The boys bragged of mastery, ruling the cul-de-sac like kings unchallenged. Yet doubts crept in like drafts, too. Trevor jolted once when he thought he saw old Mag’s curtain twitch late at night. One of the younger ones sometimes avoided the group now, muttering excuses, sensing their games had crossed lines best not crossed.
Still, Connor burned with pride. To him, dare-devilry was how you proved your bravery and worth. “Next time,” he said, “we’ll break into her place. What’s she going to do, knit us to death?” His laughter rang, thinly veiling his unease. Behind their swagger, no one admitted the thought of her parlor light unsettled them.