And yet, as he went back to bed and pulled the covers close around himself he wondered.
It had seemed real.
All of it, everything Nathaniel had showed him, had seemed real.
He was still thinking about it when he finally drifted back into sleep.
The sun was well up, promising a beautifully clear day. Janet and Michael, who had been silent that morning, were cleaning up the last of the breakfast dishes when Michael saw the strange truck pull into the driveway.
"Someone's coming, Mom."
Janet glanced out the window, but as the battered old green pickup made its way up the drive, she couldn't place it. And then it came to a stop in front of the house, and Amos Hall climbed out. Seeing Janet watching him from the kitchen window, he smiled and beckoned to her.
"What in the world-?" Janet began, and then suddenly realized she was talking to an empty room. Michael was gone. Assuming he had already headed out to greet his grandfather, she flung her damp dish towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, then started toward the front door. But when she reached the front yard, Michael was nowhere to be seen, though Amos still stood by the truck. "Hi," she greeted him, then paused uncertainly. Amos's weathered face wore an uncharacteristic grin. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary," she said at last.
Amos only shrugged, then stepped back to gaze admiringly at the truck. "What do you think of it."
"Think of what?" Janet replied.
"The truck. Think it'll do?"
Janet stared at it. It was of indeterminate age, though far from new, and it had apparently seen a lot of service. There didn't seem to be a square foot on it anywhere that was free from small dents and scratches, and both the fenders were badly crushed.
"Do for what? It looks like it's ready for the junkheap." she said at last.
Amos nodded. "Inside, though, where it counts, it's sound as a dollar. It ought to give you a good ten, maybe twenty thousand miles yet."
"Me?" Janet took a step forward. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Well, you can't spend all your time walking to the village, then begging rides home off the neighbors," Amos replied, his eyes shifting pointedly toward the Simpsons' farm next door.
Instantly Janet realized that Ione had been right yesterday. Someone had apparently seen her getting into lone's car, and the news had gotten back to the Halls. "But I don't need a truck-" she began.
Amos interrupted her.
"How do you know what you need and don't need? All those years in the city-how would you know what you'll need out here? Anyway, I was up to Mulford this morning, and found this thing just sort of sitting around looking for a new home. So I bought it. What do you think?"
Suddenly touched, Janet went to Amos and slipped her arms around him. "I think you're wonderful, but I think you'd better tell me how much you paid for it, so I can pay you."
Amos self-consciously pulled her arms loose and stepped back. "Don't be silly. They practically gave it to me. You keep your money for other things. You know how to drive a stick shift?"
Janet nodded. "I used to have a VW."
"Then you're all set. This thing might take a little getting used to, but you'll catch right on. Get in."
Tentatively, Janet climbed into the driver's seat. The upholstery had long since given up any notion of holding itself together. Someone, though, had installed seat covers, and though she could feel the springs beneath her, there didn't seem to be any sharp points sticking through. She turned on the ignition, and a moment later the engine coughed reluctantly to life. A red light on the dashboard glowed for a second, flickered, then went out. The gas gauge read empty.
"I'd better get it to a filling station," she commented, but Amos only chuckled.
"She's full up. The gauge doesn't work, and neither does the speedometer or the temperature gauge."
Janet gave him an arch look. "Did they knock the price down for any of that?"
"Can't knock down something that's already collapsed," Amos replied. "Want to take her for a spin? You can take me home and say hello to Anna, and Michael can give me a hand with a couple of things."
Janet thought of all the things she had to do that morning, then quickly decided there was nothing that couldn't wait. "Sure. Michael can ride in the-" And suddenly she fell silent for a moment. "Where is Michael?"
Amos shrugged. "Isn't he in the house?"
Janet shook her head uncertainly. "I don't think so. I thought he came outside when you got here. We were both in the kitchen, and I just assumed-"
"He didn't come out here," Amos told her. Janet shut off the truck's engine and jumped to the ground. "Michael?" she called. "Michael!" When there was no reply, she smiled apologetically at Amos. "He must have gone upstairs. I'll get him."
But he wasn't upstairs, or anywhere in the house. A few moments later, she was back in the front yard, alone. "I can't imagine where he's gone. I know he saw you-"
"That's kids," Amos replied. "He's probably out back somewhere, pokin' around. Come on."
They went around the corner of the house, then into the barn. Janet called out to her son, but still there was no answer. And then, as they were leaving the barn and heading toward the toolshed, a slight movement caught Janets eye. She stopped, and turned to stare thoughtfully at the cyclone cellar. Amos, his eyes following hers, frowned.
"What'd he be doing down there?"
"I don't know," Janet replied. "But would you mind waiting here while I go see?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she started purposefully toward the sloping door.
She pulled the door open, letting it fall back so that the sunlight flooded into the dimness of the storm shelter. In the far corner, crouched on the floor with his arms wrapped around Shadow, she saw Michael, his knees drawn up against his chest, his eyes wide with trepidation.
"What-?" she began.
"Are you mad at me?" Michael asked, his voice quavering slightly.
"Mad at you?" Janet repeated. "Honey, why would I be mad at you?",
" 'Cause I didn't say hello to Grandpa."
Janet paused. Up until now, she'd assumed that Michael hadn't realized who was in the truck. "So you did see Grandpa?"
Michael nodded.
"Then why didn't you say hello to him?"
Michael shrugged unhappily. "I-I had a dream last night," he said at last.
Sensing his fear, Janet sat down on the bench next to her son and put her arm around him. "A bad dream?"
Michael nodded. "It was about Dad. Grandpa was beating him. He was beating him with a piece of leather."
Janet felt her body react to the image that suddenly formed in her mind, but when she spoke, she managed to keep her voice steady. "But honey, you know dreams are only dreams. It wasn't real. Is that why you didn't say hello to Grandpa this morning?"
Again, Michael nodded. He pulled away from her and pressed himself closer to the big dog. For a moment, Janet wished Mark were there. He would know what to say to Michael, how to explain what was happening to him. But if Mark were here, she realized with stark clarity, none of this would be happening; there would be nothing to explain to Michael. "The next time you have a dream like that, I want you to tell me about it right away, all right? That way, we can talk about it, and you won't have to be afraid."
But Michael didn't seem to hear her. His gaze seemed far away, and when he spoke, there was a hollowness in his voice. "Why did Grandpa beat Dad?" he asked. And then another vision flashed into his mind, a vision that seemed far in the past. It was the dream he'd had of his father falling from the hayloft, falling onto the pitchfork. Only there was someone else in the loft with his father, and suddenly he could see that person, see him clearly. It was his grandfather.
He looked up at his mother. "Mom, why did Grandpa want to kill Dad?"
Janet's thoughts tumbled chaotically in her mind. Amos beating Mark? Killing Mark? It made no sense.