“You know,” he said at last. “It’s hard not to blame myself for what happened. She was in here every morning. She’d go for a run, then end up here. The last few times, something seemed off about her.”

“Off in what way? Manic?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. She just seemed… jumpy. Off. But not off the wall, talking a mile a minute. This was a different Lexie.” He paused, looking at me. “A scared Lexie.”

The only time I’d ever seen my sister afraid of anything was the day when Ryan hadn’t come up from underwater. Fear just wasn’t typically part of her emotional repertoire.

“We had this stupid argument,” he said.

“Argument? About what?”

He shook his head, looked away. “Nothing really. Like I said, it was stupid. But she went away in a dramatic huff—you know how she could get—then didn’t come by for days. I should have checked in on her. But I didn’t want to piss her off. When she first got here, she was into having visitors, letting people come and use the pool. Then she closed everything up. Put up all those no-trespassing signs.”

“Do you know what changed?” I asked. “What made her shut herself away?”

“Can’t help you with that one,” he said, looking away. “I have no idea.”

Even though he was a grown man now, I could still read him like I’d been able to when he was a little boy. I knew, without a doubt, that Ryan was lying. I just didn’t know why.

We finished our coffee and said our goodbyes. “It’s really good to see you again, Jax,” he said as he pulled me into a tight hug.

“Same,” I said, feeling myself stiffen, then relax and hug him back just as tightly, comforted by the sense of familiarity. Maybe he wasn’t being totally upfront with me about what had been going on with Lexie, but if I played my cards right, I just might be able to get him to open up and tell me the truth.

“I’ll see you at the service tomorrow. And in the meantime, if you need anything, anything at all, call me day or night.” He wrote his number down on a napkin and handed it to me.

I thanked him and gathered up the beer and package.

He frowned at the long rectangular box tucked under my arm. “What’s in the box?”

“I’m not sure. Something Lexie ordered.”

“Take care of yourself, Jax. If staying up at Sparrow Crest turns out to be too much, call me anytime. I’ve got a spare room, and my door’s always open.”

chapter fourteen

September 16, 1929

Lanesborough, New Hampshire

Work on the foliage festival has reached a frenzy: I am out of the house every day arranging things and making preparations. Today, we scoured the kitchen in the church basement and took stock of all the kitchen implements, making a list of the additional things we’d have to bring in to cook and serve the chicken-pie supper.

Will says I have become the Queen of Lists.

It does me good, hearing the scratch of pencil on paper. Writing down what needs to be done, then doing it and crossing it off the list. It makes me feel like I have a sense of control.

I have no control over my own body anymore. It’s growing in new ways. I’ve had to let out my dresses. My stomach turns at the thought of food that isn’t porridge, bread, or applesauce. Even my hair seems to have a will of its own, sticking up at funny angles and refusing to be held by pins.

Will says I look beautiful, that pregnancy has given me a healthy glow.

I feel more out of my body than ever before. Like I am floating outside it, watching the bloated and swollen Mrs. Monroe scratch things off her list, kiss her husband’s cheek, let out her dresses and loosen her shoes. You have no control over anything, I want to tell her.

* * *

Today, I arrived home to find that a new letter arrived from Eliza.

Dearest Ethel,

Since poor Martha’s death, I have been very busy indeed. I have been engaged in secret research. I have not told Benson or anyone else what I have learned. You are the first.

I have contacted everyone I’ve been able to who has experienced a “miracle” at the springs. And what I’ve learned is very troubling indeed.

The musician I told you about who became an overnight sensation—his oldest son was hit by a streetcar and killed three weeks after his record hit the top of the charts. The woman whose asthma was cured—her husband took ill with consumption. Little Charles Woodcock is now walking, while his sister has been laid to rest.

The old folks in town, they know the truth. They say the springs give miracles, but they always take something in return.

The springs exact a price equal to what was given.

Please tell me, my darling friend, did you get your wish?

Please don’t think it horrible of me to admit that I pray you did not.

There is one more thing I must tell you, though I am sure you will think me quite mad.

I have seen little Martha. I went to the pool at night, and she was there, waiting for me. “Come swimming with me,” she said. And oh, Ethel, I ran from her then. I ran and have not been back, but I know she’s there still, waiting.

Yours,

Eliza Harding

* * *

The room swam around me and before I even realized what I was doing, I crumpled the letter and threw it into the fireplace, where it landed on the hot coals from this morning and immediately caught fire.

September 23, 1929

After hearing from Eliza, I wrote back right away, confessing that her letter troubled me deeply. “I do not think you mad,” I assured her. “I believe you were shaken to the core by the death of poor little Martha,” I told her. “Grief can do funny things to the mind.” I went on to say that I thought it would do her a world of good to get away from the hotel and springs. I invited her to come to visit me, to be our houseguest. “Come right away,” I wrote. “Please, Eliza, I insist. You don’t even need to take the time to write me back. Just get in your car and come.”

And I waited, like a foolish girl, ever hopeful. With each sound of a car engine on our street, I peered out the window hoping to see Eliza, imagining our embrace, how lovely it would be to have her in our house. We would drink tea every morning. I would tell her about my pregnancy, and she would offer advice, tell me stories of what her own pregnancy had been like. And surely, once she was away from the hotel, the springs would lose their strange hold over her—she would see that the stories she’d heard, the things she believed she’d seen, simply could not be possible. We’d even laugh over it, how foolish she’d been for believing such things. I pictured it all so clearly as I sat alone in my kitchen with my tea. I’d made a whole pot, set out an extra cup and saucer across from me, told myself Eliza could show up at any moment.