Part 11 (1/2)
”Your eyes should be used to the dark by now.”
She wanted him to slow his horse to a walk instead of trotting on this precarious section. The road was a mere tunnel now beneath the trees overhead. ”How'd your mother die?” Her voice sounded thin.
”Bishop didn't say.”
”But she was sick for all these years, jah?”
Nick made no answer, and Rose knew she'd best be still.
After what seemed like nearly an hour, they made a right turn onto Pumping Station Road, then went northeast to Fairview Road. Rose's heart slowed its pounding when they were once again on a paved open road. Yet Nick remained quiet as they went, till eventually they arrived at Hollow Road and turned right, not far from Jackson's Sawmill Covered Bridge. Mr. Browning's house was just a stone's throw away.
”Let's not go too far into the lane,” she said, leading the way now. She stared at the gleaming second-story windows, a contrast to the attic dormer windows, which were as dark as the night sky.
”What're we lookin' for?” Nick sat tall on his horse.
”Anything peculiar.”
”Like ghosts?”
Again she s.h.i.+vered at his tone. ”Can't you be serious?”
He chuckled. ”For you ... anything.”
”Don't be a tease.”
”Then don't be so easy to fool.”
She ignored his comment. ”What about the sounds I've heard upstairs while I work?”
”Could it be a cat? Or a dog?”
She'd never considered that. ”Wouldn't Mr. Browning admit it, though?”
”Or maybe evil spirits - ever think of that?”
Her skin crawled. ”Will ya stop scaring me?”
”I don't see any hex signs anywhere,” Nick went on, ignoring her. He clicked his tongue, signaling the horse to move forward.
”Not too close to the house,” she warned. ”I'd rather Mr. Browning doesn't know we're spyin' on him.”
”On them.”
”What?”
”Maybe there's someone livin' upstairs.”
”Or ... it could be only my imagination.”
”You do have a big imagination,” he replied darkly.
”It's all the library books I read.”
He laughed softly. ”Why read books when you can actually live nights like this?”
She wondered what he'd say if she revealed something to him that she sometimes pondered. Would he poke fun ... or understand? ”It's just that I've been noticing something in nearly all the stories I've read. The main character - usually a young woman - thinks she can have everything she wants. But almost always she finds out the hard way that she can't.”
”Well, sure ... that's because there are different rules in real life than in books.”
”But even so, there's always a choice a girl has to make in every story ... and in real life.”
Nick didn't ridicule her like Rose thought he might. He actually listened, like a good friend. Not like a pesky older brother - like Mose or josh when they still lived at home.
Quieter now, Rose wondered if Nick would grieve hard the loss of his mother. Was this the reason he'd been so glum last weekend?
All sorts of unrelated thoughts flitted through her head as she kept her eyes glued to the second-story windows. Maybe Nick didn't like being my errand boy to Silas Good, she thought. Or maybe he dislikes Silas. Then again, who does Nick like?
At that moment she realized there were four windows all lit up across the second story. ”Ach, there are two windows for each bedroom, ain't?”
”Well, I've got two windows in my room,” he volunteered.
Her brother josh's house seemed to be laid out similar to Mr. Browning's, and each of his upstairs bedrooms had two windows, too. ”So, the windows on the right, over the kitchen, could be where another person sleeps.”
”You're not makin' sense, Rose.”
”Mr. Browning's bedroom could be on the left, over the front room. See?” She pointed as she tried to make heads or tails of the upstairs interior.
”And you think someone's stayin' over the kitchen.”
”Maybe so. I know I heard noises there, overhead.”
Then she saw it - the silhouette of a slender boy with hair cropped all around like her own brothers', standing in the window to pull down the shade. ”Goodness, that's not Gilbert Browning!”
”Nee - no,” Nick admitted.
Rose was stunned. ”Ain't seein' things, neither.” But now that her suspicions were confirmed, she was more perplexed than ever. Who on earth was living upstairs in Gilbert Browning's house? She thought of the Amish boy Donna had mentioned.
They turned the horses around and headed out to the road.
”Can we go home another way?” she asked, too jittery to return to the spooky dirt lane from whence they'd come.
”We'll cut through Mt. Pleasant Road, then down toward home.”
She had to rely on Nick to see the way back - even George seemed unsure now as they rode through the night. When they arrived on the east side of Salem Road, she realized Nick's ”shortcut” down eerie Bridle Path Lane hadn't been a shortcut at all. She trembled as she bade him Out Nacht.
”You goin' to Singing next Sunday?” he asked her.
Singing? Nick never cared about the weekly gatherings. He was certainly full of surprises tonight.
She thought of Silas Good. ”I just might for a change. How 'bout you?”