Hallow House - Part Two Read Online Free PDF Page A

Look how much Johanna's improved."
     
    "Wait a minute, I didn't even know you'd met the man," Her father smiled at her. "I was way off base, I see, in suspecting you might be interested in Sal. Or should I say--off the mark?"
     
    Samara groaned. "Oh, Daddy, that's really corny."
     
    "Mark's a young man who's had his share of problems. Most of his relatives are still in Nazi Germany. He managed to get out of the country only to face prejudice here with this current phobia about fifth columnists, spies and saboteurs. I hope we don't soon get so hysterical that everyone with a German name will automatically be considered a Nazi."
     
    "You mean people have actually accused Mark?"
     
    Her father nodded. "I know you're bored with the news, Samara, but you do realize we'll be in it sooner or later, don't you? There's no way to stay out of a war like this."
     
    She raised her eyebrows. Her history prof at Stanford had assured the class the United States would never fight in a European war again.
     
    "Who knows what might happen if war comes?" Her father looked around the walnut-paneled library. "I don't want anything to change; I want Hallow House to stay exactly as it is. I love this place--the land, the house. It's mine. Someday it will be yours and then you'll understand."
     
    She stared at him, wondering why he didn't realize she could never love this house or the land. She did love the people in the house, they were what brought her home. If they weren't here, Hallow House could never be home.
     
    Without thinking, she said, "Aunt Adele once told me there was a curse involving the house and us. I don't know exactly what she meant."
     
    All too clearly she recalled the old woman closing her eyes and leaning back in her rocking chair, intoning:
     
    "By the gate the two wolves lie
     
    Of children two, the one must die.
     
    God hears not the prayers you send
     
    Death and destruction mark the end.."
     
    Sergei, his face alight with excitement, had demanded, "What does it mean that one must die? Will it be me or Samara because we're twins?"
     
    Sergei had been the one who died. The bright faces of her her-sisters, Naomi and Katrina flashed into her mind and she shook her head to dislodge Aunt Adele's words.
     
    "Adele had read those old journals too often," her father said. "I should have burned them all. I don't believe in curses. The Gregorys have been unlucky, I'll admit. If Vera hadn't been brave enough to risk marrying me, I don't know where I'd have found the courage to go on. But a curse? Nonsense." Though he smiled, she thought the smile was sad. "Shouldn't you be changing for dinner?" he added.
     
    In her room, Samara brushed her damp hair until it hung in even ringlets to her shoulders, then reviewed her summer clothes. In the end she close a dress with a white pleated skirt and a yellow top decorated with white piping. She hadn't worn it since last summer but the dress fit her well, making the most of her slim curves. She slipped her feet into white sandals, then sat before the mirror of her vanity to apply orange lipstick and a dash of powder.
     
    The image looking back at her was okay--but beautiful? How could she tell?
     
    She walked down the hall toward the stairs, self-consciously erect. Would she meet Mark coming from his room in the opposite wing? Intent on the thought of Mark, she almost didn't notice Uncle Vince at the head of the stairs.
     
    "Wow," he said, "can this gorgeous vision be the same Samara Gregory I saw not six months ago in saddle shoes and a sweater three sizes too big for her?"
     
    "Hi, Uncle Vince," she said, her gaze straying to the corridor when she heard a door open.
     
    Vincent followed her gaze as Mark stepped into the hall. Samara couldn't seem to look away from him, even though she knew her uncle must be watching her. When she faced Uncle Vince again, he was frowning.
     
    "I should have guessed," he said. "You've dressed up for Mark Schroeder, haven't you?" She'd