Calculated Moves
“Do you feel something here?” John asked his sisters.
“Mosquitoes?” Amarantia guessed. She surveyed the muck-laden puddles in the huge vegetable garden. “Probably a good chance of dysentery.”
John made a face and said, “No pain, no gain,” then went to investigate. The garden was so lush and green it made one dizzy. There was a henhouse, where some brown and white clucking chickens pecked at seed tossed on the ground; a potting shed surrounded by plumy weeds that were taller than John; and a padlocked greenhouse, which looked extremely promising as a potential hideaway.
“Over here,” John called after clearing away some of the thorny shrubbery. He had managed to discover a rusted gate that led to a bluestone pathway. His sisters followed to the porch, charging up the ste
