She used to lock Jordan and Josiah in the closet when they were toddlers. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. ’ ‘But two letters,’ put in the woman. ’ ‘You would speak of the house?’ ‘Many’s the time little Miss Mary would say her papa meant for her to have it, she having no brothers and sisters at all—when we played together I mean, she and me and Joan Pottiswick. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple.
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