We finished our coffee and said our goodbyes. “It’s really good to see you again, Jax,” he said as he pulled me into a tight hug.
“Same,” I said, feeling myself stiffen, then relax and hug him backjust as tightly, comforted by the sense of familiarity. Maybe he wasn’t being totally upfront with me about what had been going on with Lexie, but if I played my cards right, I just might be able to get him to open up and tell me the truth.
“I’ll see you at the service tomorrow. And in the meantime, if you need anything, anything at all, call me day or night.” He wrote his number down on a napkin and handed it to me.
I thanked him and gathered up the beer and package.
He frowned at the long rectangular box tucked under my arm. “What’s in the box?”
“I’m not sure. Something Lexie ordered.”
“Take care of yourself, Jax. If staying up at Sparrow Crest turns out to be too much, call me anytime. I’ve got a spare room, and my door’s always open.”
chapterfourteen
September 16, 1929
Lanesborough, New Hampshire
Work on the foliage festival has reached a frenzy: I am out of the house every day arranging things and making preparations. Today, we scoured the kitchen in the church basement and took stock of all the kitchen implements, making a list of the additional things we’d have to bring in to cook and serve the chicken-pie supper.
Will says I have become the Queen of Lists.
It does me good, hearing the scratch of pencil on paper. Writing down what needs to be done, then doing it and crossing it off the list. It makes me feel like I have a sense of control.
I have no control over my own body anymore. It’s growing in new ways. I’ve had to let out my dresses. My stomach turns at the thought of food that isn’t porridge, bread, or applesauce. Even my hair seems to have a will of its own, sticking up at funny angles and refusing to be held by pins.
Will says I look beautiful, that pregnancy has given me a healthy glow.
I feel more out of my body than ever before. Like I am floating outside it, watching the bloated and swollen Mrs. Monroe scratch things off her list, kiss her husband’s cheek, let out her dresses and loosen her shoes.You have no control over anything, I want to tell her.
Today, I arrived home to find that a new letter arrived from Eliza.
Dearest Ethel,
Since poor Martha’s death, I have been very busy indeed. I have been engaged in secret research. I have not told Benson or anyone else what I have learned. You are the first.
I have contacted everyone I’ve been able to who has experienced a “miracle” at the springs. And what I’ve learned is very troubling indeed.
The musician I told you about who became an overnight sensation—his oldest son was hit by a streetcar and killed three weeks after his record hit the top of the charts. The woman whose asthma was cured—her husband took ill with consumption. Little Charles Woodcock is now walking, while his sister has been laid to rest.
The old folks in town, they know the truth. They say the springs give miracles, but they always take something in return.
The springs exact a price equal to what was given.
Please tell me, my darling friend, did you get your wish?
Please don’t think it horrible of me to admit that I pray you did not.
There is one more thing I must tell you, though I am sure you will think me quite mad.
I have seen little Martha. I went to the pool at night, and she was there, waiting for me. “Come swimming with me,” she said. And oh, Ethel, I ran from her then. I ran and have not been back, but I know she’s there still, waiting.
Yours,
Eliza Harding
The room swam around me and before I even realized what I was doing, I crumpled the letter and threw it into the fireplace, where it landed on the hot coals from this morning and immediately caught fire.
