“The trees are screaming, Mama.” Candlelight flickered in Gertie’s eyes. “They’re angry.”

Despite the late hour Gertie was wide awake. From the bed she stared at Sarah, her eyes expressing the same fear that Sarah was so desperate to keep hidden. Gertie’s father John had disappeared during a storm over the summer, leaving Sarah to raise Gertie on her own. Although they had never talked about it, Sarah knew storms now terrified them both, and this was quite a storm.

The deluge had already lasted over an hour, and showed no signs of letting up. Thankfully, the cottage was sturdy and the roof had never leaked. The worst of the storm was the wind. It battered the door and lashed around the windows, whistled in the empty chimney. It was chilly enough for a fire, but with this wind, Sarah didn’t dare light one.

Sarah pulled her face into a smile she didn’t feel. “That’s just the wind, my angel.” A gust rattled the windows, belying her comforting words. “The storm is making noise, but it will pass. Can you try to sleep? Please?”

“Will you sleep with me?”

They always slept together–once John was gone, Gertie took to sleeping in the big bed with Sarah, and her small bed in the corner had quickly become another storage area for Sarah’s sewing supplies. But usually Gertie went to sleep first, and Sarah would stay up hours longer making clothes to sell, the proceeds of which made up a good portion of their household income. Sarah liked having Gertie to herself, but without John, they struggled.

“My angel. As soon as I’m done with this collar, I’ll come to bed.”

Gertie didn’t respond; she only burrowed deeper into the woolen blankets, her eyes focused on Sarah. They were beautiful eyes, brown and gold with a hint of green in the sunshine; so different from Sarah’s own. She had fallen in love with them at first sight. Sarah loved Gertie more than anything in the world; her eyes and her smile, her laugh, her keen intelligence. Only five years old, Gertie was wise. She understood things that other children didn’t.

Sometimes, she would get a little strange, like she was tonight. Gertie would talk about the trees; how they were watching, how she could tell they wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t know how to listen. Tonight was the first time she’d mentioned the trees screaming, and Sarah found it unnerving.

A crash of thunder rolled out of the sky, and Sarah jolted, nearly dropping her sewing. Had she fallen asleep in the chair? The steady pounding of the rain against the roof must have lulled her. The flash of light that accompanied the thunder exaggerated the shadows in the corners of their one-room cottage. She returned to her needle and thread.

After several minutes of silence, broken only by the sound of the rain and the constant groan of the wind against the walls, Gertie said, “I still can’t sleep, Mama. The trees are too loud.”

Sarah sighed, and with a silent apology to Mrs. Sullivan she set the unfinished collar into the basket at her feet. Mindful of the candle on the rickety wooden table, she stood. “I’ll get in bed. Just let me–”

The cottage exploded. In the flash that came with the deafening noise, Sarah sensed as much as saw an immense tree limb crash through the ceiling. With a quickness and strength that surprised her, she pulled Gertie out of the bed seconds before the branch landed on it, exactly where Gertie had been lying.

Sarah held Gertie to her chest, hardly noticing the cold wind that now churned around them. “Angel,” she whispered, “my angel.” After a moment she loosened her hold so she could look into Gertie’s face. The child’s hair was wild and her eyes were shining in fear, but she was alive. Sarah shook; if she hadn’t been so fast…

“Mama, I’m cold.” Gertie’s words and her hands scrambling around Sarah’s shoulders brought her back to the present. She glanced around and with sharp distress realized the extent of the damage. The limb was large, most of a tree, and it had completely destroyed the cottage, the sturdy stone walls and the roof that never leaked. Her sewing was ruined; Mrs. Sullivan’s dress was not to be. Her hearth and her washing pots, all the things that she and Gertie relied on to live. Gone, gone, gone. A tightness cramped up in her chest, her tears battled with the rain. She wondered, briefly, if she deserved it.

Gertie had moved past the shock of her close call and was barreling toward hysterics. Well, whatever Sarah had or hadn’t done, Gertie didn’t deserve this. Gertie deserved a nice house and a warm bed, and Sarah was responsible for getting these things for her. The townsfolk might not like Sarah, but everyone loved Gertie, and they would help her. Sarah pushed her fear down and away, picked Gertie up, and made her way across the detritus of the cottage and out the door–the one thing in the room that appeared to be untouched.

Their cottage was at the edge of the forest. John had lived there already when Sarah had moved to the village. He’d kept himself to himself–just him and his first wife, Abigail–but after a time Sarah befriended Abigail and eventually John, too. Then Abigail left and John needed someone and Sarah had been there for him. She didn’t have anything of her own, so it had been convenient for her to move into the cottage, once they were married.

It was much less convenient now. With Gertie in her arms, Sarah slowly made her way up the path to the road. With every step she wished she’d thought to dig through the rubble for a coat, or some boots; she only had her dress and slippers, and poor Gertie only had her nightgown. The rain was punishing, and to Sarah it felt as cold as the coldest winter, even though the water was too warm to freeze.

When they reached the path, Sarah turned toward the village, gusts of cold blowing against her face. She could see no lights; apparently their neighbors weren’t having trouble sleeping through the night.

But she trusted that they could find their way in the storm.

Sarah closed her eyes, and felt a tug in her heart. She followed that sweet pull, no longer mindful of their surroundings. Gertie’s voice was in her ear, but Sarah couldn’t make out her words.

Lightning flashed, and Sarah cursed, setting Gertie down in her surprise. She had somehow got turned around on the road. They weren’t in the comfort of the village; instead, they were deep in the forest. The rain was lighter there, but the wind howled as loudly as ever. Thunder and lightning harmonized in the sky above.

“Mama?” Gertie stood next to her with concern etched on her face. “Why did you take us into the trees? You know they’re angry with you.”

Sarah crouched to look into her eyes. “Angel, I’m sorry, I got turned around and distracted. I meant to walk into the village. We still aren’t far, we can–”

Another bolt of lightning flashed, and over Gertie’s shoulder Sarah saw something that shook her to her core: an enormous gnarled oak tree, set apart from the others by a small clearing. Sarah could swear that the crooked branches reached for her. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t believe that in her fright and distraction she had brought Gertie here.

“We need to go. We need to get to somewhere safe.” Sarah reached for Gertie’s hand, but the little girl stepped back. The look in her eyes was dark.

“I understand the trees now.”

Sarah reached for her again, confused. “Angel, we have–”

“This is where you buried Papa.”

Every word of Gertie’s accusation burned Sarah’s heart. It was true. It had started with the argument in the yard. Then she wrenched a stone from the wall, and… Blood. So much blood, slick and warm across her palms before the cold rain chased it away. She’d cradled his head and watched the light in his eyes flicker out, and then it was done.

Gertie was napping, so Sarah took John into the forest.

She’d been planning to kill him eventually, of course, but this had been her opportunity and she’d taken it. She had hoped to pass his death off as an accident, but that was clearly no accident. Turning herself in for killing John this way would destroy her reputation. The townsfolk already hated her for sweeping in so quickly after Abigail disappeared. They gossiped behind her back, shared stories in whispers–Abigail never would have run away, she loved John and that baby so much–it must have been something else.

It must have been Sarah.

Sarah, who should have been thanked for taking care of the woman’s grieving husband and infant daughter. But no.

The townsfolk did not trust her, and she did not trust them.

Luckily, she knew a good burial plot. She’d loaded him right into a wheelbarrow and rolled him into the forest. She was surprised to discover that even after six years, the soil of her previous digging was still fairly soft.

By the morning he was lying with his first wife, and Sarah was home with Gertie–with her daughter. Her daughter only.

Back in the forest, Sarah lowered herself to her knees. She worked hard to keep her voice gentle.

“How do you know where I buried Papa?”

“The oak tree told me.” Gertie’s face was wet, but not all of it was rain. “Why did you do it? He was my Papa.”

Sarah was desperate to make Gertie understand. “It was for you, my angel. So we could be together.” She tried to take Gertie’s hands in hers, but the child pulled them away.

“But I loved my Papa.”

“You’re mine.” Sarah growled, and grabbed Gertie. “From the moment I saw you, when you were just a little baby, I knew you were going to be mine. And now–”

Gertie yanked herself away, and they both tumbled backward. Before Sarah could scramble to her feet there was a crash in the tree above them, and a limb from the great oak tree fell straight down where Gertie lay trembling with chill and fear.

Sarah screamed and with an unholy show of strength lifted the branch and tossed it aside, but it was too late. Sobbing, Sarah pulled Gertie’s body to her, crushed and limp, and curled herself around it. The body was warm, but Sarah knew it wouldn’t stay that way.

She rocked against the ground, and she cried until Gertie grew cold. At some point the storm had ceased its ravaging, and the forest was still. When the fingers of dawn plucked at the forest’s edge, Sarah let Gertie go and shuffled back to the house for the shovel.