Chapter 6:

A little earlier still (Christmas Eve, 12:50 p.m.):

Sally was having a wonderful time. Noah had played with her all morning,and after lunch too. He'd even had a plan, with things for her to do. She loved it when he gave her a part in one of his schemes.

She wasn't worried about what the grown-ups were going to say because she didn't expect them to find out. One of the things she liked about Noah's plans was that they worked. He never made her act out parts that ended up getting her into trouble, the way her friend Caitlin's brother Alan did. This was the biggest, most complicated plot Noah had come up with yet, but because it was Noah's, she had complete faith that everything was going to work out perfectly.

As long as she remembered to do exactly what he had told her.

The Flexible Flyer whizzed down the hill. "Faster, Noah! Faster, faster!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. She knew just what to do. She'd been over it all with Noah again and again that morning. He'd made her practice steering the sled, lying on top of him instead of the bundle of sweaters with his jacket around it that was standing in for him now.

She'd enjoyed every moment of it. He usually made her use her own sled, which was smaller and not as fast as his. When they did share, he always had to be on top, because Daddy had said it was safer that way. It had been fun to lie on top of him for once, and get to steer. And it was fun to be steering his big sled all by herself now. All she had to do was follow the track they'd laid down earlier that morning. It led straight to the snowbank in front of the shed.

The shed was the original lean-to that the lighthouse keepers had used to store firewood in, along with kerosene, snowshoes, ropes, buckets, ladders, and gardening tools. It had been designed for practicality rather than looks, and had a door just a few yards away from the front door, facing the same direction, up the hill. The two doors were close enough together that the Secret Service had decided one agent could watch both at the same time.

Paths to the doors had been shoveled out yesterday, and again this morning, leaving large mounds of snow on either side. The path leading from the shed curved around towards the side of the house, where the driveway ended in a wide, graveled area where Josh and Donna had parked their car, when they still drove one, and where the agents had a couple of Suburbans parked now.

Sally steered the sled into the snowbank on the side of the shed farthest from the front door and rolled off, squealing and calling out to the absent Noah. That got Gressie, who had been racing beside her down the hill, jumping around excitedly again. Then Sally pushed the sled over the top of the snowbank and onto the path, opened the shed door, and shoved the Flexible Flyer inside. She chattered away to her imaginary brother and Gressie kept up a volley of barking all the time.

The agent on front-door duty saw a sled with two children on it speed down the hill and disappear behind one of the snow mounds by the paths. He saw the tip of a hat reappear, and heard Sally talking to her brother while the dog barked as they went into the shed. He smiled, and radioed in to central command that Frolic and Flashlight were inside and secure.

The agents assigned to Sally and Noah had taken up positions at the crest of the hill some distance from the sledding runs, so as not to be intrusive. They saw the two children careening down the hill and coming to a stop in a flurry of snow at the foot of it. They saw the dog jumping around, sending more snow flying into the air, and sled and children disappear over the top of the mound. They saw a hat reappear and the shed door open. They heard, more faintly, the same things the front-door agent heard: the dog barking, Sally's voice chatting to her brother. Then the shed door closed. Like their colleague, they both radioed in that Frolic and Flashlight were secure.

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Once inside the shed, Sally took off her snow gear. She managed to get her coat up on its hook, but left everything else strewn on the floor beneath it. Then she set about dismembering Noah's dummy. His hook was too high for her to reach, so she dumped his coat, scarf, hat and mittens on the floor beside her things. There was nothing unusual about the mess-not that Sally thought about that.

Her attention was entirely focused on getting into the kitchen unseen, as Noah wanted.

"Shhh, Gressie, shhh!" she hushed the dog, who dropped to the floor and looked up at her expectantly, panting. Sally tiptoed to the door and, screwing her face up with great concentration, slowly opened it a crack. She tried to peek through, but couldn't tell whether anyone was in the room or not, so she opened it a tiny bit more, and then a bit more after that. "Shhh!" she whispered again to Gressie, who was panting too loudly for her idea of secrecy.

If Donna or either of Sally's grandmothers had been in the kitchen, they would have heard her at once and wondered what on earth was going on. Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) no one was in the kitchen. Sally discovered this when she finally got the door open widely enough that she could look around. Grinning with delight, she whisked herself and Gressie inside, and-secrecy abandoned now-shouted to Noah to follow her.

Running through the kitchen to the main entranceway and up the stairs to her room, she made as much noise as possible, stomping and laughing and calling out to Noah that he couldn't catch her, she was going to beat him, she would win. Gressie bounded along beside her, barking all the way. Her arms were full of Noah's sweaters from the dummy. Once safely inside her own room, she stuffed them into her bottom drawer. Then she curled up with Gressie on the bed to wait.

She thought about how pleased Noah was going to be with her, the list of wishes he was taking to Santa for her, and the gingerbread he'd promised to bring back. She could hear the wind whistling around the lighthouse tower, and the waves beating against the rocks below. It was a familiar sound, one she'd listened to every summer and winter night she'd spent here, all her life. She was tired out from all the excitement and hard play. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.

To be cont'd. . . .