Ross forced a quick smile. “I can’t stay beyond tomorrow or the day after, thanks anyway, Mr. Freemark, Mrs. Freemark. You’ve done plenty for me as it is.”
“Well, hardly.” Old Bob cleared his throat, regarded the leg bone in his hand. “Darn good chicken, Evelyn. Your best yet, I think.”
They finished the meal, Old Bob talking of Caitlin as a girl now, recalling stories about how she had been, what she had done. Ross listened and nodded appreciatively. He thought it might have been a while since the old man had spoken of his daughter like this. Gran seemed distracted and distant, and Ross did not think she was paying much attention. But Nest was watching raptly, studying her grandfather’s face as he related the stories, listening carefully to his every word. Her concentration was so complete that she did not seem aware of anything else. Ross watched her, wondered what she was thinking, wished suddenly that he knew.
I should tell her. I should take the chance. She’s stronger than she looks. She is older than her fourteen years. She can accept it.
But he said nothing. Old Bob finished, sighed, glanced out across the bayou as if seeing into the past, then reached over impulsively to pat his wife’s hand. “You’re awfully quiet, Dark Eyes.”
For just an instant all the hardness went out of Evelyn Freemark’s face, all the lines and age spots vanished, and she was young again. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes lifted to find his.
Ross stood up, leaning on his staff for support. “Nest, how about taking a walk with me. My leg stiffens up if I sit for too long. Maybe you can keep me from getting lost.”
Nest put down her plate and looked at her grandmother. “Gran, do you want me to help clean up?”
Her grandmother shook her head, said nothing. Nest waited a moment, then rose. “Let’s go this way,” she said to Ross. She glanced at her grandparents. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
They climbed the hill at an angle that took them away from the crowds, east toward the park’s far end, where the deep woods lay. They walked in silence, Nest pacing herself so that Ross could keep up with her, limping along with the aid of his staff. They worked their way slowly through the shady oaks and hickories, passing families seated on blankets and at tables eating their picnic lunches, following the curve of the slope as it wound back around the rise and away from the river. Soon Gran and Old Bob were out of sight.
When they were safely alone, Ross said to her, “I’m sorry about what happened at church. I know it was scary.”
“I have to show you something,” she said, ignoring his apology. “I promised Pick.”
They walked on for a ways in silence, and then she asked sharply, accusingly, “Are you an angel? You know, in the Biblical sense? Is that what you are?”
He stared over at her, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at the ground. “No, I don’t think so. I’m just a man.”
“But if God is real, there must be angels.”
“I suppose so. I don’t know.”
Her voice was clipped, surly. “Which? Which don’t you know? If there are angels or if God is real?”
He slowed and then stopped altogether, forcing her to do the same. He waited until she was looking at him. “What I told you was the truth-about the Fairy Glen, and the Lady, and the voice, and the way I became a Knight of the Word. What are you asking me, Nest?”
Her eyes were hot. “If there really is a God, why would He allow all those feeders in His church? Why would He allow the demon in? Why would He allow Mrs. Browning to die? Why didn’t He stop it from happening?”
Ross took a long, slow breath. “Maybe that isn’t the way it works. Isn’t the church supposed to be open to everyone?”
“Not to demons and feeders! Not to things like that! What are they doing here, anyway? Why aren’t they somewhere else?” Her voice was hard-edged and shaking now, and her hands were gesturing wildly. “If you really are a Knight of the Word, why don’t you do something about them? Don’t you have some kind of power? You must! Can’t you use it on them? Why is this so hard?”