Chapter 19
Three weeks later, the night of the past-life regression, it was nearly silent outside the old gabled house. The only sounds in the neighborhood were the chirping of love-calling crickets and the wheezing of the New England wind rustling the new-smelling leaves and the fresh-growing grass. Spring in New England is tawny as the skeleton barrenness of winter is magically, as if overnight, transformed into scented color and budding life. Darkness becomes light. The sun, for those fortunate enough to see it, makes life vigorous again. But at night everything became nearly silent. The old gabled house was used to silence. In over three hundred years it was left empty more than it was occupied while James was off living somewhere else and somewhere else again, hiding himself among pe
