Author’s note: When I read the requirements for this CWE (details in the end notes), I was inspired by the thought that the point of difference might occur far in the past. So, for the first part of this story, from that point of difference onwards, there are two parallel storylines. Every time something changes because of that one event, I have included the alternate story in parentheses (like these).
Hundreds of years ago
“Here is my land,” the young man told the young woman, waving a hand to the small clearing. “The house will be here – a big house, for I have made my fortune. And the stables will be yonder. There is a stream farther down the hill and we can sink a well here, close to the house. The village is not too far; a nice stroll in pleasant weather.”
His companion became coy. “Tis a pretty spot.”
“Shall I seek your father’s blessing, then?”
The young woman glanced over at her chaperone and saw the approval in the kindly older woman’s face.
“Perhaps.”
The young man smiled.
A year or more passed. The house was built and the wedding took place. Not such a grand house as promised, because the fortune was not quite as big as the man had thought, but more than adequate for a young couple starting out and with plenty of room for an addition, should more rooms be required.
But they had lived there barely a week when an unwanted visitor descended upon them for an indefinite stay. The man’s maiden aunt, a woman of rigid virtue, installed herself in the best bedroom and began to stick her long nose into everything. The new wife hid her alarm and dismay as best she could, but her husband soon became irritable at the intrusion.
On the fourth morning of the aunt’s stay, he heard a commotion from the kitchen and hurried in that direction. He found the young kitchen-maid, wringing her apron in her hands, tears streaming down her face, in confrontation with the unwanted guest.
“Witch!” the older woman accused, while stabbing wildly at something near the fireplace with a toasting fork. “Making your wicked marks upon this house!”
“No, mistress,” the girl sobbed. “It is a powerful sign to keep them out. Oh, please, do not touch it. They will be coming down the chimney if you do – witches and devils and all manner of evil.”
“What is this about?” the man demanded, striding forward and grasping the implement. “Pray explain, Aunt.”
His father’s much-elder sister was a tall woman, but not as tall as he. As she glared at him, he suppressed a shiver at the pure malevolence he saw in her eyes. In that moment, a wild thought flashed across his mind: If anyone one is a witch, it is she.
“Turn this harlot out of the house. She is calling her sister witches with black magic.”
“Please, master, no!” the girl cried. “I am only trying to protect us!”
He turned to his aunt. “Leave this to me.”
“I demand – ” she began.
“Leave.”
She looked, for a moment, like she would argue. Nodding once, she strode out of the room.
The man ran his fingers over the bent end of the toasting fork and made a mental note to have it repaired, then placed it on the table. He stooped to examine the fireplace, seeing a mark lightly carved into the big beam that ran across the top – overlapping circles that made a shape almost like a flower. It flickered in and out of view with the flames of the cooking-fire.
“Where did you learn this?” he asked, softly.
The girl sniffed. “In the old country. We never were troubled by witches – with many a sign to protect us – but they are all around us here.”
With his recent dark thought in mind, the man nodded agreement.
“That is true, but it cannot stay. My aunt will not allow it.”
(A whisper of different words, spoken in the same voice: “I think it would still work if we covered it over.”
“Oh, master, thank ye!”)
Repairs were made. The unwanted visitor eventually left. The house saw joy and sorrow, prosperity and neglect. The years passed.
Fifty-seven years ago
“Oh, Hector! Is this really the best we can do?”
The man thus addressed shrugged. “It was a choice of this, or a run-down shack next door to the piggery. I thought, at least, this would smell better.”
His wife delicately wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t smell great as it is.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Carol. I wanted better for you and the baby, but I just don’t have the money. And with Magdalena due to arrive any day now, we don’t have time to waste waiting for things to get better.”
Carol shook her head and patted her hugely-pregnant belly. “It’s going to be Montague. I can just tell.”
Hector shrugged. “Maggie or Monty. Whichever we have, we need somewhere to live. And this is a better investment. Once we’ve paid it off, we can level this old ruin and build something we like.”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of charming, in a way. Maybe we’ll fix it up. I’d like to plant a flower garden right here – tulips and primroses and daffodils in the spring. And you could use that sunny bed there for your roses.”
He smiled. “I like that idea. Let me take you on the tour. I think we’re going to like it here.”
Nearly forty years ago
Carol Wilson smiled at her seventeen-year-old son. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Maggie is a good baby. And we won’t be gone long. An hour, tops.”
Monty looked dubious, but nodded. “Okay. But not more than that.”
“She probably won’t even wake up,” his mother promised.
“Hurry up, Carol. We’re going to be late,” Hector urged.
From somewhere else in the house, a crash sounded.
“What on earth was that?” Carol wondered, hurrying down the stairs to look. She peeked into the kitchen. “Oh, no!”
“What is it, Mom?” asked Monty.
“A plank has fallen off the front of the fire surround. Just look at that mess!”
“We don’t have time, Carol,” Hector pointed out. “Just stay out of here, Monty. We’ll deal with it when we get back.”
Monty nodded.
His mother kissed his cheek. “We’ll see you later. And don’t worry.”
(A whisper of other words in the same voice: “Oh, but what’s that? Hector, look at this. How strange!”
“It’s too dark to see properly. Let me go get a flashlight.”)
They got into the car and set off down the street. At the corner, old Mr. Stanley hurtled out of his driveway without looking, straight into their path. Hector spun the wheel and avoided a collision – but put them right into the path of a reckless young driver in a truck. Neither Hector nor Carol knew what hit them. Both died at the scene.
(A whisper: “There’s something carved here, but I can’t quite see what it is. Where is he with that flashlight?”)
In the house, the beam over the kitchen fireplace crashed down, bringing with it half of the stonework. The whole house shook with the impact. Baby Magdalena started to cry.
(A whisper of Hector’s frantic voice: “Carol! No, please, don’t die!”)
The house was sold. The baby was given to Mr. and Mrs. O’Keefe to raise. Monty took his inheritance and moved to Arizona.
(Hector sold the house, unwilling to live at the scene of his wife’s sudden death and haunted by the strange mark on the beam she had been examining at the time. Wanting to make a new start, he bought a place outside Sleepyside, but Monty hated it there. After a few months, Hector gave him what little money he could spare and he went off to Arizona on his own.)
Nearly twenty years ago
Doug Lynch got down on one knee.
“Margaret Carol O’Keefe, will you marry me?”
(A whisper in the same voice: “Magdalena Carol Wilson, will you marry me?”)
“Yes!” she cried, pulling him up to kiss him.
A few minutes later, she added, “But you know, that’s not actually my name. My foster parents were told I was called Maggie and they just assumed it was short for Margaret, but it’s actually Magdalena.”
“How did I never know this?”
“I didn’t know myself until I was eighteen.”
“Mr. O’Keefe, I’d like to ask for Margaret’s hand in marriage.”
(A whisper in the same voice: “Mr. Wilson, I’d like to ask for Maggie’s hand in marriage.”)
“Of course,” Mr. O’Keefe replied, smiling. “We’ve been expecting something like this and we’re both delighted.”
(A whisper of a different voice: “And what do you propose to live on? You have nothing to your name. No education to speak of. The most basic of jobs – and that’s not even secure. And you’re both too young. Ask me again in a few years – if you can show you can support yourselves.”)
“We’re very happy for you, dear,” Mrs. O’Keefe told her ward. “We’re sure you’ll be very happy together. It may be hard at the beginning, but I’m sure you’ll make it work.”
(A whisper of a different voice: “Pack your bags, Magdalena. You’re going to live with Monty.”
“But, Dad!”
“No.” He stood over her, scowling. “It’s better this way. You could have taken my advice, chosen someone with better prospects, but you didn’t listen. Now, get packing.”
“Dad! I could never marry Sam Jorgensen! He’s a creep.”
“I said, now, Magdalena. No more arguments.”)
“Are you sorry we didn’t have a big church wedding?” Doug asked, as they approached the place they would spend their wedding night.
Margaret shook her head. “We wouldn’t be married now if we had.”
(A whisper of the same voices, but from a different place: “I don’t want you to go, Maggie. And I’m going to follow you there, as soon as I get the money together.”
“Shh. Don’t talk of it. Just pretend that we really did get married like we planned.”)
“Oh, Doug! I’m pregnant! What are we going to do?”
His face paled. “It’s going to be hard. We’re going to have to make some sacrifices.”
“What sacrifices?” she asked, in a shaky voice. “We’re already living on the verge of poverty.”
Doug laughed. “It’s not that bad. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I love you. We’ll find a way.”
(A whisper from Arizona: “Oh, no! I’m pregnant! What am I going to do?”)
“What do you think, Margaret? Do you think you could live here?”
She looked around the tiny apartment. “I think so. But I don’t know anyone in Sleepyside. What am I going to do here?”
Doug frowned. “I hope you’ll make friends… find something to do. And you’ll have the baby to look after.”
Impulsively, she kissed him. “You’re right. Let’s take it.”
(A whisper from Arizona: “Is Maggie here?”
Monty Wilson gave the stranger a long, calculating look. “And you are?”
“Doug Lynch.”
The older man nodded. “It’s about time you turned up.”)
Five years ago
Thirteen-year-old Diana Lynch flopped back on her bed in the blue and gold suite at her family’s new home and grinned. Me, a Bob-White! I can hardly believe it.
(Thirteen-year-old Diana Lynch flopped onto her bed in the lavender-painted room in her family’s modest home in Arizona and grimaced. Why can’t anyone like me for who I am?)
But what if the echoes became solid? What if the events we know were changed?
The present – in a world where Carol Wilson died, but Hector survived
Eighteen-year-old Trixie Belden slowed from a jog to a walk as she passed the Wilson house on Old Telegraph Road. Mr. Wilson scowled at her from the front porch, but she paid him no attention. The object of her curiosity, a seven-seater van with Arizona plates, stood in the driveway next to the house, plainly visible across the expanse of lawn edged by a double row of rose bushes in bloom. She’d once heard that the old man had family somewhere across the country, but they had never visited, as far as Trixie knew.
She walked on and quickened her pace again when there was nothing further to see. The summer sun was rising in the sky and she needed to get back home before the day heated up. A short distance down the road, she turned onto a path through the Preserve, which would take her on the shortest way home and have the benefit of some shade beneath the trees. As she ran, she wondered what Mr. Wilson was doing up so early and who his visitors might be. By the time she arrived home, however, she had forgotten all about him.
“Oh, good. You’re back,” her mother greeted, as she walked in the back door. “Once you’ve had your shower, you can come and help me.”
Trixie nodded. “I won’t be long.”
She buttered a piece of toast from the pile on the table, where her father and brothers were breakfasting in slightly uneasy silence, added a couple of pieces of bacon and a thick slice of fried tomato and folded it in half.
“You could sit down and eat with us sometimes,” her father suggested, half-amused and half-disturbed.
“No time, Dad.”
Trixie grinned and took a big bite, wiping the juice from the tomato away from her chin with the back of her hand. She ate the rest of her sandwich on her way upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, when she returned, the male members of the family were gone, leaving behind them only dirty plates and a few toast crumbs.
“Your father and Brian are making a run to pick up supplies,” Helen explained. “Mart’s dropping Bobby at a friend’s place; he’ll be back soon.”
Trixie’s older brothers, who spent most of their year studying at two different upstate colleges, had been called upon to help out at home for these first few weeks of the summer. Some major repairs needed to be made to the house, after a freak storm had thrown a large tree-branch against the wall, revealing a place where the underlying structure was already damaged by encroaching water. The job was too much for just their parents, but would cost too much to have done by a professional. Bobby, at age eleven, was still too young to be of much help.
Helen and Trixie made short work of the kitchen clean-up and headed outside. Some of Helen’s flowerbeds would be in the way of the work and it had been decided to transplant everything that could possibly be moved. The two were hard at work when Mart returned.
“Do you want me here, or inside, Moms?” he asked, as he walked towards them.
But instead of looking to his mother for an answer, he stopped short, staring at something behind them with a wary expression on his face. Then Buddy, the black cocker spaniel, trotted over to see what they were doing. Trixie looked around and jumped to her feet.
“Honey! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
The other young woman wound a strand of hair around one finger, then let it go. “I came to help out. Is that okay?”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Mart asked, in a low voice.
Honey’s face tinged red. The Belden brothers had fought over her a few years back. She had chosen not to date either of them, which had seemed like the best idea at the time, but even now was a sore point for all concerned.
“That’s very generous of you, Honey,” Helen Belden put in, ignoring her son. “How about if Mart helps me here and if you and Trixie start pulling everything out of the guest room?”
Honey smiled and nodded, looking away from Mart. Trixie heaved herself up off the ground. She pulled off her gardening gloves and handed them to Mart.
“Here. You’ll need these.”
He pulled them on, still watching Honey as she nervously walked towards the house. Her dog, by this time, had joyfully gone off to play with the Beldens’ dog Reddy.
“How dare he?” Trixie muttered, rubbing a patch of dirt off her wrist. “It’s not your fault he’s still sore!”
Honey sighed. “Isn’t it?”
“No!” She pulled open the screen door and led the way inside. “Let me get a bit cleaned up and we can get started.”
A minute or two later, they entered the guest room. Trixie looked around and pulled open the built-in closet.
“Everything needs to come out of here because there’s going to be a hole in this wall before long. Let’s start by sorting it out on the bed and then we can decide what to do with it.” She pulled out a pile of guest linen and handed it to Honey. “So, which of them would you have chosen, if they hadn’t been so argumentative about it?”
Honey rolled her eyes. “You know I decided not to say. It’s horrible being fought over by your best friend’s two brothers, who also happen to be one of your brother’s best friends and another good friend of his.”
“There are worse things,” Trixie muttered. “Like no one ever wanting you, ever.”
Honey dumped the box she was holding onto the bed and gave her friend a quick hug. “That’s completely not true and you know it.”
“Do I?” Trixie pulled out some more things, trailing some of them onto the floor. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
“But loads of boys were interested in you in high school. Like Tad.”
Trixie screwed up her nose. “Ugh! Too full of himself.”
“And Nick.”
“Too grumpy.”
“And that friend of Mart’s. What was his name again?”
“If you mean, Lester Mundy, no! He has no friends and I don’t like clowns.”
Honey rolled her eyes. “No, I meant the one who used to help Mart with geometry.”
“Oh, Ty Scott.” Trixie shook her head. “We have nothing in common, other than both knowing Mart, which isn’t much of a recommendation, when Mart and I don’t get along.”
Her best friend abandoned her task and sat down among the sheets and towels. “You know, it’s times like these I’m almost – almost – glad that our club never really started. Just think how awful it would have been if we’d really started out as one big family and then this!”
Five years before, the two girls had met and almost immediately discovered Jim hiding in his great-uncle’s house. After the fire at Ten Acres, he had run away and the girls had followed him. That trip proved to be almost anti-climactic. A few days’ search revealed his camp and the two girls sneaked out at night to find him sleeping there. They’d gotten into a load of trouble for the stunt and Honey very nearly lost the freedoms she had so recently gained, but secretly she and Trixie had decided it was worth it. Shortly afterwards, they met with Honey’s parents and it was agreed that Jim would go to live with them.
When Trixie’s brothers returned from camp, the five talked about forming a club – and even started cleaning up the Wheelers’ old gatehouse before the Wheelers’ maid Celia claimed it for herself and the chauffeur Tom – but the idea of a club fizzled out quickly enough. They took a few trips together over the next year or two, but even that ended with the argument between Brian and Mart.
Looking back, however, Trixie could see that the problem had started earlier still. The first Thanksgiving after the Wheelers moved to Sleepyside, Honey’s cousin Ben Riker had visited – and been so bored that he got up to a lot of mischief. Things had never been quite the same afterwards. And Trixie looked back on that time as the beginning of the end; the point where the mysteries and adventures had faded away, as if they had never existed. In fact, she had really only solved one bona fide mystery in her short career – though there was at least one more that she might get around to solving one day.
“What do we do now?” Honey asked, breaking into Trixie’s thoughts.
Trixie looked from the now-empty closet to the cluttered bed. “I guess we need to pack all the decent stuff into something for storage and set aside everything else for Moms to look through. I’ll go get some boxes.”
She returned a few minutes later to find Honey peering out the window.
“Who is that?” Honey asked, in a low voice. “Have you ever seen her before?”
Trixie joined her at the window. A young woman of about their age, or perhaps a little older, stood talking with Helen Belden. Her black outfit, thick black eye-liner and unhappy expression looked starkly out of place in the Beldens’ back yard. As the two watched, the other girl tucked a strand of long, black hair behind her ear, nodded and handed over something to Trixie’s mother. Helen opened the envelope and took out a letter of some sort, reading it while the girl waited.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before,” Trixie answered, belatedly. “But there’s something… Oh! I’ve got it! Old Mr. Wilson.”
“What about him?” Honey wondered.
The old man was well-known in the neighbourhood for his unfriendly ways. It was said that he had suffered several tragedies in his life, but no one ever really gave the details and neither girl had any idea what form they took.
“I jogged past his place this morning and there was a van parked outside. Maybe she came in the van. Maybe she’s his niece. Or cousin. Or granddaughter.”
Honey’s scepticism showed on her face. “I didn’t think he had any family. And even if he does, and they’re visiting, why would she come here?”
Trixie shrugged. Outside, her mother nodded and spoke a few words. The meeting apparently over, the girl walked away.
“Quick! Let’s see where she goes!” Trixie darted through the house, looking through each window she passed. “There! It’s the same van I saw. She got to be from Mr. Wilson’s.”
Footsteps sounded from the direction of the kitchen and she turned to see her mother.
“How is the guest room coming?” she asked, a slightly confused look on her face.
“Oh. We’re just about done with the closet,” Trixie answered. “Who was that?”
“Her name is Diana, I think, or it might have been Dianne. When you’ve finished with the closet, you can start on the bed, I think. Put all the bedding in to be washed. If the mattress is too heavy for the two of you, go and get Mart.”
Trixie frowned. “But, about Dianne, why was she here?”
“She brought a note from Mr. Wilson,” her mother answered. “I’m going to sell him some of our latest batch of chicks.” Her face softened a little. “She’s coming back in the afternoon to pick them up. If you’re so curious, you could speak to her yourself.”
Trixie smiled. “Thanks, Moms. I will. Come on, Honey. Let’s get that guest room cleaned out.”
When the van bumped up the driveway later that day, Trixie was waiting for it. Honey and Bud had gone home an hour earlier, after all of the inside work was finished. By now, the garden bed was stripped bare, the plants watered in at their new locations and Brian, Mart and their father had begun pulling down the damaged section of wall just outside the empty guest room.
Helen Belden had prepared more than just the crate of half-grown chicks. A cardboard box waited in the shade, filled with fresh-picked vegetables from the garden and a dozen eggs.
The van pulled to a stop and the same young woman Trixie had seen earlier got out.
“Hello!” Trixie called. “You’re Dianne, right? I’m Trixie.”
“It’s Diana,” the other girl corrected, frowning. “I’m here to…”
“Yeah, I know. Everything’s ready for you,” Trixie replied, when Diana failed to finish her sentence. “Let me help you. Where do you want it?”
It seemed, just for a moment, that the offer of help was going to be rebuffed, but then Diana opened the rear door and pointed to a space. Trixie collected the box of vegetables first and stowed it in the place indicated, then went to pick up the crate of chicks. When she had placed them carefully in the back, Diana handed over the money for the purchase.
“You’re just around in Old Telegraph Road, right? At Mr. Wilson’s?”
Diana nodded, but offered no further information.
“They should be fine for that long, but you’ll need to unload them right away, okay?”
“I’m just the delivery driver,” Diana replied, sounding bored.
At once, Trixie’s anger rose. “They’re helpless creatures and you need to make sure they’re looked after. If you don’t, they’ll die a horrible death. That van will get hot in no time in this weather.”
The other girl raised her hands in a gesture of self-defence and Trixie noticed that her long fingernails were painted black. Behind the heavy make-up, the other girl looked nervous and slightly fearful.
“Sorry,” said Trixie, suddenly feeling a lot less angry. “I just need to know that someone’s going to unload them when you arrive.”
Diana nodded. “My mother’s going to do that. She used to keep chickens a long time ago.”
“In Arizona?” Trixie asked, curiosity welling up again.
The other girl frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Trixie gestured to the van. “I noticed your plates. Did you drive all the way here?”
“That’s none of your business!” Diana slammed the back of the van and opened the driver’s door. She took a deep breath. “Thank your mother for me.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, I was just curious.”
Diana shook her head and started the engine. In a few moments, she was gone.
“Who was that?” Brian’s voice asked, from just behind her.
Trixie shrugged. “Her name is Diana. She came from old Mr. Wilson’s to pick up some chicks Moms was selling him. That’s all I know.”
He smiled gently. “It’s not like you to come away from a conversation with so little information.”
“She was kind of hostile.” She looked off in the direction the van had travelled. “I wonder what she’s doing there? I don’t think she looks like him, but he’s so old and wrinkled and grumpy that it’s hard to tell.”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
Trixie opened her mouth to say that of course it did, then changed her mind. “I guess not. I’ll probably never see her again.”
The next morning, Trixie and Honey met at the stables for an early ride. Trixie arrived first and already had both Lady and Susie saddled by the time her best friend joined her. She passed the few minutes’ wait chatting to Regan as he saddled Jupiter.
“Sorry I’m late,” Honey greeted, as she entered the cool dimness. “I hope it’s okay, but I told Jim he could come with us.”
Trixie looked up and saw Jim standing a little behind Honey, a guarded expression on his face. Ever since that incident with Ben Riker, things had been strained between Jim and Trixie. Nothing that either Trixie or Honey tried ever eased the uncomfortable feeling and Trixie had long ago accepted that they would never really be friends.
“Of course it’s okay,” she answered, putting on a smile.
Turning away from him, she mounted her horse and waited for the other two to do the same. She called a farewell to Regan, partly to fill the uneasy silence.
“Which way do you want to go?” she asked, still trying to act natural but not sure that she was pulling it off.
“I told Dad I’d ride the trail closest to one of the boundaries,” Jim told them, pointing in the direction of Old Telegraph Road, “but you girls don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. It’s just a matter of checking for signs of trespassers. Mr. Wilson told Dad that he’s been seeing strange things lately.”
“Sounds good to me,” Trixie answered, thinking of the girl she had met the day before.
Honey added her agreement and the three set off.
Over the years, Mr. Wheeler had bought up land until the Preserve bounded the Wilson property on every side. He had long had an agreement with Mr. Wilson that, should he ever want to sell, Mr. Wheeler would give him a better-than-market-value price. As a gesture of goodwill between them, they each kept an eye on the other’s property. Part of the Wilson property was unused and the boundary between the two difficult to recognise, but neither man minded if legitimate users strayed on one side or the other.
By the time the three reached that area, Jim was well in the lead. He slowed Jupiter to a walk and let Trixie and Honey catch up.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” he urged. “If there’s anything going on, it must be somewhere close to here.”
“We might need to leave the main trail,” Honey suggested. “I’m not seeing anything out of the ordinary here.”
“Me neither,” Trixie agreed. She frowned. “Except, what’s that sound?”
All three came to a halt, listening hard.
“There’s someone here!” Honey whispered. “Just over there somewhere!”
“Stay here,” Jim ordered, dismounting and handing his reins to Honey.
Trixie bristled, but waited until he had disappeared between the trees before following suit.
“You stay, Hon. I’m going to take a look.”
“It’s not like I have much choice,” Honey pointed out, as she took Susie’s reins as well.
But before Trixie had taken two steps, a female voice cried out, “Leave me alone! Get away from me!”
“Sorry,” they heard Jim say. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“This is private property and you’re trespassing,” the other voice persisted. “I’ll have the law on you if you don’t leave right now.”
At this, Trixie took a few more steps forward. She pushed through the undergrowth and found Jim edging away from Diana.
“It’s okay,” she explained to the other woman. “We’re allowed to be here. This is Jim. His Dad owns all the neighbouring land to… well, whoever he is to you – Mr. Wilson, I mean. Jim, this is Diana.”
“You, again?”
Trixie opened her mouth and shut it again.
“Trixie? Jim?” Honey called. “Can you come back, please?”
One of the horses neighed and at once both Trixie and Jim turned back towards the trail, leaving Diana behind. They found Honey struggling to keep control of all three horses at once, but nothing obvious seemed to be causing their upset.
Trixie took Susie’s reins from Honey’s outstretched hand, giving Jim the opportunity to get to Jupiter, though he had to push through the undergrowth to do it. They spent the next few minutes calming their mounts. Once Trixie was sure that Susie was okay, she looked across and saw Diana watching them.
“What happened, Honey?” Jim asked, apparently oblivious to their audience.
“I’m not really sure,” she answered. “It was something over there and it came from the same side you were on and went across the path, but I wasn’t watching in that direction, so I only got a glimpse, but I think it was a pig! And I didn’t know it because I don’t think she’s ever met one before, but it looks like Lady is afraid of pigs.”
“And horses, being herd animals,” Jim added, “all like to react together. Once Lady was startled, all three of them were.”
He led Jupe a few paces forwards, until he reached the place Honey indicated, but could find no clear footmarks.
“But where would a pig come from?” Trixie wondered. “I don’t know anyone who keeps them. And I’ve never heard of wild ones living in these woods.”
“Well, when I say pig, maybe what I really meant was piglet,” Honey clarified. “Or, maybe, a half-grown piglet. Whatever it was, it was bigger than Bud but smaller than Reddy. Or, at least, not as tall. I think.”
“I don’t care if it was a purple giraffe. I want you off my grandfather’s land, or I’ll call the police!” Diana put in, startling the three riders and setting the horses shifting nervously once more.
Trixie had ready an angry retort, but Jim beat her to the punch.
“I don’t think this is your grandfather’s land,” he answered, in a calm voice. “But let’s go and see him together.”
“No!” She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Jim shrugged and swung back into the saddle. “Suit yourself. I’m taking this trail until we reach the fork, then the path out to the road. Do you two want to come too, or are you going back?”
“We’re coming,” Trixie answered, before Honey had a chance to say anything else.
They left Diana staring after them. As they rode, all three looked out for changes, but nothing caught their eyes. The path emerged onto Old Telegraph Road a short distance from the Wilson house. They rode along the verge and down the driveway a short distance to where a hitching post had been set. Jim went and filled a bucket for the horses to drink from and the three began to walk towards the house. The van was nowhere to be seen.
“Hello, Mr. Wilson,” Jim called, seeing him down beyond the house. “Can I have a quick word?”
The man strode in their direction and the four met in the shade of a tree.
“Your father sent you?” he asked Jim, grizzled brows drawing together.
Jim nodded. “We just rode along the boundary trail, but something startled the horses. Honey thought it was a pig, but she’s not sure. You haven’t seen anything like that lately?”
The old man’s eyebrows rose and Trixie caught a sudden glimpse of how he might have looked when he was younger. He might even have been handsome.
“No, not at all. Lights moving in the night. Funny smells. Strange sounds. But no pigs.” He sighed and looked much more like his usual grumpy self. “My daughter thinks I’m crazy, but I know there’s something out of the ordinary going on in those woods.”
“Well, we’ll ride through again on the way back and take one of the smaller paths,” Jim offered. “If I find anything amiss, I’ll let you know.”
“I appreciate it,” the man answered.
“Oh, and by the way,” Jim added, just as they were about to leave, “we met someone in the woods just now – a young woman. She seemed to be think we shouldn’t be there.”
The man’s expression turned grim. “ That will be my minder. I’ll have a word with her.”
Without another word, the man turned and walked away. The three returned to the horses.
“Minder?” Trixie repeated, frowning. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”
Jim shook his head. “No idea.”
He returned the bucket and they all remounted their horses. Jim led the way, leaving the two girls to talk between themselves.
“Whatever’s going on over here, Mr. Wilson isn’t happy about it,” Trixie noted, frowning again as she thought. “I wonder why he’s letting them stay in his house, if he doesn’t want them here?”
“He said something about his daughter,” Honey pointed out. “Maybe he wants his daughter here, but he just doesn’t like there being strangers around. You know what he’s like.”
Trixie wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t like me being around and I’m not a stranger. I’ve known him as long as I can remember.”
“Did you know he had a daughter?”
Trixie shook her head. “This is the first I’ve heard of her. But no one really talks about Mr. Wilson, except to shake their heads and say how unfortunate he is.”
“What’s Jim doing?” Honey asked suddenly, peering past her friend. “Maybe he’s found something.”
They drew up behind him as he got down on the ground.
“There are tracks here, but they’re faint,” he told them, softly. “If this was made by the creature you saw, then it definitely wasn’t a pig.”
“What, then?” Trixie asked.
He shrugged. “Not sure. It’s not a track I’ve ever seen here before. I want to look something up before I say any more.”
He got back on the horse and set off again. Only a few minutes later, he stopped again. This time, Trixie dismounted. To one side of the path, the vegetation looked damaged, as if something had been dragged through it.
“Wait,” Jim directed, as she stepped off the path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Where do you think?” she snapped, holding up the hand that still held Susie’s reins. “I’m just looking. No need to panic.”
He scowled. “I wasn’t.”
“Can you see anything, Trixie?” Honey asked. “Is something there?”
Trixie shook her head. “Whatever it was went that way, but I’d need to follow it to find out more.”
“We can’t do that on horseback,” Jim pointed out.
Trixie rolled her eyes. “Obviously.” She stepped back onto the path and remounted. “We’ll have to come back here on foot later.”
“I’ll head back here later,” Jim corrected. “Neither of you need to worry about it.”
Trixie turned to Honey and pulled a face.
Honey hid a smile by wiping her face against her sleeve. “Well, let’s head back to the stables now. It’s getting too hot out here already.”
The three riders spread out as they rode, with Honey taking the middle position, Jim silent and stern at the front and Trixie grumbling under her breath at the rear. The stables were deserted when they arrived and the three set to work making their horses comfortable, cleaning and putting everything away. Jim finished first and stalked away.
“Ugh! He makes me so mad,” Trixie complained. “Why couldn’t he have stayed away for the summer?”
“I like having him here,” Honey admitted softly.
Trixie dropped the saddle soap and gave her friend a quick hug. “I know and I’m sorry to be such a grouch. I just feel like the three of us could have had lots of fun times together, only we’ve missed them somehow.”
Honey nodded thoughtfully. “Not just the three of us. Your brothers, too.” Her face lit up. “You know what? Maybe it’s not too late for the five of us to be a club. Well, yes, actually it is too late for the club that we could have had five years ago, but it’s not too late for what that club might have become, if we’d actually done what we were going to do and not what we actually did instead.”
Trixie stared at her best friend for a moment. “Hon, I don’t want to be a killjoy, but did you notice that my brothers are still annoyed with each other because of you, and that Jim and I can’t seem to have a civil conversation? What sort of club do you think that would make?”
“One where we work at getting what we want, instead of expecting it to just arrive,” Honey answered, an edge of determination in her voice. “Only, I think it might be better if there were more than just the five of us – especially because of what you just said. It’s easier to be polite when there are people you don’t know as well around.”
Trixie frowned. “But that wouldn’t be at all the same. And anyway, who are you going to bring in as an outsider?”
Honey smiled. “I’m going to make friends with Diana.”
“You’re what?”
“You heard me.” She looked thoughtful. “She’s probably lonely, living out there with her grandfather, with none of her own friends around. And if she’s only here for a short while, it won’t matter if we don’t really hit it off because it will give the rest of us time to get used to spending time together again.”
“Brian and Mart are only here for a few weeks, until the repairs are finished,” Trixie reminded her.
“Well, I’m going to try it anyway, whether you want me to or not.”
Trixie nodded. “Okay, I’m in. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Continue to Part two.
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