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"
We
—
"
started
Francine
.
Lavinia
clutched
her
arm
tight
.
"
There
was
a
commotion
.
Somebody
found
Elizabeth
Ramsell
in
the
ravine
.
"
"
Dead
?
Was
she
—
dead
?
"
Lavinia
nodded
.
Helen
gasped
and
put
her
hand
to
her
throat
.
"
Who
found
her
?
"
Lavinia
held
Francine
’
s
wrist
firmly
.
"
We
don
’
t
know
.
"
The
three
young
women
stood
in
the
summer
night
looking
at
each
other
.
"
I
’
ve
got
a
notion
to
go
in
the
house
and
lock
the
doors
,
"
said
Helen
at
last
.
But
finally
she
went
to
get
a
sweater
,
for
though
it
was
still
warm
,
she
,
too
,
complained
of
the
sudden
winter
night
.
While
she
was
gone
Francine
whispered
frantically
,
"
Why
didn
’
t
you
tell
her
?
"
"
Why
upset
her
?
"
said
Lavinia
.
"
Tomorrow
.
Tomorrow
’
s
plenty
of
time
.
"
The
three
women
moved
along
the
street
under
the
black
trees
,
past
suddenly
locked
houses
.
How
soon
the
news
had
spread
outward
from
the
ravine
,
from
house
to
house
,
porch
to
porch
,
telephone
to
telephone
.
Now
,
passing
,
the
three
women
felt
eyes
looking
out
at
them
from
curtained
windows
as
locks
rattled
into
place
.
How
strange
the
popsicle
,
the
vanilla
night
,
the
night
of
close
-
packed
ice
cream
,
of
mosquito
-
lotioned
wrists
,
the
night
of
running
children
suddenly
veered
from
their
games
and
put
away
behind
glass
,
behind
wood
,
the
popsicles
in
melting
puddles
of
lime
and
strawberry
where
they
fell
when
the
children
were
scooped
indoors
.
Strange
the
hot
rooms
with
the
sweating
people
pressed
tightly
back
into
them
behind
the
bronze
knobs
and
knockers
.
Baseball
bats
and
balls
lay
upon
the
unfootprinted
lawns
.
A
half
-
drawn
,
white
-
chalk
game
of
hopscotch
lay
on
the
broiled
,
steamed
sidewalk
.
It
was
as
if
someone
had
predicted
freezing
weather
a
moment
ago
.
