In the evening, Phillip built a fire and we sat in the grass around it, Margaret with her knees pulled up to her chin. She hadn't said much to either of us all day. For a while, the forest, Manderley, and the fire did most of the talking.

"I should have bought marshmallows," Phillip said. He grinned. "I could put on the kettle if you guys want a warm drink."

"I'm not thirsty," I said. Besides, the fire warmed me enough, being with them warmed me, even though the weather did call for a sweater.

Margaret tapped her feet but remained quiet. Her silence meant she'd seen the grave, although Phillip might have thought she wasn't thirsty like me. He leaned closer to the fire. The flames echoed in his eyes. Manderley balked in his lap. The fire frightened her.

Shushing her and stroking her head, Phillip leaned away from it. "No harm, no foul," he said.

Margaret got up. "I'm going to bed."

"What? Why?" Phillip asked.

Her hands were balled into fists, but I didn't think he'd notice such a small detail. "I'm tired," she said, or better yet declared. The question lay in her voice.

Whose grave is it?

Even with what she'd said, she didn't move. She glared at him. He glanced at me over the flames. I picked up a twig and dug it into the dirt.

Phillip nodded, understanding. "I'm sor—" he began. Before he could finish, Margaret had marched into the cabin. She slammed the door behind her.

We were quiet once again. I dropped the twig and dusted off my hands. "I know what you're thinking," I said. "But I didn't tell her."

"I know you didn't," he said. He scratched his chin. The slam of the door had hurt him, a part of me thought he deserved it.

A breeze disturbed the fire, shoving it to the left so I saw how much the slam of the door had hurt him. "She'll understand if you talk to her," I said, because I hoped he'd talk to me like he'd promised he would.

"No," he said.

His eyes were glassy, like he might cry, but his "no" had been firm.

"Then I'm going to bed, too," I said, getting up. He didn't try to stop me, although I took my time in hopes that he would.

Margaret had already fallen asleep when I came in. I'd wanted to talk to her, but it would have to wait until morning. I turned on the light and sat on the bed with the copy of Jane Eyre. Flipping to the back cover, I traced the curve of Nora's writing. I couldn't imagine 1951, but she had been the same age as me and Margaret at the time. The photo could have been taken around the same time.

I flipped to the first page of the book and read the familiar first line. Had this been her favorite book or one in a slew of them? I had so many questions.

"Ivy." Margaret eyes flicked open.

I closed the book right away. "I'm here," I said. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to share it with her. She might not want anything to do with it.

"Do you think I'm overreacting?" she asked.

I thought about it, leaned over, and squeezed her fingers. "No, I don't think you are," I said.

***

Phillip left a note on the fridge. It said he'd gone out for supplies and would be back soon. He told us to be ready when he came back, but he didn't say why. He'd left breakfast for us out on the table. Margaret and I ate in silence. Once the dishes were washed, I left her on the couch with her book and went outside.

The weather today called for more than a sweater but not wanting to go back in I wrapped my arms around myself as I went around the side of the cabin. The wind had blown leaves in from the trees below and around the side of the cabin had more of them than the front. I picked up a yellow one as large as my hand. I twirled it in-between my fingers, dropping it as I neared the shack.

Like Phillip had that day I saw him with Manderley, I stood in front of the shack. The lock on it couldn't be opened without a key, but I tugged on it. I'd woken up this morning with one thought on my mind. What lay behind its closed door? Why had he been standing here that day? I even asked it out loud. "Why had he been standing here?" I let go of the lock and ran my fingers across the door. I moved closer, until the scent of rotting wood flooded my nose.

With one hand gripped to its side, I pressed my ear against the door, as if whatever had been stored in there would announce its presence, as if I hoped to hear Nora herself. No. I shook my head, shaking that horrible thought away. Phillip wasn't that kind of person. He could be secretive, mysterious even, but he wouldn't hurt anyone.

I pulled away when I caught a glimpse of a dark speck soaring across the sky. Manderley. She circled and landed right near my feet. She had something in her mouth. I bent down to see what. As I did, she dropped it into the grass and took off.

"Wait," I said, a moment too late.

I watched her as she flew over the tress out of sight. Remembering what Margaret had said about crows and gifts, I picked up the stationary, a yellow notepad, water damaged. A few pages had been torn out.

***

Phillip returned to the cabin an hour later. The supplies he'd mentioned were food and toiletries.

"Would you guys mind helping me put these away?" he asked. He dropped everything down on the table.

I left the couch where I'd been reading next to Margaret to help. She didn't get up. Phillip frowned at her. "Put all of that in the fridge," he said to me, although he hadn't looked away from Margaret. He glowered. She looked at him too, before going back to her book. Margaret valued truth and honesty over all else, and although Phillip hadn't lied, he'd kept it from her, from us. I, on the other hand, wanted to know more, and shutting him out wasn't the way to go about it.

"How did you pay for all of this?" He'd bought a dozen or so jars of preserves. I picked up a few to put in the cabinet.

"I have my ways," he said, half-smiling at me. "Manderley still isn't back yet?" He shoved two cartons of milk into the fridge. "I thought she would be by now," he said, picking up the last two jars of preserves, peach and raspberry jam. He put them in the cabinet.

"I did see her earlier," I said, folding up an empty paper bag. The gift she'd given me had been hidden in my pillowcase. "What do you want to do with these?" I asked. My mother would always save the bags she got while grocery shopping.

"Toss them," he said.

So I did.

"Okay." Phillip rubbed his hands together. "If we leave now, we can be back in time to have lunch."

Margaret scoffed. "Where are we going anyway?" She raised her hand at the window, a gesture that meant, "Don't you see how bad the weather is?"

There were no signs of rain, but the wind had picked up. The rustle of the leaves sounded more like the hiss of rattle snakes.

"Wear a jacket," Phillip said.

We did wear our jackets. Nora's jackets. Mine was blue. Margaret's was yellow. They both came down to our knees. There was something magical about walking through the forest on that cool autumn afternoon. The wind wasn't as bad as I'd thought, at least not in Nora's clothing. When the leaves canopied above us rustled, they didn't sound like rattlesnakes, but like a thousand whispering voices who greeted us.

Change had come to the woods in an array of colors. The trees had been repainted by Mother Nature, and she was bound to do the same for us.

We hadn't gone far when Phillip stopped. He'd stopped in front of a tree with two forked shaped thick branches. He didn't say anything for a while. Margaret kicked a pile of leaves. I searched for something more. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be what he'd wanted to show us.

With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, he turned to us. "This is where she found me," he said. His voice cracked when he spoke. "Nora found me here."