ou’re going to have to get over it,” he said to Amelia. “You’re dead. We’re not.”
The force of the blow lifted him off his feet, shot him back five feet to slam against the wall. He tasted blood in his mouth even as he shoved clear again.
“Stop! Stop!” Hayley shouted. Force of will and fear had her pushing against the freezing wind toward Harper. “He’s your great-great-grandbaby. He comes out of you. You sang to him when he was a boy. You can’t hurt him now.”
She started forward, with no clear idea what she would do if she reached Amelia. Before Harper could yank her back, a gust of wind knocked her off her feet and sent her sprawling. She thought she heard someone scream, in rage or grief. Then there was nothing but the sound of the storm.
“Are you crazy?” Harper dropped down beside her to prop her up.
“No, are you? You’re the one whose mouth’s bleeding.”
He swiped the side of his hand over it. “You hurt?”
“No. She’s gone. At least she’s gone. Christ, Harper, she had a knife.”
“Sickle. And yeah, that’s a new one.”
“It can’t be real, right? I mean, she’s not corporeal, so the rest of it isn’t real either. She couldn’t slice us up with it. You think?”
“No.” But he wondered if she could make you imagine you were cut, or do yourself some kind of harm defending yourself.
She stayed on the floor, getting her breath back, leaning on him as she stared through the open doors. “When I first came here, when I was pregnant, she’d come to my room sometimes. It was a little spooky, sure, but there was something comforting, too. The way it seemed she was just looking in on me, seeing if I was okay. And this sense I got, this wistfulness, from her. And now she’s—”
She was on her feet and running the instant she heard the singing come through the baby monitor.
She was fast; Harper was faster and got to Lily’s door two strides ahead of her. Quick enough to throw out an arm and block her. “It’s okay, it’s all right. Let’s not wake her up.”
Lily slept in the crib, curled under her blanket with her stuffed dog. In the rocking chair, Amelia sang. She wore her gray dress, her hair in neat coils, and her face was calm and quiet.
“It’s so cold.”
“It’s not bothering the baby. It never bothered me as a kid. I don’t know why.”
In her chair, Amelia turned her head to look over. There was sorrow on her face, grief, and, Hayley thought, regret. She continued to sing, low and sweet, but her gaze was on Harper now.
When the song was done, she faded away.
“She was singing to you,” Hayley told him. “Some part of her remembers, some part of her knows, and she’s sorry. What must it be like, to be insane for a hundred years?”
Together, they crossed to the crib where Hayley fussed with the blanket.
“She’s okay, Hayley. Lily’s just fine. Come on.”
“Sometimes I don’t know if I can take it, this roller-coaster ride through the haunted house.” She pushed at her hair as they walked back to Hayley’s bedroom. “One minute she’s knocking us around, and the next, she’s singing lullabies.”
“Dead lunatic,” he pointed out. “Still, maybe it’s a way of telling us she might come after you or me, but she won’t hurt Lily.”
“What if I do? What if she does what she did at the pond, and makes me hurt Lily, or someone else?”
“You won’t let that happen. Sit down a minute. You want something? Water or something?”
“No.”
He eased her down so they sat on the side of the bed. “She never hurt anybody in this house. Maybe she wanted to. Maybe she even tried, but she never did.” He
took her hand, and because it still felt chilled, rubbed it between both of his. “That’s one thing that would’ve gotten passed down. A crazy woman attacking a Harper, or even a servant. It would’ve been reported, and she’d have been taken away, put in jail or an asylum.”
“Maybe. What about the sickle, and the rope? That says: I’m gonna tie somebody up and slice them to ribbons.”