The Secret (4 page)

E
zra's body stiffened.

With a low grunt the man tightened his grip and held the knife blade tight against Ezra's skin.

“Stop—please!”inserted cried Jonathan. “We have done nothing wrong!”

“George Goode was the child of a witch!” said the man. “His evil brought the plague to our village—and he escaped it! What do
you
want with George Goode?”

“We are no friends of his, believe me,” Ezra choked out. “We wish him nothing but harm.”

The man relaxed a little, easing the knife blade back a few inches from Ezra's throat. “Get off my farm,” he growled. “Do not come back, ever. And never dare to ask about the villainous Goodes again.”

He released Ezra. Ezra and Jonathan hurried to the wagon and drove off.

“Remember this day, son,” Ezra said solemnly. “This is further proof of the evil of the Goodes. We are not the only people they have harmed.”

The next day Jonathan's father went back to searching the house. “I must have missed something,” Jonathan heard him muttering. “What are they hiding? What are they hiding?”

Jonathan carried a stack of firewood inside one morning as his mother sat sewing by the hearth with Rachel on her lap. Abigail stood over a basin full of water, scrubbing the last of the breakfast dishes.

“Mama says I have no more chores to do today,” Abigail said happily. “Not until suppertime. I am going to go exploring.”

“Watch her, Jonathan, please,” said his mother. “Do not let her stray too far.”

Abigail tossed the dirty dishwater out the door and wiped her hands on her apron. She pulled on her cap and ran outside, the blue ribbons on her cap flying.

Jonathan followed her. “Shall we go to the creek?” he suggested.

“I have already been to the creek,” said Abigail “I want to go into the village.”

Jonathan stopped. “Into Wickham? But why, Abby? There is nobody there.”

“I know,” said Abigail. “We can go anywhere we like. There is no one to stop us!”

“No,” said Jonathan. “Mama said you should not stray too far. The village is too far.”

“Are you scared, Jonathan?”

Jonathan bristled. Was his younger sister daring him? “Nothing scares me,” he said, although he knew
that was not true. His father scared him, for one. And all those dead people in the village …

“Come on,” said Abigail “I am going to the village. If you must keep an eye on me, then you will just have to come along.”

She ran down the road with Jonathan following close. He felt nervous about going back to the village, but he could not let his younger sister go alone.

The streets were as quiet and empty as before. The silence roared in Jonathan's ears. He heard no dogs barking, no birds chirping, no insect sounds.

“What do you think they were like?” Abigail whispered. “The people who lived here?”

“I do not know,” said Jonathan. “Like us, I suppose.”

They walked down the dirt road to the village common. Abigail found a small pile of bones lying under a tree.

“Look, Jonathan,” she said sadly. “This was a puppy.”

Jonathan stared at the grisly little skeleton. Maybe we should not be here, he thought. He glanced around. Were all the people in the town really dead?

“The poor puppy should not have to lie in the sun like this,” said Abigail. “I think we should bury him.”

“We have no shovel,” said Jonathan.

“We can get one,” Abigail said, indicating the houses and sheds all around them. “I am sure any one of these sheds will have a shovel in it.”

“We cannot just take somebody's shovel, Abby,” Jonathan said.

“Why not?” Abigail demanded. “It is not stealing. They are dead.”

Yes, Jonathan thought. They are dead. And their bodies are still sitting inside these houses, just as this puppy's bones are lying out here in the sun.

Jonathan shuddered. He did not want Abigail to go into one of the houses to find a dead person.

“I will get a shovel,” he said. “You wait here.”

He walked up to the nearest house—maybe the house where the puppy had lived, Jonathan thought. It was a little wooden cottage, only two rooms.

Abigail stood right behind him as he gingerly pushed open the door.

“I told you to stay by the tree,” Jonathan said gruffly.

“I want to come with you,” she said. “I am too scared to be alone.”

Jonathan sighed and took her hand.

It was dark inside the cottage. Jonathan's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness.

Abigail clutched Jonathan's sleeve. They stood frozen in the doorway.

Then Abigail whispered, “Go get the shovel.”

Jonathan stepped carefully across the room. He opened a cupboard beside the back door of the cottage.

Inside the cupboard, something gleamed white with two dark and empty eye sockets glaring out.

A skeleton.

Jonathan leapt back. Abigail screamed.

The skeleton shifted. It toppled out of the closet and clattered to the floor.

Jonathan leaned over it, panting, trying to slow the frantic beating of his heart.

Then he started backing away.

“Wait!” Abigail whispered. “I see a shovel in the cupboard.”

Jonathan forced himself to glance back into the cupboard. He saw the shovel. But he did not want to get it.

“GeI it!” demanded Abigail. She gave him a shove.

He stepped carefully around the clutter of bones on the floor—all that remained of the skeleton. Then, holding his breath, he snatched the shovel and ran out of the house.

He was glad to be back outside in the bright sunlight. He followed Abigail to the tree and dug a little hole. Then he laid the puppy's bones in the grave. Abigail stood beside him with a branch in her hand.

“Dominatio per malum,”
she chanted solemnly, waving the branch over the puppy's grave.

“What does that mean?” Jonathan asked.

“I do not know,” said Abigail. “Those are the words on that sparkly thing Papa wears around his neck.”

Jonathan knew the words, too. The silver pendant with four blue stones had always fascinated him. He had once asked his father what the words meant, but Ezra refused to tell him.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, Jonathan covered the bones with dirt. Then Abigail planted the branch in the ground as a marker.

They were late for supper that evening. Ezra was already seated at the table with his usual preoccupied expression. Jonathan entered the kitchen first, and Ezra barked at him, “Where have you been?”

“Outside” was all Jonathan said.

Abigail came in next, and Ezra smiled. She went to
him and gave him a kiss. He played with the blue ribbons on her cap.

“You are keeping an eye on your sister, I hope,” Ezra said to Jonathan.

“Yes, Papa,” Jonathan replied quietly. He revealed nothing about going into the village. He knew it would make his father angry. Abigail kept it a secret, too.

A few days later Jonathan saw Abigail skipping past the barn, heading for the road. Alarmed, he chased after her. “Where are you going?” he called.

“To the village,” she replied without stopping.

He took her hand and pulled her to a stop. “You cannot go,” he said sternly. “I am supposed to be watching you.”

“You can watch me in the village,” she replied impatiently.

Jonathan sighed and followed after her.

That day they found the skeletons of two small animals—possibly a cat and a chipmunk. Abigail insisted on burying them, too.

“I am going to come back as often as I can,” she told her brother as she stuck a branch in the ground by the tiny graves. “I will find all the poor dead animals and bury them all.”

The next time Abigail set out for the village, Jonathan didn't try to stop her. He knew it was useless. He was getting used to the village and all its death, and didn't even mind the awful silence so much anymore.

Then one day, when they were playing in Wickham, Abigail came across the remains of a little girl. The skeleton wore a rotting blue dress that once must have been pretty, and a cap like Abigail's.

“I think we should bury her,” said Abigail. “She deserves a proper funeral as much as an animal does.”

“We will need a coffin,” Jonathan said. “We cannot bury a person in the dirt like a dog or a cat.”

“Yes,” agreed Abigail. “You go find a box, and I will look for a place to bury her.”

Jonathan crossed the village common and entered the tavern to search for a girl-size box. He found a wooden crate. It was a little short, but it would have to do.

He hoisted the crate onto his shoulder and carried it outside to Abigail. He didn't see her by the meeting-house where he had left her.

“Abigail?” he called, immediately worried.

No answer.

After setting the crate on the ground, he walked down the road. He heard high-pitched giggling behind the village magistrate's house.

Jonathan peered around the side of the house. He uttered a low cry of surprise when he spotted Abigail. She was playing with another little girl!

Jonathan stared at the little girl, startled to see another living person in Wickham. She was skinny, with long blond curls poking out from under her cap, and gray eyes. Where on earth had she come from? he wondered.

He started toward his sister. “Abigail—” he began.

At the sight of him, the other little girl darted behind a tree.

“You frightened her, Jonathan!” Abigail scolded. “No need to worry, Hester,” she called to her friend. “It is only my brother.”

But the little girl did not come out from behind the
tree. “She must be afraid of boys,” Abigail said. She hurried behind the tree to look for the girl.

A second later Abigail reappeared, bewildered. “She is gone!” she told her brother. “She disappeared! And we were having so much fun together.”

“Abby—who is she?” asked Jonathan.

“She told me her name is Hester,” Abigail answered. “She is very nice.”

“Where does she live?”

Abigail shrugged. “She did not say. But I hope she comes back. It was so pleasant to have someone to play with.”

Jonathan wondered who this playmate could possibly be. Did she live in Wickham? Could there still be living people in the village?

What a mystery!

The next day, as Jonathan was digging a grave for a baby, Abigail had wandered off to find a stick for a marker. When Jonathan finished digging the hole, Abigail still had not returned.

She may be playing with her friend again, Jonathan thought. I think I will watch them for a few minutes and see what I can learn about that strange girl.

He crept over to the big house, but the girls were not there. He found them playing in the graveyard.

Ducking behind a grave slab, he leaned against the cold stone and spied on them.

Hester twirled around and laughed. She has a pretty, bell-like laugh, Jonathan thought. Just then Hester took Abigail's hand, and the two girls wove a path through the gravestones.

Hester stopped before a hole in the ground. She reached down to tug at something in the hole. Up came the lid of a coffin.

Jonathan stood frozen, watching.

Hester stepped into the coffin and reached up for Abigail's hand.

Abigail touched Hester's hand.

With a firm jerk, Hester pulled Abigail into the coffin.

“A
bigail—no!” Jonathan shouted. He burst from his hiding place and ran to the grave.

I must get her out of there! he thought, his heart pounding. I must save her.

He stopped at the edge of the hole, stared down, and—

Abigail popped up out of the coffin, laughing.

Furious, Jonathan grabbed her arms and yanked his little sister out of the coffin. “Stop playing foolish games,” he scolded angrily. “We have to go home now.”

“But, Jonathan, Hester and I—”

Refusing to listen to her protests, he pulled her along behind him.

We must get away from here, he thought, forgetting the other girl.

Abigail dragged her feet and glanced back at Hester.
“Why do we have to go home?” she asked. “I was having fun.”

“We just do.” Jonathan didn't want to admit the truth—he was afraid.

Afraid of what? Of a little girl?

He did not know. But he knew that something was not right.

“Jonathan, you and Abby must stay in today,” his mother said. “I need you both to watch Rachel for me.”

Abigail groaned. “I wish we could go back to the village,” she whispered to Jonathan. “I was looking forward to playing with Hester.”

But Jonathan was secretly relieved. He said nothing about it to Abigail, but he was determined not to go to Wickham anymore.

Hester pulled Abby into an open coffin, he remembered with a shudder. I must keep Abby away from her.