themselves. Give the country a bad name. We work hard for a living and don’t want them folks sneaking around and stealing our stuff.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be doing any hiking in your neck of the woods any time soon,” Mr. Mallory said lightly.
“Well then, I think we’re about done,” the stocky man confirmed. “Just wanted to lay some friendly advice on you.”
They turned together and ambled on back to their car. “Have a nice vacation,” Dalton called out as he swung himself into the vehicle.
“Don’t let that Mrs. Jackson haunt you none,” Garth Laberge added, bestowing a final smirk on father and son, their SUV, and the scene in general.
Within minutes the red car had disappeared down one fork of the dusty lake road.
Chip stopped to explain to Lee about the visitors, then drifted inside to tell his mother. She shook her head as she dabbed on the disinfectant.
“I didn’t like the look of that pair at all.”
Twilight came on fast; the air grew heavy and damp; a curtain of mist began to hide the lake. They gathered inside and shook out the beds, ignoring the sad, torn coverlets, then carried their sleeping bags and a few blow-up pillows in from the car. After they had shut all of the screenless windows, they attacked the whole cabin with bug spray. Lee complained loudly about the chemicals.
“Get eaten or get gassed,” Mrs. Mallory said. “Take your pick.”
“Could we throw out that chemical toilet?” Mr. Mallory asked.
“Why not just burn the place down?” Chip suggested. “In the morning, though.”
It was getting very dark outside; everyone was bustling around, setting up for sleep, when a knock on the door surprised them.
“It’s not them again, I hope,” Mrs. Mallory said.
“Let us pray,” her husband growled. He looked around instinctively for a weapon.
“It’s only a girl,” Chip informed them, gazing out one of the dusty windows.
Lee scrambled to the door and flung it open.
“Excuse me,” their visitor said in a small, timid voice.
She was a tall girl, taller than Lee, but bony and underfed-looking, though with good features and pale, clear skin. She gaped at them, confused or shy, peering from one to the other with her big, dark eyes.
Chip found her fascinating, but also off-putting. There was something unfocussed and crazy about her expression, and her clothes were simply embarrassing: a mauve T-shirt with a Bambi transfer; a man’s dark suit jacket, much too big for her; polyester green slacks; and cheap running shoes, one of them with string in place of laces.
“Excuse me,” the girl repeated. “I’m looking for my dog.”
Lee gave a little shriek of laughter. “Don’t tell me — it’s a Doberman!”
The girl looked suddenly terrified. “That’s enough, Lee,” her mother said sharply. “Why don’t you come in, my dear?” she invited the stranger. “You look stressed and the mosquitoes are swarming around.”
Their visitor hesitated, gazing from one to the other, then stepped into the cabin.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She swallowed, cleared her throat, took a step forward, and when she spoke her features were stiff and tense. She seemed about to burst into tears.
“It’s my dog,” she said. “They tried to kill it. They set those other dogs on it. Then they tried to catch me. I had to leave my bike behind. I got away from them, but I couldn’t find Sheba — that’s my dog. I thought maybe you found her. She’s a husky and she likes people. She might come here.”
“Who’s they?” Mr. Mallory asked. “Who chased you?”
“Let the poor girl sit down,” Mrs. Mallory said. “I’m sure you’d like a drink, dear. A Coke, maybe? Here, sit down, I’ll get you one. What’s your name anyway?”
“May Bates,” the girl said, almost in a whisper.
Chip pulled a chair over for her and she sat down. She had an odd smell, he noticed, as if she’d spent too much time in a musty cupboard. Her fingernails weren’t quite clean, either.
May took a few swigs of the Coke; after a few minutes she seemed more relaxed.
“It was them guys from the hill farms,” she said. “They have a red car. They make fun of us. They ran my bike off the road.”
Mr. Mallory clenched his fists. “Those pigs!” He paced once, twice, across the kitchen floor. “I knew there was something nasty about them. We should call the police right away.”
“Oh no, please!” the girl begged. “The police will just get angry. The police hate us, too. And Uncle Earl will kill me. He’ll think I told them about him.”
“Told them what?” Mrs. Mallory asked. Awaiting the girl’s answer, her face seemed to cloud over. Chip could read his mother’s thoughts perfectly : I hope this isn’t too shocking, she was thinking. I hope we’re not getting in too deep.
“My uncle was… after me,” she said. “I don’t have no dad and my mother don’t do much except watch TV. I took my bike and my dog and I tried to run away. I was going to see Mr. Bascombe. He’s always been good to me. Then I ran into them hill farmers.”
Mr. Mallory flopped down into a chair. “My God!” he said. “This is turning out to be some vacation.”
“I don’t want to be mean or anything,” Lee said, “but you live in what they call the ‘shanties,’ don’t you?”
“It’s just a house I live in,” May told her. “It’s a house for shelter.”
“Of course it is, May,” their mother said. “But it doesn’t sound as if you should go back there. If you’ll just excuse us a minute, I want to have a word with my husband.”
Chip knew, they all knew, exactly what that “word” would be. Mr. Mallory shrugged his shoulders, and, with an expression of rather grim resignation, dragged himself to his feet and ushered his wife down the hall toward the other end of the cottage.
Lee yawned, stretched her arms, and quickly strode after them. Chip stood there awkwardly for a few minutes.
“Excuse me,” he sighed, then, nodding politely to the girl, he followed his sister, leaving May Bates alone in the kitchen.
He found his parents huddling with Lee in the hall beside the toilet.
“You’re not offering her my room, I hope.” Lee insisted. “I don’t even see why she has to stay.”
“You’re going to be in big trouble with me if you go on that way,” her mother warned.
Lee sulked and shook her head. “I don’t
