Concordia slept poorly. It was only the third night of living in the farmhouse, and she was unaccustomed to the noises: the soughing of the trees, the wind rattling the shutters, the creaking of old wood. Then, of course, she shared her bedroom—formerly the housekeeper’s quarters—with Ruby. A roommate who snored like a lumberjack took some getting used to. Nonetheless, it was an improvement over camping in the infirmary or gymnasium.
She put on robe and slippers and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk. She shivered as she felt the chill air brush over her ankles. She had to admit, Aunt Drusilla was right about the drafts. They would need heavier curtains before winter set in.
She turned up the hurricane lamp and sat down at the heavy oak table with her glass. More than the noises of
