The Beginning by Catherine Coulter

shivered beneath the mound of blankets, listening to the rain slam nearly straight down, pounding the shingled roof. She prayed there were no holes in the roof, even though Amabel had said earlier, “Oh, no, baby. It’s a new roof. Had it put on just last year.”
    How long could she remain here with Amabel? Now that she was safe, now that she was hidden, she was free to think about the future, at least a future of more than one day’s duration. She thought about next week, about next month.
    What was she going to do? That phone call—it had yanked her right back to the present, and to the past. It had been her father’s voice, no question about that. A tape, just like James Quinlan had said, a tape or a mimic.
    Suddenly there was a scream, long and drawn out, starting low and ending on a crescendo. It was coming from outside the house.
    She ran toward her aunt’s bedroom, not feeling the cold wooden floor beneath her bare feet, no, just running until she forced herself to draw up and tap lightly on the door.
    Amabel opened the door as if she’d been standing right there, waiting for her to knock. But that wasn’t possible, surely.
    She grabbed her aunt’s arms and shook her. “Did you hear the scream, Amabel? Please, you heard it, didn’t you?”
    â€œOh, baby, that was the wind. I heard it and knew you’d be frightened. I was coming to you. Did you have another nightmare?”
    â€œIt wasn’t the wind, Amabel. It was a woman.”
    â€œNo, no, come along now and let me help you back to bed. Look at your bare feet. You’ll catch your death of something. Come on now, baby, back to bed with you.”
    There was another scream, this one short and high-pitched, then suddenly muffled. It was a woman’s scream, like the first one.
    Amabel dropped her arm.
    â€œNow do you believe me, Amabel?”
    â€œI suppose I’ll have to call one of the men to come and check it out. The problem is, they’re all so old that if they go out in this weather, they’ll probably catch pneumonia. Maybe it was the wind. What woman would be screaming outside? Yes, it’s this bloody wind. It’s impossible, Sally. Let’s forget it.”
    â€œNo, I can’t. It’s a woman, Amabel, and someone is hurting her. I can’t go back to bed and forget it.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Sally stared at her.
    â€œYou mean when your papa hit your mama you tried to protect her?”
    â€œYes.”
    Amabel sighed. “I’m sorry, baby. You did hear the wind this time, not your mama being punched by your papa.”
    â€œCan I borrow your raincoat, Amabel?”
    Amabel sighed, hugged Sally close, and said, “All right. I’ll call Reverend Vorhees. He’s not as rickety as the others, and he’s strong. He’ll check it out.”
    When Reverend Hal Vorhees arrived at Amabel’s house, he had three other men with him. “This is Gus Eisner, Susan, a fellow who can fix anything with wheels and a motor.”
    â€œMr. Eisner,” Sally said. “I heard a woman scream, twice. It was an awful scream. Someone was hurting her.”
    Gus Eisner looked as if he would have spat if there’d been a cuspidor in the corner. “The wind, ma’am,” he said, nodding, “it was the wind. I’ve heard it all my life, all seventy-four years, and it makes noises that sometimes have made my teeth ache. Just the wind.”
    â€œBut we’ll look around anyway,” Hal Vorhees said. “This here is Purn Davies, who owns the general store, and Hunker Dawson, who’s a World War Two vet and our flower expert.” Sally nodded, and the reverend patted her shoulder, nodded to Amabel, and followed the other men out the front door. “You ladies stay safe inside now. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s us.”
    â€œThe little females,” Sally said. “I feel like I should be barefoot and