As she puzzled over his unexpected appearance, the boy’s image moved closer. He furrowed his brow and pressed his lips into a whitened slash. His peculiar stare swept her face as if answers to a particularly hard arithmetic question were written across her skin. When his eyes locked on hers, his dark lashes flutterin’ in a powerful fetching way, Ellie feared she might swoon. Not because he was awful nice to look at—which he certainly was—but because he looked through her plain exterior and into the beauty of her soul.
Heart hammerin’ like she’d just run to town and back, Ellie leaned over him. Mouth agog, she watched him lift his arm. Slow and tentative, his fingers reached toward her. The surface of the pond began to ripple, the tiny wave obscuring his gesture.
“Ellie May!”
The shrill voice made Ellie start. With a gasp, she clasped her hand to her breast and clamped her eyes shut. Across the field, Mama called again, “Ellie May!”
Still shaking with fright, she opened her eyes and looked at the pond. The calm surface was smooth as glass. It reflected the fine spring day, a sky dotted with gossamer clouds and the occasional crow. She leaned closer, gawking at her own likeness, which gawked back.
“Eleanor May Quimby—you come here right this minute!” Mercy, Mama sounded in a state.
Rising to her feet, Ellie brushed the soft earth from her skirt and took one final look at the water. No matter how she squinted, the picture didn’t change. The boy had vanished.
Ellie vaulted the low wooden fence and wove her way in between the green and purple rows of alfalfa toward the old farmhouse. Truth be told, it was more shack than farmhouse, and in dire need of a coat of paint. As Ellie drew close, she frowned, noticing another shutter that had rotted from its hinge and now hung askew.
Mama had long given up on the idea of improvements of any sort. Beaten down by life, her daily aspirations seemed centered on not provoking her husband’s wrath. Way to aim high, Mama.
When Ellie came within spitting distance of the house, she stopped. A strange sense of foreboding—similar to the day Pa had come and removed her from St. Joseph’s school for good—gripped her. Storm’s comin’.
A glance overhead revealed nothing more ominous than a huge expanse of spring sky, the same pale blue as robins’ eggs. Ellie shut her eyes and listened to her surroundings. Birds chirped. In the distance, a dog barked. The shrieks of her brothers and sisters carried from where they played round back. Nothing amiss.
Perhaps it was the peculiar incident at the pond. Not only had the boy been uncommonly beautiful, his ways had been familiar. He’d held her in his gaze as if she were someone special, not some poor sharecropper’s daughter. For an instant, she’d felt pretty and smart—precious. Surely a boy who could make a girl feel like that didn’t actually exist. And if he did, he’d be too fine for the likes of Ellie May Quimby.
Best get on with it.
Ellie stepped into the squalid house, anticipating Mama’s pinched face. She braced for the unavoidable tongue-lashing. Instead, Mama lavished her with a tight-lipped smile.
Mama’s nervous glance flitted from her daughter to her husband. Pa gave a nod as powerful as a slap and his wife’s attention snapped back to her oldest child. “Ellie May, we have company.”
She stepped aside to reveal their nearest neighbor fidgeting impatiently in his Sunday best. Hezekiah Betts owned half the farms in Cook County. Known for being an illiterate heathen, he didn’t intermingle with polite society. And he never had occasion for social calls. He was a man of business, who, despite his crude demeanor, had made himself very rich.
Farmer Betts lumbered to his feet. He ran one thick hand through his gray mat of hair while he inspected Ellie with beady eyes. His critical stare never wavered as he demanded of Pa, “You say she’s had book learnin’?”
Pa spoke, his high, wheedling voice fluctuating with obeisance. “Yessir. Three years at the Catholic school.”
Farmer Betts grunted. “She’ll do then.”
“And you’ll see to my debts?”
The question seemed to give the old man pause. He turned on Pa quick as a wink. “She’s not given to gambling and drink, is she?”
“No, Sir.” Pa seemed to take no offense to the accusation that Ellie and he share the same weaknesses. “She’s not even my blood.”
That was fact. Mr. Quimby was her pa—the only one she’d ever known—but he wasn’t her daddy. Days after Ellie had come into the world her daddy had left it, thrown from his horse in a riding accident.
By all accounts, Ellie’s daddy had been a fine upstanding man, despite his being impoverished. Although his profession had been farming, he’d been awful fond of books. Father McGinty claimed her daddy knew all kinds of facts about the natural world—and that he’d committed all the psalms to memory. As the kind priest had explained, Daddy had been too good for this world, and from all Ellie knew of life, she was inclined to believe it.
Godless Farmer Betts searched Ellie to determine the truth of her parentage for himself. His penetrating scrutiny caused Ellie’s cheeks to prickle as he wet his non-existent lips. With a satisfied nod, he announced, “I’ll come for her on the ‘morrow.”
Without another word, the old neighbor trudged into the waning afternoon.
Ellie May turned to Mama for an explanation. “What am I to do for Farmer Betts?”
Mama grimaced, so that her lips disappeared into a bloodless gash, and ducked her head into her sewing. After a brief pause, Ellie tried again. “Mama? Am I to be of service to Farmer Betts?”
From across the room, Pa helped himself to the few coins kept in the tin above the fire before regarding Ellie with a pinched brow. “Quit pesterin’ your mama, girl. You best be fixin’ supper now.”
“Yessir.”
Ellie scrambled to make biscuits. As she measured out flour and cut in the milk, she thought about how differently she’d do things when she had a family of her own. Her children would complete their primary schooling and perhaps even go on to college. If they had questions, she’d do her best to answer them, plainly and with honesty. They’d always feel safe and loved. She’d never arrange for them to go work for someone as mean as Hezekiah Betts, no matter how desperate the circumstances.
Most importantly, when she was grown, Ellie would marry for love. Her home would be one of learning and joy. And she’d treat each day with her family as a gift. And her husband—well, she’d look at him the way the boy in the pond had looked at her.
Partying with the Quimby kids had been a bust. Ty spent most of the time dodging Payton—Paxton?—and obsessing over a girl that didn’t exist.
When she’d first appeared at the Vanishing Spring, he’d rubbed his eyes trying to correct what had to be a hallucination—clearly the brunette’s creepy tale had him imagining things. The girl looked nothing like Quimby girls. Raven black hair framed her makeup-free, freckled face and accentuated her bright sapphire eyes. She’d peered at him a bit shyly but with undisguised curiosity, not the artfully practiced look of boredom that greeted him on a daily basis.
She was genuine and sweet—and he’d gotten all that from sixty seconds of soulful connection? Ty didn’t believe in love at first sight, and yet the girl in the water felt like a kindred spirit. She felt more real than anything had in a long time.
What was she? Ghost? Water sprite, selkie, mermaid? Whatever she was, those sparkling eyes had haunted him all evening. After he’d bailed on the party, he’d spent the rest of the night researching water creatures and the unsettling case of Eleanor Quimby.
Alayna/Aylana had been right. The most popular theory was that Eleanor had drowned in the spring. The city of Wilmette website had a whole page dedicated to this version of Eleanor’s tragic demise. But there were others who speculated she’d run away, gone West. A couple of the fringe groups claimed she’d been abducted by aliens. And one wacked-out site hypothesized that she’d stumbled onto a time portal and traveled to another time.
While it amused Ty to th
ink he’d stumbled into a scene straight from Ray Bradbury or Phillip K. Dick, common sense said otherwise. Eleanor Quimby was long gone from this round ball called Earth and no amount of Sci-Fi supposing could change that.
So what about the chick in the water?
The day was promising to be exceptional, and Ty had a whole lot of nothing to do. Under normal circumstances he might’ve gone to La Villita; eaten tacos from Ernesto’s corner stand and fibbed to his grandparents about being happy in his new home. Suddenly glad he had all the time in the world and none of the accountability, Ty figured he’d camp at the Vanishing Spring and try to get to the bottom of the mysterious girl.
Ellie fidgeted in Mama’s best dress. Slightly short in the arms and awful tight in the bosom, it was too fine for bookkeeping and cleaning. Accented with lace and tiny covered buttons, it was the kind of garment one wore to baptisms and weddings. Mama herself had only worn it a handful of times, all very special occasions.
Tugging at her sleeves, Ellie hunched her shoulders in an attempt to give her cinched ribcage some relief. She stood on a chair, doing her best not to wobble as Mama took out the skirt’s hem. Pa was still sleeping off his “celebration” in the loft and her siblings had been sent out back to play. So for now, it was just the two of them.
She needed to change before their old neighbor came to fetch her. But Mama was being uncharacteristically kind in giving Ellie her finest dress, and she hated to spoil the moment. Eventually, Ellie’s good sense won out.
“Mama,” she said hesitantly. “Shouldn’t I get changed back inta my housedress before Mr. Betts gets here?”
Mama paused mid-stitch. Her nervous eyes shifted up toward Ellie and back to the task at hand. When she spoke, her voice sounded as dilapidated as their house. “You do know what’s comin’, doncha?”
What’s comin’…
Ellie had thought on it most of the night. Farmer Betts had hired her. It seemed the most logical conclusion. Ellie had some schoolin’ and she was good with figures. Of course, she would’ve been even better if she’d been allowed to finish school. Father McGinty claimed he’d never seen such a natural inclination for arithmetic.
Realizing Mama waited for her answer, Ellie tested her hypothesis. “Aren’t I to keep Farmer Bett’s books?”
Mama jerked her head forward in a single nod. “And keep his house, cook his meals, and see to his needs.” Her explanation ended severely. Ellie waited for more, but it never came.
Farmer Betts lived a half dozen miles down the road. By the time she saw to his supper, it would be night. Ellie shivered at the idea of walking back in the dark. “At the end of the day, will Pa come to fetch me home?”
“This ain’t your home no more, Ellie May.” Mama’s words were like stepping barefoot into the snow, instantly freezing her to the core. Ellie took a moment to recover, reckoning she’d misunderstood.
“Surely, I’m not to stay under the same roof as an old bachelor?” What would people say? Shame prickled Ellie cheeks as she imagined sitting through mass at St. Joseph’s surrounded by a cloud of respectable condemnation.
Mama hadn’t the decency to look at her. Instead she focused on a scrap of bone the dog had left half gnawed under the table. “You’re to be Mrs. Betts. Hezekiah has agreed to give your Pa the deed to the farm in exchange for your hand. It’s done—so there’s no use cryin’ about it.”
Marry Farmer Betts?
Bile rose to choke Ellie’s throat as she stared at Mama in disbelief. Leaping from the chair, she pushed out the warped front door of the shack that was no longer her home. Plump, bitter tears rolled down her cheeks as she blindly wove her way through the purple rows of alfalfa. The newly hemmed skirt of Mama’s dress caught on a nail as she jumped the fence. It tore, but Ellie didn’t care. That dress would become her funeral shroud before it would see a wedding!
Ellie stopped. Her spirit and body collapsed as one onto the damp grass. Was death the only way out? She had no other family, no distant kin she could appeal to for shelter. After Pa had pulled her from school she’d lost all her friendly connections. In truth, she was alone in the world, except…
Her gaze caught on flat surface of the little pond. A dark shadow shimmered where there should have been sun. On her hands and knees, she crept to the edge of the water.
Her breath caught as two beguiling brown eyes stared back at her. The instant he saw her, the boy’s face lit up like a Forth of July firecracker. His relieved smile welcomed her into a place she didn’t know existed—a home not of wood and earth but of living flesh.
Tyler watched the girl intently, trying to discern the words rapidly falling from her lovely, trembling lips. Although he couldn’t hear her, he understood the language of her sorrow. The tears coursing down her cheeks were a plea for help. Not just any help, but his help.
“It’s going to be okay.”
She blinked. Her attention flickered to his mouth and then back to his eyes as she shook her head. She couldn’t hear him either.
“It’s going to be okay,” Ty said again only this time slower and with exaggerated enunciation. Then he touched his chest with his fingertips. “I’m going to help you.”
Her eyes filled with questions as she waited expectantly to see what he would do next. Ty had no clue what that would be. If the girl was Eleanor Quimby, as he suspected, she’d died over a century earlier. No not died—disappeared. They never found her.
Where did you go?
He probed for answers in those tragic blue eyes. If only he could reach down and snatch her from the jaws of misery. Sharp stones cut into his knees and he readjusted impatiently. There had to be something he could do. Just like the memories of his life in La Villita, the answers were within his grasp. He just needed focus—but first, he needed to get rid of the freakin’ boulder slicing his kneecap in half.
Ty shifted and reached down to remove the offensive chunk of rock, fully intending to hurl it into the pond. Then the heavens parted and he saw the small, white rock in a new and wonderful light.
Lordy, he was somethin’ to look at. Even in her agitated state, Ellie May’s thoughts were full up with him rather than her own troubles. She watched him lift a ragged white stone with thoughtful contemplation.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted movement coming through the alfalfa: Pa and the odious neighbor who would make her a wife against her wishes. Panic lodged in throat like curdled buttermilk.
The boy’s eyes widened in concern. His neck craned, but if his view was anything like hers, there was only room for each other and little else. Frustration pulled his features into a scowl with soft edges. As his gaze snapped back to her like a tether, his dark brows lifted.
Ellie leaned down over the water, getting as close as she dared to her only ally. What was it about him that made her feel so safe?
“Please,” she begged. “Help me.”
His demeanor, despite being troubled for her sake, was as warm as a waterin’ hole in July. Some might suppose him to be a devil, sent to tempt her in her most difficult hours. Satan’s tormentor he might’ve been, except she reckoned she’d rather suffer torments at the hands of this particular devil, than earn her salvation by marrying horrible Famer Betts with her Maker’s blessing. But as the boy’s face broke into an earnest smile that reached from the hollows of his soul into the depths of his eyes, Ellie decided he was her angel. Her savior.
His eyes silently pleaded for her to trust him. Believe in his salvation.
Slowly, his hand reached toward her. The surface of the pond rippled as four fingertips broke the surface like a wide-mouth bass after a bug. Ellie extended her hand and touched warm, living flesh. Answering his dazzling smile with one of her own, she whispered, “Save me.”
Then intertwining her fingers with his, she tumbled headlong into the spring.
The group of girls collectively recognized Ty Diaz’s tousled head and froze in various states of disbelief. It had been nearly a week since the last time they’d p
urposely run into him. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. Someone rested against his shoulder, her shiny, ebony mane cascading over the back of the bench next to the Vanishing Spring.
Hoping the girl was horsey or at the very least, flamboyantly Goth, they tottered closer for a better look.
As they flanked the couple, Ty greeted them, looking mildly uncomfortable but mostly jubilant. His eyes sparked in a way they’d never seen in all the months they’d known him. His smile made them feel all gushy and weak in the knees. Under Ty’s charismatic spell, it took a second for the girls of Quimby Acres to greet him back.
Clinging to one another for support, they turned their attention toward the girl—and unanimously hated her on sight. She was ravishing. From her dark lashes and luminous blue eyes, to her peaches-and-cream complexion and button nose. She even had a little mole above her upper lip, the kind no amount of cosmetic surgery could replicate. Her cobalt designer warm-up suit accentuated the deep blue of her eyes. Those same eyes ebbed with a joyous vibrancy that mirrored Ty’s own happiness in a truly unsettling way.
“This is my girlfriend, Elle,” Ty proclaimed, his voice full of unmistakable pride.
Elle tipped her head and fluttered her lashes in a gesture far too genuine, too lacking in refinement for the Quimby girls’ tastes. “Pleased to meet you.”
She had a hint of a country accent that unfortunately did nothing to lessen her appeal. In her lap, she clutched a book. Her fingers reverently cradled the small volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets that they recognized from last quarter’s literature unit.
Tottering forward, Blondie’s heavily-lined eyes narrowed as she attempted to do damage control. “Wow, Ty. Your old girlfriend came to visit. That’s so sweet.”
“Not visit,” Ty corrected her. “Elle’s living here…with me.”
“Really?” The brunette arched a heavily penciled brow. “That’s strange.”
Ty lifted his shoulders, tightening his muscles in a sexy shrug. “Not really. There’s more than enough room at my house, especially with my parents away.”