The Betrayal (14 page)

Leaning over his table, Matthew Fier closed his eyes and rubbed the lids with his thumbs.

“These stories cannot be true!” Edward declared breathlessly. “Tell me that they are lies, Uncle. Tell me!”

Matthew slowly opened his eyes and trained them on Edward. “Calm yourself, Edward,” he urged softly. “Rest easy, my boy. Of course those stories are lies. There isn't a word of truth in them.”

“All lies,” Matthew repeated, staring hard into the fire. He rose from his chair and turned to Edward. “I must know who is spreading these false stories.”

Edward hesitated.

To his surprise, he saw that Matthew's entire body was trembling.

The door burst open and Mary entered, her face flushed, her expression troubled. “Father, I must speak to you. I—”

Seeing his daughter, Matthew fell back into his chair. Uttering a low, mournful sigh, he covered his face with his hands. “Mary, poor Mary,” he muttered to himself. “Will he kill you, too, before this is over?”

“Father, what are you saying?” Mary demanded, still in the doorway.

Matthew remained with his face hidden behind his hands. When he finally looked up, he had tears in his eyes.

“Edward,” he said in a whisper, “the stories are true.”

Edward cried out in shock. “No, Uncle Matthew! Please—do not tell me this!”

“I must!” Matthew choked out. “I must. I cannot carry on with my lies. Seeing Mary made me realize it is time to finally tell the truth. We are all in too much danger.”

Mary took a few steps into the room. “What are you saying?” she demanded of her father. She turned to Edward. “Cousin, what are you talking about?”

Edward stared at her in stunned silence. “An innocent girl—a girl I loved—died because of my father.” He gave a pained sob. “And I condemned her as much as my father did!”

Slumped at the table, Matthew suddenly looked very old. His jowls sagged. All the life seemed to drain from his eyes. “Your father wanted the best for you, Edward.”

“The best?” Edward cried bitterly. “You never told me why we left Wickham. My father never gave me a choice!”

“Yes,” Matthew insisted, avoiding Edward's accusing stare. “He and I both wanted to make sure you never experienced the poverty we experienced. But we went too far.”

“You overheard my talk with Jeremy,” Mary accused Edward.

Edward nodded. “Yes. And I came directly here. To confront your father. To learn—”

“The stories are all true?” Mary cried shrilly, raising her hands to her cheeks.

“I am afraid they are,” her father confessed sadly.

“Poor Susannah Goode. How I wronged her,” Edward said, swallowing hard.

“You and Uncle Benjamin burned an innocent woman and girl?” Mary demanded, her eyes burning into her father's.

Matthew turned away. “It was a long time ago. Before you were born,” he told Mary weakly.

“And now William Goode has had his revenge,” Edward said in a trembling, low voice. “He has murdered my wife and my father.”

Matthew rose to his feet, his face bright red, his hands shaking. “We will make him pay!” he shouted angrily.

“No!” Edward and Mary shouted in unison.

“We are even now!” Edward cried passionately. “We will make peace with the Goodes.”

“Peace?” Matthew protested heatedly. “Peace? Edward, have you lost your senses? He
murdered
Rebecca and Benjamin!”

“We will make peace,” Edward insisted, narrowing his eyes at his uncle, his features set in firm determination.

“Jeremy Goode and I are in love,” Mary blurted out.

“The farmhand?” Matthew cried. “The farmhand is a Goode?”

“Jeremy is William's son,” Mary told him. “And we wish to marry.”

“No! Never!” Matthew declared, pounding his fist on the table, sending papers flying to the floor.

“Yes!” Edward insisted. “Yes, they
will
marry. The wound between our families will be healed. And you, Uncle, will offer your apology to William Goode and his son.”

Matthew glared at them both. Then his gaze softened. He sighed wearily and shrugged under the heavy black mourning coat. “I will never apologize to a murderer,” he muttered.

“You and Benjamin are also murderers!” Mary cried.

Her words stung Matthew. He closed his eyes. He was silent for a long while.

“Well, Father?” Mary demanded.

“We will heal the wounds,” Matthew replied finally. “I will apologize as you wish. You may marry William Goode's son if you so desire.”

“I do so desire,” Mary replied quickly.

“This murderous feud will be ended,” Edward said solemnly. “The two families will no longer be enemies.”

“Yes,” Matthew agreed. “When a week of mourning has passed, invite them both—William and Jeremy—to dinner. At that time I will do what is necessary, I promise you both, to end this bitter feud forever.”

“Thank you, Father!” Mary cried happily.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Edward declared.

“It will be done,” Matthew said softly.

*   *   *

The week of mourning passed slowly for Mary. Sadness hovered low over the house and farm.

Mary did her household chores and helped Constance care for Ezra. Ezra kept asking when his mother would return. He didn't seem able or willing to understand that she was never coming back.

Edward remained at his house, buried in thoughts of the past, awash in regret, reliving the painful memories as if they had happened the day before instead of eighteen years earlier.

Matthew made an effort to do his work. But he seldom spoke to anyone in the house. His eyes remained empty, cold, focused far away.

Dinners were eaten in uncomfortable silence. Mary found herself thinking of Jeremy.

This sadness that covers the house like a dark curtain will lift when Jeremy and I are together, when Matthew makes his apology to William, and the two families are as one, she thought.

And finally the evening arrived, a cool, clear evening with a hint of autumn in the air. Inside the house the tangy aroma of a roasting goose floated through the rooms. Candles in a silver candelabra glowed in the center of the dining room table, which Mary and Constance had carefully laid out with the family's best dishes and serving utensils.

Mary sat, tensed, waiting for Jeremy and his father to arrive. Ezra tried to climb on Edward, but Edward impatiently pushed him off.

Hands clasped behind his back, Matthew paced the floor, frowning. Constance remained in the kitchen, tending to the goose.

Everyone in the family is so nervous and silent, Mary thought. And I am the most nervous of all.

How difficult it will be for Father to see William Goode after all these years. How difficult for them both.

But how fortunate that Jeremy and I will be able to bring them together, to end the years of hatred.

What a tragedy that Rebecca and Benjamin had to die before this horrid feud could end, Mary thought sadly.

A loud knock on the door jarred Mary from her thoughts.

She jumped to her feet and hurried across the room.

“Hello, Jeremy!” she cried, pulling open the door. She gazed over his shoulder. “Where is your father?”

Wearing a loose-fitting white wool shirt that was tied at the waist over black breeches, Jeremy stepped into the room, a fixed smile on his face. “Good evening, Mary,” he returned her greeting quietly but did not answer her question.

This is so wonderful,
Mary thought, gazing at him.

This is a dream come true.

Jeremy is here—in my house! I'm so happy!

Mary couldn't know that in two seconds' time—two ticks of the clock—her happiness would turn into unspeakable horror.

As Jeremy crossed the room to greet him, Matthew Fier raised the silver disk over his head and pointed it at Jeremy.

Jeremy hesitated. His smile faded.

Matthew called out the words on the back of the disk:
“Dominatio per malum!”

Jeremy's head exploded with a low
pop!

At first no one was certain where the sound had come from.

Mary was the first to realize that something horrible had happened.

Jeremy's skull cracked open, and the skin on his face blistered and peeled away. Pink brains bubbled up from his open skull. His face appeared to melt away, and another face pushed up from under the shattered skull.

Another head appeared on Jeremy's body.

The head of a white-haired man, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes brimming with hatred.

“William Goode!” Matthew declared, still holding the strange medallion above his head.

“Yes, it is I,” William replied weakly. “I almost stole your daughter from you, Matthew. But your powers are stronger than mine.”

“Jeremy!” Mary shrieked, finally finding her voice. “Jeremy! Jeremy! Where is my Jeremy?”

“There
is
no Jeremy!” her father told her. “There
never was
a Jeremy, Daughter! It was William Goode all along! He used his powers to make himself appear young!”

William Goode glared across the candle-lit room at Matthew, his hatred too strong for words. He raised a trembling hand to point an accusing finger at Matthew.

“Jeremy!” Mary cried, her eyes darting frantically from face to face. “Jeremy! Where are you? Where is my Jeremy? Where have you hid him?”

“Constance—help comfort Mary!” Matthew ordered.

But Constance remained rigid with terror against the wall.

With an animal cry of rage Matthew again pointed the amulet at the figure of William Goode.
“Dominatio per malum!”
he screamed.
“Power through evil!”

William's entire body trembled. His eyes rolled up in his head. The skin on his face began to crumble.

He sank to his knees. His clothing appeared to fold over him as he crumbled, crumbled in seconds to powdery gray dust.

“Jeremy!” Mary shrieked, racing back and forth across the room, her eyes wide and fearful. “Jeremy—where is my Jeremy?”

As Matthew stared down at the pile of dust under the crumpled clothing, a triumphant smile crossed his face. He tossed back his head, opened his mouth wide, and began to laugh.

A loud, gleeful laugh.

“Jeremy? Where is Jeremy?”; Mary demanded.

“Where did the man go?” Ezra asked Edward.

His eyes wide with horror, Edward grabbed Ezra up into his arms and held him pressed tight against his chest.

Matthew laughed harder, joyful tears pouring down his face.

“Stop laughing, Matthew!” Constance screamed, running over to him. “Stop it!”

Matthew laughed even harder.

“Where is Jeremy? Where is he hiding?” Mary cried.

Holding Ezra over his shoulder, Edward grabbed Mary's hand. “Come on,” he urged her firmly.

“What? I cannot go without Jeremy,” Mary replied, gazing at Edward with dazed, unseeing eyes.

“Come on, Mary.” Edward tugged her hand. “We have to leave. We have to get
out
of here!”

Holding his bulging sides, Matthew roared with laughter.

“Stop laughing—please, Matthew!” his wife pleaded.

Matthew laughed harder.

Constance began pounding her fists on his chest. “Stop laughing! Stop laughing! Matthew—can you not stop?”

“Mary—come on!” Edward pulled Mary to the door.

Ezra, clinging to his father's shoulder, began to cry.

Edward pulled Mary out the door into the cool night.

“Jeremy? Is Jeremy coming with us?” Mary demanded.

“No,” Edward told her. “Come with me. We have to leave this farm. Tonight.” He pulled her into the darkness.

In the house Constance continued to plead with her husband. “Matthew—stop laughing! Stop! Can you stop? Can you stop now?”

Despite his wife's desperate pleas, Matthew continued to laugh.