Resolutely, she banished her doubts from her mind, and reached out to squeeze Michael's shoulder. "There are no ghosts," she said once more. "There are ghost stories, but that's all they are. Just stories." Then, pointedly eyeing the paint that was quickly drying on the floor and windows, she left the three boys alone in Michael's room.
When she emerged from the house a few moments later, she found Laura and Anna on the front porch, Laura bent over as if she'd been whispering into her mother's ear. Seeing Janet, she straightened up and smiled, but there was a falseness to her expression that wasn't lost on Janet.
"Has something else gone wrong?" Janet asked, her voice anxious.
"Heavens, no," Anna assured her. "I was just telling Laura not to overdo, that's all. But I'm afraid it doesn't do much good. Sometimes she digs in her heels, and it seems like she's trying to work herself to death. Do you suppose you could find some of that lemonade we had with lunch?"
"I'll look," Janet replied. She went back into the kitchen and found the last of the lemonade, though there was no ice. Still, she rinsed out a glass, filled it with the warm liquid, and started back toward the front porch. Once again, Laura was whispering into Anna's ear, and when Janet made a deliberate sound, there was something furtive in the manner in which Laura looked up. Furtive and frightened. Somehow, Janet had the feeling that it had something to do with the conversation that she and Laura, along with Ione Simpson, had overheard earlier.
The conversation about Nathaniel.
She handed Laura the glass of lemonade.
"You believe that crazy ghost story, don't you?" she asked as Laura raised the glass to her lips.
As the color drained from Laura's face, the glass shattered on the floor of the front porch.
Laura Shields was still upset by Janet's accusation. That evening, when she eased her ungainly bulk into the chair that was normally reserved for her husband, she smiled apologetically, hoping Buck wouldn't question her about the nervousness she'd been unable to cover. "I guess maybe I overdid it a little bit today. Women in my condition shouldn't try to paint shutters."
Buck looked up from the paperwork he'd been poring over, and his eyes suddenly hardened. "I told you not to try it. If anything happens to that baby, I guess you know whose fault it will be."
"But I wanted to help Janet with the house," Laura murmured. She settled herself in and sighed.
Buck smiled sourly, and his voice took on a sarcastic edge. "You're just like your mother-if you don't do it yourself, you don't think it'll be done right." He pushed his papers aside. "It never ceases to amaze me that there's a town here at all, considering you weren't even born 'til thirty-one years ago."
"It amazes me, too," Laura said, with careful placidity, determined not to rise to her husband's bait. She reached over to pick up the TV Guide, and felt a sudden twinge of pain in her abdomen. Frowning in spite of herself, she waited for the pain to pass, then completed the motion..
"Something wrong?" Buck asked.
"Don't be silly. What could be wrong?" With studied nonchalance, Laura opened the little magazine and began examining the listings. Another pain seized her, and this time she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Now Buck rose to his feet, the hardness in his eyes dissolving into concern.
"Something is wrong."
"It's nothing," Laura insisted. "It's just something I ate. I've just got a little cramp, that's all."
"Cramp, or contraction?"
"I-I'm sure it's just a-" She jerked spasmodically as another pain shot through her, then, as it eased, she felt a spreading dampness on the chair beneath her. "Damn," she whispered. She looked up at Buck, her expression a mixture of sorrow, pain, and fear. "I'm sorry. I guess I really did overdo it today. You'd better call Dr. Potter." She began to lift herself out of the chair, but another sharp contraction forced her back.
"Ryan? Ryan!" Buck called, the urgency in his voice bringing his son out of the kitchen immediately. "Call Doc Potter, and tell him to get over here right away. The baby's coming."
"But it's not supposed to be-"
"Damn it!" Buck snapped. "Do as I say. Call the Doc while I get your mother upstairs." He slid his large hands under Laura's arms and eased her to her feet. "Can you make it, or shall I carry you?"
Laura took a tentative step, leaning heavily on Buck's arm. "I can make it," she assured him. "But if the baby's going to come tonight, don't you think I ought to go to the hospital?"
Buck ignored the question. "Let's get you upstairs."
"But-"
"Don't argue with me, Laura," Buck told her. "We know what's best for you."
Laura opened her mouth, then closed it again. He was right-argument would be useless; he was just like her father. "All right," she finally whispered. "Just stay with me." She began moving slowly toward the stairs, pausing only to reach out and touch Ryan's hand as she passed him. "Call Dr. Potter, sweetheart. And don't worry. I'm going to be all right, and so is the baby." As Ryan finally started toward the phone, she began climbing the stairs, with Buck beside her.
Three minutes later, she lowered herself gratefully onto the bed, then allowed herself a groan. Another contraction gripped her, and she had to fight not to allow the groan to turn into a scream. She lay still, waited for it to pass, then looked up at Buck, for the first time letting the fear she was feeling show in her eyes.
Ryan appeared at the door, his face pale and his eyes frightened. "Doc'll be here in a few minutes. He said not to worry, that everything's going to be fine."
"Of course everything's going to be fine," Buck said. "You go on back downstairs and wait for Doc. Okay?"
Ryan nodded uncertainly, then opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it. Laura smiled weakly at him. "What is it?"
"Is-is the baby going to be all right this time?" he asked.
Laura nodded and made herself smile at her son. "This time there isn't going to be any problem at all." But as Ryan left the room, her eyes drifted toward her husband. "There won't, will there? This one will be all right, won't it?" Then, before Buck could answer, another violent contraction seized Laura. This time, she was unable to stifle her scream.
Eric Simpson looked worriedly up at his father.
"Is it time?" he asked. "Is she gonna foal tonight?"
Leif Simpson eyed the mare critically, then nodded. "Looks like it," he said. "Maybe another hour, maybe two. And I bet this one doesn't take all night."
"Should I call the vet?" Eric was standing next to the mare, stroking her head gently. She whinnied softly and pawed at the floor of the stall. "Easy, Magic. Everything's gonna be okay. We'll take care of you."
"You and I can handle this one," Leif told his son. "But if your friends want to watch, you'd better tell them to get on over here." As Eric hesitated, Leif stepped into the stall, gently easing the boy away from the horse. "Go on. You won't miss anything. She's hardly even started to dilate yet."
Moments later, breathless from running from the barn to the house, Eric was on the phone, dialing Ryan Shields's phone number. He listened impatiently as the connection went through, then grumbled to himself as he heard a busy signal. He waited a few seconds, then dialed again. Again, the busy signal.
"Shit," he said softly, but distinctly enough so that Ione Shields, coming through the dining room door, heard him quite clearly.
"Eric!"
"I'm sorry, Ma," Eric automatically apologized. "I gotta call Ryan and Michael, and Ryan's line is busy."
"Then call Michael," lone suggested.
"I don't know their number."
"Look it up."
"Aw, Ma, I don't have time to do that. Magic's dropping her foal, and I gotta get back out to the barn." As he spoke, he dialed the Shieldses' number for the third time. Still busy. Eric gave his mother an appealing look, one that he was well aware she couldn't resist. "Could you call for me? Please? All you have to do is tell them Magic's foaling, and if they want to watch, they better get out here."