Patrick's clothes, weighted with water, sucked him under. I could still see the top of his head, his hair floating near the surface. Two steps more-l moved in slow motion. Help me God, please.
I reached out and grabbed him. My cold hands felt as lifeless as shovels, my fingers so numb they were unable to grasp. I held him against me with just the strength of my arms. He was breathing, still breathing-and coughing.
I waded toward shore, continually pushing against an edge of ice. The upward slope of the pond's floor seemed steep as a mountain. As I struggled, I thought about what to do next-call 911. Get him to the warm barn.
The water grew shallower and Patrick heavier. When the water was at my hips I struggled to hold him and reach for my cell phone. The sooner I called the paramedics, the sooner they would get here. It shouldn't have been hard to push 911, but my fingers couldn't feel the buttons. The phone slid into the dark water and disappeared.
Keep going, you have to keep going, I told myself.
Patrick felt twice his weight, but it was easier now to kick at the ice and push my way through it. At last I was on shore. He breathed heavily, sounding congested. I debated what to do. "Mrs. Caulfield?" I called out in the desperate hope Robyn had stayed to watch. There was no answer.
If I laid him on the ground, I might not be able to pick him up again, and I didn't know how to administer the medical care he needed. I kept going, finding the trail through the wood, amazed that my feet could walk with no sensation of ground beneath them. When I got to the end of the path, I stopped and screamed for help, hoping someone in the barn would hear me.
From the road that led to the employee cottages, Roger shouted back. He streaked toward me, calling to the barn as he did. Someone responded.
With Patrick still in my arms, I dropped in a heap, unable to do one thing more.
Toger called 911, then contacted Emily, who rushed down from the house followed by the others. The paramedics from the volunteer fire department arrived. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Mrs. Hopewell informed them that their assistance would not be needed after all — the boy was nothing more than cold. They looked at her as if she were quite mad, then followed Emily's instructions. Emily insisted that I, too, be checked at the hospital, and I agreed because I wanted to be with Patrick.
Adrian called the hospital from his attorney's office and was assured by the E.R. staff that Patrick was stable. An hour later, when Adrian arrived at Easton Hospital, Patrick's body temperature and other vital signs were normal. The doctor informed Adrian that I was unharmed and Patrick would be ready for release in another hour, as long as an X ray for aspirated water proved negative. When the physician- departed, Adrian asked me for an exact account of what had occurred, reminding me to keep my voice low.
How many strange stories could I tell Adrian, I wondered, before he stopped believing me? I began with the phone call from the bam and was quickly interrupted. "There is no groom named Jack."
"But there has to-" I didn't complete my sentence. Maybe not, I thought. I believed Brook was responsible for the vandalism; maybe he was also responsible for the call. Had he disguised his voice and manner of speaking? I had thought the connection was poor, but I hadn't expected the call, so I wasn't trying to detect a ruse.
"Did you look at your Caller ID?" Adrian asked.
"I didn't think about it at the time," I admitted, "but I don't remember seeing a listing. You should ask Brook the same question. His mother said he received a call about the barn and passed on the message to her. Perhaps he did, or perhaps he or one of his friends was playing a prank. Brook enjoys family fights-they make his life less boring. You should question Mrs. Caulfield, as well. She saw Patrick on the ice and didn't stay around to help."
I couldn't read Adrian's reaction to what I had said, but Emily's face was transparent: She held me responsible; she believed I was negligent and pointing a finger at others to cover myself. Each time I moved within the curtained area around Patrick's bed, she moved, positioning herself between her son and me, making it clear she didn't want me near him.
"Why did you go on the ice, Patrick?" Adrian asked. "Kate told you not to."
"I saw November."
"What?"
The answer caught both Adrian and me by surprise.
"I saw November."
"The orange cat," I told Adrian.
"He was running across the ice."
Adrian shook his head.
"Patrick, November is dead," I said. "We buried him in the cemetery, remember?"
Patrick turned his gaze on me. There was a look in his eyes that I had never seen before-defiance masking fear. "You killed him."
"Me? Why would I do such a thing?" I asked, taken aback.
"You don't like him."
"Patrick, I would never kill an animal, not intentionally."
"I think this is just a decoy, Kate," Adrian interjected. "He's trying to distract us from that fact that he ran out on the ice when you forbade it."
"The other day he accused you of killing the cat. Now he's accusing me," I replied, exasperated.
"I was mixed up," Patrick said calmly.
"You're mixed up now," I told him, but he had turned away.
An hour later, when Patrick was released, Emily insisted that I ride back to the estate with Roger. I knew I shouldn't blame her for keeping Patrick away from me. In her eyes, her son had nearly died because of my negligence. How did I appear in Adrian's eyes, I wondered-like another Victoria?
On the way home I questioned Roger but learned nothing. He hadn't noticed anyone lurking about; of course, with the fog, it would have been easy to slip unseen from the woods along Scarborough Road to the pond and barn.
"I don't have a good feeling about this," he said. "Too many funny things have been happening lately."
"Do you have any idea what is going on?" I asked.
"No idea, no idea at all, just a bad feeling that we haven't seen the last of it."
That evening, Emily told me she would take care of Patrick herself. I nibbled on a late dinner alone in my room, wondering why she was letting him stay up. Finally, when it was well past his bedtime and I hadn't heard anything below, I took the back steps down to his room. I discovered that the door at the bottom had been locked from the other side. Taking the main stairs down, I found Patrick's door to the hall wide open, his room empty.
I was about to return to my quarters when I heard a ruckus downstairs. Someone was knocking on the front door and repeatedly ringing the bell.
"Henry, I told you not to answer it," Mrs. Hopewell called out.
I hurried across the second-floor hall and down the steps, then paused at the landing. Henry, retreating toward the kitchen, met my eyes for a moment.
"What the devil is going on, Louise?" Adrian shouted. He sounded as if he was emerging from the office.
"It's a trespasser," she told him. "I was just about to call the police."
"Do you know who it is?"
"A local boy."
Sam, I thought. He was supposed to call after practice.
When I heard Adrian's heavy footsteps moving toward the front door, I hastened down the last set of steps. Having lost her battle, Mrs. Hopewell marched off to the kitchen.
"Hello, Sam," I heard Adrian greet him. I hope you haven't been waiting too long."
"Where's Kate?" Sam replied, in no mood for pleasantries.
"I do apologize," Adrian continued. "Mrs. Hopewell protects us a little too well at times."
I want to talk to Kate." Sam saw me crossing the hall toward them. "Why didn't you answer your phone?" he demanded.
"Because it's in the bottom of the pond."
I tried the house number. The old gargoyle wouldn't let me through."