She went back inside, closing the door behind her. She had that restless leg syndrome again, a permanent fixture since James was gone. She wanted to go for a walk along the Salem streets, her usual panacea to deal with the excess energy, but she didn’t want to wake Grace and she couldn’t leave the baby alone. Instead, she paced the great room—to the bookcase and back, to the kitchen and back, to the ladder leading up to the attic and back. If she climbed to the attic she could dig through the seventeenth century artifacts from her previous life with James, thinking it would bring her some comfort. True love never dies, she thought. Look at what we survived in the past. We will survive this too.
She jumped at the sudden knock. She looked through the window, but there was no chain-wielding
