Long Lost, стр. 7
The shortcut was a mossy fallen log that lay across a narrow point in the river. A person with good balance and little fear could climb across it, make a leap to a jut of exposed rocks, and jump from there to the other side.
Hazel’s annoyance with her sister returned in a flash. “But it’s so much faster!”
“The water’s too high,” Pearl argued. “Besides, Pixie is scared of it.”
The dog whined softly.
“Fine,” Hazel sighed. “We’ll take Parson’s Bridge. But you had better keep up.”
The girls dashed through the woods, to Parson’s Bridge, back to the edge of town, their shaggy dog bounding ahead of them. Behind them, the shadows stretched like the far larger, far more terrible secret that waited to wrap them both in its dark arms.
That was the end of the chapter.
Fiona ran her fingertips down the page. She imagined Pearl and Hazel rushing across an old wooden bridge, their matching choppy hair floating on the wind. Arden would never cut off a hank of hair to save Fiona. She wouldn’t let herself look less than perfect on the ice even if it saved Fiona from a year of groundings.
Somewhere in the mystery room, a floorboard creaked.
Fiona glanced up.
She couldn’t see anyone, but a person could easily have been hidden by the bookshelves. Fiona listened. After a moment, she caught the creak of another step, and then a tired-sounding sigh, barely more than an exhalation.
Holding her backpack close, Fiona scooted around the end of the shelf, into the corner. She didn’t feel like facing any more strangers. She huddled against the shelf, waiting.
But now there was only silence.
Fiona turned to the next chapter. If there was another breath, another creak, another pair of eyes watching her from somewhere in the room, she was soon too absorbed to notice.
Chapter Four
Everything changed when the carnival came to town, the book went on.
A train delivered the animals and acrobats, the striped tents that popped up at the edge of town like monstrous mushrooms, the carousel, and the wheezy calliope that sent tendrils of music through the summer air.
During its stay, Pearl and Hazel practically lived at the carnival. Pearl loved the tightrope walkers and trapeze performers. Hazel loved the trained bears and horses. She even befriended two young animal caretakers, a twin brother and sister named Mae and Matthew, whose father was the carnival’s animal doctor.
The twins were fourteen, far closer to Hazel’s age than Pearl’s. They were bold and wild, quick to start trouble, and even quicker to run from it afterward. Pearl, smaller and slower, could not keep up. She could only watch as Hazel dashed off, seldom pausing to throw Pearl a backward glance.
Hazel and the twins pilfered fruit from the Millers’ orchards without inviting Pearl along. They stole boats to fish in the lake, rowing away from the docks before Pearl could climb inside. More than once, they took a trio of carnival ponies for a ride on Joyous Ridge without even telling Pearl where they had gone.
Fiona stopped.
She knew just how Pearl must have felt: small. Unwanted. Excluded. A little like Fiona always felt while sitting alone in the back seat of the car.
And there was something else familiar about what she’d just read. Joyous Ridge. Had she heard that name somewhere before? Frowning slightly, she fell back into the story.
Late on the festival’s last night, after the last call of the barkers and the final bow of the acrobats, after the grand lighted carousel had finished its very last spin, Hazel and Pearl watched the carnival close down.
They lingered on the meadow’s cool grass, nibbling popcorn from paper sacks as the starry sky grew darker, and the great striped tents billowed to the ground. The trained bears and the prancing ponies were marched onto waiting train cars. Roustabouts wound ropes and collapsed metal posts. Colored lights winked out.
Watching the carnival vanish made Pearl sad, although the thought that Mae and Matthew would leave with it lessened this sadness considerably. She glanced from Hazel’s face to the deepening sky above. Pearl hadn’t forgiven Hazel for the way she’d behaved all that week. And naturally, Hazel hadn’t asked to be forgiven. She never did. But at least they were alone again, just the two of them.
It must have been nearing eleven o’clock, Pearl realized. Long past their nine o’clock curfew. Their mother and father were away at a gala in Hartford, but Mrs. Rawlins would be awake and waiting.
And she would be furious.
By now, she may have even sent Mr. Hobbes, the groundskeeper, out to search for them. Mr. Hobbes was more affable than Mrs. Rawlins, but his chattiness had its drawbacks. Come morning, half the neighbors and their household help would know that the sisters had disgraced the family once again.
“Hazel.” Pearl nudged her sister’s arm. “We had better get home.”
Hazel’s eyes didn’t leave the vanishing circus. “Just wait. I want to stay until they’re done. I have to say goodbye to Mae and Matthew.”
Pearl felt a prickle of annoyance at waiting for Mae and Matthew, when they had certainly never waited for her. Still, she obeyed. She traced the constellations in the stars above. She folded her empty paper popcorn bag into a tight square, tapping her foot impatiently. Minutes slid by.
In all of those minutes, Hazel didn’t speak to Pearl. She merely went on watching the roustabouts, waving at Matthew now and then when he looked up from his work and caught her eye.
At last a determination that had been forming inside of Pearl grew too solid to ignore.
She turned toward her sister. “I’m going home.”
Hazel didn’t give her a glance. “I told you to wait.”
“I’ve been waiting. It’s getting cold, and it’s late, and we’re going to be in enough trouble as it is.”
Hazel lifted her chin. “Well, I’m not leaving.”
“Fine,” Pearl replied. “I’ll go home alone.”
Hazel’s hand flashed out and grasped Pearl’s arm. “You can’t go alone. You’ll tell Mrs. Rawlins everything.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Just wait