“So this property is part of Hartmann Ranch now?” Jamie asked.

Lester nodded. “I guess it’s all right for me to tell you since it’s public record. All the Hartmann land used to be on the east side of the road, but now they own several thousand acres along the west side.”

“Why do they need so much land?” Jamie asked, taking in fields that had once been cleared but were now covered with prairie grass and scrubby mesquite trees. Obviously, Gus Hartmann had no pressing use for the land when he made the McGraf family leave.

Lester shrugged. “My dad says that owning a lot of land makes rich folks feel safe or something like that. Kind of like owning an island, I guess. Instead of being surrounded by water, or by walls like the movie stars in Hollywood, some rich people surround themselves with a sea of land. Except what’s the point if they never visit their safe place. Gus Hartmann hasn’t been to the ranch since I started working here. And Miss Amanda has only been here once since she married the greenhorn.”

Jamie took a last look at the deserted homestead as Lester turned the truck around and sighed.

“You feeling okay?” he asked.

“Just a little melancholy. Those poor people. By now Mr. and Mrs. McGraf should have had grandkids running around the yard.”

“Yeah. Or maybe the Lord was ready to call them home,” Lester said. “Maybe they’re living in a whole lot better place than they had back there and not having to work so damned hard to put food on the table and shirts on their backs.”

“So we shouldn’t grieve when people die?” Jamie asked. “Or question the circumstances when their deaths seem so unnecessary?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lester said. “I leave stuff like that to Miss Amanda.”

They rode in silence for a time. Then Jamie asked, “Would you really lose your job if I got hurt?”

“Yep. And this is a damned good job. Better than any job I’d have working in Alma, that’s for sure. I’ve got health insurance, a retirement plan, and two weeks’ paid leave a year. And I live in one of the bunkhouses for nothing. Miss Amanda takes good care of her people.”

“I saw Amanda the other night on television,” Jamie said. “She was amazing.”

“Yeah, whenever one of her revivals is televised, all the Hartmann City folks gather at the church to watch on the big screen. Everyone who works on the ranch thinks the world of Miss Amanda.”

“What about Gus Hartmann?” Jamie asked as she stroked her dog. “What do people think of him?”

“Everyone respects him, but he doesn’t know everyone’s name like Miss Amanda. When I was a little kid, he used to come to the football games in Alma with Amanda’s son. Mr. Hartmann is a short little guy. Real short. Sonny Hartmann went to a private school back East, but when he was at the ranch, he’d drive into town and hang out some. You’d think a rich kid like that would be a snob, but he wasn’t. Sometimes he even played pickup basketball at the school yard. Shame about what happened to him. Everyone in town was real tore up over it. But you know what? I’m not supposed to talk about the Hartmanns. It’s a habit, I guess. Folks who live here on the ranch are more interested in the Hartmanns than they are in movie stars or football heroes or the president in Washington, D.C., but we all signed a paper promising not to talk about the Hartmann family to outsiders.”

“A confidentiality agreement?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Lester said. “But since you’re living here now, I guess that kind of makes you one of us.”

“Not really,” Jamie said. “I’m just passing through. I won’t ask you any more questions about the Hartmanns. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You know, we’ve all been mighty curious about you,” Lester admitted. “At first we thought you were going to work for Montgomery-a secretary or bookkeeper, maybe-but it seems like you don’t do much of anything except walk.”

“So, why do people think I’m here?” Jamie asked.

“Well,” Lester said, staring at the road, “Freda says that Miss Amanda invited you to come to the ranch to get away from a mean boyfriend and then you turned up pregnant so she’s letting you stay here till the baby is born. But Miss Amanda is still afraid that the boyfriend might come looking for you, so she doesn’t want you wandering off by yourself.”

“That’s pretty close,” Jamie said.

“You’re just lucky to have someone like Amanda Hartmann to help you get your life back on track,” Lester said.

“That’s true,” Jamie said.

Back in her sitting room, Jamie removed the decorative items from the two rooms, leaving only her books and photographs and the potted plants from her grandmother’s house. She even took down her great-grandmother’s mirror and put it in the closet alongside her grandmother’s sewing stand. She could no longer think of these two rooms as home. Not even a temporary one.

JAMIE AWOKE IN the night to the sound of singing.

A thin, quavery female voice was singing a strange song about a woman longing for her “sweet little Alice blue gown.”

Jamie rolled over and looked toward the chair in the corner.

It was empty.

The singing was coming from the sitting room. Light was pouring through the open door. Jamie rose and padded across the bedroom.

The old woman was sitting next to Ralph on the sofa, her hand stroking his back. His tail thumped when he saw Jamie.

Their visitor was wearing a lacy black nightgown that hung loosely over her bony shoulders and chest. Her feet were bare. Red lipstick covered her mouth and much of her chin. A well-worn red leather pocketbook rested on her lap. When she finished her song, she applauded, the loose skin on her underarms waving back and forth.

Jamie applauded, too.

The woman looked at Jamie, apparently noticing her for the first time. She acknowledged Jamie’s applause with a shy smile then let forth a delighted cackle. Jamie remembered that laugh. The first time she’d heard it, she thought she was dreaming. Now she was wide awake, and the woman was obviously quite real.

“I’m Jamie,” she said as she sat across from the woman. “What is your name?”

“I told you last time I was here,” the old woman said. “I’m Mary Millicent, and this is my house.”

“Do you live here all the time?” Jamie asked.

The woman nodded. “Up in the tower. My children are going to burn in hell for keeping me a prisoner in that room with the witch as my jailer.”

“You’re not in that room now,” Jamie pointed out.

“The witch thinks she is so smart, but she’s forgotten that this is my house, and I have a magic key that opens all the doors.” No sooner had she said these words than she gasped and put her hands over her mouth.

Jamie jumped up and rushed to the old woman’s side. “What’s the matter?” she asked, kneeling in front of her.

Mary Millicent took her hands from her mouth. “You won’t tell them, will you?” she asked in a whisper, her gaze darting from side to side.

“About your key? No, I won’t tell,” Jamie whispered back.

“And promise you won’t tell the witch that I was here.”

Jamie nodded.

“Cross your heart and hope to die.”

Jamie solemnly crossed her heart. Then Mary Millicent looked around as though to make sure no one else was in the room. “The witch doesn’t know I can walk,” she whispered. “The nurse, too.”

“You’re kidding!”

Mary Millicent shook her head. “If the witch knew I could walk, she would lock me up or chain me to the bed.”

Jamie sat on the sofa. Ralph gave her a quizzical look, as though asking if he should abandon his position on the other side of Mary Millicent and come sit beside her. With a gesture of her hand, Jamie told him he was fine where he was.

“I added on the wing because we needed more room for all our important visitors,” Mary Millicent said, sitting up straighter and lifting her chin. “We had presidents and senators and ambassadors and even a sultan come here. Sometimes they brought their wives, and sometimes they didn’t. They liked to dress up like cowboys and ride horses and hunt deer and quail, then sit around smoking Cuban cigars and drinking Tennessee whiskey.”