The Secret

Prologue

"Anaelle Laveaux, you get back here this instant!"

Ana ran from the sound of her grandmother's call, laughing with giddy freedom. Two long, tawny braids slapped against her back, making almost as much noise as her white Keds did when they hit the pavement.

She ran past the town's one traffic light, choosing not to make eye contact with her grandma's neighbor leaving the only grocery store. The morning air was really cool for an early summer evening in East Texas, and her legs were itching to go even faster. She didn't slow down until long after the paved, one way road turned to dirt, her smile widening as her destination came into view.

She shimmied through the open crack in the chain link gate entrance to the little graveyard without touching the gate, though it was a tight squeeze. She couldn't risk damaging her prizes, wrapped in a paper napkins and held gingerly in each hand.

Ana passed marble headstones and dirty- faced angel statues, looking longingly at wildflowers she knew would look just perfect in the chipped vase she'd found in the attic that now held a place of distinction on her bedside table. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

She marched straight for the headstone she'd found while exploring the week before. The little gated yard sat next to an white, clapboard church house that had long since been abandoned for more impressive glories, and was just as empty as it had been when Ana first came across it.

Grandma said that nobody'd been buried there for almost twenty years, since everybody who was anybody in Marsh Fields got themselves laid to rest in the fancy cemetery in Gladewater, population 6,500.

She found her spot, and sat down. It was just as good as she'd remembered it: a smooth, stone bench mostly hidden under the arching branches of a weeping willow.

Ana was just about to open the first napkin when she heard the birds go quiet. She went still, instinctively holding her breath, waiting. And waiting. But she couldn't hear a thing. She wouldn't know if she did hear something out of step, really, since she'd spent so much of her life indoors, but everything seemed... too quiet, even to her.

Then, she saw it. Or him. Definitely a him, about her age and standing as still as a tree behind her favorite gravestone. Light-colored eyes watched her warily beneath the shadowed brim of his navy blue baseball cap. Something about his face was funny, his eyes tilted up and his nose flat and kittenish, but Ana wasn't the type to care about that much. She knew how it felt to be different.

"Hullo," she ventured, leaning forward to try to see him better. A breeze blew through, making the branches wave between them.

When he didn't say anything, but almost imperceptibly angled his face away from her while still holding her gaze, she tried again.

"Man, you're quiet. I didn't even hear you coming. I'm Anaelle Laveaux, but everybody except my grandma calls me Ana. What's your name?"

He didn't answer her, his face tense and body poised to run. The wind shifted, the scent of her stolen treats wafting up to her, and she saw his strange nose twitch.

Ana frowned slightly, sliding her napkin-wrapped parcels behind her back. She watched his throat bob as his gaze darted to her now-empty hands, and she sighed. So much for selfishness.

She held out one of her packages to him, letting it fall open to reveal to sugar-dusted pie crust within. "You want a cherry fried pie? I'll share. It's still warm."

He frowned and looked away from her, to the trees lining the back fence of the cemetery. After a few moments, she shrugged and set the offered pie on the end of her bench. She opened her own, and took a big bite, closing her eyes in bliss at the warm, tart sweetness.