searching through the jumble of furniture that had been stored there. When she finally emerged, covered with the dust and grime that had collected through the years, it was only to climb the long flights of stairs to the attic, where she began the search once more.
Again she found nothing.
But it was strange, for she did find that the Sturgesses, apparently for generations long past, had been inveterate collectors. Aside from enough discarded furniture to fill the house half-again, she had found box after box of old albums, piles of scrapbooks, cartons of personal correspondence, and even yellowed school reports done by Sturgess children who had long since grown up, grown old, and passed away.
And yet, among the collected detritus of the family’s life, there had been not one scrap of information about the mill upon which their fortune had been built.
In the end she decided there was a reason for it. The records, she was certain, would have too clearly reflected the realities of the mill—the theft of her own family’s share in it, and the appalling conditions under which it had been run. The Sturgesses, she was sure, would not have wanted those records around as a constant reminder of the sins of the past.
Eventually giving up the search, she wandered into the dining room to sit among the portraits of the departed Sturgesses.
She dwelt for a long time on the picture of Samuel Pruett Sturgess, who today seemed to be mocking her, as if he knew it was a descendant of Charles Cobb Deaver who was gazing at him, and was laughing at her efforts to discover the secrets he had long since destroyed.
At last, as the afternoon faded into the kind of hot and sticky evening that promised no relief from the humidity of the day, Phillip came home. He found his wife still in the dining room.
“Enjoying the pleasure of their company?” he asked. When Carolyn turned to face him, he regretted his bantering tone. Her hair, usually flowing in soft waves, hung limply around her shoulders, and her white blouse was smudged with dirt. Her face looked haggard, and her eyes almost frightened. Phillip’s smile faded away. “Carolyn, what is it?”
“Nothing,” Carolyn sighed. Then she managed a weak smile. “I guess I’m behaving like an hysteric. I’ve been turning the house upside down all day, trying to find the old records from the mill.”
“They’re probably in the attic,” Phillip observed. “That’s where practically everything is.”
“They’re not,” Carolyn replied. She pulled herself to her feet, and started out of the room. “And if you ask me, old Samuel Pruett destroyed them all himself.”
For a moment, Phillip thought she must be joking, but there was nothing good-humored in her tone. He followed her into the library, where he fixed himself a drink, then poured her a Coke. “What about the girls?” he asked. “Any problems?”
Carolyn sank into a chair, shaking her head. “None at all. They’ve been together all day, and I kept waiting for the explosion. But it hasn’t come.”
Phillip’s brows arched hopefully. “Maybe,” he suggested, “you were wrong this morning.”
“I wish I could think so,” Carolyn replied. “But I don’t. I just have a feeling something’s going to happen. And I wasn’t wrong about the mill this morning, either,” she added. “I really do want you to close it up again.” She met his eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, and I can’t explain it, but I’ve just gotten to the point where I believe your parents were right. There’s something evil about the place, and I think your whole family knew it. I think that’s why I can’t find any records. And I mean, none at all!”
Phillip hesitated, then, to Carolyn’s surprise, nodded. “You might be right,” he said at last. “Anyway, I can’t really say I think you’re wrong anymore.” His gaze shifted away from her for a moment, then came back. “I went down there again today, and something $$
As clearly as he could, he told Carolyn about the strange experiences he’d had—the odor of smoke he’d noticed in the mill when he’d been there with Alan back when the restoration was just beginning, and the sense of panic he’d had the day Alan had died.
He even told her about the hallucination he’d had, as if he’d slipped back a century in time, and felt as if an angry mob had been reaching out to him, trying to lay their hands on him.