Yet another part of her was still reeling with disbelief at all that had happened, and desperately seeking a way to deny it, but here she was, in the slowly dying night, and here was Grace all unconscious beside her. She knew a hundred ghost stories, of course. She had entertained all her siblings as they were growing up with stories of drowned men, sunken ships, strange lights, and seers who predicted disaster. She'd heard the men speak of mystic dreams, and of the Indians with their hosts of goblins, the Windego, the Bear Walker and Nanabush. These were part of her world, like Lake Superior surrounding her island home, but not this, this, thing that laid claim to her sister.

"Who are you?" she made herself ask the man. She had to root herself in the here and now. She could not let the coming daylight lull her into disbelief.

"My name is Avan."

The name struck a chord with Ingrid. She had heard it from her father and Leo. He was a new man, come up for the fishing season. He was good with the boats. That brief statement from Papa was like a soliloquy of praise coming from another man. Leo had thought he was a Finn, although he had been vague about his origins. Papa had gone out with him two or three times now.

The realization should have been reassuring, but it was not.

"What brought you out so late?" asked Ingrid.

"Luck," he said, poking at the ashes with a long stick, tucking the remains of Grace's shawl deeper into the coals. "I could not sleep for too much thinking. I walked along the shore, and I saw you and your sister, and the ghost." He paused, watching the sparks and smoke rise from the damp wood. "That was brave, what you did. It should have worked, but I fear your sister has given this dead man too much."

"But you were able to drive him, it, off. I saw a knife."

"You did." Avan reached inside his coat, and pulled out a short-bladed knife that glinted dully in the firelight. Ingrid stared, for she had never seen such a thing. The dark blade was not all of a piece. Instead, it was three separate strips of metal, braided together and twisted into a wicked-looking point.

"The blade is cold iron," he said. "Such is supposed to have power over spirits and haunts. I was glad - " He broke off the sentence, and began it again. "I was glad to find out such sayings were true."

"And is the haunt gone then?"

"Only for tonight. The iron tore your sister's shawl, which was holding him here despite your calling her and the holy names you invoked. But he himself is not injured, nor could he be by such means." Avan looked at the blade with an expression of regret, and then tucked it back into his jacket.

"And how did you come to know so much?"

"I was well taught as a boy."

Which was no answer, and Ingrid saw in his face that he was clearly aware of the fact.

Before she could ask another question, Grace stirred under her hand. She gasped once, sharply, as if in pain, and her eyelids flew open.

"Where ..." Grace pushed herself upright. Ingrid expected her next words to be "am I?" Instead, Grace stared wildly toward the lake. "Where is he?"

Ingrid knelt down in front of her sister, putting her body between Grace and the water as she had put herself between Grace and the ghost. "Who is he?" she demanded, grasping her sister's shoulders. "What has he done to you?"

Grace's eyes searched Ingrid's face without recognition for a long, painful moment. "He is cold," she said. She spoke slowly, dragging each word from somewhere deep inside her. "He saved me. I would have drowned, but he freed me from the water. I promised I would not leave him alone under there."

"Ask her if he told her his name."

Ingrid started, almost letting go of Grace. For a moment she had forgotten Avan. She frowned at him.

He had laid his stick across his knees. "She will not be able to hear me. She is too far gone to hear any but those of her own blood."

Ingrid nodded once, as if she understood what was happening. She tried to catch Grace's gaze again, but Grace was stared over her shoulder, searching for the ghost. Ingrid grasped her sister's chin as if she were still a child, and pulled it back down so that Grace would be forced to look at her.

"Grace, what is his name?"

Again, that heartbreaking pause while Grace came at least a small ways back to herself. "I don't know. I just know I promised. He's alone. It's so cold."

Grace began to tremble, and Ingrid's determination to find immediate answers melted away. She wrapped her arms around Grace's shoulder. "This is no good. I have to get her home. Our family will be ... frantic."

"Yes." Avan stood, still keeping hold of the stick. "Can you manage her?"

"Since she was in diapers," replied Ingrid. She stood, keeping a firm grip on Grace's shoulders. Grace struggled briefly, which Ingrid found she expected from the way Grace's gaze would not leave the shore. But Grace seemed to lack the will to fight for long, and sagged against Ingrid's chest. "Although, I swear, I wish this were as simple," Ingrid breathed.

Ingrid found herself grateful that Avan pretended he did not hear that.

Avan let Ingrid lead the way, holding tight to Grace and pulling her forward one staggering step at a time. The farther they moved from shore, the weaker Grace seemed to become until Ingrid found herself supporting her sister's entire weight. She looked toward Avan, intending to ask for help, but then she saw the way he walked, stiff and alert, his arms ready at his side, clutching the stick the way he had clutched the knife. He walked like a soldier, she thought, as if he was expecting an ambush. Perhaps he was. The thought of that sent a fresh thrill of fear through her, and Ingrid kept her mouth closed.

She had no choice but to stick to the road, although dawn was turning the sky silvery gray and soon the men and boys would come trooping down the rutted track to the bay and the boats. They already thought Grace struck down by madness. They would stare, and they would talk.

Well, the Devil take them if they do. Ingrid found she felt far more worried about what she would tell their family. It was already too late to disguise the disappearance. If she told what had really happened, Mama would insist on a priest. Under the circumstances, there could be worse ideas. Papa, thought ... What would Papa think? He had been raised a strict Lutheran, and it came out of him at odd times. There would be words with Leo, no matter what happened. And what on earth would they tell the little ones?

"You must persuade your family not to try to send her away," said Avan, as if reading Ingrid's thoughts.

"Why not? She's not safe ..."

"I fear no boat with her aboard would make it across the lake."

Ingrid felt her cheeks go pale. The words "is that possible?" hovered on the tip of her tongue. Of course it was possible. If all the other things that had happened tonight were possible, so was this.

"But you don't know," she said, cradling Grace's lolling head closer against her shoulder.

"I know she's being called. I know that in a moment of fearing for her life she bound herself to a dead man. I know that he will not let go that bond easily, and that he is restless under the water."

"Then what are we to do? We cannot surrender her to this ... thing."

"No." Avan hung his head and was silent for a long moment. Ingrid could not see his face well in the morning shadows, but she felt he was reaching some decision. "Give me a day. I will find an answer."

Ingrid looked down at her fainting sister. It wrenched at her heart to see Grace so worn down, and in such a way. Mama had spoken softly of her fear that Grace's boisterous nature might lead her astray, but this ...

At the same time she distrusted the stranger. There should be a priest, there should be a doctor ... but then again it was Avan who banished the ghost.

"Ingrid? Ingrid!"

Papa's harsh voice called from the morning shadows, followed quickly by the sound of heavy boots pounding the dirt road.

"I will do what I can," she breathed quickly.

Papa, Leo, pale Mama, and what seemed like all the men of Eastbay poured up the road.

"Ach, Gott!" Papa cried, seeing Grace collapsed against Ingrid's shoulder. He swept his second daughter up in his strong arms as if she weighed nothing at all. Mama laid her hands on Grace's brow.

"No fever, but her breath's so shallow ..."

"What happened, Ingrid?" demanded Leo. "What did you see?"

Ingrid glanced at Avan, and she shouldn't have. Leo saw, and Leo, of course, jumped to the wrong conclusion. "What've you to do with this?" he demanded, stalking up to Avan.

Avan looked down at Leo, and for one of the few times in her life, Ingrid saw her brother looking spindly. "Your elder sister found your younger on the shore near the bay. She enlisted my help to bring her safe home."

"If we find Grace's been meddled with ..."

"Leo!" thundered Papa. "Enough. Excuse him, Avan."

Leo did not appear to wish to be excused, but he did keep his mouth shut.

"There's nothing to excuse." Avan held his hand out, and waited. Leo, glowering still, shook it, and the tension in the air eased a little.

"What are you fools standing about in the damp for?" demanded Mama with unusual brusqueness. "Is she not sick enough for you? Get inside, get inside, and you as well, Miss Ingrid." Mama also had a hard glare for Avan, but it was plain to Ingrid it was not Grace she thought he might wish to meddle with.

Under the eyes of their neighbors, the Loftfields turned for home. Offers of assistance came, and were rebuffed by Mama and Papa.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Avan," said Ingrid, careful not to look back at him as she followed her parents and brothers. She realized absurdly that she did not know for certain if Avan was his Christian name, or his family name. One more small mystery of this long, strange night.

As they neared the yard, Grace moaned and stirred in her father's arms. When they were all inside the front room, Papa set her on her feet and Grace stood, swaying in place.

"Take her upstairs, Mother," said Papa softly.

"I'll do it." Ingrid moved forward.

"No, you will not." Papa's cold words stopped her in her tracks.

Mama, her eyes already brimming with tears, took Grace's elbow. Grace offered no resistance as she was led away, but Ingrid thought she saw her sister's eyes flicker back, looking for her, pleading for help.

Ingrid swallowed and faced her father and brother. They were both square men, fair-skinned and auburn-haired, as she was. Hard men, shaped by labor and by the expectation of hard work and hard weather for the rest of their lives. The stubble on Papa's chin had gone gray, and his hands were thick with years of calluses.

Ingrid stiffened her spine, ready for whatever might come. It was then she saw the eyes of her two littlest sisters and their young brother peeping through the door to the back kitchen.

"Well there's a fine thing," she said. "All of you listening at doors when there's work to be done. The kindling is not gathering itself, nor are the hens going to give up their eggs without asking."

"Out into the yard, all of you," added Papa without taking his eyes off Ingrid.

The door swung shut as the children retreated.

"Now then, miss," began Papa. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I thought to see where Grace was trying to go," replied Ingrid steadily, folding her hands in front herself like a child saying a lesson.

"You thought!" snorted Leo. "You thought to humiliate us in front of all our neighbors. There won't be a man on the boats not asking me when you and Grace can come out again."

"Such a trial for you," snapped Ingrid. "I am so sorry that your sister's illness has brought you to such grief."

Leo took a step forward. "If she were ill, I would grieve. But she is either shamming, or she is mad, and you had to make sure the whole of Eastbay knew it."

Ingrid did not even blink. "The whole of Eastbay does know it! What do we think we're hiding in here? They'd help us if we let them, but no, we have to stay shut up in our house and deny our neighbors' concern."

"That's enough." Papa dragged the words out through gritted teeth. "You will tell me which of you the man Avan has to answer for."

Ingrid said nothing. She had known the question would come, but now that hung in the air, anger sealed her mouth.

Is that all you think of us? Of her? Is that what you think of any woman who smiles?

"Answer your father." Mama stood at the foot of the stairs. She wore her black hair pulled into a severe bun, and at the moment her bright blue eyes were dim with disappointment and resignation. She had been an Irish beauty once, Ingrid was sure of it. What had happened? In her heart, she believed she knew, but she had never been able to speak the words aloud.

"Answer him!" Mama clenched her fists. "Or has the Devil taken your tongue as well?"

Ingrid forced her chin up. She had only two choices now, she could either lie, or she could tell the ludicrous truth.

"It was a ghost," Ingrid said. "Grace is haunted."

Leo threw up his hands. "God in heaven!" he cried to the ceiling. "Are all the women in this family mad?"

"You asked what happened, and I've told you," answered Ingrid, calmly and firmly. "You can call me mad, or possessed, or any other name your stubborn mind can conjure up, Leonard Loftfield. It changes nothing, so, you may as well save your breath."

Hot, hard anger showed plain on Mama's face. She was going to start yelling in Irish and Papa would bellow back in German and Ingrid would have to shout at them both, or retreat with the little ones out back, when what she wanted was to go up to check on Grace.

But Mama did not yell. She just collapsed on the reed-bottomed rocker beside the fire, and hid her face in her apron. "Mother Mary, help your daughter," she whispered. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help your child."

"That's enough of that, Bridget Loftfield." Papa walked up to Ingrid, and all at once, Ingrid was a little girl again and she had to work hard not to shrink in on herself. "I've thought many things about my children, but I never thought you would be the liar."

"You also can call me what you want. I've told you the truth."

They stared at each other, neither one blinking, and Ingrid refusing to flinch. Behind them, she was aware of Mama in the rocker, her hands covering her face. Mama believed, and that was something. Surely that was something.

At last, Papa turned away. "Get into the kitchen. There's work to be done. Leo, it's time we were gone."

Ingrid turned and marched into the back kitchen. Once there, she gripped the edge of the table so hard she felt that it must break off in her fingers. She listened to the tramp of the men's boots as they marched out the front door. There was no other sound from inside the house, except the faint squeak of the rocker where Mama sat and wept her useless tears.

For a long moment, Ingrid let her anger burn. Then, at last, she willed it out of her, willed it through her hands down into the wood of the table, anything to get away from her. It did her no good. It was as useless as Mama's tears. She had to think. She had to decide what to do.

A knock on the lintel made her jump. Her hand pressed against her chest, she looked up to see Everett Lederle standing in the threshold.

"Hello, Everett."

"Hello, Ingrid," he said, pulling off the battered, blue cap he'd worn since he'd come back from the war. "I'd heard Grace had a rough night. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do."

Hard labor and time had worked their way with Everett, like they had the men of her family, but with him it was different. Him, they had polished, like a stone on the shore, making him strong, patient, willing to let all the world flow around him and ever able to wait. He was certainly willing to wait for her. Everett loved her. She saw it in every look and heard it in every word. The shame of it was, she found herself unable to return that love.

"No, I'm afraid there's nothing to be done at present," she told him. "But I thank you for stopping in."

"I'm glad to, Ingrid, you know that."

And she looked at him, earnest, steady, strong and thoughtful, and for her lack of love of him she felt suddenly, deeply sorry. "I do know, Everett, and as I said, I thank you for it."

He waited a long moment for her to say something else, but she had no more words for him, at least, she had none he truly wanted to hear. But perhaps, after all, there was something he could do.

"Everett, there may be something." I should not do this. I should not use him so. It will give him false hope. Ingrid could not love. To love would mean to leave Grace to be worn down by the burden of caring for their hard family. She'd thought of it, of course, she'd thought of it a hundred times. Everett would at least take her to another house, but to promise him love when she felt none, that would be so much worse than what she did now. "I need you to speak with the fisherman Avan tomorrow. I need to know if he has any message or news for me. He knows what ails Grace, and I would know if there was ... news."