“What are we going to do now? We need to find out if Schalk is okay.”
“I know, Ma.” I slam the phone down in its cradle and drag my fingers through my hair. Maybe the pain can distract me; it certainly doesn’t help my predicament.
Even from where we are standing in one of the front rooms, the sudden shaking of the back door is so loud it sounds as if someone’s trying to yank the door off the hinges. The handle is jiggled roughly, like an impatient child trying to enter.
Ma shrieks and almost drops the candle.
“Maybe it’s Pa,” I say, but I don’t believe myself. Why would he come round the back and frighten us out of our wits like that?
Whoever it is starts thumping at the door just as I enter the kitchen, and I’m grateful for the fact that the door is solid wood.
“Who is it?” I call.
