Class Trip II

by Bebe Faas Rice

  Becky wrote down the number for Miss Talbot, plus a short note, telling her what to say to Mr. Costello, and Norman said he would personally see that the librarian received it before she left. “Right after I get you kids safely settled for the night.”

  Becky and Hallie stared at each other. Of course. They’d have to find a place to spend the night. They’d been so busy worrying about everything else, they hadn’t given a thought to where they’d sleep.

  Norman caught the look that passed between them.

  “That won’t be a problem. Mrs. Grigsby over there—” he pointed to a house on the far side of the Green “—has some spare bedrooms. She’s a nice widow lady, and I know she’d be glad to have you stay overnight. Especially if you’re paying guests.”

  His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Mrs. Grigsby can use a little extra money. She hasn’t got much more than that big old family house and a lot of pride. And she’s got her teenage nephew, Simon, to support, too.”

  The expression on Norman’s face when he said Simon’s name indicated he didn’t think much of him.

  “You wait here, though,” he told them. “I’d better go ask her first. No sense all of us showing up on her doorstep.”

  “Isn’t Norman sweet to do this for us?” Becky asked, watching him make his way across the Green toward a large house surrounded by a picket fence.

  “People are like that in small, out-of-the-way places,” Adam replied. “Helpful.”

  “But Holyoake is special,” Becky said. “I can feel it. There’s something about this place that really appeals to me.”

  Hallie didn’t reply. It had grown dark. Twilight had turned to night, almost without her noticing it, while they’d been talking to Norman.

  A chill wind had arisen, and it made a soft moaning sound as it blew across the open expanse of the Green. In the surrounding houses lights were winking on behind drawn curtains.

  But before they did, in a couple of those houses, Hallie thought she’d seen the edges of the curtains move slightly. As though people were looking out.

  Stealthily.

  And at them.

  Chapter FIVE

  Norman was gone a long time.

  “Maybe he’s having a hard time talking her into it,” Hallie suggested nervously. “Maybe Mrs. Grigsby’s not as hard up for paying guests as he says.”

  Across the Green, lights flickered on in what was probably Mrs. Grigsby’s living room, judging by the large front window. From where they were standing, the teens could see what looked like a number of people moving about in the room.

  “Look,” Becky said, pointing. “I think she’s got company. Or maybe she has other overnight guests.”

  “I doubt it,” Adam said. “Norman said they don’t get outsiders through here very often.”

  Suddenly someone walked over to the window and closed the curtains. It was an abrupt movement, almost as if whoever it was knew people were looking in and wanted to cut off the view.

  When Norman finally returned, he was smiling. “Mrs. Grigsby’s waiting for you. I’ll help you carry your bags over.”

  “What about Miss Netty?” Hallie asked.

  “What?” Norman said absentmindedly.

  “When are you going to talk to her about driving over to the county seat and making that phone call for us?” Hallie reminded him. “She’ll have to be starting soon, won’t she?”

  “Oh, that,” Norman replied. “Right. I’ll go over to Miss Netty’s as soon as I get you three settled at Mrs. Grigsby’s.”

  “I hope we won’t be crowding Mrs. Grigsby,” Becky said. “It looks like she has a bunch of other people there tonight.”

  Norman seemed puzzled. “What other people?”

  “We saw them through the front window,” replied Becky.

  “There wasn’t anyone there but me and Mrs. Grigsby. And Simon, her nephew. Maybe that’s who you saw.”

  “It sure looked like more people than that,” Becky said.

  “That Simon,” Norman said sourly, “has a way of filling up a room.”

  Mrs. Grigsby was plump and motherly with a sweet smile. And blue eyes just like Norman’s. Hallie remembered what Norman had told them about everybody in Holyoake being related. That explained a lot. The two women they’d met in front of the store had eyes that same shape and color, too.

  Mrs. Grigsby, like Norman and the women, had the same odd way of pronouncing some of her words. Hallie decided it must be a local thing, the result of being so isolated from the rest of the world.

  “My goodness, children, you do have a lot of bags,” Mrs. Grigsby said.

  “We’ve got costumes in some of them,” Becky explained. “We were supposed to be in a play this weekend, but I guess the show will have to go on without us.”

  Mrs. Grigsby shook her head sympathetically. “Yes, Norman told me. Well, if you had to break down anywhere, Holyoake’s the best place for it. We’ll take care of you.”

  “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like Holyoake. Right, Aunt Phoebe?” said a mocking voice from the doorway.

  Hallie turned to look. And then looked again.

  This guy was gorgeous. Tall, dark, handsome.

  He appeared to be her age, Hallie thought. Maybe a little older. But there was something dangerous about him.

  Hallie was glad she was only going to be in Holyoake for the weekend.

  Mrs. Grigsby’s smile didn’t waver as she viewed her nephew, but it seemed to go from sweet to sour, like curdled milk. “How nice of you to come and help with the baggage, dear. Children, I want you to meet my nephew, Simon.”

  Simon, lounging in the doorway, one broad shoulder resting on the doorjamb, favored them with a curt nod.

  Hallie was aware he was looking them over. His glance lingered briefly and disapprovingly on Becky’s red hair, slipped over Adam, and came to rest on Hallie.

  She felt her cheeks go hot. She was acutely aware that her long black hair had escaped from its French braid and was hanging in messy wisps around her face. Not that it made the slightest difference what sort of impression she was making on him, of course.

  Simon turned, and without a word, tucked a couple of bags under his arm and started up the stairs. There was something rude about the way he did it.

  Mrs. Grigsby flashed an apologetic smile and fell in behind him, beckoning the teens with nervous little fluttering motions to pick up their bags and follow.

  The staircase wound up to a landing and a long hall that ran the width of the house, with doors opening onto it. Simon turned left and led them down the hall, pushing open the door to a room on the far end.

  “This one’s yours,” he said, turning to the girls.

  “And that one across the hall is yours, dear,” Mrs. Grigsby told Adam. “The bathroom is over there. I’m afraid you’ll all have to share.”

  They sorted out their suitcases. Simon unceremoniously dumped Becky’s and Hallie’s on the floor beside the door. Then he disappeared. Hallie was surprised at how quickly and quietly he could move.

  “Dinner in a half hour,” Mrs. Grigsby told them. “Please don’t be late.”

  The girls’ room was large and overlooked the Green. Twin beds, both four-posters and undoubtedly antique, were covered with handmade quilts and heaped with ruffled pillows. A beautifully polished pine table holding a lamp and a shell-encrusted sewing basket served as a nightstand between the beds. The floorboards were dark and of random widths, undoubtedly the hand-hewn originals. The floor was dotted here and there with hand-braided scatter rugs in the same colors as the quilts.

  “Look at this place,” Becky said, her eyes shining. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” She glanced over slyly at Hallie. “And speaking of gorgeous, what do you think of Mrs. Grigsby’s nephew?”

  Hallie carefully laid a couple of sweaters in a bureau drawer before replying. “He’s pretty cute, I guess,” she said casually.

  Becky laughed. “I told you you’d perk up and forget about Craig once you m
et someone new and interesting.”

  “I am not perking up,” Hallie retorted. “Not over Simon, anyway. He’s new, all right. And I guess he might be interesting if you like macho, insensitive types. But he’s probably one of the most unlikable guys I’ve ever met.”

  “My, my,” Becky said, raising her eyebrows. “It sounds like you’ve been giving him a lot of thought.”

  Dinner was served on a long table in the dining room, and the room was lighted only by a cluster of the beeswax candles that Mrs. Grigsby said were made by hand in Holyoake.

  The curtains to the dining room, Hallie was surprised to see, were open, and the candlelight was reflected in the wavy, dimpled glass of the windows. Hallie wondered how old that glass was. It had obviously been hand blown. Becky was right—everything about Holyoake made you feel as if you’d stepped back in time.

  The night-darkened panes acted like a mirror, and Hallie could see Simon’s profile from where she sat. Several times she glanced over and saw him watching her the same way.

  Simon said very little at dinner. But his aunt was quite a chatterer. And very pleasant, Hallie thought, although sometimes she seemed almost a little too pleasant. And a little too flattering.

  “What a lovely treat this is for us, having guests,” she said, beaming down the length of the table. “And such beautiful young girls, too! Isn’t that right, Simon?”

  Simon muttered something affirmative and looked embarrassed. The first human emotion he’s shown since our arrival, Hallie thought, chuckling inwardly at his discomfort.

  Mrs. Grigsby burbled on. “No wonder you two girls are such good friends. You’re both so pretty, each in your own way, and you complement each other with your coloring. You, Becky, with your blue eyes and your lovely hair, red as flame—”

  Simon made an abrupt movement at that, which Mrs. Grigsby didn’t seem to notice.

  “And you, Hallie, with your black hair and gray eyes. What an unusual combination. So striking! You don’t see that very often.” Mrs. Grigsby paused and smiled. “At least not here in Holyoake. We all resemble our Saxon ancestors, I’m afraid. Blue eyes and pale-colored hair. We look as if we’ve all been cut from the same bolt of fabric.”

  Hallie looked over at Simon. Simon. with his black hair and dark eyes. What bolt of fabric had he been cut from?

  Mrs. Grigsby noticed Hallie’s glance.

  “Now and then one of our people marries someone with more exotic bloodlines, however,” she said, “and we get someone like Simon. His mother was an Outsider and of Spanish descent.”

  Although she obviously had tried to sound warm and loving when she said that, it came off as just the opposite. As a condemnation of both Simon and his mother.

  Hallie saw Simon’s knuckles whiten as they gripped his fork.

  He’s always been a black sheep, Hallie thought. No wonder he acts so hostile.

  After dinner, at Becky’s urging, Mrs. Grigsby told them all about her home.

  Simon had slipped away after supper, silent as a shadow. Adam looked as if he wished he had, too, judging from his yawns and looks of utter boredom. But Becky was hanging on Mrs. Grigsby’s every word. It was obvious she’d fallen in love with the house and its furnishings.

  “This house was built in seventeen hundred.” she asked. “Why, that’s almost three hundred years ago! Is that when your ancestors came to Holyoake?”

  “That’s when all the local folks’ ancestors came to Holyoake,” Mrs. Grigsby replied. “They came here together.”

  Becky looked at her quizzically. “You mean, like in a group?”

  “Yes. Our ancestors lived together on a small island off the northern coast of England. It was a very remote island. Very—” she paused for a moment “—very isolated. People clung to their . . . old ways.”

  “Old ways?” put in Adam, making a valiant effort to share Becky’s interests.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Grigsby said. “Old beliefs. Old religious practices. That’s why we were forced to leave England.”

  “Oh,” Hallie said. “You mean your ancestors were like the Pilgrims. They came to America to escape religious persecution.”

  Mrs. Grigsby suddenly busied herself picking dead leaves from a floral arrangement. “Well . . . yes, dear. Something like that.”

  Hallie gave a startled little gasp when Simon materialized in the doorway.

  “Yes, our ancestors were persecuted for their religious beliefs. Holyoake is a real pillar of righteousness when it comes to religious tolerance, isn’t it, Aunt Phoebe?”

  Hallie didn’t miss the glance that passed between Mrs. Grigsby and her nephew. A flash of anger, anger tinged with a silent warning, on Mrs. Grigsby’s part. A flat, defiant stare on Simon’s, his lips curled in a faint sneer.

  Once again Hallie was glad she had to hang around here only for the weekend. All this under-the-surface hostility was hard on the nerves!

  She pretended to yawn broadly. “Would you mind if I called it a day? I got up awfully early this morning.”

  “Me, too,” Adam chimed in, eager to escape. “I think I’ll turn in, too.”

  Mrs. Grigsby nodded. “Of course. I should have realized you’ve had a long day. Besides, you’d better get some sleep while you can. The whole village will be up and rattling around under your window early tomorrow morning, getting ready for the Beltane festival. They’ll be out on the Green, putting up the Maypole and stacking the kindling for the bonfire.”

  “Norman says you’re celebrating May Day—Beltane—on Sunday,” said Adam.

  “Maybe we’ll still be here for it. It sounds like fun,” said Becky.

  “Oh yeah, it’s a real blast,” Simon said with a black look.

  Mrs. Grigsby’s laughter was strained. “Don’t let Simon fool you, children. He has more fun at our local celebrations than anyone.”

  There was an awkward pause. “You two go on upstairs without me,” Becky told her friends. “I’d like to stay and talk to Mrs. Grigsby for a little bit.” She turned to Mrs. Grigsby. “That is, if it’s okay with you.”

  Mrs. Grigsby beamed. “Why, of course, dear. There’s nothing I’d like better.”

  Becky still hadn’t come upstairs by the time Hallie crawled into one of the twin four-posters. She fell asleep almost immediately, but awoke with a start when Becky came into the room, treading heavily and colliding with the bureau. After some fumbling around in the dark she slipped into the other bed.

  “Beck?” Hallie called out. “What time is it?”

  “I dunno,” Becky said. Her voice sounded strange. Slurred.

  Hallie raised her head from the pillow. “Becky? Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” Becky said, still in that odd voice. “I’m jus—just tired. Really tired. All of a sudden I got so sleepy.”

  “No wonder. You should have come to bed when I did,” Hallie scolded. “What have you been doing all this time, anyway?”

  Becky yawned, and when she spoke, her voice sounded as if it came from far away. “I was in the kitchen with Mrs. Grigsby . . . talking . . . herb tea . . . What a nice lady!”

  She yawned again, then her heavy breathing told Hallie she’d fallen asleep.

  Hallie fidgeted around, plumping up her pillow and rearranging her blanket in a vain attempt to get comfortable again. But it was no use—she was wide awake now.

  She finally put her arms behind her head and stretched out her legs, trying to relax.

  What a day! Lost in the mountains. And then stumbling upon this strange little village. And Simon.

  Was something wrong with Becky? Hallie had seen her tired before, but not like this. Not drop-dead tired. Not slurring her words.

  Hallie sighed and turned over on her side. Why did everything seem so grim in the middle of the night? The way Becky’s voice had sounded, for example. It wouldn’t take much to imagine Becky was under the influence of alcohol.

  Or drugs.

  Chapter SIX

  Hallie finally gave up. It was no u
se. She couldn’t fall asleep again. Becky’s gentle snores from the next bed irritated her. How could Becky sleep so soundly when she, Hallie, couldn’t? After all, it was Becky and her noisy clomping around and bumping into things that had woken Hallie.

  She groped for her travel alarm clock. Once upon a time its dials had glowed in the dark, but those days were over. Try as she may, she couldn’t make out the time.

  Hallie threw back her covers and, still clutching the clock, tiptoed to the window. The wind that had arisen earlier was blowing scrappy little clouds across the face of the moon. She squinted at the clock and saw that its hands were joined.

  Midnight. The witching hour.

  Hallie sighed and knelt by the window, looking out.

  The flickering lights of the gas lamps that ringed the Green illumined the gaunt, twisted branches of a huge old oak tree. She’d seen it when they’d first arrived in Holyoake, hunched in the twilight on the far side of the Green, like an evil presence.

  She knew it was old. She’d noticed right away that it looked ancient, and that it was wired and propped up with forked limbs to keep it from falling down. Now, in the uncertain light of the gas lamps and a cloud-covered moon, there was something menacing about it.

  She shivered. There was something eerie about this place, no matter how much Becky liked it.

  A movement on the far side of the Green made her look beyond the oak tree, beyond the lights, toward the church. Yes, she could make it out now. There in the church. Something was going on.

  Someone was entering the church, someone dressed in white. For a few brief moments the big double doors were opened wide, and Hallie could see people wearing what appeared to be long white robes, moving about in the tremulous light of—wait, those couldn’t be torches, could they? Of course not. They were probably only candles.

  Then the doors swung shut.

  Hallie realized she was chewing on a thumbnail. It had all seemed so . . . unnatural. Maybe she should awaken Becky and—

  No, forget that. She’d never be able to rouse Becky. She was out for the count, judging from the sounds she was making. Adam, maybe? No. What would Mrs. Grigsby say if she caught Hallie tapping furtively at his door at this time of night? Besides, what she was seeing was probably only a candlelight service of some sort. Those had to be candles, not torches.