Lucy and Soledad were watching her with soft eyes.
“She was the first daughter I really loved,” said Fenella. “Since, well. Since . . .” She shrugged. Bronagh, she thought. She was abruptly aware that, from the floor, Ryland was staring at her too.
Nobody said anything.
Fenella wanted to stop talking, and she knew she should, but her mouth kept moving. “Forgive me for going on and on. I’ve never talked about Minnie to anyone.”
“Not even to Minnie’s daughter?” Lucy’s voice was high and thin. “What was Minnie’s daughter’s name again?”
“Jennie,” said Fenella.
“You didn’t talk to Jennie about her mother? Didn’t tell her how amazing she was?”
“No. Not really.”
There was silence.
“There was no point,” Fenella said in a rush. “It’s hard to explain, but Jennie didn’t know her mother. She was too worried about her own daughter to think of her. That was the way it usually was, for all of us. Surviving Padraig, and trying to help your own daughter. Hope was always centered on the future. But Minnie was different. She had room for other things too. For other people. She had room for— for me. I don’t know why, but she did.”
Soledad reached out and put her arm around Lucy’s waist. Lucy leaned into her mother.
Lucy said passionately, “I wish I had known Minnie too. I wish she were here. I wish she had the second chance you have. And Jennie, and—and all of them. We’d make room for all of them here, if we could.”
Soledad gave a choked laugh. “Think of all the air mattresses we’d need. I think we could manage, though.”
“We would manage.”
Fenella said harshly, “There’s no need for fantasy. Minnie’s dead. Bronagh’s dead. Everyone is dead.”
“Not me,” said Lucy quietly. “Not Miranda. Not Dawn. Not you.” She paused. “Who’s Bronagh?”
“Just another one,” said Fenella. “It doesn’t matter.”
Soledad said, “What matters is that you’re alive. And as soon as Zach and Leo get back, we’ll have dinner and—” Her face changed. “Bad cat! Get away from there!”
Ryland was inside the knitting basket, clutching a ball of pink yarn. In four steps, Fenella crossed the room. “Let go, Ryland!”
It’s soft! said the cat insanely. It rolls! It unwinds!
“You’re a guest in this house!”
She had to wrestle him for the ball of yarn. Fenella put the yarn back into the basket and picked up the cat. What was wrong with him? He needed to act like an ordinary cat, not a bizarre one.
Pretty, pretty yarn, Ryland said longingly.
Fenella looked across the room at Lucy and Soledad. Their faces told her that they were still moved by what she had said about Minnie. But she knew it had been a mistake. She mustn’t get too close to them. There was no point.
Also, they were wrong. She was not alive.
“Is there a cover for your knitting basket?” she asked Soledad.
Chapter 7
Leo was late getting home for dinner. This wouldn’t have mattered if, upon coming in, he had remembered that Pierre was an outside dog now. But he didn’t, and he let the dog in with him.
An instant later Pierre and Ryland were locked in combat, a rolling, screaming mass of legs and heads and fur. Fenella stood frozen. The last she’d known, Ryland had been under the table, listening to the conversation while lying on top of her feet.
Lucy yelled Pierre’s name. Soledad snatched the crawling child up off the floor. Zach and Lucy and Leo threw themselves into the fray, and then so did Fenella.
Then a strange, deep, male voice broke into the mayhem. “Pierre,” the voice said sternly. “Down.”
The dog lifted his head. In that second, Fenella was able to snatch Ryland away. He came into her arms like a fury, nails raking deeply across her skin.
I’ll claw out his other eye!
Lucy and Zach pulled Pierre into the corner of the kitchen by his collar. Leo threw himself down across the dog’s belly.
“Walker,” Lucy said, panting, to the stranger, who was standing behind Fenella. “Talk about being the right person at the right time.”
“Nah, you were handling it,” said the stranger called Walker, in a humorous, unrushed voice. There was something about that voice. It seemed to draw a lingering, easy line down along the bare skin above Fenella’s spine. She suddenly wanted to see what the speaker looked like.
No. She did not. She bent over the trembling cat.
The dog was still growling, low in the throat. “Let’s get Pierre out of here, Leo,” said Zach. They dragged Pierre out of the room. The dog kept his single eye fixed on the cat the whole time.
The newcomer was close to Fenella now. He said, “Your arms are scratched and bleeding.”
As large warm hands fastened on top of Fenella’s, Ryland went limp, a bundle of fur and bones. The hands gently, competently, lifted Ryland away. The cat did not struggle.
The kitchen went quiet. Fenella looked around, but not at the stranger called Walker.
Soledad stood with Dawn in her arms, looking as if she might laugh hysterically. The child’s gaze was on the cat. She leaned forward yearningly, her face alight. She babbled something.
“It’s a kitty, Dawn,” said Lucy. “Nice kitty.” She reached for and took the child from Soledad.
Soledad said to Lucy, “Don’t you laugh. If you start, I’ll go off.”
“Nice kitty.” Lucy’s shoulders were suddenly shaking.
“Stop it, Lucy.”
Then the two of them were, inexplicably, roaring with laughter. Soledad wiped her eyes. “Walker? Would you like a square of lasagna?”
“I would, but first I’d like someplace safe to put this cat,” said Walker.
“I’ll get the cat carrier,” said Fenella, and escaped from the kitchen. A minute later, she was back with the carrier. She held its gate open while the stranger bundled Ryland inside.
She still had not seen his face. All she had had was a quick impression of height and strong arms. Fenella’s heart beat faster with what was surely anxiety about the cat.
“Now,” said Walker. “Those scratched arms of yours. Can I see?”
Oh, no, wailed the cat. Tell him he imagined it.
Fenella tilted her chin and forced herself, finally, to look at the stranger. She looked slowly and thoroughly.
Walker was indeed tall. He wore pants that had been hacked short to reveal bare, knobby knees and long shanks. He’d paired the pants with a grubby shirt and its shoulders were slightly tight—or maybe it was that his shoulders were themselves a fraction too wide. Above the shoulders, he had a sturdy neck and dark brown hair the exact shade of a dead oak leaf that clings stubbornly to its branch. The hair needed cutting.
Walker’s face was deep brown too. It featured a wide mouth and a misshapen nose that had plainly been broken some time ago. You wanted to smile at the nose, except that you forgot to do that once you looked into Walker’s eyes. They were beautiful eyes; brown with amber lights, darklashed, crinkled at the corners.
Silently, Fenella held out her smooth, unmarked arms.
Walker’s gaze moved from Fenella’s arms, to her face, and then back down again.
“I guess I was seeing things. You’re not hurt.” His fingers brushed along the soft inside of her forearm, as if seeking tactile proof.
Fenella’s pulse jumped in her wrists and at the base of her throat.
He smiled into her face. “I’m Walker Dobrez.”
Fenella knew what to say. Fenella, she thought. My name is Fenella Scarborough. She moved her lips to say the words, to introduce herself as anybody would.
Nothing came out of her mouth.
Then Soledad was there beside her. “Walker, I forgot you were coming over. How lucky.”
“Glad to help,” said Walker. “But you didn’t actually need me. You guys were coping.”
“Opinions differ,” said Sole
dad dryly. “Fenella, Walker is our vet.”
“Vet in training,” said Walker. “Not as good as a licensed vet, but a whole lot cheaper. I’ll work for food, actually. When Soledad cooks.”
“A vet is a doctor for animals,” Lucy said.
Fenella was grateful for Lucy’s translation. Then she realized that Walker might find it odd that she had needed it. Her mind was spinning. Again.
Walker hadn’t even seemed to hear Lucy, though. He’d squatted down beside the cat carrier and was looking at Ryland. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully.
The cat hissed again. Fenella! An animal doctor? I am not an animal. I am fey. Don’t forget it.
Fenella tried to think of how she could answer Ryland in front of people. No ideas came to her.
“I only have a few more courses,” Walker said to Fenella. “And tests and things. But I’m going to make it. I’m nearly sure. So, this is your cat?”
He was evidently the kind of person who liked to chat, and who would tell you more than you had asked for or wanted to hear. At least he had ended on a question that was relevant. It could also be answered in a single word.
Fenella opened her mouth. “My name is Fenella Scarborough.” Which had been the right thing to say. A minute ago.
A hot flush crept up her cheeks.
Walker said, “Nice to meet you, Fenella.”
Lucy stepped in. “Fenella’s a relative of mine. She’s staying with us for a while.” Dawn was squirming, uttering frustrated little noises, trying to get closer to the cat. Lucy hitched the child up in her arms.
Soledad added, “I guess we’ll figure out how to deal with the animals, and get them to be friends. Somehow.”
“Usually a cat and dog can learn to tolerate each other.” Walker paused, opened his mouth again as if he was going to add something, but then closed it. A furrow worked its way across his forehead as he stared into the carrier at Ryland. Ryland, sitting, stared back. “Male cat, right?”
He was talking to Fenella, who was now able to answer. “Yes.”
“Age ? ”
“I don’t know.”
“Shots?”
Fenella sent Lucy a quick, frantic look of appeal. Lucy shrugged. “We have no idea.”
Walker nodded. “Tell you what, I’ll take the cat with me tonight and give him a checkup at the clinic.”
Inside Fenella’s head, Ryland’s protest was instantaneous and shrill. Fenella! Do not let this man take possession of me!
“No,” Fenella said reluctantly. “The cat has to stay with me.”
“But it’s important—” said Soledad.
At the same moment Lucy said, “Fenella, I should have thought of this before, we can’t take any chances with Dawn—”
Walker spoke over them both. “You come too, Fenella. You can keep me company, and you’ll also help keep your cat calm.” His entire face was made mysteriously radiant by a smile.
He was young, Fenella realized. This Walker Dobrez was not many years older than Zach and Lucy. She had been deceived by the way he conducted himself before—by his authority, and perhaps also by his size. But now she saw that the owner of this smiling face had experienced little of the world. Certainly little of the darkness in it.
He was so—so sunny.
“Fenella can’t go with you, Walker.” Soledad gave Fenella a motherly, reassuring nod. “She’s had a long day. But you can take the cat.”
“Fenella doesn’t want me to take the cat without her.” Then he added, directly to Fenella, “Does the cat have a name?”
“Ryland,” said Fenella. “What will you do to him?”
“Just a wellness exam. It won’t take long. It won’t hurt him. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll check out Pierre’s scratched eye.” Walker paused before finishing tactfully, “If it turns out that you folks need the cat to stay with me overnight, that’s fine too.”
No! said Ryland. Fenella!
“No,” said Fenella.
“Probably not,” said Lucy. To her daughter, who was squirming again, and babbling something in a demanding tone, she added, “Dawn, you can see the kitty later. I promise.”
Soledad said, “Should we consider declawing the cat?”
No! cried Ryland.
“No,” said Fenella cautiously.
“We can trim his nails,” Walker said. “Come on, Fenella. The sooner, the better. Soledad, could you possibly save me that piece of lasagna? And, um, could it be big?”
“Sure, but—”
“Unless Fenella would prefer to stay here and rest—” Lucy and Soledad were practically in unison, but both stuttered to a stop mid-sentence, unable in front of Walker to make a logical objection. They looked at Fenella helplessly.
No vet! snarled Ryland again. I don’t want to be examined. Plus, we need to stay here. We have work to do. Remember?
Work to do. Oh, yes. Fenella remembered, all right.
“Are you afraid of being examined, kitty?” she asked, choosing her words carefully and using a light tone, the kind that the family used when talking to the child. “Do you think there might be something wrong with you?”
No, of course not. I’m fine. We just don’t need to do it.
Walker said, “Fenella? I’ve got my truck outside. We can zip there and back.”
Fenella looked at him. Then she looked at Soledad and Lucy. Finally, she looked at the child in Lucy’s arms. The bright-eyed little girl who was attending to everything as if she understood.
All at once she wanted only one thing: to get away from this house and the family inside it. To get away from that child.
To get away from how, this whole time in their company, while they were being so kind to her, she was thinking, compulsively, horribly, of what she must do to them. Destroy their safety . . .
“Yes, let’s go,” she said to Walker.
Chapter 8
Holding the cat carrier, Fenella followed Walker outside. The sun had begun to sink toward the western horizon, but there was still plenty of light.
Ryland was yowling in protest, both inside Fenella’s head and audibly.
“I’ll stow Ryland in the back of my truck,” Walker said as he waved an arm at a vehicle that stood in the street before the house. “Unless you want the carrier on the floor of the cab with you? It’d be a tight squeeze, but we could do it. We could also take him out and put him on your lap.”
“The cat can go in the back.” Fenella glanced sidelong at Walker. She was only guessing what he meant by words like truck and cab. She would say as little as possible. Luckily, he was the kind of person who gestured while he talked.
He talked a lot. And he talked fast.
Fenella! was the desperate shrill cry from Ryland. Keep me with you up front. You need too many things explained.
It was true. But it wasn’t as if Ryland had been much help so far. She was pretty sure he had started the fight with the dog, for example. Pierre certainly had not gone under the table looking for Ryland. Also, she didn’t want to listen to his complaints.
“Sorry, kitty,” Fenella said. She felt inexplicably cheerful. “You’re going in the back.”
Walker strapped the carrier into place on what he called the flat bed. The cab was the word for the enclosed portion at the front of the truck, which contained two wide, comfortable chairs. Walker helped Fenella climb up and sit on one of the chairs. She smoothed her skirt around her legs. It was interesting, sitting high up like this. There was a different view of the world.
Should she be nervous? She had heard about vehicles from the more recent Scarborough girls, but had never seen one before today. Vehicles traveled fast, she knew, faster than horses. Yet she did not feel even slightly anxious.
Walker sat at the controls on the other side of the cab. He pulled a wide strap down around himself. Fenella found a similar strap beside her own chair and pulled it into place with some fumbling. It was easy to guess that it was meant to function for safety.
Once you were str
apped in, Fenella discovered, you felt ready. Ready to travel.
Walker did something and the truck seemed to come alive. It vibrated in place.
Fenella sat bolt upright.
Walker moved his hands and feet on the controls, and the truck responded. It moved! They moved! She moved!
Inside the truck, safe within its shell, she was moving. Moving with such speed.
Fenella caught her breath. Now she understood the smooth hard surface over the earth. It was to make travel easier. How clever was that? Of course, of course! You could not go at high speeds if you were forever encountering rocks and depressions and other irregularities in the ground!
And there was more! If you were a passenger, you could look around as you traveled, and, because you were going so fast, the things you saw and the things you thought kept changing. What was that gorgeous color in the little boy’s shirt, over there? It was not found in nature! Why did the people put the buildings so close to each other? Why were the trees so few and so small? Now they were on a bridge, going over a river, and there were ducks! Oh, and look! There was a girl in control of that other vehicle over there. It was a small red vehicle, and the girl looked careless, confident, at the wheel.
Now that Fenella was looking for it, there were women in control of vehicles everywhere. The educated, independent Minnie Scarborough would have loved seeing that. If she were here, Minnie would have been driving a vehicle of her own; Fenella knew it.
Also, there were so many vehicles, small and large. You’d think they would all crash into each other, but it was as if they were dancing together to the music that came from the vehicles themselves. It was not a perfect dance, nor even a pretty one, and the music of the vehicles was odd and discordant. But it was compelling, urgent, fascinating.
It was lovely!
Fenella clutched the seat on either side of her legs and leaned forward. She twisted around and looked again at the things they had passed. All she wanted was to keep moving and looking, moving and looking.
Walker had to say her name twice before she heard him. “Fenella? Hey, listen, you’re making me seriously nervous. I can almost promise we won’t have an accident.”