Chapter 1

Susan walked among the columns of King's College, feeling the chill autumn wind whipping around the stone and chilling her legs.

"Susan!"

She looked up and smiled as Hattie Pergil, a pretty girl with curly walnut hair and glasses, ran toward her. Well,I suppose ran would not be the proper term.

Hattie was a sweet-natured girl, but she was of the sort endowed with those funny quirks that made others want to initially avoid them, but in reality they were completely harmless. Hattie's "quirk" was immediately evident in the way she walked. As long as she kept a slow pace, you couldn't tell, but Hattie's knees weren't quite what they ought to have been. When she wanted to go any faster than a walk, the joints "wobbled" (no other word could express the commotion!) in their sockets, giving the hastening girl the appearance that her legs might collapse at any moment.

She "wobbled" up to Susan now. Hattie was such a sweet girl that Susan purposely chose to overlook her defect, or if there were any feelings of revulsion within her, she suppressed them for the sake of civility. "Hello, Hattie," she said amiably.

"Say, I've invited some girls to my house this evening for a dinner party. Do you want to come? Please say yes!"

Susan laughed at the eager petition. "I suppose you've left me no option, dear Hattie! Of course I'll come."

Hattie's eyes shone behind her lenses. "Oh, wonderful! See you tonight then!"

Susan smiled as Hattie walked away.

Susan ate lunch that day with two other girls, Mirabelle Anthony and Charity Daniels. They were discussing their after-college plans when a quiet voice behind Susan asked, "May I sit here?"

Susan turned to face Etienne Genoud, the French exchange student. "Hello, Ettie; of course you may," she said, pulling out the chair next to her.

"Ettie," Charity piped up as the French girl took her seat, "we were just talking about what we want to do after college. Do you have any plans?"

Ettie, as the other girls called her, was mildly perplexed for a moment. "What I will do tonight, non? Ah, oui, after I finish my education." She smiled, "I would like to become what you English call a midwife, to help the mothers with the babies."

Susan nodded. The petite French girl had hands and temperament as gentle as her voice. Etienne was adequately suited for such an occupation.

Mirabelle sniffed, "Well, I don't want to be stuck with squalling babies. I want to become a surgeon's assistant, maybe even surgeon someday."

Charity cocked her head at her friend. "Can a woman be surgeon?"

Mirabelle shrugged, "Well, I don't know if any have, but it doesn't mean they can't! You all know me, I don't mind being the first."

The girls all laughed, and Susan pondered her friend's ambitions during the rest of her classes.

She and Benton met after classes, and Susan asked what he thought about women filling professional positions normally dominated by men. Benton thought carefully before giving his reply.

"I do not think it wise for women to feed their domineering nature when it comes to holding positions higher than men," he stated firmly.

Susan was confused. "But what about the lecture you gave me last week on attaining my independence? If women begin obtaining key positions formerly dominated by men, do you not agree this is a step in the right direction?"

Benton paused for a moment. "What I told you last week is true, but this . . . infiltration, for lack of a better term, may be a step too far. Women should seek positions in the workforce, I support that premise, but only as high as a position such as 'Assistant Something-or-other.' They should not be leaders of men."

"But even as assistant, wouldn't they be leading some men?"

"The difference there is that she is still directly answerable to a man, as opposed to being manager herself, and answerable to some impersonal, external government or parliament, which I believe is unhealthy for a woman. By the way, since when were you so interested in the finer points of feminism?"

Susan blushed, but told him about the lunchtime conversation.

"Wait," Benton interrupted, "you were having lunch with that . . . French girl?" He could not restrain a slight curl of his lip, and his eyes looked at Susan as if she had just told him she sat next to a mass murderer.

"Is something wrong?" she asked defensively.

"Not entirely, it's just that, well, I've heard her uncle is one of those Red miners causing trouble in France. I would not consort with her any more if I were you."

Susan drew herself up indignantly, "And what if I choose to anyway? What makes you believe such rumors?"

Benton shrugged, "Whether she believes the same or not is up to her, but the fact that she is related to a Communist makes her Communist by association—something you risk yourself if you continue to be her friend. I do not pretend to overlord you, I am merely warning you." He looked at her with his eyes full of the brotherly concern Susan found so difficult to resist. She sighed.

"On another note," Benton continued, "There's an article about the paranormal our professor gave us this morning. It discusses some reasons people choose to believe in the supernatural, and describes options more applicable to real life for those reasons. I found it very intriguing, and I want to discuss it with you. Can you come over for supper, and we can talk then?"

Susan hesitated. "I can't come over tonight, but perhaps tomorrow."

"Whyever not?" Benton asked.

Susan blushed, "Hattie Pergil invited me to a dinner-party at her house tonight."

"Hattie? The gimp?"

"Benton!"

"I'm sorry, that's just how everyone knows her."

"She is a very nice girl and I am glad to be her friend!"

Benton turned urgently to Susan. "Will you be so glad when she prevents you from forgetting Narnia?"

Susan furrowed her brow, "What?"

"Hattie Pergil, I agree, is a very . . . nice girl, but she is very simple. She could easily believe in fantasies. Some say she still believes in dolls. Think, Susan! You've come a long way in the five months since you first began putting away childish fantasies. Do you really want to throw away all that progress?"

Susan grew worried, "Well, no, but—"

"Then take my advice. Decline Hattie's invitation. Here," he handed her a folded paper, "I grabbed an extra copy of the article for you, and just to prove I only have your best interests in mind, you don't even have to discuss it with me tonight. Stay home and read it by yourself, and we can talk about it tomorrow."

Susan accepted the article and smiled coyly at Benton. "Stay at home and read, eh? By myself? Benton, one would think you mean to make a hermit out of me!"

Benton returned her smile, "Not a hermit, but I mean to help you grow in safe shelter so that when you are among your peers, you will not be bandied about by whims and opinions. Instead, I would have you well-informed, so that you can hold your own thoughts and beliefs without compromise. You will become a strong adult woman, Susan. I see that capacity in you."

Susan felt a small glow inside her at the praise. Benton was a very insightful young man. "All right," she said.

"You will read it?"

"Yes; I need to go now, but we will talk tomorrow."

"All right; see you tomorrow, Susan."

"Good-bye."

Chapter 2

Melanie, on her hands and knees in the kitchen, saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She smiled and waved at Susan, who had just returned from school. The deaf girl finished mopping and turned upstairs to check through all the bedrooms, tidying the messes, straightening the beds, and making sure everything was neat and orderly. In spite of being spurned by an entire community, Melanie love neatness and order. She thrived on maintaining a clean environment.

She finished all the bedrooms, but she noticed one more door in the hallway. Melanie wondered why she had never seen that door. The handle stuck a bit, as if the door had not been touched for many decades, but the door was not locked and still opened. The movement of the door opening unleashed an avalanche of dust, and most of it floated into Melanie's eyes and throat, making her cough and wipe her face. She rubbed her eyes to clear them of dust. A breeze from somewhere lifted her hair back from her face and helped get most of the dust off her. Melanie finally cleared her eyes and blinked.

She was not in the house anymore.