Patrick thought for a moment, then nodded, as if he knew that now, as if he had caught up with the story told by the trace of Ashley's mind. "Silly isn't in the house," he said quietly.
"No, no, he wasn't. We thought someone might have let him outside."
"She thinks Brook did it," Patrick said.
"Yes. So my mother and I and Ashley and Joseph went out to look for the rabbit."
"Ashley is crying."
"She… is," I said, shifting tenses. "She… loves Silly very much."
Patrick nodded and continued to gaze out at the pond.
"The four of us are looking for him. Each of us goes a different way. Though my mother tells us to stay close, we don't Ashley runs here to the pond. The ice looks as if it might be frozen." That was as much of the story as I knew for sure. "She-she thinks she sees Silly on the ice," I ventured.
"She does see him." So" Kate!" Robyn's shrill voice broke into our story. Patrick's body went rigid.
"I've had all I can take of that hellion!" Robyn shouted, sounding as if she were on the path, coming toward the pond.
Patrick turned to me, his eyes wide. "She found us."
With Brook's help, I thought, for he knew we were going to the pond.
"Don't worry, I'll handle her. I want you to stay quiet, Patrick, and let me talk to her. Stay on these logs. Don't move a millimeter, all right?"
He nodded.
I rose to intercept Robyn at the end of the path, keeping an eye on Patrick and, at the same time, blocking her access to him. In the last twenty-four hours he had become too fragile to withstand her explosions.
"Kate," she cried as she rounded the final bend of trees, "I'll have you fired for this!"
Her barn jacket sat crookedly on her shoulders, buttoned incorrectly, its mismatched front flapping open. Long strands of hair had come loose from the clasp that held it at the back of her head. The fury on her face was far out of proportion to a spray-painted patch of bam.
"We can discuss it later," I said, "when you have your temper under control."
"We'll discuss it now. Brook told me what that monster did."
"I was talking to Brook before we left the house," I said, glancing back at Patrick. He was still on the logs. "Why didn't he say something then?"
"He just received a call from the bam and relayed the message to me. That child is a juvenile delinquent," she hissed.
"Patrick or Brook?"
"By the time he is ten, the police will be picking him up.'' "That's absurd, and you know it. In any case, Patrick didn't go near your barn."
"It's a child's work," she insisted. "The groom said so."
I glanced back again at Patrick, then turned to her. "Most people could imitate a child's painting. Even Brook would be capable," I added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"He's a hateful child. Hateful!" Her fingers flexed with anger.
I found myself staring at her hands, her bitten-off nails. One of them was bloody.
"Adrian should take a strap to him," she said. "If he doesn't, I will."
"You touch Patrick, and I'll have the authorities here in a flash."
She smiled. "If you're still here."
"I will be."
Robyn looked past my shoulder. "Not the way you're tending to Patrick."
I spun around. He was on the ice, hurrying across it. "Patrick! Patrick, stop!"
I rushed toward the pond and halted at its edge. He was already ten meters from shore. "Help me,'' I called to Robyn. "Patrick, come back!"
At last he stopped and glanced around warily. Though he looked straight at me, he didn't act as if he saw me. We had been talking about Ashley: Was he seeing the present or the past? I wondered.
"Don't move."
I quickly surveyed the ice, trying to see which sections appeared most solid. My weight might be too much for the area he was on. I needed a long branch, one I could extend to him.
I glanced over my shoulder. Robyn was gone. She didn't care if he drowned-she was crazy, truly mad with jealousy. I continued to look for something that could be used as a pole. The logs were too heavy; the lighter branches and hockey stick were shorter than I wanted.
Patrick had turned his whole body around now and was watching me.
"Walk toward me," I called.
He stood still.
If I moved toward him, he might retreat onto thinner ice. Oh, God, I prayed, tell me what to do, tell me how to get him back. Aloud, I said, "Patrick, you need to get on shore. Come here."
He gazed at me, but his mind was elsewhere. He was like a person on a phone, listening to a voice I couldn't hear.
"Patrick, come here!"
He didn't blink.
I picked up the longest branch within reach and started across the ice. Its surface was soft, uneven. My heart pounded. If he fell through, it would be hard to find him in the black depths. He might panic and swim under the ice.
I wanted to race to him. Even so, I forced myself to move slowly, steadily, afraid the impact of running steps would break the ice.
I was seven meters from him and getting closer. "I want you to grab hold of the branch," I said.
He edged away from me. He looked afraid.