Monstrous Beauty (17 page)

“Are you okay?”

Hester shook her head emphatically no. And with her second heave, she vomited the sparse remains of her lunch. “I’m sorry,” she gasped when she was finished. “That was gross.” And then she wondered why she was apologizing, and said more accusingly, “Why …
how
…”

“What’s wrong, Hester? Are you ill?”

“How are you…” She paused, suppressing another heave.

“Very well, I thank you,” Linnie said politely.

“No! I mean, how are you … just standing there? Look at you!”

Linnie looked down at herself and bent to pick a speck of nonexistent lint off her sagging cotton stockings.

“You … you haven’t changed a bit, Lin. Now look at
me
,” Hester said.

Linnie looked straight at her, or rather into her if that were possible. “You look the same as ever, Hester.” She cocked her head to the side. “It’s been awfully dull here without you. Why haven’t you visited me?”

“I
grew up
,” Hester said. She held her forehead. “What’s going on?”

“You’re the only child who’s ever heard me. I wish you’d come visit me again.” Linnie frowned, and her eyes grew dark. “Why do you want to be with Ezra more than with me?”

Hester was too shocked to reply. Her mouth fell open again.

Linnie pointed past her at the church down the hill and stamped her foot. “And now Pastor McKee is calling for you, and I
still
won’t get my turn.”

Hester spun around to look at the church, but it was shadowed and quiet.

She turned back. The little girl was gone.

Chapter 26

1873

A
S THEY DESCENDED THE STAIRS
to the crypt, Sarah became increasingly alarmed.

“Is Ezra down here, or is he not, Pastor? I demand to know!”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Doyle. Everything well be clear when we’ve had a chance to talk. Hurry now, thar’s no time t’ lose.”

When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she looked quickly around and said, “I don’t see him. He’s not here. You’ve lied to me!” She grabbed the old pastor by the arms; she was strong for a woman. He felt her fingers press painfully into his shoulders. “I don’t know what your motives are, but I am leaving to find Ezra, and if I discover that he is ill or injured…”

“Please, you’re haerting me,” the pastor said. “I mus’ speak with you priva’ely.”

Sarah dropped her hands. “Why should I listen, when you tricked me here?”

“Do you know about the sarcophagi?” He was speaking quickly, rushing, for reasons Sarah couldn’t guess.

It was a word Sarah had never heard. “No, I…”

“The stone coffins, jus’ there. They’re empty, the two of them. Well, usually they’re empty. A’ the moment, the one on the righ’ contains a fair amount of wa’er. Now dinnae be alarmed, because I know et sounds daft, an’ I’ll be happy to explain la’er, bu’ if I could ask you to get enside tha’ one … ef you please.” He tried to lead her over by the elbow.

“I will not! What has come over you, Pastor? I beg you, release my arm. You have no idea how strong I am—please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Thar’s been an accusation against you,” he said, still rushing, still tugging. “Ef I can please get you wet, Mrs. Doyle, before she arrives, I shall paersuade your accuser tha’ I’ve tested you, and you’re not possessed by a sea daemon. And then she’ll stop petitioning for an exorcesm, and we shall all return to our quiet lives…”

Sarah wrenched her arm away. The poor man had pink-edged eyelids, and such a drawn face.

“Exorcism? Get me wet?
Test
me? You’re speaking like a madman, Pastor. You’re not well. I shall send someone down to help you, but I’m leaving.”

“I assure you, I’m paerfectly well. Please trust me, Sarah.” He looked into her eyes, and she saw that he was earnest, almost desperate. He lowered his voice and strained to speak coherently. “Thar es a parishioner who believes tha’ you cavort with sea folk—tha’ you breathe underwa’er, an’ speak en tongues. She
willnae
be dissuaded, Mrs. Doyle. I’ve though’ long an’ hard about et, an’ this es the only way. Ef I can make haer believe I have tested you and proved tha’ you cannae breathe en wa’er, she shall leave you be, I shall continue to live at the rectory in peaceful retirement, an’ the ma’ter shall be closed.”

“The matter shall be closed before it opens.”

“Ef I donnae make haer believe I’ve done et, she’ll report me to the elders.”

“I’m sorry for you, Pastor, I truly am. But I must find Ezra.” She turned toward the stairs.

He caught her arm and said gravely, “Sarah, I have seen you emaerging from the bay.”

She stopped and searched his eyes, trying to read his meaning.

“An’ I have seen a siren in the same hour, under the wa’er, near the rocky outcropping—a most mestifying, engrossing creature.” His eyes welled. “Ef your accuser goes to the elders, and ef the elders ask me, I shall have t’ tell them what I saw. I am an old man, Sarah. I have no family here, and none left en Tain. Where would I live?”

Sarah stood frozen, unable to decide what to do. She felt a tingle of warning all through her body. She needed to think clearly, to stay safe, but her mind could not retreat from her protective worry: where was Ezra?

“Please,” he said. “Submaerge yourself en the wa’er. Jus’ give yourself a good soaking, leave puddles on the floor, an’ I shall tell haer she was wrong. She’ll be on haer way now; thar’s so li’tle time. We could be done already.”

“Who,” Sarah asked firmly, “
who
is on her way?”

“Please, ge’ in the wa’er. I beg you t’ trust me. Let me end this nonsense.”

Sarah looked at the sarcophagus. What he was asking was simple enough: for her to step in, submerge herself, and get out, and he would conceal what he suspected. She walked over to it warily and looked at the water.

“Where is Ezra?”

“He’s no doubt home by now. He’s well, I promise you. We shared a pint together a’ the White Horse. I ded trick you here, an’ for tha’ I offer my profound apology.” He glanced at the stairs, anticipating something, and looked imploringly back at her.

In and out. She could go home to Ezra, and keep her secret.

She took her jacket and shoes off.

“Yes, hurry,” he said. He checked over his shoulder again.

She lifted her leg, put her foot in the water, and then paused.

“Who is my accuser?”

“Thar’s no time. After!
Please.
”

She climbed up and in. She sat down, sank backward, and went completely under. She kept her eyes open and warily fixed on him the entire time, even through the water. She arched her back and came up face-first. She repeated, “Who is my accuser?”

“Et’s the widow, Eleanor Ontstaan,” he said, putting his arms out to help her. “Come quickly.”

But he needn’t have said it, because she could see past his shoulder that a woman was behind him, walking purposefully toward the sarcophagus. Her graying blond hair was coming loose from a bun, fanning out in strawlike wisps. She held her right arm behind her back. Her eyes were trained on Sarah. Something about her name was familiar.

The pastor turned. “Mrs. Ontstaan! I have paerformed the test…”

“You have not, Pastor. You’re weak and cowardly, and you’ve failed us all. You’re deliberately protecting a monster—a killer!—which goes against God. She cannot live among us.”

A primal sense of danger swelled in Sarah’s core as Eleanor dropped her right arm and rushed the coffin. There was a knife in her hand.

The widow, Eleanor Ontstaan. The
widow
. There was almost no time for Sarah to process what she knew must be true: it was the wife of the fisherman she had killed. She tried to leap out of the sarcophagus, but the layers of her dress along with her petticoat were unexpectedly heavy and slowed her. The pastor had only time to lift his hands in surprise before Eleanor was upon Sarah, slashing the knife at her, hitting mostly air as Sarah pulled away again and again with quick reflexes.

Eleanor caught the dress with the knife on one pass, barely missing Sarah’s skin and entangling the knife in the sleeve. Sarah seized her wrist, and the pastor heard the crackle of bones as the knife fell from Eleanor’s hand, clattering on the floor at his feet. Eleanor released a guttural, horrifying scream of pain. Sarah pulled Eleanor into the sarcophagus with her, falling backward, with Eleanor on top.

“You monster!” Eleanor screamed, pushing Sarah’s face down with her uninjured left hand, trying to slam her head against the stone bottom. “You murdered Olaf!”

The two women grappled as the waves sloshed back and forth, spilling water out of the sarcophagus. Sarah grabbed Eleanor in a bear hug, and half rolled, half flipped her so that Eleanor was suddenly on the bottom, completely submerged, with wide eyes and puffed cheeks. Eleanor reached her left hand up, groping for Sarah’s face.

The pastor tried to pull Sarah off Eleanor, but he was frail and old, and she was enraged and powerful. How long could Eleanor hold her breath? he wondered. He beat on Sarah’s back—useless, flailing blows. “God, help me!” he shouted, anguished by his own impotence.

Eleanor’s left index finger found Sarah’s right eye and hooked itself in the socket. Sarah roared with pain and pushed her down so violently that Eleanor’s hand was wrenched away. Eleanor writhed to push Sarah off her. The longer she was under, the more her thrashing became panicked and inefficient.

Eleanor’s struggles weakened, and the bubbles no longer escaped her mouth and nose, but Sarah continued to hold her under, her arm muscles pulsating with effort.

“Le’ her up, Sarah!” the pastor shouted. “Faith, you’re kellin’ her!”

He looked frantically around for some way to save Eleanor. He bent to the floor, picked up the knife, and did something that went against everything he believed in. He lifted the knife, clamped his eyes shut, and stabbed at Sarah.

Chapter 27

“
L
INNIE?”
H
ESTER SAID
, her voice cracking. She scanned the graveyard, but there was no sign of the little girl. She picked up her bag and carefully put the journal inside. When she glanced up at the church, Pastor McKee was at the door, gesturing eagerly for her to come to him.

She looked back at the tombstones uncertainly, one more time, for her childhood friend. The evening sun bathed them in a pink light. The wind was calm. Linnie had said the old minister was looking for her. How had she known?

“I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he called impatiently as she finally approached him.

“Did you see that little gi—?”

“Please, come enside. Come enside!” he interrupted, scooping his hand toward himself again and again as if he could draw her in with the breeze he was generating.

The air was cool and damp as they descended the stairs to the crypt. There were two chairs facing each other this time. The old man must have brought out another for her. He eased himself into one and motioned to the other.

“Set, set!” He was out of breath.

“You’d better rest a minute, Pastor.” Hester put her bag on the earthen floor. She brushed dust off the caned seat as best she could. “You need to catch your breath.”

“Na, et makes no defference, I’m always exactly the same. Tha’s my problem.”

She sat down. “The little girl—did you see her?”

Pastor McKee stared at her, considering his answer.

“Either you saw her or not.” Hester laughed nervously.

“I ded. Haer name es Adeline.”

“Adeline?” Hester repeated. “Her name is Linnie.”

“I believe Linnie es the familiar form of Adeline.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about her? Because … because she’s not what she seems! I knew her ten years ago.”

“Aye.”

“And in ten years she hasn’t aged a day!” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of both hands. “I know it sounds crazy, but she can’t be a little girl. She can’t be human. She’s … she’s an alien … or a…”

“An apparition.”

Hester dropped her hands. He was nodding slowly.

“You don’t think I’m crazy, then?” Her eyes opened wide. “Holy sh— you mean,
she
could be the ghost that’s haunting the church? But no, she can’t be a ghost…” Her mind raced.

“Listen, Pastor.” She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling a chill. “She’s
real
. I’ve played with her, I’ve touched her skin, and her dress. I’ve made her laugh.” She thought of Linnie’s lost doll that first day. “And cry.”

He edged forward on his seat, intent on the conversation. “I’ve seen Adeline on the hill for ages. Far longer than you’ve known haer. Poor li’tle thing. She’s harmless. No’ an angry spirit, but en such pain.”

“Pain?”

“Och! She was wee and innocen’ when she died. I’m deeply troubled about the child tha’ haer ghost represents. The u’ter loneliness and confusion of bein’ a spirit is no’ somethen’ a youngster should have to endure. Et’s a tragedy.” He looked into her eyes. “I’ve long prayed someone would finally come along who could help haer.”

Hester was silent for a moment, at a loss. She couldn’t believe they were talking so matter-of-factly about a ghost. She warmed her hands by rubbing them together and then folded them on her lap.

“Why doesn’t anyone else know about her? I mean, not just about the silverfish and the host and the stained glass. Why doesn’t anyone know
her
? Why isn’t she … famous?”

“Do you truly want to know?”

“Of course.”

“Et may come as a shock.”

“Tell me.”

“No one else can see haer, Hester. Or hear haer. Or touch haer. Tha’s wha’ I meant about the loneliness and confusion she’s been forced to endure.”

“What are you talking about? Are you saying that you and I share a gift or something—the ability to see ghosts?”

He reached for her. His cool fingers touched her cheek affectionately, briefly.

“I’d say et was more of a caerse tha’ we share, lass.”

A curse. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What made you use the word ‘curse’?” It was eerie to hear the word twice in two days.