Michael's fists came up, ready to begin pummeling at his grandfather, but Amos reached out, putting one large hand on each of Michael's forearms. As his strong fingers closed, Michael found himself held immobile.

"Now you listen to me, young man," he heard his grandfather say. "What happened to your father was an accident. Nobody pushed him, and nobody killed him. It was an accident, and it's over with. Do you understand?"

Michael stared at his grandfather, then started to speak, but something in the old man's eyes made him remain silent. He swallowed hard, then nodded his head. His grandfather's iron grip eased, and his arms dropped to his side.

"And another thing," Amos added, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. "If I tell you something, you can count on it being the truth. So I don't ever again want to hear you arguing with me. Is that clear?"

"But-"

His grandfather interrupted, "You're not a baby anymore, and you mustn't act like one. You asked me what happened, and I told you." He was silent for a moment, then: "If you don't want an answer, don't ask a question. And don't ever argue with me. I'm older than you, and I'm wiser than you, and I don't hold with children not respecting their elders. All right?"

For several seconds Michael said nothing, but then, from the depths of his subconscious, the right words rose to the surface. "Yes, sir," he said softly. His grandfather smiled.

"Good. We're going to get along just fine, you and I. Now, you get settled in here, and when you're ready, come on downstairs, and I'll show you around the place. And I bet your grandma will have something good in the oven. You like apple pie?" Michael nodded, but said nothing.

"Well, I'll bet you've never tasted anything like your grandmother's apple pie." He started out of the room, but stopped when Michael suddenly spoke again. "Grandpa, how come Grandma can't walk?" Slowly, Amos Hall turned back to face the boy. "I was wrong a couple of minutes ago," he said after a long silence. "I won't answer all your questions, because some questions just don't have answers. And that's one of them. I don't know why your grandma can't walk, Michael. It's just something that happened a long time ago." He turned, and left Michael alone in the room that was filled with all the things that had belonged to his father.

Anna Hall looked up from the kitchen table where she sat in her wheelchair, shelling peas for that evening's dinner. "Well? Are they getting settled in?"

Amos lowered himself into the chair opposite her. "If you can call it that. The girl's taking it hard, I think."

Anna stopped working for a moment, but still avoided her husband's eyes. "We can't expect her not to, can we? For us, it's a little different. We hadn't even seen him for twenty years. It was almost as if he was already dead-"

"He was," Amos replied, his voice bitter. "As far as I'm concerned, he was as good as dead the day he walked out of here."

"Don't say that, Amos," Anna pleaded. "Please don't say that, not anymore. What if Janet hears you? What would she think?"

"What does she think anyway? What do you suppose Mark told her about us? You don't think he didn't talk about us, do you?" When Anna remained silent, his voice rose. "Do you? Do you really think he wouldn't have told her all about that night, and what he thought he saw?"

Anna's eyes narrowed. "If he did, then why is she here? Why didn't she tell us to ship Mark's body back to New York? I don't think he told her anything. Nothing at all."

Amos sighed and stood up. "Well, it doesn't matter. The important thing is that she came back and brought the child with her."

"But that doesn't mean she'll stay, Amos."

"She'll stay," Amos replied grimly. "She needs us right now, and we'll be here for her. She'll stay. I'll see to it."

As Amos strode through the back door, Anna regarded her husband's erect spine with bitterness. It was true, she realized. If Amos wanted Janet and Michael to stay in Prairie Bend, they would. And she, who had never been able to defy her husband in all the years of their marriage, would not defy him now.

Janet Hall awoke from a restless sleep. The nightmare had come back, the one she hadn't had since she'd married Mark. Now, as she came out of the dream, she felt disoriented, and the acrid smell of smoke lingered in her memory. For a moment she listened for the familiar sounds of the city at night, but heard only the silence of the prairie. And then, in the silence, there was something else: a whimpering sound, mixed with soft moanings.

Michael, in the grip of his own nightmare.

Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, she got out of bed, slipped into the flannel robe Anna had given her, and made her way through the darkness to the room next door, where Michael slept. She found him tangled in the sheets, his arms moving spasmodically, his hands bunched into tight fists.

"Michael-Michael, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Michael's eyes flew open. He stared at his mother without speaking, then his arms went around her neck, and he buried his face in her breast. She drew his quivering body close, cradling him. "He's not here," he sobbed. "gone, Mommy. I saw someone push him, and then he fell off the edge. He fell, and he fell, and then there was a pitchfork. I saw it, Mom. I tried to warn him, but I couldn't. And then-and then-"

"Hush," Janet soothed. "It was only a dream, sweetheart. You just had a bad dream." The shaking subsided, and Michael relaxed his grip on her, but Janet hugged him closer. "Would you like to come and sleep with me tonight?"

Now Michael wriggled out of her arms and drew slightly away from her, shaking his head. "I'm too old for that," he said.

"I know," Janet agreed. "But sometimes people get lonely, or frightened, and they need to be close to someone. I just thought maybe tonight you might want-"

"I'm okay," Michael interrupted. He sat up in bed and began straightening out the sheets, and Janet rose uncertainly to her feet.

"If you're sure you're all right-"

Michael nodded vigorously. "I'm fine, Mom." He lay back down, pulling the sheet up to his chin.

Janet leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "All right. Sleep tight. If you need me, I'm right next door. Okay?"

Michael nodded, turning away from her to curl himself up into a tight ball. Janet watched him for a moment; then, reluctantly, she left him alone and started back to her own room. In the hall, standing at the head of the stairs, she found Amos. Startled, she tripped over the hem of her robe. Instantly, Amos put out a hand to steady her.

"Are you all right?"

"A nightmare. Michael just had a nightmare."

Amos nodded. "I heard something. I was coming up to see what was wrong."

Janet nodded. "I guess I wasn't sleeping very well anyway. I-I just feel all confused. It's as if everything's a dream, and I keep thinking I'll wake up, but then I know I won't."

Wordlessly, Amos led her into her room and guided her back into bed. "It'll take time," he finally said. "You have to give yourself time to get used to it. But you'll be all right, Janet. You and Michael will both be all right. We're here, and we love you, and we'll take care of you for as long as you need us. All right?"

In the dim moonlight that filtered into the darkened room, Janet looked up at her father-in-law. There was so much of Mark in his face, so much of Mark's strength in his eyes. "I-I just feel so helpless-"

"And that's all right, too," Amos assured her. "Just try to go back to sleep, and try not to worry."

He stayed with her, sitting in the chair near her bed, until once more she drifted into sleep.

Michael lay still in bed, listening first to the soft mutterings of his grandfather and his mother talking, then shifting his attention to the sounds of the night. Crickets chirped softly, and the lowing of cattle drifted through the darkness. His eyes searched out the model airplanes, and he began thinking once more about his father.