Chapter One

Sara Murdoch marked an 85 on the last history final, then dropped the red pen to the top of her desk. It clattered against the wood before rolling onto the floor and under the loaded book shelf behind her.

She leaned back in her chair and relaxed as the feel of freedom soaked in. The spring session was over and for the first time in four years, she was taking the summer session off. Just her and Kendra, roaming the mountains of northern Georgia, breathing fresh air, and soaking up sunshine.

Kendra’s father was supposed to have taken her for the month of June, but he’d changed those plans at the last minute, announcing that he’d be England for the summer, getting remarried. The news had stung at first, but Sara had gotten over the pain quickly enough. Their divorce had been final for two years, and the love had died before that–if it had ever been love.

Sara wasn’t at all sure she knew what love was at this point, other than the kind of love she felt for her daughter.  The romantic love she’d seen in movies and read about in novels, or even in history books seemed to have about the same lasting power in her life as the cotton candy Kendra loved. One sweet moment, and then it vanished, leaving nothing but that sticky saccharine aftertaste that practically gagged you.

“Are you ready to go?”

Sara scooted her chair back from her desk and motioned Raye Ann Jackson into the room. Raye Ann was chair of the history department, sweet and the most energetic sixty something woman Sara had ever met.

“I’m ready and Kendra is so excited she’s driving me nuts. She’s been counting the days until we leave for two months.”

“I just hope the cabin’s still habitable. It’s been at least four years since I’ve been up there. I lost the taste for it after Mark died. He always loved it so much.”

“As long as it has walls and a roof, we’ll make do. Roughing it will be part of the mountain experience.”

“I wrote the directions down. The rural areas are a little short on road signs, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding it. If you do, just ask anyone where Mattie’s Stop is. She or Henry one will be there and they can give you directions to the cabin. In fact, Mattie can tell you pretty much anything you need to know about the area. She’s a nice woman, although she’s a windbag. And her husband is downright strange–and grows the best vegetables I have ever put in my mouth.”

“I’m sure I’ll meet them.”

“Oh, yes, you have to. They’re as much a part of the North Georgian culture as folk music or apple cider. Here’s the key and the directions,” Raye Ann said, handing over a sealed white envelope. “And my phone number. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

“And here’s my key for you,” Sara said, handing Raye Ann a key to her apartment. Just move in whenever they start the remodeling on your house and stay as long as you need to.”

“I shouldn’t have to be out of the house more than a couple of weeks, but it will be nice to have somewhere to stay other than a hotel. You’re sweet to share it with me.”

“I’m glad it worked out so well for both of us.”

“Just don’t expect much from the cabin. It’s rustic and the appliances were old when Mark and I bought the place twenty years ago. But there’s a mountain stream that runs right by it, and the whole Chattahoochee National Forest out the back door.”

“It sounds exactly like what Kendra and I need.”

“Then I’ll let you get back to work so you can finish up and start your summer adventure.”

Sara stood and gave Raye Ann a brief hug. They didn’t really see each other away from the college, didn’t talk much about personal matters, but they were close in the way colleagues become when they work together for four years.

And as soon as Sara had mentioned taking the summer off and spending some time in the Appalachian mountains in North Georgia, Raye Ann had volunteered the cabin. In fact she’d seemed delighted that the place would be used again.   

As she gathered her things to leave, Sara picked up the test papers that still needed to be entered into the school’s computer system and the stack of mail that had come in the morning delivery. Mostly junk from the looks of it.

An envelope slipped from her fingers as she was stuffing the mail into her canvas briefcase. It was small, like a thank-you card or an invitation. It was addressed to her, but there was no return address. Curious, she put the test papers back on the desk, picked up her chrome-handled letter opener and slit the envelope. The note was typed on white card stock.

    Let the past stay silent.

That was it. One brief statement. No signature.

She dropped the note into the trash, then picked it up again as nebulous dread seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach. The past. What past? Her five years of marriage to Steven? The years she’d struggled working nights to put herself through college? The years she’d lied about her age and took any job any job she could find on the streets of Atlanta just to keep her abdomen from sinking to her backbone?

Or the five long years she’d lived in the Meyers Bickham Children’s Home? Even now she got the creeps just thinking about that place. Frankly, her past sucked. So yeah, she’d let it stay silent.

Actually, she’d love for it to stay silent. And mostly it did, except when the nightmares came and the ghost baby’s cry echoed in her mind like some haunting song that wouldn’t stop.

This time she stuffed the note in a side pocket of her handbag, but she wasn’t going to let it get to her. By tomorrow afternoon, she’d be in the mountain cabin. It was going to be great summer. And just maybe it would be so terrific that the ghost baby would finally stop crying for good.

        #

“Are we almost there, Mommy?”

It seemed like the hundredth time Kendra had asked since they left the city limits of Columbus a little over three hours ago. “Just a few more minutes, sweetie.”

That was if she could find the cutoff road. She’d followed Raye Ann’s directions exactly. She’d driven through Dahlonega and was heading west on Highway 52, toward Amicolola Falls State Park. Only there was nothing to the right marked Delringer Road.

“I want to climb a mountain.”

“We will, but not tonight.”

“We’ll have to watch out for snakes.”

“We’ll be very careful.”

“And mosquitos. I hate mosquitos.”

“We’ll use mosquito repellent.”

“Can I have a cookie?”

“Not now. It’s almost dinner time.” Which would likely be peanut and butter and jelly sandwiches and milk. That was about all she had with her besides fruit and cookies. She’d planned to buy groceries after they settled in the cabin, but nix that plan. Driving around at dusk looking for a seemingly nonexistent dirt road was grating enough. She wasn’t about to go out looking for a grocery once she’d found the cabin–if she found the cabin.

The plan had been to be there long before dark and settle in while there was still daylight. But she’d had a call from the dean at the last minute about a student protesting his grade. She’d had to stick around for a meeting to explain to the student and his parents why he couldn’t skip half the classes, get failing test grades up until the final, then make a low C and expect to pass her course.

She drove another mile, taking the curving, mountainous highway slowly, searching for Delringer Road. When all else fails, ask directions. And she would, except that she was in the middle of nowhere and there wasn’t a house in sight.

She was about to pull onto the shoulder and make a U-turn when she spotted the small convenience store and vegetable stand just ahead. Mattie’s Stop. All Right. Windbag or not, she loved the woman already. Now just let the place be open.

There was a mud-splattered black pickup truck parked in front and a sleek Harley motorcycle. So far so good. Or maybe not so good. She spotted two men standing in the shadows by the outdoor vegetable stand. One of them had on overalls over a muscle shirt, a kind of tough-guy farmer look, and even in the growing dusk, she could see the tattoos that rode his muscular biceps.

The other had on jeans and a sport shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. No tattoos, but he had a thick, brown beard and long, scraggly hair that fell into his face.

“I don’t want to buy groceries,” Kendra protested, as Sara killed the engine. “I want to go to the cabin.”

“We’re only stopping for a minute.”

“Do I have to get out?”

“Yes you do.” Sara stretched her long legs and climbed from beneath the wheel. “You can help me choose something for dinner.”

“Chicken nuggets. And fries.”

“You had that for lunch.”

“I like chicken nuggets.”

“And I like vegetables.” Sara licked her lips and made a slurping noise as she loosed the belt of Kendra’s booster seat.  She glanced at the men once more as she moved back to let her energetic daughter jump to the cracked and uneven asphalt of the parking lot. The bearded guy was staring at her. She turned away quickly, feeling a rush of apprehension.

Kendra ran ahead of her, her red curls bouncing about her head. Her hair was even brighter than Sara’s. She had Sara’s freckles, too, but just a sprinkling over her nose. And there the similarity ended. Fortunately, Kendra had inherited her father’s good looks.

Sara straightened her yellow cotton shirt, which had become scrunched beneath the seatbelt, as she stepped inside the shop. Kendra was already engaged in an animated conversation with a middle-age woman with thin, frizzy brown hair and a welcoming smile.

“Your daughter says you’re here for the summer.”

“Yes, we’re staying in a cabin on Delringer Road. That is if I ever find it.”

“You’re practically there. The road’s back toward Dahlonega, ‘bout a mile I’d say.”

“Then I missed it.”

“Sign’s probably down. Usually is. Don’t really need with the bridge washed out.”

The last shred of Sara’s optimism fell flat. “The bridge is out? What does that mean?”

“Means you can’t take your vehicle past the stream. Not that there’s any real reason to since that tornado two summers ago took out all the cabins up that far except the Jackson’s, and they haven’t been around in years. I heard Mr. Jackson died. He was such a nice man. His wife, too. Summers don’t seem the same without them.”

“You must be Mattie.”

“Sure am. Mattie Callahan. How’d you know?”

“Raye Ann Jackson told we about you. We’re supposed to be spending the summer in her cabin. Is there another way to reach it.”

“No. Just one road. But the cabin’s just on the other side of the stream. You better hurry on up there if you plan to make it tonight, though. Might be hard to find in the dark.”

“What good would that do me if I can’t get across the stream?”

“There’s a footbridge.”