Then wouldn't you know, just when she was finally looking forward to something, a pesky little voice came to ruin the day. So, what are you going to do, find yourself some happiness and forget what you did to Claude? No... no, of course I won't forget about him... about Claude! But there's no reason to think on this now. What good will it do? Have you forgotten, my running was not wanting to escape what I'd done, but out of fear of being condemned and judged without all the facts being known?

She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with fresh air. Right or wrong, she had to at least try to come to terms with what happened, not only the killing, but the running too, because there was no turning back now. She had made the choice the moment she left Claude in the barn and rode silently out of the yard with Steven.

When she reached the parlor, she peered in to see the same man who drove Donald Schillings and her to dinner last night. He hadn't said a word at the time and spoke with reserve even now as he introduced himself as Bruce. He seemed like a nice enough fellow, mild-mannered, a middle-aged man several inches shorter than her, with a round clean-shaven face so pale it was almost milky, except for just a touch of rose on each cheek. She wondered if he had pinched them like her grandmother used to do when she was expecting company. A peaked hat covered his large shiny head, and his wide shoulders neatly squared his dark blue uniform jacket.

They headed down the coast, then into the forest, Emily watching out the window for nearly an hour before Bruce made a turn onto Donald Schillings' property. He closed and bolted the large green gate behind them and he drove up a straight narrow road. Giant redwoods towered on each side of the car and Emily huddled against the back seat, overwhelmed by the strange darkness. She glanced at Bruce for a hopeful sign, wondering at the same time if there was any truth to her grandmother's tales of premonition.

Then without warning, the car slowed as they reached another gate. This one sat wide open, and as they drove through, all at once, the shadows of the forest gave way to an amazing vista of pristine grounds that seemed to encompass at least a mile or two of property; and in the middle stood a mansion. She couldn't tell exactly what the building was made of, though it looked like some form of white rock. It had two stories, maybe three in parts, black shutters at each window, and a row of sturdy pillars along the front porch.

She slid across the leather seat, filled with a spirited curiosity as she looked up at a sculpture of a man in the middle of the circular driveway. Water trickled from the sphere of the world he held high above his head down to the hand stretched before him, off the tips of his fingers, and then into a pond below.

"There's Otto," Bruce said as he pulled up to the mansion.

On the porch was a nicely dressed man, tall and thin, with graying slicked back hair up. He was standing between two pillars with his hands behind his back and an air of importance etched on his handsome face.

Bruce shifted into park, got out and went around to open her door. She stepped from the car and made her way up the steps. When Otto extended a hand offering to take her bag, she ignored it and climbed the last two steps and then, thinking it made no sense, handed over her bag anyway, and continued to the door, waiting for him to hold it open.

"I'll show you to your room," he said as they stepped inside.

They walked through a spacious corridor with floors of shiny black and white tiles. They passed statues, vases, and polished oak doors that held the promise of exquisite furnishings beyond. A staircase wound gracefully to the second floor. She couldn't believe such beauty would be hers to behold each day.

"I must be dreaming," she said, more to herself than to Otto.

The sides of his mouth turned up slightly, giving her the impression that his stuffy manner was, at least in part, his job. He moved to the foot of the staircase then stood aside so she could lead the way.

She slid a hand along the sleek dark wood banister as she moved up the steps eagerly taking in the scene from a lofty perspective. On the second floor was a large open area with plants and trees against the walls and along the landing that looked down onto the first floor. Otto indicated her room was the second one to the right. He opened the door, and she took her bag from him and stepped inside.

"Have you had breakfast?" he said from the doorway.

Emily looked about the room, only partially aware of him.

"I'll have a snack sent up if you like. Maybe some fruit and cookies?"

She pulled her eyes back to him. "Oh, sure Otto, thanks. That'd be nice."

"And tomorrow morning... any preference? I could drop Pearl a subtle hint."

"Do the children like pancakes?"

"Their favorite."

"That's it, then."

When he closed the door and left her alone, she whipped around and flung her bag onto the bed. She put an arm around one of the tall sturdy bedposts and ran a hand over the velvety spread that was almost the same pale green as the wallpaper. Beautiful black and gray rugs with swirls of red and green covered polished hardwood floors. An oak table with a vase of fresh flowers sat in the light of the corner window at the far end of the room. Two windows faced the front.

She opened a door, expecting it to be a closet, but instead found a large bathroom. She stepped onto the tiled floor that was so shiny she could see the reflection of the green marble sink. Across the mossy green wallpaper were hundreds of tiny sunsets. There was a dressing table; an extra-large tub under three narrow windows; and to the right was a shower with a glass door. She had barely imagined that people lived like this, now here she was, one of them.

She returned to the bedroom and began to explore. When she opened the closet door, she found seven or eight outfits on hangers. She pulled a dress down, held it up, and stepped in front of a mirror. It was slightly on the large side, although she had always made her clothes big enough to give herself time to grow into them. She hung the dress and continued exploring. It felt a little like Christmas. On a shelf were boxes marked women's clothing where she found jeans, blouses, slacks, pajamas, a robe, and a few other items.

Across the room at a corner window facing the back yard, the room jutted out eight feet or so. Below were railed steps leading down from a porch. There was a sidewalk leading to the back yard, through a row of trees and to a courtyard. Beyond the trees, she could just make out a basketball hoop, and further down a swing set. She was disappointed the swings would be too small for her. Although, just the thought of the children stirred those hopeful images she'd been having since morning. She couldn't wait to see them.

When there was a knock on the door, she expected it to be them and hurried over.

She was disappointed to find it was only the maid. She was a frail girl, freckles, on the short side, wearing a gray cotton dress the same color as the tray she held. Her light brown hair with tones of sand was pulled back into a ponytail that hung mid-elbow. She seemed very young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, yet her hazel eyes had dark circles beneath and seemed weary and suspicious.

Emily followed her as she scurried across the room. She set the tray on the table and swung around in such a hurry, the two collided. The girl winced, obviously expecting a scolding.

"Sorry," Emily said, "my fault." She glanced at the plate of fruit and cookies. "I'm Emily by the way, and uhm, thanks for the snack."

The maid nodded and started back across the room. "M-my name's Gabriel. I'm to let you know dinner's at five-thirty." She stopped at the door and turned a shoulder to Emily. Her eyes darted across the floor, over the table, and then down again. "Pearl says you'd best be on time. I-I was supposed to tell you that," she added, seeming embarrassed by her bluntness.

"Thanks for letting me know. Really, I appreciate it." Emily stepped closer, keeping a comfortable distance.

Gabriel attempted a smile, rubbing a thigh as if removing perspiration from her hand. "H-have you been to the formal dining room yet?" she asked, glancing up.

"Oh, no, Otto brought me straight up."

"I guess you'll need directions then?"

"That'd be nice. Thank you."

Looking less anxious, Gabriel turned and faced her directly. "You know where the front corridor is? Oh...yeah, yeah of course you do. Well... unless you came in the back way. Oh, no, no you didn't, of course you didn't." She laughed nervously, waving the remark off. "It's the first right up the corridor. You take that, a-around a bend. Then you go up to the second... no, that's not right...let's see. There's these columns you pass, but first..." Obviously exasperated with herself, she sighed, pointing to the doorway. "Th...there's a buzzer at the foot of the stairs. You... you could always press that, and Otto will come."

"Then that's what I'll do."

Gabriel's eyes lit up for a moment; she nodded, and then scrambled into the hallway. Emily watched her head down the stairs, curious to know what made her so jumpy. She closed the door, and then finished snooping about the room as she snacked on apple wedges and frosted sugar cookies.

After a good rest, she headed down the stairs for dinner. She expected the children to burst from behind one of the doors, laughing and carrying on and then stopping suddenly, embarrassed when they saw her.

At the bottom, she looked back up just in case they were peeking down through the railing, although she was greeted by only quiet and emptiness.

She rang the bell, and was glad Otto didn't make her wait more than a minute or two.

He escorted her to the right beneath the balcony, and then up several corridors, stopping to point out a large sunken family room behind a row of ivory columns. "A while back, this was their favorite room," he said with a spark of emotion he hadn't shown earlier. She rather liked that side of him. She smiled, thinking how cozy it looked with the way couches and chairs, with a large rug in front, surrounded a corner fireplace at the far end.

Farther up the hallway, just beyond the last columns, a left turn took them through a set of double doors that opened into a large dining room.

Donald looked at home in the striking room with its colors of autumn-browns and trims of orange. There were lavish moldings, a crystal chandelier, and rich furnishings of polished wood and pleated silk drapes. He stood at a corner bar, pouring a drink mixture into a crystal goblet.

Otto led her to a long dining table with a laced orange fabric running up the center. A petal-shaped vase of flowers sat in the middle. He pulled out a chair for her, and then moved around to the other side of the table, standing patiently as Donald took a seat.

She was disappointed the table was only set for two, and hoped she wasn't being too snoopy. "Sir? Uhm... I-I expected the children to eat with us."

Donald picked up a fork and knife and watched Otto set a plate of food in front of him, then glanced up. "Maria and Nathan are in town with Pearl. You'll meet them for breakfast. If you don't already know, the kitchen is down the hall, first door to your left, and then a few steps up the foyer. I presume you've already seen your bedroom?"

"Oh, yes. Otto took me straight up. It's beautiful." She glanced around the room again. "Everything is."

Lifting his glass, he gave the room a quick perusal. "Well, it's here to enjoy for as long as you're with us." He took a generous drink, setting it aside. "You'll hear no complaints from the help." He said this with such pride, she noticed.

She still couldn't believe she would be in charge of two young children. She, who could barely take care of herself! "You mentioned that you do a bit of traveling. I was wondering if there're any special duties I'll have when you're gone. Any extra chores?"

"Chores?" he said with a smirk. "No, there'll be no chores. Besides the regular help, there's a crew that comes in once a week. Your job is to keep the children out of trouble. The little devils will run you over if you let them." He sighed. "Sometimes they can be as ornery as their mother."

Emily was shocked by his cruel remark. After all, their mother was dead. They couldn't be that bad. She didn't want to give up hope just yet, although it sounded as if Maria and Nathan might've run off the other nannies. Maybe that's why he settled for someone who, like he said, didn't have any other options.

"Do the children have any particular needs, or, I don't know... something they like to do after class?"

"I gather they like what normal children do. Watch television, play games, and spend time out in the back yard. They should anyway after their mother spent a fortune fixing it up."

"So... uhm, how old are they?"

"Hmm, let's see. Nathan's around six... no, more like seven. Maria's eight."

"Sir," Otto said, holding the pitcher of mix, "would you like your cocktail freshened?"

Donald nodded, reached for his drink, and slowly polished it off. Then he carefully, almost tenderly, set the glass on the table and sat back. He looked handsome, sitting there patiently waiting for his refill. She wondered if this was the side of him Desirae and the other girls saw.

Whether it had been a fleeting thought on his part, this side of him didn't last. She sensed an abrupt mood change as he picked up his cocktail and drank it half down. He finished his meal in silence, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then carefully folded it onto his plate. When he looked up at her, it was as if a shade had been pulled over his eyes.

"I have some business to attend to, but there are a few things I need to go over with you. Let's meet in the library in... oh," he looked at his watch, "in thirty minutes. The library is across the hall from the front staircase."

When Emily stepped into the library, she was surprised to see three walls entirely filled with bookcases. She searched in awe through the titles, lifting a few out for a look inside until Donald walked in.

"How long did it take you to collect these?" she asked.

"Oh, those," he said with a brush of a hand, "they came with the house."

She replaced the book to its spot on the shelf, amazed he didn't seem more enthused.

"We'll sit over here," he said, taking a seat on one of two brown leather couches facing each other in front of a fireplace. They had barely settled in when Otto came with refreshments.

Donald ate half his cake, took several sips of coffee, and then leaned back. "Let me get right to the point, Emily. Your job is to take care of the children. However, more important are the rules I'm about to lay down. As long as they're followed, you've got nothing to worry about."

It was as if a cold wind had swept into the room and settled around them. She couldn't think clear enough to ask him what happened if she slipped up. What if she made a couple of mistakes... what then?

"Rule number one is that the telephone is off-limits to the children. The only phone available to you is in my downstairs den to the right of the front entrance. You'll need Pearl to open it for you and that's for emergencies only."

There was never a telephone back at the farm, and she was relieved he had one, although having such strict limitations was puzzling. She couldn't imagine he was trying to save money.

"Rule number two is that my private quarters on the East wing of the second floor are absolutely out of bounds to you, and to the children. And let me warn you." He made a point of catching her eye. "There are no second chances."

She shivered to think what he had in mind. "I-I understand, Mr. Schillings."

"Now, for rule number three. What goes on in my house is my business, and I forbid you to repeat anything you see or hear. You as well as the rest of my employees are here to work, not gossip or snoop where you don't belong. Is that clear?"

Oh, shit. What've I gotten into?

"Is that clear?"

"Y-yes... yes, it is."

She'd left an obnoxious clan a thousand or so miles away, left a whorehouse sixty miles north, and then to end up with this... man that everyone else seemed elated just to know.

"Very good then," he said, working his mouth into a smile. At least she thought it was a smile.

He began on rule number four. But before he could finish there was a knock on the door.

Otto poked his head in the doorway. "Mr. Schillings. Harold is here to see you. He says it's urgent. He's in the front den, sir."

"Tell him I'll be right there."

Otto disappeared, and Donald picked up his coffee and stood. "I'll be busy for the rest of the night," he said, moving across the room, "so you're free to go. We'll finish our talk later."

He stopped at the door and looked back. "Now don't forget, your day begins at eight. Make sure the children are up and dressed for breakfast. Once they go in with their tutor, you're free until after class."

When he left, she stared at the door, ready to burst into tears. All of her high expectations had been shattered. The children would be a handful, at best. And as far as her new boss? Something told her to run for her life.

She could walk out this very minute, or... Or what? She looked at the hundreds and maybe thousands of books on the selves, and thought of the beautiful bedroom waiting for her upstairs. It looked much better than the dark lonesome road into a town. If staying was worth taking a chance on him... well, it looked as if she would find out.

When she left the library a little after nine-thirty with an arm full of books, she noticed a man leaving through the front entryway. The door he had come from was ajar, and suddenly Donald's voice blazed out into the hallway. Still debating whether she should or not, she approached the door. She could tell right away that he was talking on the telephone.

"Dam it, Flora, I've told you before, there's no point in calling. When're you going to get that through your thick head? How'd you get my new number anyway?" There was a pause. "Fine, don't tell me. But believe me, I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."

Silence.

"Oh, now how in the world am I supposed to know how to get one of those?"

He listened again, sighed and then said, "I don't know... maybe. But I don't need you hounding me about it."

There was silence again, and then he growled, "All I have to say about that is for you to tell Kenneth that I haven't forgotten which airline he works for." He slammed the receiver down.

His chair creaked as he stood and when his hurried footsteps approached, Emily rushed for the stairway and up to her room.

She dropped the books on the bed, kicked off her shoes and crawled in. Sleep hadn't come easily the previous night and it wasn't long before she drifted off.

A few hours later, she was awakened by a low, vibrating rumble. She sat up, scooted off the bed and went to the window. By then, the strange noise had stopped. In its place was what sounded like a pack of wild dogs. This sudden invasion of her sleep was startling, so foreign, and frightening in this strange house. Even back at the farm-except for those late evening and early morning thunderstorms, familiar at least-night had always been a tranquil time of slumber.

She returned to the bed, undressed, and pushed the books to the side. Then she pulled the bottle of brandy from her bag and crawled in. She unscrewed the lid and took several gulps.

What had her so puzzled was why Donald Schillings chose her to take care of his children. For heaven's sake, I'm sitting in bed drinking brandy out of a bottle. I worked in a whorehouse. I killed a man.

She took another drink, set the bottle on the nightstand, and curled up under the covers.