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fire sputtering in the hearth, casting strange dancing shadows against the walls.
    â€œMam,” Grady said, “I’m back with ’em, I am.” He gently shook her arm. “Mam . . .”
    With a loud snuffling sound the old woman lifted her head. Her mouth was slack, and she blinked slowly several times, giving her the look of an ancient lizard. Her eyes lacked the spark they’d held earlier, the strange, sharp intelligence replaced by a dull stare.
    Grady knelt before her. “What was it ye had to tell ’em? They’re here now. I brought ’em, jest like I promised.” This was a tender tone I’d never heard coming from Grady before.
    Oonagh licked her lips and swiped her mouth with the back of her forearm. She sat up a little straighter, and her hand went to her hair, patting and smoothing some imagined fancy coif. “Daniel,” she said, a playful smile curling her lips. “You’ve come a-courtin’. Me father wouldn’t approve.”
    The color drained from Grady’s face. “It’s me, Mam—Grady. Yer son.”
    Oonagh tipped her head, one hand cupping her cheek. “Don’t be such a tease,” she cooed. In her other hand she held a charred piece of tinder that slipped from her fingers to the floor. Her eyes closed and in an instant she was snoring quietly.
    Grady gaped at her, and with his mouth hanging open the resemblance between them was arresting. Marni stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It happens to the old ones,” she said consolingly. “Daniel must have been someone she loved, for she saw him in your eyes.”
    Grady bit his lower lip, a frown screwing up his face. “Daniel was me da. Me father. Never forgave me fer makin’ a life at sea.”
    â€œOh no,” Marni whispered. “Miss Oonagh saw a kindred spirit in you—you and your da as one and the same. That’s because when we cross to the other side all the things of life are forgiven.”
    If it was true, I wondered, how could there be such a thing as a family curse? The room suddenly grew darker, the sky through the windows now a deep navy blue. Grady knelt beside the fire, grabbed the poker, and jabbed at the smoldering turf, sending up a spray of angry sparks.
    â€œWell,” Walter said, “we should go. . . .”
    Suddenly Grady sat back on his heels. “Lookie here,” he said. He pointed the poker at the floor beside the hearth where the blackened kindling his mother had held had dropped. “Look!” He stood, quickly lit the lantern on the mantel, and bent it so that its light shone a buttery circle on the floor.
    We leaned in, peering at the spot. On a smooth piece of stone was a primitive drawing that looked like a sun, with five uneven rays. “What is it?” Walter asked. “What does it mean?”
    â€œA message,” Grady said. “She musta written it there while I was gone for ye’s.” Pru had already pulled a pencil and small journal from her pocket and, peering intently, copied the primitive-looking symbol.
    Â 

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    Marni squinted, her fingers drawing the pendant along the chain at her throat, a strange faraway look in her eye. “Yes,” she whispered. “It means something, I’m sure. Something important.”
    Pru closed her notebook and slid it and her pencil into her back pocket. “Let’s sleep on it. Tomorrow we can consider it, fresh.” The gentle snuffling of Miss Oonagh’s slumber reminded us all how exhausted we were. We bid our good nights, trudged back to our own cottage, and, with due haste, made up our beds.
    I lay in the shadows listening to the sound of Marni’s even breathing, a shaft of moonlight cutting through the window. “Aunt Pru?” I whispered.
    â€œYes . . .” Her voice, blurry and edged with sleep, caressed me in the darkness.
    â€œDo you think it’s