The Darkening Dream (8 page)

Then everything got weirder.

The pastor’s feet shuffled like a carnival performer’s. He shouted something in Latin. Emily heard a whoosh and a bright light flashed from the direction of the two men. Even though the wooden pews sheltered her, it left searing colored dots across her vision like she’d been staring into the sun. The high-heeled boots vanished, and a hideous shrieking cry rang out, accompanied by the leathery flapping she’d heard earlier.

The pastor’s shoes stepped backward, and he continued his Latin chant. Emily wondered what had become of the stranger, but she didn’t dare move. When the pastor came back he was preceded by flickering shadows and light — he must have brought a candle.

The terrible noises stopped, and the funny boots stepped down onto the floor, as if descending from a set of invisible stairs. Emily reminded herself to breathe. The boots stood much further back now, at the far end of the altar from the pastor.

The bell-tone voice spoke again. Not the funny everywhere voice but the regular odd one.

“So my employer sent me to the right man.”

“Who do you serve?” the pastor said. “What does he want from me?”

“I’m no one’s servant, fleeting one,” the strange voice said. “But the Painted Man and I are partners when it serves our interests. I’ve brought his Eye, so that he may see and know you.”

Emily risked a peek.

With a rustling metallic rattle, something sailed through the air toward the pastor, who caught the object with a little wooden rod. It settled and dangled on a golden chain. She couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like a blue and gold necklace. She lowered herself carefully back to the floor.

“What do I do with this?” the pastor said.

“Keep it. He wants to keep an eye on you,”

“And this task?” Pastor Parris said. “Why would I even consider any bargain with your sort?”

“We’ll speak of the details another night. Perhaps when there’s not a child lying between your pews.”

Emily had to bite her hand to stop herself from gasping. She was in big trouble now.

“Do try to keep your… vices under control,” the pastor said. “I have a parish to keep clean, so kindly refrain from making a mess.”

The boots turned away. “Why would I ever want to do that?” their owner said.

He walked down the aisle toward the door as briskly as he’d entered. Emily cowered as he passed then continued out into the full darkness of the night.

The pastor followed him to the door and latched it shut.

“Emily, my pet?” He turned. “Is that you on the floor?”

Nine:

The Willows

Salem, Massachusetts, Thursday evening, October 23, 1913

A
FTER SUPPER ON
T
HURSDAY,
Sarah walked the quarter-mile to the Williamses’ house. The Indian summer was bound to turn soon, but for now it lent the evening air a sultry thickness. Mrs. Williams was inside the kitchen baking with Emma, their Negro cook. The room felt like an oven but smelled delicious.

“I’d give you a hug,” Anne’s mother said as Sarah closed the screen door, “but I have a pear pie in my hands. Follow me into the dining room so those vultures can sink their talons into it. I don’t suppose you want a piece?”

“You know I can’t, but it looks gorgeous.”

She followed the big woman through the double-hinged doors. The room was full, not just with the family and boarders but also Alex, all looking rather satiated. There were no seats at the table, so she dragged a side chair next to Anne.

“We should get going,” Sarah whispered. “More time before dark.”

“Almost finished here,” Anne said. “The men demand pie for the road.”

“Alex ate with you?”

“And you pretend not to be interested. Sam invited him, then all but chained him to the chair across from me, but don’t worry, I’m waiting for the tall, blond, and pliant type. We—”

The doors swung open and Mr. Barnyard, the family’s basset hound, bounded in. He went straight for Emily, his favorite, then proceeded to press his huge head into the lap of each person around the table. Alex pushed back his chair and stood up. Mr. Barnyard, not to be denied his introductory crotch sniff, forced him into the corner.

“What’s the matter, Alex?” Sam said. “Something hounding you?”

Alex tried to laugh. “I just don’t like dogs.”

“He only wants to say hello,” Emily said.

Alex allowed Mr. Barnyard his fun but held his hands awkwardly in front of him as if trying to restrain himself from pushing the dog away. Sarah sympathized. She had nothing against Mr. Barnyard, but he did have a tendency to leave foot-long strands of drool on your clothes.

Mr. Williams jumped into the pause in the conversation.

“Kids, do you really think this outing to the Willows is such a good idea with a homicidal maniac on the loose?”

“Don’t worry, Pop.” Sam started clearing the table. “It’s a public place and nothing’s going to happen on my watch.”

The trolley line to the Willows was an older one, horse-drawn, not yet upgraded to overhead power. Still, the journey wasn’t long, and they arrived with at least two hours of daylight left.

The thirty-five-acre amusement park occupied a wooded peninsula jutting out into Salem Harbor. Sarah came two or three times a year, always with her friends — Papa didn’t care for public amusements. As usual, she saw people dancing in the big pavilion. In winter the boards were pulled aside and the floor slicked with ice. They still danced, on silvery blades instead of leathery soles. The muted sounds of the orchestra rippled the evening air, drifting among the buildings and trees to mix with the chatter of the crowd and the excited cries of children. The sounds of fun.

“Can we ride the water chute first?” Emily asked. “Mommy says I shouldn’t, but if we have time to dry, she’ll never know.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said.

“Sam,” Anne said, “if Mom doesn’t want her to—”

“I’m not a baby,” Emily said. “I can do what I want.”

Sarah put her arm on Anne’s shoulder. “It’s just a water ride.”

The shoulder relaxed. “You’re right,” Anne said. “But Emily’s been acting strange. She disappeared after the funeral and pretends she doesn’t remember. No one forgets a whole afternoon, not unless they were drunk as a skunk.”

“Methinks more sulk than sot,” Sarah whispered.

Anne sighed. “Sorry, Emily,” she said, loud enough so everyone could hear. “Go ahead. I won’t tell Mom.”

“Thanks, Sarah!” Emily called from up ahead.

“And
you
even get the credit,” Anne said.

“Has she started bleeding yet?” Sarah let the distance grow between them and the others.

“She hasn’t told me, but I’ve seen extra bloody rags in the laundry.”

“It was traumatic for me,” Sarah said. “Coming as it did after Judah… Do you know, I can barely remember several months from that fall?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago. Next, we’ll be getting married.” Anne elbowed Sarah. “We know who you like, confess it!”

Sarah elbowed her back. “You have to be kidding. Now that I’ve rejected Papa’s local offering, he’ll probably betroth me to some thirty-year-old rabbi from Budapest.” She glanced ahead of them. “Besides,
he
isn’t even Jewish.”

“And you consider yourself a modern woman!”

“Hey Em, don’t stand up when we go over the hill,” Sam said as he paid a quarter for five tickets and they joined the long line waiting for the water chute. “Last year the sign at the top lopped someone’s head right off.”

“Did not,” Emily said.

“Did so. It tumbled into the bushes right over there.”

“He’s just trying to scare you,” Anne said.

“Why would I do that?” Sam raised his eyebrows and grinned at them. “The risk is half the fun. A couple years ago four people died when a funny-track train on Coney Island shot off the tracks.”

“Our resident authority on amusement park fatalities,” Anne said.

“My father told me about a park like this in Vienna,” Sarah said. “It has a wheel so big they use carriages instead of seats — you can see the whole city when you’re at the top. I can’t recall if it was the first in the world or the largest.”

“When I was a year old,” Alex said, “my grandfather brought us to Vienna for business. I don’t remember, of course.”

“What year was that?” Probably he was older, but Sarah didn’t want to ask him outright. “My father used to work at the Hofburg Palace. But my parents left in ‘96, after my mother became pregnant with me.”

“1895, so they would’ve still been there,” Alex said. “Did your father work for the kaiser?”

She knew it! He was a year or two older, perhaps nineteen.

“Not directly. He was a secretary for an important rabbi — a liaison between the Jews and the empire. Papa never liked court, but he met Kaiser Franz Josef a couple times.”

They reached the front of the line, where the fake logs beckoned. Sam tapped Sarah on the arm, but Emily grabbed his and dragged him into a boat. Since none of the craft held more than two, this left Anne, Sarah, and Alex in a slightly awkward situation.

“You two ladies ride together,” Alex said. “I’ll go solo.”

He’d been a gentleman, but then Sarah had never ridden with a boy, and it might be fun to try. Maybe another time.

The boats left the platform, bumping along the wood and steel channel. The water smelled briny, which made sense, given how close they were to the ocean. At the hill, the craft snagged on a chain, tilted back, and slowly clicked upward. Sarah’s stomach fluttered in anticipation. When they crested the top she could see the whole peninsula below, rows of white willows along the strand of restaurants and gaming booths.

Anne sat in front. Sarah, stomach clenched despite her having done this before, gripped Anne’s waist as they began to fall. Anne screamed, and Sarah heard a matching cry that must be her own. When they crashed into the pool she ducked down low but couldn’t avoid the arcing salt water.

“Glorious!” Alex said as they left the platform. “Nothing compares back in Greece. Unless you count jumping off cliffs—”

A running figure shouldered into him, knocked Alex backward off the platform into the shallow lagoon, and ran off into the crowd. But not before Sarah recognized him as the same boy that had insulted them Monday in school.

Alex floundered waist deep in the brackish water, sputtering, and Sam reached over the edge to grab his hand.

“Welcome to America.” He hauled Alex back onto the platform.

“It’s a warm evening, perfect for a dip,” Alex said.

Sarah couldn’t understand how he took it so calmly.

“It was that moron from Mrs. Fletcher’s class,” she said. Alex had been punished at school for defending her, and now this.

“I’ll dry,” he said, then added in Greek, “Wise men learn from their enemies.”