“Your husband?” Mrs. Crumb said, sounding torn between outrage and fear.

Andie pointed to the kids’ bowls. “Mrs. Crumb, what are the lambs having for dinner?”

“Macaroni and cheese.” Mrs. Crumb put her chin up. “That’s good for them.”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“Where are the vegetables? Fruit? Protein? Grains? Dairy? You have fat, starch, and yellow dye number two covered, now let’s try fiber and vitamins.”

“I don’t need to listen to this,” Mrs. Crumb said, her smile gone now.

“Actually, you do.” Andie went over to the cupboard and opened it to see boxes of mac and cheese and jars of pasta in some kind of toxic orange sauce. “Oh, my God.”

“You fancy city people,” Mrs. Crumb said as Andie opened the refrigerator.

There was a jar of jam, a loaf of white bread, a gallon jug of milk that was almost empty, and two squares of American cheese.

She turned back to the table. “You’re going to have to do better than this.”

“That’s what they eat,” Mrs. Crumb said. “That’s kid food.”

The children were both watching her now, the little girl scooping more mac and cheese, the boy with his head ducked low, two pairs of Archer blue eyes boring into her over Archer cheekbones. They were thin, pale, and hostile, but nothing about either one of them said “victim.”

Andie smiled at the little girl. “So you’re Alice.”

The little girl put on the headphones to her Walkman and turned up the volume.

Andie transferred her smile to the boy. “And you must be Carter.”

He ignored her.

“Yeah, I’m thrilled to be here, too,” Andie said. “But since we’re stuck with each other-”

“Now you listen here,” Mrs. Crumb blustered. “You can’t come in here and change things all around. I don’t believe you’re married to Mr. Archer.” She lifted her chin again. “You are not a lady.”

“And you are not a cook.” Andie turned her attention back to Carter. “Things will get better,” she told him.

He ignored her and ate more mac and cheese.

Andie took a deep breath. “Okay, look, it’s my job to make you safe and healthy and I’m going to do that. For the next month, you’ll have decent meals…”

“Well, I never,” Mrs. Crumb said.

“… and I’ll see to your education and maybe we can get you both back to school in your regular grade levels, and when I leave, there’ll be good people taking care of you, I promise.”

Carter stared at her with his flat eyes, unimpressed.

“Not military school. We’ll put you in public school. In Columbus. There are very good schools there.” She looked at Alice.

Alice kept eating, her headphones blocking all other sound.

“She won’t go,” Mrs. Crumb said, her voice fat with satisfaction. “You don’t understand-”

“Mrs. Crumb, do you want to remain employed?” Andie said. “Because right now, it’s not looking good for you.”

The housekeeper glared at her, and Andie stared back, unimpressed.

After a moment, Mrs. Crumb pursed her painted lips and sat down across the table from where Andie stood, forcing a smile. “We got off to a bad start.”

“Yes,” Andie said, waiting to see what her next move was.

“There are things about this house you don’t know,” Mrs. Crumb said, leaning forward, and Carter stopped eating to watch her. “It’s a big house, there’s history in this house. I’ve been here all my life, since I was sixteen, I know this house. You need me.”

Carter went back to his mac and cheese and Andie thought, That’s not what he was expecting. “The history of the house isn’t important to me. The kids are.”

“It ain’t just the history,” Mrs. Crumb said, her eyes dark. “There’s things here you can’t understand.”

“Ghosts?” How dumb do you think I am? “I don’t believe in ghosts. I do believe in nutrition and basic curriculum skills, so that’s what I’ll be concentrating on.”

Mrs. Crumb dropped her voice. “Some things you can’t believe are real.”

“Like this stuff you’re feeding the children.” Andie looked at the orange smears left in Alice’s bowl as she polished off the last of her pasta. “I’ve never seen macaroni and cheese that color before. Does it glow in the dark?”

Mrs. Crumb got up and took the children’s bowls. “We should get along, you and me. You’re going to need me.”

Andie looked at the old woman’s cold little eyes. Jesus, I hope not. “I’d like to see my bedroom, please.”

“I’ll show you everything,” Mrs. Crumb said, her defiance back. “I’ll just show you.”

“Just my bedroom,” Andie said, but Mrs. Crumb had already headed for a door in the far wall, so she smiled one last time at the kids, picked up her suitcase, and followed the housekeeper.

It was going to be a long month.

Andie followed Mrs. Crumb into a short dismal hallway with faded wallpaper and a worn wood floor. The housekeeper turned to go up a narrow flight of equally worn wooden stairs that were probably the servant stairs, and then she stopped on the first step, her watery, protruding eyes even with Andie’s now.

“I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea,” she began. “I’m sure Mr. Archer just forgot to tell me-” She looked past Andie and scowled. “Now what are you doing out here?” she snapped, and Andie turned and saw Alice standing behind her, looking even smaller and thinner than she had in the kitchen, her neck festooned with all that jewelry, the headphones from her Walkman still over her ears.

“Hello, Alice,” Andie said.

The deep shadows under Alice’s eyes and cheekbones made her little face almost skull-like. She stared at Andie for a minute and then pushed past her and Mrs. Crumb and began to climb the stairs, something stuffed under her arm.

Andie reached out and touched her sleeve and Alice jerked away and kept going.

“Is that a doll?” Andie asked, and Alice stopped a couple of steps above her and took her headphones off.

She held up a stuffed doll with a bluish-white head, its three-tiered sepia-toned skirt flaring out from a faded gold ribbon belt around its lumpy waist. The thing looked like it had been left to mold before Alice had found it, the face and dress mottled with age. “It’s Jessica,” Alice said and went on up the stairs.

It’s dead, Andie thought.

“She won’t give that up,” Mrs. Crumb said, in her idea of a whisper. “I’ve tried giving her other dolls but she just wants that one. It’s not right. We should do something about that, you and me.”

Andie watched Alice’s straight little back climb the stairs without wavering even though she must have heard the housekeeper’s voice. “If that’s the doll Alice wants, that’s the doll she gets.”

Mrs. Crumb sucked in her breath and shook her head and then continued up the stairs.

They reached another short hall on the second floor, and Mrs. Crumb walked around the stairwell and started up another flight. “Nursery’s on the third floor. Keeps the noise down.”

“Noise?” Andie said, following an entirely silent Alice, but Mrs. Crumb didn’t speak again until they were on the third-floor landing in another cramped little hall.

“This is the bathroom,” she said proudly, opening a door opposite the stairs that led to a large vintage washroom with a freestanding brass-and-frosted-glass shower in the middle of the hardwood floor. “You’re sharing this with me. My room’s on the other side”-she nodded toward the front of the house-“but I know you won’t mind since we’re going to be such good friends.” Then she moved toward the back of the house to a door that was ajar because Alice had walked through it moments before.

“This is your bedroom,” Mrs. Crumb said, pushing the door open wider.

Andie followed her into a large, high-ceilinged paneled room, dominated by a four-poster bed and a stone mantel surrounding a gas fireplace. The long stone-lined windows looked out over the old woods behind the house, and Andie could hear the last calls of the crows in the flushed sky.