“Yep, and they got track o’ that trucker who was in so thick with the Hawkins boys.” The widow sighed and pulled aside a kitchen curtain to gaze thoughtfully toward the swamp. “Well, I reckon the last bit o’ evil’s been driv’ away from Black Island. From now on, the land’ll jest lie there and belong to the wind and the rain.”
“And to us,” Penny added softly.
The widow nodded as her gaze lingered long on the fringe of towering pines. “One o’ these days, when the spirit moves us, we’ll go back there,” she promised. “The swamp always belongs to them that loves it!”