please don't come after me. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.
I put the sheet of paper on my bed and set Brown Clover on it for a paperweight. I could trust Mother not to cause a fuss. She is a very reasonable person and she remembers what it's like to be young. Besides, it wasn't bedtime yet, and I was not doing anything serious that would upset Dad.
When I had put on my sweater, I took my flashlight, left my bedroom light burning for Mother, and opened the front door as softly as possible. I was glad the television was on upstairs to hide any sounds I might make. Because of daylight saving time, there was still light in the sky and I got down to the drive all right. But the night had turned cloudy and there wasn't a star to be seen, let alone the moon, so it would be dark soon. I followed the drive to the lower road leading toward Coral's house on the edge of the lake.
As I walked between the trees, down the road, I could tell how dark it was going to be out there. On Staten Island nights were never completely dark. There were always street lights and lights from houses along the way. And across the harbor toward Manhattan there was always a sulfury yellow glow. So I really hadn't realized how dark a country night could be. From the hillside above, an owl hooted and the loud chug-gu-rum of the frogs from the lake sounded stranger than ever in the growing darkness. It seemed a little creepy to think of hundreds of ugly old bullfrogs squatting all around the water's edge making that terrible uproar.
On each side of the road the trees seemed monstrously tall and black, losing their heads in the sky above me. The lights of Aunt Viv's house quickly disappeared from sight, and I couldn't see any of the other houses around the lake. I tried not to think of strange animals springing at me, but I was very glad to take a turn in the road and find the lights of Coral's house shining through the trees ahead. When I came close to the drive that led to the Mollers', I stood still, trying to figure out what to do. It was more open here and a cool breeze touched my face. Perhaps if a wind rose, the clouds would blow away and the night would brighten.
It would have been easier for me if I had been able to visit Coral's house before this so that I would know my way around. Also, I hadn't counted on an outdoor light at the top of a lamppost that lit up the grounds. The minute I stepped into that circle of brightness I would stop being a gray shadow lost in the twilight. If anyone looked out a window, I would be seen. And since I wasn't supposed to attend the meeting, it was better to stay invisible.
Along the upper level of the house the windows were brightly lighted and everyone seemed to be gathered in the long living room that must overlook the lake. I could hear voices drifting out through open windows and someone laughed quite loudly and cheerfully. It did not sound as though the meeting had begun.
Sometimes, even in the noisiest night, there can come a sudden silence, and that was what happened now. The people in the Moller house were still for a moment. The nearest bullfrogs stopped their deep-toned strumming as if something had disturbed them, and even the small frogs stopped their croaking. Insects buzzed on, and the owl hooted his lonely cry, but all around me the night was quieter than it had been before.
In the sudden stillness I heard a sound from the lake. A sound I recognized.
I stood quietly on the road, listening with all my might, until it came again, very softly—a light splash, as though an oar were dipped quietly into the water. Nothing was to be seen out upon the lake. Not even a ripple of light disturbed the water far away. Only near the shore did the lights of the house throw a golden shine. The rest of the lake was an invisible shadow spreading to the far shore.
Slowly I began to walk toward Coral's house, listening intently until the sound came again. There was no mistaking it. Unlikely as it seemed, someone was out on Lake Kimi in a rowboat, rowing through the gathering darkness.   Someone who rowed in a quiet, secret way—someone coming closer and closer.
Evidently another person besides myself meant to attend the meeting tonight without being invited. Someone from the Burleys' side.
10
The Night of the Fire
I stood beyond the circle of light that illumined the immediate grounds of the Moller house, wondering what to do, wondering which room was Coral's and how I could reach her. The boat on the lake drew closer, the oars still dipping with secretive care. If I stepped into the light, the person in the boat would see me, and this I wanted to prevent. I knew about the boat, but whoever was out there didn't know about me, and it was better to keep that advantage.
Up in the house the general chatter had stopped and a man was speaking. The meeting had begun. From where I stood I could not hear what was said, and while I was figuring how to get closer without being noticed, someone upstairs turned off the outside light and I found myself once more blinking in the shadows. Now only a light from the upper level fell through windows onto the wide side veranda. There were outside steps that led up to the veranda from the ground. If I could reach them, I could hear everything that was said inside that room.
But first I must know about the boat. It had come in to shore, and by the light from the house I could make out its dark shape near the dock. Someone was tying it up down there, and I kept very still in my safe shadows, watching. When the boat was secured, a tall figure in dungarees climbed on to the dock. For a moment I thought it must be Roger—then I saw that it was a woman with a kerchief tied over her head.
Old Mrs. Burley had rowed across the lake secretly and quietly, and as I watched, she strode up the bank and went straight to the veranda steps and up them. Now I could risk moving and I ran after her across the grass, making hardly a sound. My heart was thumping wildly and I was frightened—not of what might happen to me if I was discovered, but of what Mrs. Burley might hear said about her up there in the Mollers' living room. How awful if someone should say right out that she was crazy and no longer able to take care of her grandsons!
My sneakers made no sound on the steps and not a board creaked as I stole up to the veranda. The steps ended where the porch made the foot of an L, and though I could stay out of sight, hidden by the projecting wall of the living room, I could not see a thing.
Carefully, I edged to the corner where I could peer around, down the main stretch of veranda. The living room windows were glass panels that ran to the floor, with a sliding screen door between them. Light poured through the glass, and moths fluttered madly over its surface, trying to get inside. The light touched Mrs. Burley, where she stood upright against the far rail. She did not glance in my direction because all her attention was given to what was going on in the big room beyond. I stepped softly across the veranda until I too was at the rail—but at the shadowed end, farthest from the windows. About eight or ten men and women were sitting around the room. I could see and hear what was happening and watch Mrs. Burley at the same time. So far she had not looked my way.
A short, plump, red-faced man, who must be Mr. Moller, was talking indignantly about the howling dog across the lake and the use of that bright red light. Something would have to be done, he said. That was why he had suggested this meeting. Had anyone any ideas?
Aunt Viv spoke first. "Perhaps two or three of us might pay a friendly call on Mrs. Burley and let her know how disturbed we are. We could ask her why this is happening, ask her to have it stopped. I don't think we need to begin with accusations or threats."
"I've tried that!" Mr. Moller sounded impatient. "All she did was tell me I was seeing things and order me off her place. You can't reason with a senile old woman."
"I don't believe she is senile," Aunt Viv said, and I could have hugged her. Another woman in the room agreed with Aunt Viv and said she had known Mrs. Burley for years and admired her for her courage and willingness to work hard.
I stole an uneasy look at Mrs. Burley, but she stood stiff as a broomstick at the rail, her attention fixed upon the room.
"Then what's the reason behind all this annoyance?" asked a man on the far side of the room.
"I've brought someone here tonight who may be able to answer our questions," Aunt Viv said. She left her place on the sofa and went to a door across the room out of my sight. A moment later she returned and I caught my breath because Roger Burley came with her. "I hope you don't mind," she said, "but I felt someone from the Burley family should be represented here tonight."
For the first time old Mrs. Burley moved. Her fingers fumbled toward her chin and untied the knot of her headkerchief with a rough gesture, as though it choked her. She pulled it loose so that her white hair came free, looking pale gold in the light from the house. I moved nearer to her, wishing I dared ask her not to listen, not to stay. But of course I knew it would do no good, even if I tried.
There had been a buzz of talk in the room after Roger's appearance, but now the voices quieted. Someone had placed him in a chair with its back to the windows, so neither his grandmother nor I could see his face.
Mr. Moller spoke to him, still anything but friendly. "Well, Roger?" he said. "What have you to say about what's going on over at your house?"
I could see the boy stiffen in his chair, and I knew he did not like the tone of Mr. Moller's voice.
"I haven't anything to say," he muttered.
Aunt Viv spoke to him quietly. "You had something to say to my niece Janey in the boat this afternoon. Perhaps you could tell us what you were hinting at, Roger."
/What's the use?" Roger said. "I didn't tell her anything important."
"Perhaps not," Aunt Viv said. "But you thought it was important enough to hint about. Can't you tell us what you had in mind?"
There was a long silence. Mrs. Burley stood utterly still at the rail. She was not far away from me, but still turned so that she had not noticed me. When Roger began to speak it was in a voice so low I could hardly catch the words.
"I don't know why she does it," he murmured. "Except that she's afraid of strangers coming around and interfering with us. She brings that dog in from some place where she keeps him in the woods, and she turns on that red light. At least, I guess she does. When there's a good-sized moon, the dog does the rest. He bays at the moon like anything."
At the rail Mrs. Burley made a slight snorting sound and folded long thin arms across her body. No one in the room heard her, because everyone was buzzing again, asking one another questions, staring at Roger.
Mr. Moller's sharp voice cut through the chatter. "This isn't the act of a woman who has all her faculties. I doubt that she ought to be the guardian of two young boys. As long as she made no trouble around the lake, I suppose she could be left alone. But now we must take some sort of action, and I've a suggestion to make. Roger, if you will give me the name and address of your uncle in New York, I'll telephone him right now. I'll ask him to come out here when he can and find out for himself what his mother's condition is and what is going on."
Roger hesitated a moment uncomfortably. Then he left his chair and crossed the room to where Mr. Moller was writing something on a pad. Suddenly I could see just what was going to happen. It wouldn't matter now whether or not Mrs. Burley sold Star to that horse breeder next week. Her son would come to Lake Kimi and take his mother away, take the two boys away. Everything up there would be sold, torn down, wiped out. And old Mrs. Burley herself might be sent to live in some place she would hate. How could she live in small rooms in a city, when she loved these Sussex hills so much? How could she be cooped up where she could never ride or work outdoors, or run her own house as she pleased?
I reached along the rail and touched her arm lightly. She did not start or make a sound. She simply turned her head and looked at me without surprise.
"Why don't you go in there?" I whispered. "You don't have to let them do this to you!"
When she turned toward me, I could see her face and she looked dreadful. It was as though her flesh had crumpled in, so that she grew older while I watched her.
"What have I done!" she cried softly. "What dreadful damage have I done to my boys that this should be happening!"
"Won't everything get worse if Mr. Moller makes that call?" I asked. "Why don't you go in there and tell them about the dog and the light, and why you've done all this?"
She gave me a look that seemed almost frightened. "They'll never accept the truth. I know they won't. Just the same, I suppose I must try."
She pushed herself away from the rail as though she had to shove herself across the veranda. Then she stood full in the light of the living room and tapped upon the screen door.
At another time it might have been funny to see all those startled faces inside turn in her direction at once, looking like round, staring moons. It was Roger who moved first. He left Mr. Moller and ran to the screen door to slide it open for his grandmother. I saw his face, saw how startled and worried he looked. He had said what he thought should be said, but he must have been alarmed to know that his grandmother had heard him.
When he opened the door for her, Mrs. Burley walked straight past him without a word and came to a stop in the center of the room. She had pulled herself together so that she looked stronger now, more like her usual determined self.
"May I sit down?" she asked, glancing around haughtily.
Someone hurried to bring a chair to the edge of the circle, and she walked to it proudly and sat down as erectly as a younger person might. Her face still looked crumpled and old, but I had a feeling that she wasn't beaten yet. If she had been my grandmother, I would have been proud of her. She might be wearing dungarees and an old shirt, but she looked dignified and commanding just the same.
I was glad Aunt Viv was the one to speak to her first and that she did so gently.
"Mrs. Burley, we don't want to hurt your feelings, or interfere with the way you choose to live, but surely it must be clear that we are all disturbed over what happens on certain nights at your place. We know there must be a reason, though you haven't wished to explain. That's why I asked Roger to come here tonight, instead of inviting you—because I thought he might be willing to give us an answer."
"He's given you one, hasn't he?" Mrs. Burley snapped, holding her head high. "So why don't you telephone my son and tell him to come here and put a stop to the crazy behavior of his mother?"
For the first time Mr. Moller looked uncomfortable. His puffy face seemed redder than ever.
"I was about to telephone your son," he told her. "But if you're willing to be more reasonable than when we last talked, Mrs. Burley, I can postpone that."
"Just tell us what it's all about," Aunt Viv broke in, pleading.
I could hardly bear to watch what was going on in that room. I've always hated it when a lot of people take sides against one person, yet that was happening now in the brightly lighted room before me. I turned my back, wishing I were safe at home in bed and not hearing any of this. Because I couldn't bear to watch Mrs. Burley being tormented, I looked off across the water and found that the lake was no longer an invisible black expanse. Silver ripples moved on its surface and the trees on the far shore shimmered in bright moonlight. I leaned over the rail to look up beyond the edge of the Moller roof and saw that most of the clouds had blown away and a full moon sailed the sky.
Moonlight! I stared nervously at the Burley hilltop, trying to find the house among its trees. And even as I searched, the dreadful thing happened. The crimson light came on, glowing eerily, shining through the trees. And the dog began to bay.
I wanted desperately to shout across the lake for it to stop—shout so Denis would hear me and turn off that red glow, quiet the dog. But there was nothing I could do. Already those in the room had heard.
"Turn off the lights, Kate," Mr. Moller called to his wife.
One after another, the lights were switched off, and I knew that everyone must be crowding to the windows on the lake side, where they could stare at that dreadful crimson glow and listen to the howling of the dog.
With everything inside the room still and dark—frighteningly so—the dog's cry rose clearly, from low on the scale to something high and throbbing, like a hunting hound scenting its prey. All the lake echoes caught up the mournful sound and repeated it again and again.
Then, quite suddenly, and without warning, the sound stopped on a high note. Stopped completely, as though it had been choked off. Even as I stared at the hilltop, the light disappeared as suddenly as the baying had ended. Overhead, an unclouded moon rode the sky, but there was no sound of a howling dog, no glimmer of crimson light.
Denis! I thought. Denis must have stopped it—and good for him! But if he had stopped it, then who had started it in the first place? Someone must have been there to turn the light on.
In the living room lamps were switched on again and the moths returned to their wild dance against the glass. Roger looked as though he had not moved. He sat in his chair with his back to me, staring at his grandmother, who must not have gone to the windows either. She still sat in her straight, proud position as everyone flocked back from the windows. When the others had settled in their places, she spoke to them quietly.
"It will do no good to tell you what is happening," she said, "because you will refuse to believe the truth. But since you force me to, I shall try."
There was complete silence. Everyone waited. I stole closer to a window so that I would not miss a word of whatever she was about to say. When she started to speak, however, she did not immediately tell about the light and the baying dog. Instead, she began to talk about the long-ago fire that had burned down part of Decker House.
"Most of you in this room were children when the hotel burned," she said. "Roger and Denis weren't born yet. Their father and his brother were small boys. The fire began in the middle of the night. We never learned the cause, but it started in the long, one-story wing where we housed our guests. Our old foxhound, Brutus, wakened us to what was happening."
As her words ran on quietly, sadly, telling her tragic story, I could almost see what had occurred that dreadful night. I could imagine the furious barking of the dog that had brought Harris Burley and his wife wide awake.
They had roused their young sons and rushed outdoors, to find the guest wing ablaze. Mrs. Burley hurried to the office telephone, and her husband ran into the wing to help the few guests to safety. There were only eight people staying at the hotel at that time, but in the frightful confusion Mr. Burley must not have known whether they were all out or not. He went back to the blazing lounge for one last time to make sure, and the dog went with him. By then most of the wing was going up in great red flames that leaped high into the air and set nearby trees afire.
Mrs. Burley heard the siren, far off, locating the fire area, summoning volunteer firemen. The fire company got there in time to save the stone office section and the ballroom beyond it, but the guest wing was a total ruin. And in it Harris Burley and his dog Brutus had died.
"I heard the crash of the timbers that must have killed my husband," Mrs. Burley said. "I tried to go back there to help him, but neighbors held me. I remember the terrible heat beating against my face, remember that I could see Brutus struggling in an inferno of flame, trying to pull his master out. I had a last glimpse of him—a great red dog with the fire playing over him. Then smoke cut him from our sight. I never saw either of them alive again."
She came to a stop, still firmly erect in her chair. Her voice had not broken in the telling, and she looked proudly about the room, as though in some way she challenged her listeners. No one said anything. There was nothing that could be said in the face of such a story. I looked at Roger and saw how white he was, his eyes dark as he watched his grandmother. But the answer still had not been given, and everyone waited for Mrs. Burley to go on. After a time she did.
"When it was over I stayed on with my two sons in the part of the building where we had lived. That hadn't been touched by the fire, except for scorched outside walls. I could not bear to move away. The place was—is—my home. In time most of the rubble was cleared out—though not the section at the very end where—where Harris died. I've left that to nature to cover in its own way. Most of the burned timbers have fallen into the basement, and vines and weeds have grown over them. But that was the place where it happened—and that is the place where the dog appears."
Listening and watching, I had knelt at one of the window screens, so that I was practically in the room and I could hear and see everything. I caught Aunt Viv's gasp at Mrs. Burley's words about the dog. No one else made a sound and the old woman went on again.
"The night of the fire was the night of a full moon, so it is only when the moon is full that it happens. The first time I heard the baying, I knew it must be Brutus, come back to the place where he died. For a while I hadn't the courage to go out and investigate, but I finally decided that I had to see what was happening. So one night, when I heard the dog, I went out to the ruined area—and I saw him there. He stood among fallen timbers and the overgrowth of weeds, and he looked exactly the way I saw him that last time, the night of the fire. A great red dog, baying a warning for us to hear. He was crimson because the flames of that awful fire were playing over him. Only this time there was no fire, no flames. I've seen the red dog several times since. I know it is Brutus who has come back."
The moment she stopped speaking, Mr. Moller made a scoffing sound. "Mrs. Burley, we are all shocked by your tragic story, but you can't expect us to believe that a red ghost dog appears over there on moonlight nights. That sound is the baying of a dog that is very much alive."
"How do you know?" Mrs. Burley asked quietly.
Mr. Moller stared at her, sputtering a little.
Before he could find an answer, she went on. "None of us can possibly understand all the unknown mysteries in the universe. More than ever, we're learning that now. Since history began there have been stories of this sort. There have always been haunted places where dreadful things have happened. Isn't it possible that such places attract occurrences we can't explain? I'm not wise enough to say this is so. I only know what I've seen."
"We don't doubt that you've seen it," a woman neighbor said. "But if the hotel burned down nearly thirty years ago, why has this—this apparition waited until now to make his appearance?"
"Perhaps he's trying to warn me of something, just as he did before," Mrs. Burley said. "Perhaps there has never been any real danger to bring him back until now. He was the one who roused us on the night of the fire, and perhaps he's trying to rouse me again—let me know that something terrible is about to happen. Something terrible, perhaps, that all of you are about to cause."
"Now you're talking bosh!" Mr. Moller snapped. "I don't know what you're trying to do over there. I've heard it hinted that you'd like to frighten us into keeping away—perhaps so you won't be investigated too closely. Though I must say this is a foolish way to go about it, if that's your purpose. Because now you leave us with no choice except to—"
Aunt Viv broke in abruptly before he finished—as though she wanted to postpone his final threat. "But can you tell us," she said gently to the old woman, "what caused the dog to stop baying so suddenly just now? What caused the light to go out?"
"It always stops. The light always goes out," Mrs. Burley said. She rose from her chair, standing very straight. Though her face looked tired and old, she held herself proudly. "I knew you would never believe me. I've nothing more to say. I'll go now."
Aunt Viv jumped up quickly. "I'll drive you home, Mrs. Burley," she said. "You and Roger."
The old woman walked past her toward the veranda door and I scuttled back into the shadows around the corner.
"I came across in our rowboat," Mrs. Burley answered Aunt Viv. "I don't like to drive the jeep at night. Roger will row me back. I have a flashlight to get us through the woods.   Thank you just the same, Mrs. Kayne."
Mrs. Burley and Roger came out to the veranda alone. No one followed. She walked ahead of him, her head high, and I waited for her near the stairs. She saw me and stopped, and I knew Roger was staring at me, his eyes wide with surprise.
Mrs. Burley put a hand lightly on my shoulder. "I never had a child in my family who cared about horses as I did," she said.
I felt like crying. I hated all those people who were making things hard for her. But I could not find words to tell her so.
"Everything is going to end very soon now," she said, still speaking directly to me. "You'd better ride Star every day, while you can. You needn't let me know when you're coming. Just call out and I'll help you with the saddle, or send one of the boys to help."
She did not wait for me to answer, but went down the stairs, holding on to the rail as though she was suddenly very tired.
"Th-thank you, Mrs. Burley!" I called after her.
They went out of sight in the direction of the lake, and behind me in the living room I heard Mr. Moller's voice, sounding loud and clear.
"And now," he said, "I am going to make that telephone call to New York. It's time old Mrs. Burley's son came out to Lake Kimi to take charge of things. We can't go on living with this ghost story."
I did not want to hear any more, and I ran down the stairs, sending the beam of my torch ahead of me—so that it fell upon the upturned face of Coral Moller.
"Put that thing out, Janey!" she cried. "My goodness, were you up there all along? I wish I'd known."
I didn't feel like talking to her now because of the way her father had behaved, but I couldn't just walk away.
"Where were you?" I asked.
She giggled softly. "I was just around the corner in the dining room. Dad would have a fit if he knew, but I had to hear what was going on. Wasn't it exciting? Wasn't it awful? Why do you suppose that dog stopped baying so suddenly? Do you think Denis put out the light?" She ran on without waiting for me to answer questions, even if I'd wanted to. "Poor Roger! What can he do when his grandmother is as crazy as that?"
Quite suddenly I was furious. "I don't think she's crazy at all! I think she's about the most sensible person I've ever met."
Coral stared at me in astonishment, and I ran past her in the direction of Aunt Viv's house.
I didn't stop running until I came to an opening through the trees that let me see out to the lake. There I paused for a moment, searching the water with my eyes. The moon was still bright overhead, and I could see the small black patch that was a boat out in the center of the lake. I could hear the splash of the oars—not secret now, with Roger rowing. Up the hill toward the Burley house no crimson light glowed, and no ghostly dog bayed its warning. Whatever had stopped that yowling seemed to have stopped it for good. At least for tonight.
Since there was nothing to see, I ran on and hurried up the steps and inside Aunt Viv's house. I went straight into my bedroom—and came to a surprised halt in the doorway, because Mother  sat propped against pillows on my bed, reading a book.
She smiled at me cheerfully. "Hello, Janey. You look a bit excited. Do you want to tell me what happened tonight?"
11
In the Ruins
One of the things I like about my mother is the way she never starts in by asking me why I did something. She lets me tell it in my own way. So I began at the beginning, which was when I first went over to the Mollers' that evening.
She is a good listener and she doesn't interrupt. At least not very much. This time she heard me out, looking as interested as though everything that had happened to me had happened to her. I was explaining how I felt about Star, and how awful it was to meet a horse like that, and then lose her right away, when Aunt Viv walked in.
She was excited too, and when she found us talking in my room, she plumped herself into the one chair, while Mother and I sat on the bed. She was in time to hear my report of what Roger had said about the man who was coming next week to buy Star, and she shook her head regretfully.
"It will absolutely kill Mrs. Burley to part with that mare," she said. "What a shame! But I suppose there isn't anything else to do."
Aunt Viv didn't seem especially surprised to hear that Coral and I had attended the meeting in our separate ways. I suppose it was what she might have done, if she had been our age. When she learned that I had left at the same time Mrs. Burley and Roger did, she told us the rest of what had happened when Mr. Moller put his phone call through to New York.
"I think he might have done better with Dr. Burley if he had waited until he cooled off," Aunt Viv said. "When the doctor came on the line, Mr. Moller was still mad about everything—including the way Mrs. Burley had behaved with so much dignity, instead of letting him frighten her. So he started right in talking angrily, and it took awhile for Dr. Burley to make any sense of what he was saying. Of course we couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but we could hear Mr. Moller all right, and we could guess what was happening."
"Is Mrs. Burley's son coming to Sussex?" I broke in anxiously.
"I gather that he won't come for a month or more, at least," Aunt Viv said. "He can't get away from his patients on short notice. He seemed to be asking Mr. Moller why we didn't find out what was going on across the lake ourselves. I'm afraid all this talk about baying dogs and crimson lights must have puzzled Dr. Burley. It's quite different when you've seen and heard and experienced all this. Anyway, he wound up by saying that the last report he'd had from his mother was that she was getting along fine, but he would make it his business to check by phone with her again, to make sure. He must have told Mr. Moller how independent she is, because Mr. Moller got annoyed again and shouted, 'Hang her independence! We want to sleep nights around here. And we won't have our property made valueless!'  I'm afraid he didn't get much satisfaction, because before he hung up he said he would wait exactly one week, and if things didn't quiet down, he would go to the police. Then he hung up with a bang."
"When the moon wanes, perhaps it will be quiet," Mother said hopefully.
Aunt Viv left her chair and moved around the small room. "I hope so. Tonight I found myself on Mrs. Burley's side, though I know that isn't sensible. Where is Bill? Does he know about all this?"
"Not yet," Mother said. "He's upstairs using your typewriter to write a few letters. We both like the lake and your house, so if Bill can get a position at a school not too far away, perhaps things will work out. We're both tired of living so near the city. Of course I don't have to ask Janey whether she likes it here."
I threw my arms around her and hugged, even though I wasn't as happy as I would be if I could count on riding Star.
Aunt Viv's face brightened and she ran her fingers through her short brown hair. "That's marvelous! This will solve my problems too. And it's all the more reason for not upsetting Bill about this Burley situation. I have a feeling that the windup is going to come very soon, and it may be better if Bill hears about it after it's over. What luck that your bedroom is at the other end of the house from the lake."
She was right, I knew. Though if Dad heard about the dog in the meantime, he would be practical and down-to-earth, and he wouldn't get notions about any crimson ghost haunting the opposite hillside. I was sure no ghost story would frighten Dad away. He would probably try to get to the bottom of the mystery and find the answer in a scientific way.  But if what was happening meant a lot of upsetting trouble, he wouldn't want to stay here.
Aunt Viv started for the door. "I think I'll go upstairs and talk to Bill about the house now—while he's in the right mood. Good night, Janey. I hope Coral won't be in trouble over this unauthorized attending of her father's meeting." She winked at me and went off.
"Are you planning to ride tomorrow?" Mother asked me.
I nodded. "I'd better ride while I can."
"I expect so," Mother said. "Would you mind if I went with you?  I'd like to meet Mrs. Burley."
Her suggestion cheered me up a little. "That would be nice. I think you'll like her."
"I'm sure to," Mother said, and kissed me good night.
I went to bed with my thoughts still churning, and I lay awake a long time, because all the events of this crowded day kept replaying themselves in my mind. At least there were no further disturbances across the lake that night, and I finally went to sleep.
In the morning after breakfast Mother telephoned Mrs. Burley and asked if she might come over with me when I rode Star. Mrs. Burley sounded surprised, Mother told me afterward, but she said for both of us to come along.
Around nine thirty we got into our car and followed the road around the lake. The chain was still across the Burleys' driveway, with its forbidding Keep Out sign, so Mother left the car at the bottom of the hill and we climbed up to the house on foot as Dad and I had done on our first visit.
No one seemed to be around, and no one peered at us from an upstairs window, but when Mother knocked, the door opened quickly and Mrs. Burley invited us in. I hardly recognized her that morning. Instead of her usual dungarees, she wore a green print dress, sheer stockings, and polished brown shoes with low heels. Her wild white hair had been brushed back and was held neatly under a wide green band. I suspected that she had even powdered her nose and put on some lipstick. She looked very nice, but somehow not quite right. I was more comfortable with her when she wore her old clothes.
She shook hands with Mother as though she was really glad to see her, and gave me a cheerful "Hi." Then she led the way into what must once have been the lobby and office of her hotel and was now her living room. Against the far wall was a stone fireplace with birch logs laid ready for a fire. There were maple chairs, a sofa with chintz slipcovers, and a worn green-leather chair that might have belonged to Harris Burley. Against a side wall stood a chest-high semicircle of desk, with an alcove behind it, reminding us that this room had once been a reception room for guests. Now the surface of the desk carried earthen pots of fern, with thick fronds hanging over the edge like long green hair.
All around the walls were pictures of horses, with one in particular given the place of honor over the mantel. This was a framed picture of a racehorse with a horseshoe of flowers around his neck and a jockey in the saddle. I knew right away that it must be a picture of the original Star of Sussex. I went straight to the mantel and stood looking up at the picture that might have been a photograph of my Star. What a beautiful, graceful Thoroughbred the first Star had been!
Mrs. Burley and Mother must have watched me, because Mrs. Burley said, "I suppose you realize that your daughter has horse fever. It's something she may never get over, you know."
Mother laughed. "I do know! And I want to thank you for letting her ride your mare. Having a horse to love makes the disease less painful."
"Not just any horse!" I cried, looking at Mrs. Burley. "Roger says you're going to sell Star. Is that true?"
Mrs. Burley gave me look for look, not trying to hide anything. "I have no other choice. School will start again in a month or so, and my boys need clothes, shoes. They will keep on growing and wearing things out. I'm down to where I will have to use my capital, and I mustn't do that. I don't want to be dependent on anyone in my old age." She turned apologetically toward Mother. "Janey deserves an explanation. I know how she feels about the mare, because I felt that way about the first Star—the one in the picture up there."
"Any sort of love at first sight can be painful," Mother said. "But we usually recover."
"I never did." Mrs. Burley shook her head. "Not when it came to a horse or a man."
Curious, I stared at a framed portrait that stood at the end of the mantel. I had not noticed it before, because all my attention had been for the horse. Now she picked up the picture and held it out for us to see.
"Harris," she said, "my husband. Roger resembles him quite a bit. He was always cheerful and hopeful, and full of plans. Denis is a much more gloomy boy. He has given me more trouble than Roger."
She set the photograph on the mantel and turned to me again. "About the mare, Janey—the man who may buy her will prize her as she deserves. He is an old-timer in Sussex and he has always raised horses.
He respects Star's stock and he will treat her well. Perhaps Star will be the mother of some fine foals."
I knew she meant to comfort me, but nothing she could say helped me swallow the lump in my throat. Suddenly all I wanted was to get out to the pasture. Only Star herself could console me.
"This must have been a beautiful place," Mother said, drawing Mrs. Burley's attention away from me so I could blink my eyes hard and not disgrace myself by bursting into tears.
"There's not much of it left, as you can see," Mrs. Burley said. "The one beautiful room that didn't burn is the old ballroom. It has grown terribly dilapidated, but perhaps you'd like to see it?"
She went to double doors on the side opposite the fern-crowned desk and opened one of them onto a long shadowy expanse of room. I walked through the door while Mrs. Burley was still talking to Mother—and that was how I happened to see something they missed.
At the far end of the big shuttered room another door opened a crack and I was in time to see Denis Burley slip through it and escape outdoors. Behind me, his grandmother was explaining that this room had once been the hotel dining room, as well as the ballroom. When there was a big party, they used to push back the tables to give room for dancing. A number of square tables were still crowded into clumps around the floor, with chairs turned upside down on top of them. Overhead hung a beautiful chandelier, dripping with dusty crystal and wreathed in cobwebs. At the other end of the room the ceiling had apparently leaked and there had been some damage done, though patches of old linoleum now protected the floor.
"Sometimes in stormy weather," Mrs. Burley said, "we bring Star inside and tether her down there until she can safely go outdoors again. So you see our famous ballroom has become a part-time stable." She  sounded regretful, but not despairing. "Better to use it as a stable than not at all!"
However, what Denis was up to interested me more than a room in which people had danced, so I slipped  away while Mother was talking, and walked toward  the door through which Denis had disappeared.
"I'm going out to the pasture," I called over my shoulder.
No one objected and I went outside, to find that this exit was almost at hill level, with only two shallow steps to go down. Across from the doorway, Denis sat on a tree stump, chewing unconcernedly on a twig, as though he'd not been indoors at all. I wondered what he had been doing that had caused him to dive so hastily out of his grandmother's sight. Or—perhaps it was me he wanted to avoid. As I drew near, he shifted his gaze away from me, pretending I wasn't there.
I walked right over to him. "That was a fine thing you did yesterday—not telling your grandmother that I couldn't make my appointment with her. And then making up that story about her not wanting me to ride. Your grandmother thinks you don't lie!"
He did not look at me, but his ears were turning red. "We don't want you up here," he said.
"You mean you don't want me! And why not? Is it because you're afraid I might find out about the dog and the light? Is that why? How did you get the dog to stop baying so suddenly last night?"
He pulled at a lock of sandy hair that fell over one eye and took the twig out of his mouth. I think he must have tried out several answers in his mind—such as,
What dog? or, There wasn't any dog—and then decided this wouldn't work with me. So he chomped down on the twig again and did not answer at all.
"I went to the meeting at the Mollers' last night," I said. "At least I was outside on the veranda where I could see and hear just about everything. Your grandmother told a very spooky story about a dog named Brutus who comes back all aflame on moonlit nights to bay a warning to her."
Denis spat out a bit of wood he had bitten through and said, "H'mm," which didn't mean anything.
"Do you really believe that?" I asked. "Or expect anybody else to believe it?"
He looked both angry and uncomfortable. "Why don't you mind your own business, Janey? Why doesn't Coral's fat father mind his business? Why can't everybody leave Gran alone!"
Because of Star, all this was my business, so his words did not stop me.
"How did you get a ghost dog to stop yowling so suddenly?" I asked him again.
"Oh, you!" he cried in disgust, and jumped up from the stump. "Everything was all right until you came up the hill the other night."
"You know it wasn't," I told him. "Mr. Moller says that the next time the dog bays he's going to call the police."
Denis dropped suddenly down on the tree stump and put his head in his hands. I knew better than to ask him anything more. This was a very upset boy, and there was no use tormenting him to tell me why now.
I walked the length of the house on the lake side until I came to the horse ramp that led up to the ruined section. Without looking back to see if Denis had followed me, I ran up the ramp and went to Star's stall. The mare wasn't there, but her bridle hung on a peg, her saddle over a rail.
The stall told me nothing, so I went on toward the burned-out section at the very end of the building, where scorched timbers lay shiny black among the weeds. I had never really had a look into this place before, because something about it had always frightened me away. A broken stone doorway still offered an entrance into what had been a big lounge room at the end, and when I stepped cautiously through the door frame, I saw that here the floor had collapsed and caved into a basement. Weedy plants, and even stunted trees grew thick among chunks of cracked red brick and broken gray concrete. Everywhere there were bits and pieces of glass. No roof remained overhead, and only the low remnants of a wall surrounded what had once been the basement.
Looking down upon the rubble that lay among the overgrowth of weeds, I found myself remembering that night of flame and death. When I tilted my head back, I could see dead tree branches reaching gray, leafless arms toward the place where the fire had burned.
Even with the morning sun shining upon me, I had an eerie feeling about this place. More than anything else I wanted to back away and search no further. But this was where the crimson dog was seen, and I had to know more about his coming.
At the very edge of the doorway, where floor tiles had broken and fallen through, someone had piled two large chunks of concrete, as if to form steps down into the tangle of weeds. I went down them in gingerly fashion, lowering one careful foot after the other. Among the weeds mosquitoes were thick, and as I stood slapping at them, I saw a thinning in the wild tangle a little way beyond. There seemed to be a way through, where broken twigs and bent plants showed that someone had repeatedly pushed past the outer growth.
Stamping and slapping, I followed the half-concealed pathway and came into a cleared circle, where brick and timbers had been shoveled back, and some of the weeds had been cut down. No ghost had done this. I stepped into the center of the clearing to look around. It would be perfectly possible for a person—or a big dog?—to stand here completely hidden from the house, yet with an opening that must have been a basement window looking out like a big round eye in the direction of the lake and the houses across.
From behind me there came a sudden shout. Denis had followed me after all. He stood in the door frame, barely visible through high weeds, and yelled at me to come out.
"You don't belong down there!" he shouted. "Come on—get out of there!"
I had seen all there was to see for the moment. Certainly no dog was hidden in here now, so I crept back through the screen of bushes.
"What a good hiding place for a ghost," I said. "The only opening is toward the lake—so only the people over there would see him when he lights himself up. He's a very clever ghost, don't you think?"
Denis had a grim look about his mouth and in his eyes too—as though he might take another flying tackle in my direction. I felt suddenly afraid of him. I ran up the concrete steps past him and dashed to the edge of the stone floor. From there I dropped to the ground and ran toward the pasture as fast as I could go. This time he didn't follow me.
Star behaved almost as though she waited for my coming. She was watching the gate and she gave a soft whinny and trotted toward me. I had brought her another apple, and she took it from me politely and munched it up, while I petted her and talked to her. When I put my hand on her mane, she walked about the meadow with me. I was still walking her when Mrs. Burley and Mother appeared at the pasture gate, bringing Star's saddle and bridle with them. Mrs. Burley put the pad on the mare's back and then saddled her, while I helped. Afterward, I rode proudly around the field. The mare was in a fine mood. She liked me today, and she obeyed every direction I gave her, so that we performed beautifully together.
Later I was permitted to give Star a currying in her stall, and I cleaned her bit and polished the rest of the tack before I hung it up, enjoying the familiar smell of saddle soap and leather. Mother and Mrs. Burley went back to the house for coffee, and no one bothered me. As long as I was with Star, I could shut everything out of my mind except the feeling I had for her. In spite of threatening clouds that hung over me, I was as happy as possible—for a little while. Mother finally called me to go home in time for lunch.
During the short drive around the lake, I asked her a question. "Do you think there's anything crazy about Mrs. Burley?"
She did not hesitate for a minute with her answer. "Of course not. She's an intelligent woman. Rather a wise one, in fact. Perhaps she lives closer to what is real and satisfying than some of us who think happiness is the number of cars or television sets we own."
"But she believes in a ghost!"
"Many people who aren't at all crazy are puzzled by happenings they don't understand. As your father says, there's always an explanation, and if we had it, we would understand too. Just the same, I wonder if Mrs. Burley really does believe in a ghost dog as she claims."
I stared at Mother while we neared Aunt Viv's house.
"But at the meeting she told that story about a flaming-red ghost dog and—and—"
Mother shook her head thoughtfully. "Perhaps she would rather believe in that than in something which seems worse to her. Perhaps she rejects something that might be more disturbing to believe."
Then we had reached the house, and Coral was there, having been invited to stay for lunch. So I had no chance to find out what Mother meant by her mysterious remark.
All through lunch I puzzled over what could possibly be so disturbing to Mrs. Burley that she would rather believe in a ghost than accept the truth. But no matter which way my mind twisted, I could not find an answer. And meanwhile time seemed to be rushing past —moving toward the day next week when Star would be taken away.
12
A Man Named Decker
The next several days went by quietly. Even though there was still a good-sized moon at night, the dog stopped baying and no crimson light glowed from the Burley ruins. Which meant to me that something human had put a stop to these things. A ghost wouldn't have that much sense.
The only thing that seemed odd during this time was the way Coral behaved. She was up to something or other and I didn't know what it was. Whenever the subject of the meeting or the mystery of the crimson ghost came up, she would look wise, as though she knew something I didn't. And sometimes she would go off alone on her bicycle, without letting me come with her. Aunt Viv had a bike I could ride whenever I wanted, and I could have gone with Coral if she hadn't sneaked off by herself before I could get on her trail. Yet she wasn't trying to see Roger, because I often found him at home doing chores for his grandmother at the very time Coral was out on her bike.
Apparently Mr. Moller had not been told about our coming to his meeting, and since there had been no more trouble with the dog, he had not called the police.
Nor had he tried again, Coral reported, to talk to Dr. Burley in New York.
It seemed to me that Mother behaved rather strangely too during this time, as if she was puzzling over something. But when I tried to ask what she had meant by saying that Mrs. Burley might prefer to believe in a ghost rather than in something that would seem worse to her, Mother insisted that she was only trying to put herself in Mrs. Burley's place.
"Perhaps you'd better let the Burleys work things out in their own way, Janey," she told me. "This isn't your problem, you know."
But anything that affected Star was my problem, and it was a problem that seemed to get bigger and more painful all the time, since I couldn't find any possible solution.
Every day I went over to ride the mare. Sometimes twice a day. After a while Mrs. Burley trusted me with the saddling, and did not come out to watch me ride. I longed to get out of the limiting pasture and ride through the woods, but of course I didn't dare attempt that, or ask Mrs. Burley if I might. Denis stayed as far away from me as he could, risking no more of my questions. Mostly Roger was busy at chores his grandmother gave him, so I was left to myself—and that was the way I wanted it.
Then came the morning when I went to ride Star and found all the Burleys away. The jeep was gone and no one answered when I shouted that I was going out to the pasture. Not that it mattered. Star was waiting for me in her stall, and I hadn't come to see anyone else.
I saddled her and led her out to the pasture gate, which I sometimes used for mounting her.  Somehow I felt especially sad that morning. The weather was sunny and warm, and everything was green with midsummer, while my spirits wore gloomy gray.
Dad and Aunt Viv were moving ahead on the matter of the house, and he had asked a builder to go over it carefully and make sure of its construction. By this time I wasn't sure I wanted to stay at Lake Kimi. With the mare gone, there would be no way for me to ride, and I didn't want another horse after my darling Star, anyway. Once, without my even asking, Mother told me gently that Star was such a valuable mare because of her bloodline that her foals would grow up to be valuable horses too, so she would bring a very good price. A price that would be far beyond Dad's means, even when things were better.
I knew all this. There was nothing to say. I knew there was a possibility of Dad's teaching at High Point Regional High School nearby, but also that a teacher's salary didn't allow for expensive luxuries. The important fact was that very soon Star would be gone for good and part of me would go with her when she was taken away. Not even Mrs. Burley felt about her as I did.
All this explains why I did not feel like galloping around the pasture that morning. I walked Star slowly, talking to her as I rode. Perhaps she caught some of my own feeling of sadness, because she did not seem very spirited, and she limped more than usual.
Star saw the man first. She raised her head in a startled way, jerking the reins in my hands as she looked toward the gate. A man in brown slacks and a checked shirt stood watching us. I knew who he was at once, and I wished I might leap over the fence with Star and ride her away into the woods, where no one would ever find us. Instead, I pulled her to a stop and sat quietly in the saddle, looking across the field. At least he had come to see about buying Star while all the Burleys were out—and I was glad of that.
He beckoned to us with one arm. "Come on over," he called.
Reluctantly, I turned Star toward him and we crossed the field at a walk, not hurrying, because I did not want to talk to him.
"That's a bad limp the mare has," he said as we neared the fence.
My heart did a wild leap of hope. Perhaps he wouldn't like her, wouldn't want her because of her knee.
"It's a very bad limp," I agreed. "She has trouble with that knee all the time. That's why she'll never be a racer."
He was a big man, and tall—not an old man, though perhaps a little older than my father. He had gray eyes in a rather kind face, and I had a feeling that he would be good with animals. But I could never forgive him for coming here to buy Star.
"I don't suppose anyone intends to race her," he said. "Not anymore."
I said nothing. Already I felt ashamed of myself. I had no business running the mare down in order to discourage this man from buying her. I must not be disloyal to Mrs. Burley, who had been very good to me.
"She gets along fine when she trots and gallops," I admitted. "That is, if she doesn't run for long at a time. She tires easily, but the limp only shows up when she walks."
"I see." The man climbed the fence easily to sit on the top rail, while Star regarded him with interest.
She was curious about everything. He made no motion in her direction, but talked to her softly. "I knew your  mother before you," he told her. "Though I never  knew your famous ancestor. So you needn't feel doubtful about me. We might as well be friends."
"There's nobody home at the house," I said abruptly,  not wanting them to be friends. "So if you've come to buy Star, you won't be able to see Mrs. Burley now."
He regarded me thoughtfully. "You sound as though you don't want anyone to buy her," he said at last.
I had to be honest about that. "I don't! I've been riding her every day. We know each other. We like each other."
"I can understand that," he said, and I knew he really could, though his understanding didn't help me one bit. "But perhaps Mrs. Burley feels she has to sell because she needs the money. Do you suppose that's possible?"
I could not meet his eyes. I stared off at the top of the tallest pine tree as I answered him. "I guess that's so. And if she has to sell Star, I hope she gets a lot of money for her."
He smiled at me in a sympathetic way, but I did not smile back. No matter what he said or did, I could not feel friendly toward him. He was the enemy. I would try to be fair about Star and not say anything that would hurt Mrs. Burley's chances for a sale, but I did not have to like the man who was going to buy her.
Star was the real traitor. She moved closer to the gate and offered her nose to be stroked, not jerking away when he touched her. It was all I could manage not to pull on the reins and draw her out of his reach.
I could hardly bear to see her give her friendship and trust so easily to the very person who would take her away from me. All my old feelings of hurt and anger were rushing up in me, and I had to let some of them out.
"If Mrs. Burley wasn't so proud she wouldn't have to sell the mare!" I blurted out. "She has a son in New York who could take care of her and take care of her grandsons too—but she won't let him!"
Then, because I was ashamed again, I stood up in the stirrups, threw my right leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. On the far side of Star I could hide my face by resting my hot cheek against her neck.
He said nothing to contradict me, but talked to Star, gentling her because I had startled her with my outburst—then I realized that she was paying more attention to him than to me. I pulled her away from him then, and began to get very busy loosening her girth. While I worked, he talked to me quietly and not at all indignantly, in spite of the way I was behaving.
"I've known Thelma Burley for a long time," he said. "I knew her son who died, and when I was small I knew Harris Burley too. I know pretty well what she is like, and I would hate to see her defeated, beaten."
I peered around Star's head at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'll tell you something," he said, balancing himself more comfortably on the top rail, as though he was willing to sit there for a long time talking to me. "The most important thing for anyone is to have something to fight for. Something we care about and want. I don't mean fight for with our fists, but something to try for, struggle for. Something we can do that uses whatever we are to win the fight."
I didn't want to hear a lecture. When grown-ups start out like that, it usually means they are trying to talk you into something you don't want to do.
I shook my head at him. "I hate struggling! I'd like to have Star for my own, instead of trying to fight for her against everyone who wants to take her away. Oh, I know she can't really be mine, but if only Mrs. Burley would keep her and use her for breeding foals, then I could ride her. And the foals would earn her something."
He did not seem impressed with this plan. "There's always a struggle," he told me calmly. "When we want something, we have to pay for it somehow. That's what makes us strong and tough enough to handle whatever happens in our lives. Even if Star was yours, you'd have to fight for her in all sorts of ways—to keep her happy, keep her in good health. You'd have to exercise her, feed her, water her, keep her clean, no matter what. There's always struggle and it's a good thing. Otherwise we'd get no practice and the first hard thing that came along would finish us."
"I wouldn't mind working to take care of Star," I said.
"There are times when you'd mind." He sounded as though he knew. "Horses are a great deal of trouble. They need attention every day, and sometimes they can be as obstinate and moody as human beings. So that even when you love them, you can be impatient with them too."
This I could understand. "Like children!" I said, and almost smiled. "But it's worth it. I know it's worth it!"
He smiled back at me. "That's the answer, of course.
For those who care enough about horses—or children —it's worth it. What's your name, young lady?"
"Janey Oakes," I said. "What's yours?"
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You can call me Hank, if you like—Hank Decker."
I didn't want to call him anything, and I wasn't his friend. But his name made me ask a question.
"Decker? Then are you related to the people who built Decker House before the Burleys bought it?"
He was still smiling. "It could be. Sussex County is full of Deckers, and I suppose we're all more or less related. But to get back to Thelma Burley's problem— don't you think it might be better for her to go on leading the sort of life she likes, even if it's hard for her? Would you want to see her fold her hands and sit doing nothing in the midst of a family that perhaps doesn't need her, even though they might love her? Or would you want her sent to an old ladies home?"
I pulled Star away from the gate so she would stop trying to make friends with him. I didn't want to think about the awful things that might happen to Mrs. Burley. In the little time I had known her, I'd come to like and admire her. I knew very well how much she loved this place and loved living in the country, being independent. But I had to think about Star.
"Even if you buy the mare and pay a good price for her, it won't solve anything," I told him. "When the money is gone, Mrs. Burley will be in trouble again."
"I'll bet on her to stretch her pennies till they squeal," he said, still cheerful.
I fumbled with the gate latch, and Mr. Decker got down and held the gate open for me while I led Star through. All I knew was that I did not want to listen to anything else he might say.
He came with me and I couldn't stop him. When I led Star back to her stall to unsaddle her, he would have followed us up the ramp, but I swung the mare around to block his way.
"You'd better not come up here," I warned him. "This is the haunted part of the old hotel."
He paid no attention to my words, but came up the ramp and stepped past Star, looking around him with interest.
"Is that so? Tell me about it, will you? I've heard some rumors, but I don't know the details."
I wanted to say something startling that would frighten him away, but I knew he wouldn't be as easily spooked as a horse. Anyway, I tried.
"There's a ghost dog—a crimson ghost dog—that comes here on moonlight nights and rouses the whole lake with his baying. Mrs. Burley has seen him. She'll tell you about him."
"Have you seen him?"
I cast a hasty glance at that jumble of weeds at the end of the ruined area. Were two great red eyes peering at me from that hidden place? I shivered, because I was the one I was spooking.
"I've heard the dog," I said. "And I've seen the bright red glow that burns over there where that hound named Brutus died on the night of the fire. Mrs. Burley says it is Brutus who has come back to warn her of something."
This time I saw that I had worried Mr. Decker. His gray eyes had lost their humorous crinkle and he looked at me gravely.
"Thelma Burley is a realist—a practical woman. Selling the mare I can understand, even though she may hate to. But it's hard to believe she is seeing ghosts."
I wanted terribly to convince him, and I pointed down through the trees toward the Mollers' house, where it shone yellow on the opposite shore.
"There was a meeting over there last week. Mrs. Burley wasn't invited, but she came anyway. She walked right in and told them about the red ghost dog."
He was silent and I worked at unsaddling Star and started her rubdown. Since she'd not had a hard workout, I didn't need to walk her first. As soon as I had spoken, I began to feel that I should not have told Mr. Decker all this. It was Mrs. Burley's affair, after all, and she wouldn't want this man who had come to buy Star to think he was doing business with a woman who might be a little crazy. Everything seemed to have gone wrong for me, from the minute Mr. Decker had appeared at the pasture gate.
I stopped currying to stare at him indignantly, though he had not said another word.
"You needn't think Mrs. Burley is crazy!" I told him. "My mother says she is a very wise and sensible woman. If she has to sell Star, then she has to—no matter what!"
He smiled at me in the kindest way possible. "You don't need to defend her to me, Janey. I'd trust her good sense any day. If she is seeing red dogs, then she has a reason. Thank you for talking to me. I'll drive into town for lunch, and later I'll telephone and see if anybody's home before I come out again. Perhaps I'll see you before Star leaves, Janey Oakes."
I did not want to see him again, and I said nothing as he walked away. There were questions I'd have liked to ask. I wanted to know how long it would take to wind up the sale of the mare, and how long it would be before she was taken away. But perhaps it was better not to know. If I knew the exact day when Star was leaving, then I would suffer every minute up to that time. If I didn't know, I could keep coming over hopefully every day, riding her for as long as I could. I could keep pretending—until the day when I found the pasture empty, and Star gone from her stall. But that was a moment I could not bear to think about now.
Mr. Decker got into his car and I heard the slam of the door, heard the motor start. I left Star and walked to the front of the foundations, where I could watch the car out of sight down the hill.
After that I hurried to finish my work with the mare so I could get away as quickly as possible. It was nearly lunchtime, and I did not want to be there when Mrs. Burley and the boys returned. I couldn't bear to tell them who was looking for her. All I wanted was as much delay as possible. One more day, and one more day of postponement—that was all I could look forward to.
13
The Crimson Ghost
 Nothing more happened for almost twenty-four hours, except that it started to rain. The builder came out to look at Aunt Viv's house, and his opinion seemed to encourage my father's interest in staying at Lake Kimi. I didn't really care. When it rained the next morning, I felt sunk in discouragement. Now I could not even ride. I moped around the house and made everyone else miserable too.
The family knew what was wrong. I had told them that Star was to be sold, and they were kind enough not to be cross with me when I behaved in a snappish fashion. Even Dad, who was sometimes impatient because he could never understand a person with horse fever, felt unhappy about what was happening. In a way I suppose he was unhappy because he couldn't afford to give me what I wanted most in the whole world.
Aunt Viv tried to cheer me up by promising that she would turn the county upside down, if necessary, to find a horse for me to ride. Some farmer, surely, would be able to rent me a saddle horse. She did not seem to understand that for me no horse but my darling Star would do. My heart was breaking into little pieces, and no one but Mother understood.
"I know this is terrible for you, Janey dear," Mother said when she found me moping in my room. "I know how much it hurts to lose Star when you've only just found her. There's nothing I can say or do to help you get through it. The only comforting thing I can promise is that this hurt won't last forever. Not in the same intense degree. No matter how you feel now, the time will come when this won't matter as much as it does now. But I know that the future won't make you feel any better now. It never helps anyone until it comes."
Mother's words helped because they didn't make me feel guilty about suffering. I could sit at the window in my room and stare out at the rain and cry as hard as I liked. I was about to lose Star forever, and even this day—maybe my last day—of riding had been taken from me because of the weather—so I had a right to cry. Mother let me stay alone. She kept Aunt Viv from trying to cheer me up and Dad from complaining about a weeping daughter.
Finally my tears dried up by themselves. Not one more sob would come. Even misery could become tiresome, and I wanted to do something besides mope. By lunchtime I was hungry and Mother said she would promise that no one would talk about Star, or tease me, if I came to the table.
In the afternoon the rain showed signs of clearing, though the weather report still warned of thunder-showers. The minute I saw the first patch of blue, I decided that I would go across the lake and ride Star, no matter what. But before I could start out, the telephone rang and the call was for me. The voice was Mrs. Burley's. She sounded sad and dejected, frightening me with her very tone.
"I thought you'd like to come and tell Star good-by," she said. "I've had a good offer for her and the mare will be taken away this afternoon. If you hurry over—"
I shouted that I would come at once and hung up the receiver while she was still talking. When I looked out the window, I saw that the patch of blue had already disappeared and more black clouds were piling up threateningly in the western gap.
Mother had heard me on the phone. "I'll drive you over," she said. "You can't row or bike in this weather. I'll get my handbag and be right with you."
I waited for her in the carport, watching the sky. Every tree dripped with moisture, but it wasn't raining now. The wind had begun to blow harder and the lake was dotted with whitecaps that rimmed the crest of each wave. Overhead, dark clouds were tearing across the sky, and there was a distant rumble of thunder.
I got into the car as Mother rushed out of the house. She tossed her bag into the front seat between us and got behind the wheel. We rolled down the steep drive and took the road around the lake.
There was no chain across the Burley driveway when we came to it, so we could go straight up. We came to a stop in front of the office part of the building. When I opened the door on my side, I saw what waited ominously on the drive. It was a truck with a trailer of the sort used to haul horses. Mr. Decker really meant business this time.
When Mother started toward the front door, I called after her. "You go in if you want to. I'll look for Star."
She nodded to me and I ran toward the steps and went up through the empty arch of the doorway Dad and I had found on our first visit there. Star's stall was empty, so I ran down the ramp on the other side and took the path through the woods.
Overhead, tree branches thrashed and moaned in the wind, and when I stepped into the open at the pasture gate, the force of the gale tried to push me back, as though the very wind wanted to keep me away from Star. I saw the mare at once. She stood close to the gate, with her hindquarters toward the wind and her head down, her beautiful mane tossing wildly. I called to her as I ran. In a moment I was through the gate and my arms were around her neck.
I still believe that it wasn't just the storm and the wind that disturbed Star. I think she felt that something else was wrong and that a change was coming. It seemed as though she wanted to be as close to me as I did to her. It was as though we tried to comfort each other.
There was no time to go back to the stall for her saddle, but someone had left her bridle hanging on a fence post. I got it at once, buckled it on, fitting the bit between her teeth, and drew the reins over her neck. No matter what, I had to have my last ride on Star of Sussex. I had always wanted to ride her bareback, and this was my chance.
I had to climb onto the gate to mount her, but she stood quietly for me, even though she was nervous and her tail switched uneasily. For a few moments I sat her back, trying to get the feel of a different way of riding, soothing and talking to her. It was surprising how broad she seemed when I sat astride her without a saddle, how hard her backbone was, and how slippery she felt beneath my legs. Her hide pricked through my jeans, but she was warm and alive.   When I pressed her my knees against her and urged her away from the gate, I could feel her moving beneath me as if I were part of her.
I held her to a walk because I was uncertain at first, and not having stirrups bothered me. But in a little while I found that my muscles were strong enough so that I could grip her hard with my thighs and stay on. Black clouds rolled by and I saw a jagged flash of lightning cut through them. For a moment I was frightened. An open pasture was no place to be during a thunderstorm, but the following rumble came several seconds after the flash, so I knew the lightning had struck far enough away.
I bent forward on Star's back, not only holding the reins, but twining my fingers tightly in her wind-tossed mane as well.
"Let's go!" I cried in her ear.
We were off like the wind itself and I clung with all my might as we flew around the worn track that circled inside the fence. It was as though she were an arrow released from a bow. For me nothing existed except the strong, muscular body of the horse rushing beneath me, the feeling of her mane twisted in my fingers, the smell of her sweat as we flew around the course. She wanted this run as much as I did—and for this little hour I was mounted on the flying horse Pegasus.
But it had to end. I knew I must not tire her because of her bad knee, and before we made a second lap, I called to her and pulled her in gently. She did not resist me, but slowed gradually. For the first time since I had climbed on to her back, I began to think and with thinking came pain. The last time—the very last time! The words beat through my mind. Never again would I ride Star around this field. Never again would I feel her warm damp body against my drawn-up knees. It was all over.
I knew I must get her out of the sharp wind and rub her down before she caught cold. I had left the gate ajar and, pushing it open with my foot, I rode her onto the path leading toward the house, ducking my head low to miss any branches. As we went, lightning flashed close by. This time the thunderclap followed almost at once, bringing with it a sharp, stinging spat of rain.
When we reached the ramp I did not ride up to her stall, because I would not leave her in the open with a storm coming up and lightning striking so close. Something Mrs. Burley had said came to my mind, and I urged Star to a trot that took us the length of the building. When I came to the windows of the lived-in part, I ducked low, lest those inside see me. I knew where I could take the mare out of the storm and have her to myself for a little bit longer.
When we rode around the corner of the building, I saw that someone had left the end door to the ballroom ajar. Moving quickly as thunder crashed and lightning seemed to strike a tree farther along the hillside, I clung to Star's mane and slipped from her back. Then I led her up two low steps and into the great ballroom, closing the door behind us. She had been here before and coming inside did not frighten her. I must go back to her stall for the grooming equipment, but I would tie her up first and leave her here out of the slashing of wind and rain.
In this shuttered place, with the storm blackening the sky outside, it was dark and much more quiet than in the noisy outdoors. I stood for a moment, waiting for my eyes to get used to the gloom of the room. Something seemed to move down the length of the ballroom, but there was no time to investigate. Star's comfort was my main concern now. I should have walked her longer, but not out in the storm. I started across the room and stumbled into a table on the way. This was what I wanted. It would serve well enough as a hitching post, and I looped the reins around a table leg and made Star fast. As I started toward the door, my foot struck something and I bent to pick up a large object of metal and plastic and glass. My fingers told me it was some sort of lamp that I held and I began to search for the button that would turn it on and illuminate the dark ballroom.
After the first moment of contrasting silence, it no longer seemed quiet inside. Rain beat at the windows and the long room was filled with rushing sounds as though the couples who had danced here on long-ago summer nights danced again, their feet whispering across a polished floor. But there was more than a ghostly whispering. Far down the room I heard the distinct sound of a growl.
Something was there, shut into this room with me. Something that threatened me with a fierce, deep-voiced sound. Almost at the same instant my fingers found the switch for the spotlight I held in my hands. A long beam sprang alive, cutting the length of the ballroom with a straight shaft of light, reaching clear to the far end where it fell upon a great hound dog, lighted by crimson flames so that even its eyes were red; even its bared teeth shone with a crimson light.
For just an instant I think I died a little inside. This was what the word "terror" meant.
The dog began to bark furiously and lunge at me against the chain that held it, trying to break away and get at me. The spotlight shook in my hands, and I nearly dropped it in my shock and fright. Then, as the bright shaft of light shivered away from the dog, and back, I saw that the animal was red only because of the red beam of light I held in my hands—a light that stained the body of the dog crimson, lighted its eyes, its laid-back ears, because the light itself was crimson.
My legs were rubbery with fright, but before I could make them carry me through the door to safety, the lunging dog broke his tether and came bounding toward me. I moved, then. I've never moved so fast in my life. I scrambled onto the nearby table, and from the table onto Star's back. I must have screamed at the top of my lungs, for the dog responded furiously by barking and leaping all around Star. In a moment I was sure it would bound onto the table beside me.
I expected Star to panic. If anything could spook her, it would be the attack of this huge red dog. The creature was still red because I'd dropped the spotlight in my fright, and it threw a ghastly crimson light upon the room. Yet Star stood quietly, and when the dog leaped too close to her, she pawed at him and reached out her head to look him straight in the eye. Clearly she was acquainted with the dog. She wasn't going to careen around the room, dragging the table, and tossing me from her back. If anything, she was trying to protect me from the animal's wild leaping.
All this happened very quickly—faster than it takes to tell. While I clung to Star's mane—flat upon her back and shouting for help with the dog leaping and barking around us—the door at the far end of the ballroom was pulled open. Startled faces peered down the long room—faces as eerily crimson as the dog. Mother told me later that she had never seen anything more frightening than that red dog leaping about Star and trying to get at me, while I cowered on the mare's back.
Then Mrs. Burley touched a switch, and the cobwebby glass chandelier that hung in the center of the ballroom burst into light. At once the dog was only a tan and white foxhound that whirled about on its haunches to face this new enemy. There was a strange, frozen moment while I clung to Star's mane and stared down the room at the group of people who stood there, staring back at me. With sudden clarity, I knew that only one of them could stop this dog from further attack—only the one who had brought him here in the first place. Now this person would have to act, and in acting he would give himself away.
Denis stepped from behind his grandmother, his face white. My heart sank a little, because somehow I hated knowing it was Denis. While we watched, he moved toward the dog, who stood uncertainly, watching him, still barking furiously and ready to leap again.
"Down!" Denis shouted.   "Down—be quiet, you!"
After his first pause, the dog paid no attention. He seemed to gather his strong haunches for a dash down the room. Then someone else moved. Someone said, "Hold it, Brutus! Stay there! Stop!" Roger Burley left the group by the door and strode toward the snarling hound.
The dog knew its master. He stood to Roger's command, and the boy dragged him back toward the place where he had been tethered. When a knot had been made in the broken chain, and the dog soothed and quieted, Roger left him and walked slowly toward his grandmother. No one else had moved from the doorway, no one had said a word.
I found I could release my trembling grip from Star's mane and slide from her back, dropping the long way to the floor. Mother was running toward me, and I was wonderfully glad of her arms about me, holding me safely close. I knew by the way she held me that she had been as frightened as I.
"I'm all right," I told her. "I was safe up there on Star's back.  Star would never let that dog hurt me."
Together we turned toward the others, but Mother still kept one arm around me. On the floor at my feet lay the light that gave off a red beam. I picked it up and found that it was a hand spotlight of the sort used in automobiles, with a disk of red glass over the bulb. I turned off the beam and carried the lamp toward Mrs. Burley.
This afternoon she wore rough jeans again, and her hair seemed wilder than ever, her face more weathered with wrinkles. She looked awfully old, as though illness had stricken her. She did not see me as I offered her the light, because all her attention was still upon Roger.
"Brutus?" she repeated. "Roger, you even named that hound Brutus!"
Roger was no longer the confident, handsome boy I had known. He looked frightened as he approached his grandmother, and he seemed able to find no words with which to answer her.
It was Denis who found his voice, angrily, scornfully, as he shouted at his brother. "You wanted to make Gran look crazy, didn't you? You played this whole rotten trick so that we would have to move away and you could get to New York, where you want to be!"
There was movement among those near the door and I noticed for the first time that Mr. Decker and another man stood there—a stranger. It was Mr. Decker who put a hand on Denis' shoulder to quiet him.
"Let's give Roger a chance to speak for himself," he said. And then to Mrs. Burley, "Why don't we go inside and sit down? Give us a chance to collect ourselves."
I hung back, remembering. "I've got to give Star her rub down."
Denis turned away from his brother. "I'll take care of her, Janey," he offered. He still looked angry, but his anger wasn't for me. As he walked past me toward Star, he said, "I'm sorry you had a scare. My brother's the one with holes in his head—not Gran."
I didn't want to let anyone else give Star this last rubdown before she was taken away, but I still felt shaky with fright, and Mother was propelling me firmly toward the door to the living area. At least I would see Star before she left. I need not say good-by to her now. And we'd had our lovely ride—our last time together.
Mother spoke to Mrs. Burley as we went through the door. "Would you prefer Janey and me to leave now? I'm sure you don't want—"
Mrs. Burley forced a few words between her thin-pressed lips. "No—stay, please. You are concerned in this too."
I found that I still held the red spotlight and I laid it on a table beside Mrs. Burley. She picked it up and examined it, then looked at me in a sad, regretful way.
"I'm sorry about everything, Janey," she said. "I'm especially sorry that I let you give your heart to Star, when I knew you would have to lose her eventually. At least I'd like you to know that I wasn't the one who pushed your boat out in the water that first day you came over here. I saw what happened."
I knew what she meant. I looked at Roger, but he turned his head away. He had wanted to cause trouble all along. He had wanted Coral and me to blame his grandmother, while he pretended to rescue us. All the way through, the tricks he blamed on his grandmother had been his.
In the room that had once been the lobby of the hotel, we all settled down uneasily. Birch logs in the fireplace burned against the chill of the stormy afternoon. Rain beat against windowpanes and the fire crackled with a sound that might have seemed cheerful, except that there was nothing cheery about our gathering there.
Mother and I chose a place together on the worn, chintz-covered sofa. Mrs. Burley sat upright in the big leather chair that must once have belonged to Harris Burley. Her face wore a tragic look and her mouth was pressed into a straight grim line. Mr. Decker went to her and spoke a few words, but she shook her head, rejecting any comfort an old friend might have offered her. He drew a chair nearby and when he sat down and glanced around the room, his look came to rest on me.
"Hello, Janey," he said, and I saw the crinkly look about his eyes that I had noted before. A look that made him seem a kindly person.
I mumbled "Hello" and looked quickly away. I could never think of anyone who took Star as my friend.
The stranger, whom I had never seen before, stayed in the background, and once he asked Mrs. Burley uncertainly if she would prefer him to come back some other time.
She shook her head.   "No—we're going to have everything out right now. And you're part of this too, Sam. But first I want to hear from Roger. Stand up for yourself, boy. You've pulled a lot of things down around your own ears, and now you'd better be man enough to face up to what you've done. I want to hear the story. How did this start? And why?"
Roger looked so miserable that I almost felt sorry for him. He slunk toward the darkest corner of the room and flung himself dejectedly into a chair. His grandmother rose and walked toward the mantelpiece above the crackling fire. While Roger watched from his shadowy corner, she picked up the framed picture of Harris Burley and laid it face down on the wooden ledge. Then she returned to her chair.
"I don't want your grandfather to watch this," she said. "He would be too much ashamed of you. You were the one who was supposed to resemble him! Begin now—where did you get the dog?"
Roger slumped lower in his chair and his voice could hardly be heard. "In the dog pound. He looked like that dog you have a picture of. The one that died in the fire. I guess he used to be somebody's pet."
"Pet!" Mrs. Burley cried.  "That ferocious animal!"
Roger's voice rose a little, as though he had to defend the dog. "He's not really ferocious. He's mostly a big bluffer. If you stamp your foot at him, he puts his tail between his legs and runs. He's good at raising a racket, but that's all it is. The people who owned him wouldn't keep him because he has a habit they couldn't break him of. He bays at the moon whenever it's full, and they couldn't stand it any longer, so they turned him in to the pound. I've wanted a dog, and when I saw this one, I paid the pound a few dollars for him and brought him out here with me. But I didn't bring him to the house, because you said you didn't want any more dogs."
His tone reproached his grandmother, and he sounded more defiant now. Everyone else was quiet, listening.
"Go on," Mrs. Burley said curtly.
Roger took a deep breath and burst into a rush of words. "All I wanted was to get away!" he cried. Now he was speaking, not only to his grandmother, but to everyone in the room. "I could see Gran getting older and the work around here getting harder all the time. Work I hate doing! Denis doesn't mind so much, except for the mare—but he shouldn't stay here either. There's never any money, never anything to do but work. It would be better for Gran, too, if she went someplace where she didn't have to live like this. I wanted to help her. Only she would never listen to me. Nobody would listen!"
"So you tried to get me out in your own way," Mrs. Burley said grimly. "Never mind how I might feel over being made to look crazy. You wanted everyone to believe I was causing what happened over here, didn't you? And that's exactly what Mr. Moller thinks. That's why he called your uncle and made threats about me. You must have had to act fast that night when Mr. Moller drove up here—to get the dog quiet and out of the moonlight, hiding him in the ballroom, I suppose. Denis has tried to hint that something was going on in that room, but I didn't want to believe him."
Mr. Decker leaned toward Mrs. Burley and put his hand over hers on the arm of her chair. "Take it easy," he said. "Let's get the rest of the story. Go on, Roger."
Roger twisted in his chair to glance angrily at Mr. Decker. As he continued, I could see the whole thing as it must have happened. Roger was good at electrical gadgets, and he had rigged up a hidden wire that ran out to the overgrown part of the ruins where no one ever went. He put in something to turn the red spotlight on at certain times so it would shine on the dog. He trained the animal to answer to the name Brutus and kept him in an abandoned barn a half mile or so away, bringing him up to the ruins whenever there was a full moon, so he could do his baying and be heard across the lake. The ballroom was only an occasional hiding place for him, but at least he was around enough so that Star got used to him.
It developed, however, that bringing the dog near the house before dark wasn't always easy for Roger— so he decided to use an accomplice. He must have known that Coral Moller had a silly crush on him, so he wrote her a note—the one I had delivered—and got her to help him. When he gave the signal she would go out in the late afternoon and bring the dog close to the house, tying him in the woods. Then, when the moon was due to rise, Roger would sneak out and tether the hound in the ruined area. The light would turn itself on and the dog would bay at the moon until Roger sneaked out again and got him away around dawn. That was how it had turned on the night Roger was across the lake at the meeting.
When Roger paused for breath in the telling of his story, Mr. Decker spoke to Mrs. Burley.
"Why didn't you investigate and stop this?"
Roger's grandmother put her hands over her face. "I tried to. I went out there several times at night. I saw the red dog, but I couldn't bear to believe that one of my own grandsons was playing such a wicked trick on me. If it was a trick, it could only be for the purpose of making things look so bad for me that I would have to leave my home. It was easier to fool myself into believing in the supernatural—believing that the first Brutus had somehow returned to give me a warning."
"What about Denis?" Mr. Decker asked Roger. "What did he think?"
For a moment Roger did not answer. His earlier spurt of defiance had died out completely. I think he was thoroughly shamed by this time. Nevertheless, he had to face Mr. Decker's question.
"Denis thought—he thought Gran was really doing these things to scare people away. I convinced him that she was afraid someone would try to interfere with the way she wanted to live, and so she was trying to keep everyone away. After that, he did everything he could to keep people away himself, and he didn't guess it was me until the night of the meeting. I had tied Brutus up and set the light to turn on after dark. We were all across the lake and when the dog started baying, Denis went out to where I'd tied him up. He brought a piece of meat with him, and to stop the baying, Denis practically choked Brutus with the chunk of meat. He found the light and turned it off, and he got the dog into the old ballroom where he wouldn't see the moon. By that time he was sure Gran couldn't have rigged up the electrical connections, and that she wouldn't want that baying, or any red lights burning while the meeting was going on."
"Why didn't Denis tell me?" Gran asked, when Roger paused.
"I knew he wouldn't. Denis is a softy. He can't bear to see your feelings hurt. So he told me he'd think about it till he decided what to do. I knew Gran's money was running out anyway and what with the pressure Mr. Moller was going to put on, she would have to get us away from here. I was going to take the dog back to the pound, and I brought him here today and tied him in the ballroom until I could get around to it. Mostly he sleeps during the day. I guess I left the spotlight there too, when I brought him in."
"What about how I feel?" Gran asked him sadly. "I don't want to live anywhere else. Here I can work for myself and keep a roof over my head. And you've had your needs taken care of, you and Denis. So how could you possibly do such a cruel thing?"
Roger raised his head. "I had to get away. I hate it here. And now I will get away. Now I'll go to New York and never see this place again. I'm sorry, Gran— I didn't have any other choice. Nobody would listen to me till now."
"No one is likely to listen to you now," Mr. Decker said quietly. "Not after the way you've behaved."
Roger caught his breath and stared at Mr. Decker.
Across the room the stranger whom Mrs. Burley had called Sam stirred uncomfortably in his chair, as though he wanted to get away from this unpleasant talk.
"Guess the rain's stopped," he said. "So I'll run along, Thelma. You've had a bad time, and you don't want to talk business now."
Mrs. Burley waved him back in his chair. "Oh, yes I do! You've made me the best offer for the mare that I've had, and I'm going to accept it before you change your mind. I need that money and I need it now. Then nobody can move me out of here. So if you've brought the papers, I'll sign her over to you and you can take her along with you—as we planned."
I stared at the stranger in surprise. Apparently more than one person had made an offer for the mare, and it seemed likely that Mr. Decker wouldn't get her after all. I turned to look at him and saw that he was smiling at me.
"Wait a minute," he said to Mrs. Burley. "You haven't heard the best offer for the mare yet. Whatever Sam will pay, I'll make it five hundred dollars more. I want that mare myself."
Mrs. Burley turned to him in surprise. "What on earth are you talking about, Henry? What can a doctor in New York do with a horse?"
Doctor? In New York? I stared at Mr. Decker in bewilderment and saw the crinkly look of amusement around his eyes.
"First," he said, "I owe this young lady an apology for a deception I played on her yesterday. She took it for granted that I was someone else, and I played the game and let her think so, since that way I could learn a little more than I might have otherwise."
"But—but you said—" I stammered, and he nodded at me.
"Oh, I gave you my right name. It really is Henry Decker, and my friends often call me Hank. But I didn't give you all my name. There's a Burley on the end. You see, Thelma Burley is my mother and Harris Burley was my father. I was ten years old and living here when Decker House burned."
I stared at him with my mouth open and my eyes round. Somewhere inside me there was a loud thumping that seemed to be my heart.
"After Mr. Moller phoned me in New York, I decided I must come at once," he went on. "And I'm glad I did. You convinced me of something yesterday, Janey.  My mother must live where she wants to live, and Star of Sussex can't go out of this family. I'm going to buy her myself. But of course I'll have to find a place to keep her and have her taken care of. And when she has a foal, I mean to see that it is trained as a racehorse from the beginning. Of course I'd prefer to have her taken care of here, Mother—but only if you are willing to sell her to me and let me pay a proper sum for her care from now on."
Mrs. Burley put up both hands and smoothed back her hair as if she had become suddenly aware of the wild way it was standing on end. The gesture was somehow proud and pitiful at the same time. She could not speak. Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lips to keep from crying.
Her son, who wasn't Mr. Decker after all, went right on as though he did not notice.
"Of course there is one more stipulation that you'll have to meet, Mother. There is just one person I'd like to have take care of the mare. I gather that Denis and Roger don't enjoy horse chores, so except for helping out once in a while on early feedings, and so on, they can be free of them. But there's a young lady named Janey Oakes who will, I think, give the mare the loving care she should have, and I'd like to see that job go to her for as long as she remains in this area. What about it, Mother?"
Mrs. Burley found a handkerchief in her jeans pocket and blew her nose. Then she looked at me. "What about it, Janey?"
I turned to Mother, still stammering in excitement. "I c-c-can take care of her, can't I? Oh, I'll work so hard! I already love her and—and I think she likes me—"
"I believe we can work it out," Mother said.
"Then to all practical purpose she will be your horse," Dr. Burley said. "Yours to ride and care for. But it's a big responsibility. You mustn't take it on lightly."
I wondered why I hadn't appreciated what a fine person he was. I looked at him, with a lump in my throat, and knew I would do everything I could, not only for Star, but to live up to what he expected of me.
Mother answered for me. "Janey is very responsible. I think she'll give you good measure and take care of your investment, Dr. Burley."
He left his place beside his mother and came to shake hands with me. Then he turned to the man who had expected to buy the mare and shook hands with him too. Sam was grinning.
"I seem to have been done out of a horse," he said. "But under the circumstances, I can't say I'm sorry."
Roger was watching us with dismay written all over his face. "But, Uncle Henry—what about me?"
"I'm sorry, Roger," Dr. Burley said, "but under the circumstances, you haven't earned any special treatment. Another year in the country may give you time to face up to what sort of man you want to be. When the year's up, we'll take another look at what you add up to. If you've grown up a bit, we'll see."
Roger got up and started for the door, but his grandmother held out her hand to him. "What's done is done, boy," she said.  "We'll start over from here."
Big as he was, Roger looked ready to cry as he bolted from the room.
By this time there was just one place I wanted to be. I gave Mother's arm a squeeze and slipped away toward the ballroom door.
When I went through and closed it behind me, I found that Star was no longer there. And the dog was gone too.  Denis must have taken them both outside.
I ran along the house to the ramp. The sun had pushed through ripped black clouds, and thunder was rolling away into the distance. I found Denis currying the mare, and that perfectly ordinary dog tied nearby. Denis looked at me in surprise—probably because of my shining-with-happiness face.
"She's going to be my horse!" I cried. "Your uncle's going to buy her and let me take care of her from now on!"
Denis grinned and backed away from the mare, willingly handing me the currycomb. "That's the best news I've heard in ages. You can take over right now. I want to get back inside and find out what's happened to—to Roger. And Gran."
He went off in a hurry. The dog gnawed on a bone Denis had given him and did not even look at me. But the mare turned her head and whinnied with loving recognition. In a minute I would take up my responsibilities and finish her rubdown, but for now the one treatment I knew for my painful horse fever came first.
I pulled the mare's head down within reach and laid my cheek against the white star in the middle of her forehead, while a wonderful, warm healing seemed to flow all through me.
After a minute I picked up the currycomb and went to work.