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"When can we start painting the barn?" Jefferson asked.

"Tomorrow," Luther replied. "If we finish what has to be done today," he added.

"Maybe I should help you then," Jefferson offered. Luther nearly cracked a smile.

"I never turn down a pair of hands, no matter how small they might be," he said. "Let's go."

"Menfolks are off again," Gavin muttered in my ear as he rose to join Luther and Homer. Jefferson pushed his chair in.

"What are you going to do today, Christie?" he asked me.

"I'm going to work on our clothes, do some more cleaning, and then look over the library. Tonight, I'll read to you and you'll practice your reading, too," I said.

"And your multiplication tables. Jefferson didn't do so well in school this year," I explained, my eyes on him firmly. "He needs to work on his math and his reading, especially his spelling, don't you, Jefferson?"

"Homer can't read and spell good and he's okay," Jefferson said in his own defense.

"Really?" I looked at Homer, who looked down quickly. "Well, if Homer wants, help him learn to read and spell, too," I said. His eyes widened.

"Won't that be nice!" Charlotte exclaimed. "We'll have our own one-room schoolhouse, just like the one I went to when I was a little girl. Although I didn't go very long, did I, Luther?"

He shifted his gaze at me quickly.

"No," he said. "Are we all gonna stand around here jabberin' while there's real work to be done?" sensed that Luther didn't like talking about the past.

"I'm not," Charlotte said. "I've got to cut up apples," she added.

"Good," Luther said and hurried out the door, Gavin, Homer, and Jefferson trailing behind him.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. I went up to our rooms and dusted and polished. I washed the floors and the windows and then sorted out some more of the old clothing for Jefferson and myself. After lunch, I went into the library and perused the shelves. The books were so old and unused, they each had a second jacket of dust, but I found all the classics, collections of Dickens and Guy de Mau-passant, Tolstoy and Dostoyevski as well as Mark Twain. Some of them were first editions.

I found one of my favorite stories, The Secret Garden, and decided it would be the one I would read to Jefferson and have him practice his reading on, too. Later, after another day's hard farm work and another nice dinner followed by Charlotte's delicious apple pie, I took Jefferson into the library to read to him and have him read to me. Gavin and Homer followed. Homer had been here all day, helping Luther, and had eaten dinner with us. Although he didn't talk very much, I saw he listened and understood everything that went on around him, and I also saw how much he enjoyed Jefferson's company and how quickly Jefferson had taken to him. He was a gentle giant of a man with soft dark eyes.

As I read from The Secret Garden, Gavin perused the library and found a book for himself, too. He went off in a corner to read and left me with Homer and Jefferson. First, I let Jefferson do a page. He was anxious to do well in front of Homer and did do better than usual. When he was finished, I handed the book to Homer. He looked up at me, surprised.

"Can you read any of it, Homer?" I asked. He nodded and stared at the page, but he didn't begin. "Go on, read some for us," I said. "Didn't you go to school at all?" I asked him when he continued to hesitate.

"Yes, but I left after the third grade to help with the chores."

"And no one came looking for you?" He shook his head. "That's too bad, Homer. If you learn to read better, you'll learn a lot more." He nodded. I leaned over and pointed to some letters. "What you've got to do is sound them out, Homer. This A sounds like the a in hay. The b is like the first sound in boy and the l is like the l in little. You don't pronounce the e at the end. It's called a silent e. Just put the sounds together fast."

"A . . . ba . . . 1111," he said.

"Able. That's good. Right, Jefferson?" Jefferson nodded quickly. I smiled and leaned back. When I did so, I gazed at Homer's neck and just under the strands of hair that were usually down the back of his neck but were now off to the sides, I saw the birthmark. There was no question in my mind—it looked like a hoof. I felt a cold chill, recalling Charlotte's tale of her baby.

What did this mean? How could Homer have the same birthmark? Did Charlotte make everything up? I practiced reading with Jefferson and Homer for another half hour and then stopped to l

et Jefferson show Homer the painting he had done in the room off the library. As soon as they left, I told Gavin what I had seen on Homer's neck.

"So?"

"Don't you remember the story I told you about Charlotte's baby?the doll in the crib, all of it?"

"Yes, but I thought that was just a story like the stories about spirits flying around and Emily on a broom and . . ."

"Gavin, it's all so strange. The neighbors finding a baby left to die, Homer practically living here most of the time, and now the birthmark. I'm going to ask Luther about it," I decided.

"I don't know. He might not like your poking around. He can get angry pretty quickly. I saw it out there in the fields."