“That’s terrible.” An obvious understatement, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Ezra’s face was grave. “My notes and journals can be salvaged—it will take some time to put everything back in order—but the oxen…I’m afraid we’re stranded now. We won’t be able to leave the Falls without them, however much some may wish it.”
“Leave the Falls?” Merry repeated with alarm. “In the middle of winter? Oh, Uncle Ezra, you can’t!”
I placed a gentle hand on her forearm. “Why don’t you and Sadie start up some more oatcakes?” My fingertips worried over my thumbnail, tallying up exactly how many scoops of flour remained in the larder. I turned back to the men. “It’s freezing out here. Please, please come inside.”
After they were ushered inside, I glanced about the yard before shutting the door. They’d walked here, through the snowbanks, carrying the last of their possessions with them. It must have taken hours. Four large packs, stuffed to overflowing, were on the porch, a small wooden trunk nestled between them.
Of all the days for Sam to have stormed off.
Thomas followed after Merry, leaning forward to attentively answer her flood of questions. Ezra hung back in the sitting room and gestured that I do the same.
“You’ll stay with us, of course,” I said, jumping over whatever preamble he’d worked up in his mind.
“Oh, I—we—”
“You’re family,” I said firmly, settling the decision. “Family helps each other out. Always.”
He squinted through his glasses. “I appreciate this kindness, Ellerie, you’ve no idea how much. We’d never dare to presume—but if you have space in your barn? Or an outbuilding?” He released a soft laugh. “Even a spot in an open field would be preferable to staying in town.”
His thick eyebrows raised together with such hope, I felt powerless to say no. “Mama and Papa’s room is open,” I heard myself say.
It was true enough. Sam had taken all of his possessions from it.
He took a deep breath, relief evident on his face. “Oh, how good of you.”
“There’s just the one bed, but…Sam stormed off this morning. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Thomas can use his bed in the loft till then. We’ll work out something after if we need to.”
He fidgeted with the spectacles, clearly flustered. “Oh, no. No. No, he couldn’t possibly. He can stay down here. He’s got a sleeping roll and we’ll clean it up each morning.” Ezra nodded, glancing about the open floor of the room.
“Nonsense. He needs a bed, and it’ll be far warmer up there. Besides,” I said, forcing a smile. “We’re all cousins, right?”
* * *
After our meager breakfast, I escorted Ezra and Thomas down to the barn and showed them an empty stall where they could store their packs.
“I suppose we ought to start going through everything, see what is truly left,” Ezra said, throwing one of the rucksacks onto the worktable with a sigh.
He looked exhausted.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I wandered over to where they’d piled their supplies at the barn door. The packs were bigger than me, but I picked up the small crate easily. “Pretty lid,” I said.
Intricate patterns had been carved along the border with surprising detail.
“Oh, let me take that,” Ezra said, swiping the box from me. “It’s so heavy.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Nonsense, you’ve already helped us so much.” He whisked it away to the stall before I could study it further.
“Thank you again, Ellerie,” Thomas said, opening up a sack and removing a roll of canvas. He laid it out on the ground and began unfurling its length.
“It’s no trouble at all.” I knelt down to help, flipping over the folds until the full expanse of the tent lay spread out. “Oh.”
My mouth fell open as I caught sight of the picture crudely drawn on the tent’s side.
It was a large, lidless eye. The paint—I refused to think of it as blood—had been heavily applied and streaked down from the drawing in eerie rivulets. Even more disconcerting was the eye’s pupil. Someone had dipped their hand in the blood—no, paint—and pressed it to the oilcloth. It seemed to see nothing and yet everything all at once.
“I have seen,” I said, reading the words painted beneath the lurid rendering.
I froze, my breath caught painfully tight in the hollow of my throat as I recognized the familiar phrase. It was a snippet of what Levi Barton had scrawled across his barn after murdering his wife and livestock.
Why would someone copy it here?
Thomas came around to my side of the tent and stared at the dripping words. “It’s rather curious.”
I nodded uneasily. “A few years ago, one of our neighbors painted something similar across their barn.”
His eyebrows rose sharply. “Really? Perhaps he was the one behind the vandalism last night.”
“Not likely. He killed himself.” I told him the whole story, and Thomas shuddered.
“Ah, admiring our new mural, Ellerie?” Ezra asked, coming out of the stall. He brushed his fingers over his palms, job done. “Ghastly, isn’t it?”
“Ellerie was just telling me the most ghoulish story. All sorts of murder and mayhem. There was a giant eye involved in it as well.” Thomas stared at his father as though imparting a deeper meaning than I could discern.
“We have bleach,” I offered, my eyes drawn back to the handprint pupil. It was smaller than I’d have expected it to be, as if a child had created the macabre image. “Up at the house.”
“That would be very helpful,” Ezra said. “Would you mind getting it now? I’d hate for this horrible thing to set in any longer than it already has.”
“Of course.”
I could hear Ezra’s low murmuring as I left the barn, but couldn’t make out exactly what was said.
Outside, movement near the pines caught my attention, and I spotted Whitaker at the edge of the forest. He was paused along the tree line, half in weak sunlight, half in shadows, watching the barn with a strange expression of concern on his face.
Before I could call out a greeting, he slipped back into the darkness, eyebrows furrowed and his lips drawn into a worried line.
The earth was warm and damp as I stepped into the flower field, as if it had just rained. I could feel the black soil smudge my feet, working its way between my toes.