Page 1 of 44.1644° North
Prologue
She was not afraid of the dark.
But now, beyond the ominous red flash of the Saturn’s hazard lights, her flashlight beam seemed to feebly poke and prod at the shroud of night enveloping Route 112.
It wasverydark.
Unnaturally dark.
Uh, hello, Deirdre. This near total absence of light was as natural as it got.
Primordial. That was the word.
Really, it wasn’t the color of night. It was the woods spooking her. The forbidding black line of sentinel trees that seemed to swallow every sound—her boots crunching on the snow, her brisk, steady inhalations, the crisp rustle of her parka.
She felt like she was being watched.
And that would be because the woods were full of things watching her: deer, rabbits, squirrels. Things that were much more afraid of her than she was of them.
Bear. Occasionally. But there hadn’t been a fatal bear attack in New Hampshire since the 1700s. She knew because her family used to summer about forty miles from here.
Technically within walking—or running—distance. At least, for a girl who ran marathons.
But not at night. Not in February. Not in the snow. Not alone. She was not crazy. She wasnotdrunk.
That was not to say she could necessarily pass a breathalyzer test. The way things were going, better not risk it.
Still. She knew this was not a great idea.
Her dad would have a fit if he knew.Is this the advice you’d give one of your students?That’s what he’d say. And no, this was not the advice she’d give one of her students. Especially since her students were kindergarteners. Kindergarteners rarely got nailed for DUIs.
She huffed a shaky laugh. What did it say that she’d rather brave the unknowns of a winter’s night in the White Mountain National Forest than face what lay behind her?
And just that, the memory of her compounding troubles, made her heart flinch and recoil.
How? How did I get myself into this?
How do I get myself out?
Dad would say,The O’Donnells don’t run from their troubles.
She was not running. She was choosing a strategic withdrawal. A tactical retreat.
You’ve the blood of Irish kings and queens in your veins, girls.
Probably not. But they were named for Irish princesses. All four of the O’Donnell sisters: Grania, Grace, Eva, and Deirdre.
She was no princess, but she was strong. She was smart. She would figure this out.
One day it might even be funny.
Fingers crossed.
Gosh, it was quiet out here.
In a dark, dark wood…
She’d been reading that to the kids last Friday, and she smiled faintly, remembering their shrieking delight at the ending. It never failed.
