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I pouted for a moment. Why was it all such a great secret? What more could there be?

"Let's get ready to go to school, dear."

I nodded, rose from the table, and went upstairs to take one last look at myself. I had my hair brushed down and tied loosely with a light pink ribbon I had found in Laura's vanity drawer. I dabbed some of her cologne behind my ears, but decided not to wear lipstick. I noticed that the tiny freckles that were under my eyes looked more prominent. There was nothing I could do about that. Cake makeup only seemed to emphasize the freckles.

Going to a new school and making new friends was terrifying. I had seen how other girls who had moved to Sewell were sometimes treated the first few days and how nervous and timid most of them were. I always felt sorry for them and tried to help them get oriented quickly, but some of my friends felt threatened by new faces. Boys were always more interested in fresh faces, at least for a while, and every girl who had a steady boyfriend was paranoid.

Aunt Sara was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Just as I started to descend, she stopped me. "You're going to need a pen, a pencil, and a notebook. They're on Laura's desk, honey," she instructed.

I hesitated, then returned to the room. Taking the pen and the pencil was fine, but the notebooks all had Laura Logan written on their front covers in big, black letters. Many of the pages were written on, too. I'll take one for now, I thought, and get a new notebook later.

Aunt Sara was pleased. "Laura usually made her own lunch for school, but since you had so little time this morning, I decided to give you the money to buy your lunch." Aunt Sara put two dollars into my hand.

"Thank you, Aunt Sara."

"I want you to be happy." She kissed me on the cheek. "You look so pretty, so perfect. Like Laura."

We started toward town. The fog had burned away and left a turquoise sky dabbed with puffy clouds moving quickly with the wind. There were many fishing boats and sailboats in the bay, and off in the distance, gliding against the horizon, was a large cargo vessel. To my left, junipers on a hill swayed in a melancholy rhythm. Aunt Sara explained that just beyond the bend in the road was the cemetery.

"We won't be long," Aunt Sara said as we turned in the direction of the cemetery. There were two rectangular granite columns at the entryway. Atop each column was a sculptured bird that looked like a raven. The cemetery road was gravel and forked just after the entrance. We went left and then again left, stopping at the Logaris' plots. Laura's headstone was a soft shade of gray. Under her name, Laura Ann Logan, and her dates was inscribed, Let the saints be joyful in glory: let them sing aloud upon their beds.

Aunt Sara knelt at the grave site and placed a deep red wild rose against the monument. She closed her eyes and prayed and then she turned to me and smiled.

"Laura loved the red rose most. As soon as they bloom, I bring them to her."

"I like them, too," I said.

"I knew you would," she replied, her eyes bright.

She stood up and wiped off her skirt. Before we left, I noticed two fresh stones with the names, Samuel Logan and Olivia Logan engraved on them. Beneath the names were the dates of birth but no dates of death.

"Aren't those my grandparents?" I asked, astounded.

"Yes, dear. Samuel put the stones in this year to be sure it would be done the way he wanted 'it done." She laughed. "The Logans don't trust anyone, even their own. Samuel wanted to be sure he was facing the east so the rising sun would warm his plot every morning."

She took my hand as we left the cemetery. She was quiet for a while, but when the school came in view, she began to talk excitedly again, describing how much Laura had liked school and her teachers and how much they had liked her.

"They almost called school off the day of her and Robert's funerals. So many students wanted to be there, and teachers, too."

We marched up the walkway to the main entrance and entered. A sign directed us to the principal's office. Aunt Sara had made an

appointment, so we were expected. The principal's secretary, Mrs. Hemmet, greeted us with a warm smile and gave me papers to fill out while we waited to see the principal, Mr. Webster.

"So this is your niece?" Mrs. Hemmet said to Aunt Sara.

"Yes. Isn't she pretty?"

Mrs. Hemmet nodded. She was a thin, spidery woman with long, skinny arms and salt-and-pepper hair cut into short curls that hung on her scalp like tiny springs. While I filled in information on some forms, Aunt Sara and Mrs. Hemmet discussed the town, the upcoming tourist season, and the fall's cranberry harvest. Aunt Sara gave Mrs. Hemmet the letter Mommy had written authorizing Aunt Sara to act as my guardian.

"All right," Mrs. Hemmet said, perusing my paperwork, "I'll send for your school records right away."

"You'll find she's been an excellent student," Aunt Sara assured her. She had accepted that on faith, but I was confident everyone would be pleased with my grades.

"Unless something has to be changed," Mrs. Hemmet continued, "this will be your schedule."

She handed me a card listing my classes, rooms, and teachers. Then she knocked on the principal's door and announced our arrival.

Mr. Webster was a short, stout man, with light, thinning brown hair, a firm mouth, and thick bulbous nose, red at the bridge where his thick-framed glasses rested. His cheeks had a crimson tint and his dark brown eyes were roofed with bushy eyebrows. He greeted Aunt Sara warmly and scrutinized me for a moment before offering his hand and a smile.