There had been nothing for the Tucks to do but go to bed. It was too dark now to go out looking for the horse thief, and anyway, they had no idea when he had done his thieving or which way he had gone.
“That beats all, though, don’t it, Pa,” said Jesse, “coming up to a person’s house and stealing their horse right out from under their nose!”
“I got to give you that,” said Tuck. “But the question is, was it just some ordinary thief, or was it someone that had some special reason? I don’t like it. I got a bad feeling about the whole thing.”
“Hush now, Tuck,” said Mae. She was spreading a quilt on the old sofa, making it into a bed for Winnie. “You’re too much of a worrier. There’s nothing we can do about it now, so there’s no sense fussing. You got no reason to think there’s anything peculiar about it, anyway. Come on, we’ll get a good night’s sleep and figure it out in the morning when we’re fresh. Boys, up you go, and don’t get talking—you’ll keep us awake. Winnie, child, you bed down, too. You’ll sleep first-rate on the sofa here.”
But Winnie did not sleep at all, not for a long, long time. The cushions of the sofa were remarkably lumpy and smelled like old newspapers; and the chair pad Mae had given her for a pillow was thin and hard, and rough under her cheek. But far worse than this was the fact that she was still in her clothes, for she had firmly refused the offer of Mae’s spare nightgown, with its seeming miles of faded cotton flannel. Only her own nightgown would do, and the regular bedtime routine; without them, she was painfully lonely for home. Her joy on the road that morning had completely disappeared; the wide world shrank and her oldest fears rolled freely in her consciousness. It was unbelievable that she should be in this place; it was an outrage. But she was helpless to do anything about it, helpless to control it, and exhausted by the conversation in the rowboat.
Was it true? Could they really never die, these Tucks? It had evidently not occurred to them that she might not believe it. They were only concerned that she keep the secret. Well, she did not believe it. It was nonsense. Wasn’t it? Well, wasn’t it?
Winnie’s head whirled. Remembering the man in the yellow suit was the only thing that kept her from weeping. “He’s told them by now,” she thought, rehearsing it. “They’ve been looking for me for hours. But they don’t know where to look! No. The man saw which way we were headed. Papa will find me. They’re out looking for me right now.”
She went over it again and again, lying wrapped in the quilt, while outside the moon rose, turning the pond to silver. There was a hint of mist, now that the air was cooler, and the frogs talked comfortably. Crickets soon joined in with their shrill, rhythmic song. In the table drawer, the mouse rustled softly, enjoying the supper of flapjack crumbs Mae had put there for him. And at last these things were clearer in Winnie’s ears than the voice of her thoughts. She began to relax, listening to the sound-filled silence. Then, just as she was drifting into sleep, she heard soft footsteps and Mae was beside her. “You resting easy, child?” she whispered.
“I’m all right, thank you,” said Winnie.
“I’m sorry about everything,” said Mae. “I just didn’t know no other way but to bring you back with us. I know it ain’t very happy for you here, but…well…anyway, you have a good talk with Tuck?”
“I guess so,” said Winnie.
“That’s good. Well. I’m going back to bed. Get a good sleep.”
“All right,” said Winnie.
But still Mae lingered. “We been alone so long,” she said at last, “I guess we don’t know how to do with visitors. But still and all, it’s a good feeling, you being here with us. I wish you was…ours.” She put out an awkward hand then and touched Winnie’s hair. “Well,” she said, “good night.”
“Good night,” said Winnie.
Tuck came, too, a little later, to peer down at her anxiously. He was wearing a long white nightshirt and his hair was rumpled. “Oh!” he said. “You still awake? Everything all right?”
“Yes,” said Winnie.
“I didn’t mean to go disturbing you,” he said. “But I been laying in there thinking I ought to be setting out here with you till you went to sleep.”
“You don’t have to do that,” said Winnie, surprised and touched. “I’m all right.”
He looked uncertain. “Well…but if you want something, will you holler? I’m just in the next room—I’d be out here like a shot.” And then he added, gruffly, “It’s been quite a time since we had a natural, growing child in the house…” His voice trailed off. “Well. Try to get some sleep. That sofa there, I guess it ain’t the kind of thing you’re used to.”
“It’s fine,” said Winnie.
“The bed’s no better, or I’d switch with you,” he said. He didn’t seem to know how to finish the conversation. But then he bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek, and was gone.
Winnie lay with her eyes wide. She felt cared for and—confused. And all at once she wondered what would happen to the Tucks when her father came. What would he do to them? She would never be able to explain how they had been with her, how they made her feel. She remembered guiltily that at supper she had decided they were criminals. Well, but they were. And yet…
And then a final visitor made her confusion complete. There was a creaking on the loft stairs and Jesse was looking down at her, very beautiful and eager in the faint blue moonlight. “Hey, Winnie Foster,” he whispered. “You asleep?”
This time she sat up, pulling the quilt around her in sudden embarrassment, and answered, “No, not yet.”
“Well then, listen.” He knelt beside her, his curls tumbled and his eyes wide. “I been thinking it over. Pa’s right about you having to keep the secret. It’s not hard to see why. But the thing is, you knowing about the water already, and living right next to it so’s you could go there any time, well, listen, how’d it be if you was to wait till you’re seventeen, same age as me—heck, that’s only six years off—and then you could go and drink some, and then you could go away with me! We could get married, even. That’d be pretty good, wouldn’t it! We could have a grand old time, go all around the world, see everything. Listen, Ma and Pa and Miles, they don’t know how to enjoy it, what we got. Why, heck, Winnie, life’s to enjoy yourself, isn’t it? What else is it good for? That’s what I say. And you and me, we could have a good time that never, never stopped. Wouldn’t that be something?”
Once more Winnie adored him, kneeling there beside her in the moonlight. He wasn’t crazy. How could he be? He was just—amazing. But she was struck dumb. All she could do was stare at him.
“You think on it, Winnie Foster,” Jesse whispered earnestly. “Think on it some and see if it don’t sound good. Anyway, I’ll see you in the morning. All right?”
“All right,” she managed to whisper in return. He slipped away then, back up the creaking steps, but Winnie sat upright, wide awake, her cheeks burning. She could not deal with this remarkable suggestion, she could not “think on it.” For she didn’t know what to believe about anything. She lay down again, finally, and stared into the moonlight for another half an hour before she fell asleep.
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