“Let me guess, about the pool?”
“Actually—”
“Did she tell you what Lexie thought?”
“What Lexie thought?”
“Lexie believed there was something going on with the pool. Something with the water.”
“What kind of something?”
He didn’t answer.
“Ryan, last night, I went out to the pool and I thought—well, I dropped—”
He looked at me questioningly.
“It’s not important. It’s silly, really. I just got spooked is all.”
“Maybe there’s good reason to be spooked,” he said. He leaned down and rubbed at his ankle, the one that had been scratched all those years ago.
“What do you mean?”
“Forget it,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired, and my brain is fried.” He smiled apologetically. “How about we get back to the car before it’s too dark to see out here? Then I’ll take you back to Sparrow Crest.”
chaptertwenty-four
May 4, 1930
Lanesborough, New Hampshire
Iwatched the spring water in the jar get lower and lower day by day, until at last, we ran out. I gave Maggie the final dropperful last night. She swallowed it down like a hungry bird, dark eyes wide, watching me with complete trust. “It’s the last of your medicine, little sparrow,” I whispered. “But you’re strong and healthy now. Perhaps you don’t even need it anymore.” She wrapped her fingers around my index finger, squeezed hard as if to say,Yes, I am strong!
In the morning, her fingertips and toes were tinged with blue. She was refusing to nurse.
“No! No! No!” I cried, pacing. I got the empty jar, desperately tried to get the final drops that dampened the bottom into the dropper.
Will came home for lunch and found me in an absolute panic, frantic with worry, clutching the baby to my chest. I showed him the empty jar, little Maggie’s fingers and toes.
“We’ve got to go to Brandenburg,” I said. I had the suitcases out on the bed and had been stuffing them full in case we had to spend the night there. “I’ve packed your black wool trousers and boots. Lots of warm things for the baby. I’ve been looking for the flashlight and can’t find it.”
“Flashlight?” He looked at me like I’d gone mad. The way he might look at a gin-soaked stranger who asked him for coins on the street.
“It might be dark by the time we get there. Please Will, we’ve got tohurry.” I started talking quickly, trying to explain everything, the words running together like a river overflowing its banks:Brandenburg, Myrtle, springs, eyedropper, gone, hurry.
He took my hand. “You’ve got to slow down, Ethel,” he said. “Please. You’re not making any sense. Start at the beginning.”
Even though my heart was racing and I felt there was little time to waste, I forced myself to speak slowly, rationally, as I told Will about Myrtle’s trip to Brandenburg, the jar of water she brought back, and confessed that I’d been giving Maggie the water three times a day since.
Will blinked at me in disbelief. “But the hotel burned down!” he reminded me. “There’s nothing left.”
“The springs are still there,” I told him, waving the empty jar as if it was proof. “And I can’t explain it, but I know,I knowthat it works. The water made her well! You saw so yourself!”
He held little Maggie’s hand, looked carefully at her blue-tinged fingers.
“She was a healthy, normal baby,” I told him. “Just last night, when we gave her her bath, she was fine, right?”
He nodded, his eyes glazed over.
