The Betrayal

by R. L. Stine

  Chapter 12

  “Sometimes I think this family is cursed,” Benjamin Fier muttered, pulling his chair closer to the long dining table. He shook his head unhappily, his disheveled white hair glowing in the fading evening light that filtered through the window.

  “You are starting to sound like a crotchety old man, Father,” Edward said, laughing.

  “I am a crotchety old man!” Benjamin declared with pride.

  “How can you say we are cursed?” Benjamin’s brother, Matthew, demanded, sniffing the aroma of roast chicken as he entered the room. “Look how our farm has prospered, Benjamin. Look how our family has grown.”

  “I can see that you have certainly grown,” Benjamin teased.

  Matthew had become quite stout. As he took his place at the table, everyone could see that his linen shirt was stretched tight around his bulging middle.

  “Uncle Benjamin, are you teasing my father again?” Mary Fier scolded. Matthew’s daughter Mary set a serving platter of potatoes and string beans in front of Matthew.

  “Well, don’t you look like Queen Anne herself!” Benjamin roared at Mary.

  Mary blushed. “I put my hair up. That is all.”

  Mary was seventeen. She had long copper-colored hair, as did her mother, Constance Fier. She also had her mother’s creamy, pale complexion and shy smile. She had her father Matthew’s dark, penetrating eyes.

  “Why do you scold Mary?” Constance demanded of Benjamin, sweeping into the room, holding the platter of roast chicken in front of her long white apron. “Mary worked all afternoon, peeling potatoes and snapping the beans for your dinner.”

  “I also picked the beans,” Mary added grumpily.

  “He was only teasing, Cousin Mary,” Edward said. “Weren’t you, Father?”

  Benjamin didn’t reply. He had a faraway look clouding his dark eyes. He stared at the narrow window.

  “Father?” Edward repeated.

  Benjamin lowered his eyes to his son with a frown. “Were you addressing me?” he barked. “Speak up! I am an old man, Edward. I cannot abide mutterers.”

  “Where is Rebecca?” Matthew demanded, his eyes searching the long, narrow dining room.

  Rebecca, Edward’s beautiful young wife, always seemed to be the last to the table.

  “I believe she is tending Ezra,” Edward told his uncle.

  “Your son has been trouble since the day he was born,” Benjamin grumbled. His booming voice had become raspy and harsh.

  “Ezra is a difficult child,” Edward admitted to his father, accepting the platter of chicken. “But I believe you go too far.”

  “I’m his grandfather. I can go as far as I please,” Benjamin bellowed unpleasantly. “If you don’t like my remarks, Edward, go eat your dinner at your own house.” He pointed out the window toward Edward’s house across the pasture.

  “Hush, Brother,” Matthew instructed, raising a hand for peace. “Let us enjoy our dinner without your usual sour complaints.”

  Rebecca entered, pulling Ezra behind her. It was evident from Ezra’s wet eyes that he’d been crying. Ezra was six but acted as if he were much younger. Rebecca, sighing wearily, lifted him into a chair and told him not to squirm.

  Rebecca had straight black hair pulled back from a high forehead, olive-green eyes, and dramatic dark lips. She had been a high-spirited, giggly girl when she married Edward, but six years of mothering Ezra and helping out on the farm had brought lines to her forehead and a weariness to her voice.

  “Will you eat some chicken now, Ezra?” she asked.

  “No!” the boy shouted, crossing his arms defiantly in front of his chest.

  “He has a strong will. He is a true Fier,” Benjamin growled approvingly.

  “I am not!” Ezra cried peevishly. “I am Ezra. That is all.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Rebecca dropped a chicken leg onto the boy’s plate.

  “Eat your dinner,” she instructed softly.

  “What a fine family we are,” Matthew said happily, patting his large belly. “Look around this table, Benjamin. Look at our children and grandchildren. And think of our prosperous farm and trading store. How can you say this family is cursed?”

  Benjamin chewed his food slowly before replying. “Cursed,” he muttered after swallowing. “The new roof shingles. Edward finished putting them up just last week. And last night that thunderstorm washed away half of them. Is that not a curse?”

  Edward chuckled, “Only a few shingles were blown off, Father,” he said, reaching for his pewter water cup. “There will still be light after dinner. I will go up on the roof and examine it closely. I am certain it is but a minor repair.”

  “Cousin Edward, it will be too dark,” Mary warned. “Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

  Mary and Edward were more like brother and sister than cousins. Mary was also close to Edward’s wife Rebecca. There were few young people in the village for Mary to befriend. She had only her family to turn to for companionship.

  “There will be enough light to examine the shingles,” Edward assured her, helping himself to more string beans. He smiled at Mary. “Do not fret. Wipe your uncle’s words from your mind. There is no curse on the Fier family. The only curse around here is my crotchety old father!”

  The family’s laughter rose up from the long dining table. It floated out the window, out of the two-story stone house to reach the ears of a white-bearded man in ragged clothes who was hidden behind the fat trunk of an old oak tree just beyond Mary’s small flower garden.

  Careful to keep out of view, the man leaned toward the sound of laughter, the sleeve of his worn coat pressed against the rough bark. His tired eyes explored the steep shingled roof of the sturdy farmhouse. Then he lowered his gaze to the window where the tangy aroma of roast chicken floated out.

  The man’s stomach growled. It had been a while since he had eaten.

  But he was too excited to think about food now.

  Too excited to think about his long journey. A journey of years.

  He could feel his heart pound beneath his thin shirt. His breath escaped in noisy wheezes—such rapid breathing his sides began to ache. He gripped the tree trunk so tightly his hands hurt.

  “At last!” he whispered to the tree. “At last!” A whispered cry of joy, of triumph.

  The white-haired man was William Goode.

  For almost twenty years I have sought this moment, he thought, staring intently at the flickering light through the window, listening to the chime of voices inside.

  For twenty years I have searched the colonies for the Fiers, my enemies.

  At last I have found them.

  At last I can carry out my curse. At last I can avenge my wife and daughter.

  I have found the Fiers. And now they will suffer as I have suffered. All of them. One by one.

  He heard the clatter of dishes, the scrape of chairs.

  Then, to his surprise, the door opened and a young man came out of the house, followed by several others.

  With a gasp William pulled his head back out of view and pressed himself even tighter against the tree’s ragged bark. The sun was low behind the trees. The sky was a wash of pink and purple, quickly darkening.

  From his hiding place, William Goode squinted hard, struggling to recognize the faces of those he had hunted for so many years.

  He had somehow expected them to look the same. Now he stared in surprise to see the changed faces and bodies.

  Can that be Edward Fier? he asked himself, watching the young man prop a wooden ladder against the side of the house. Edward was but a boy when last I saw him. Now he has become a sturdy young man.

  And that white-haired man, stooped over his walking stick? William squinted hard. Can that be Benjamin Fier?

  He has aged badly, William decided. Back in Wickham he was tall and broad-shouldered, a man as powerful as his booming voice. And now his shoulders are hunched, and he leans heavily on his stick with a trembling grip.

  A
ll the better to help you topple into your grave, Benjamin Fier, William Goode thought with a grim smile.

  I still have my powers, William thought with satisfaction. And I plan to use them now.

  Recognizing Benjamin’s brother, Matthew, William nearly laughed out loud. Why, he has become as fat as one of his cows! William declared to himself. Look how he struts with his belly hanging out.

  You will strut to your grave, Matthew, William decided, feeling a wave of bitterness sweep over him. It will be a painful journey for you, Matthew. You will beg for death. But I will make your death agonizing and slow. For you are my betrayer. You are the one who robbed me of my money—and my family!

  William couldn’t have known the little boy who was scampering through the flower garden, unheedful of the blossoming flowers. Nor did he recognize the copper-haired young woman who held the side of the ladder.

  What fine linen shirts the men all wear, thought William bitterly. And the girl’s dress is of the most expensive fabric.

  What are the young people’s names? Are they the children or the grandchildren of the Fier brothers?

  It doesn’t matter, he thought, closing his eyes, a broad smile hidden behind his scraggly mustache and beard. It doesn’t matter what your names are. You are Fiers.

  And all Fiers shall start to suffer now.

  All.

  Chapter 13

  “The sun is nearly down,” Mary told her cousin, gripping the sides of the ladder.

  “There is enough light,” Edward insisted. “Move away. I am only going up for a moment.”

  “But the shingles are still wet from the rain,” Mary insisted. “Wait until morning, Edward.”

  “Please. I shall be down in a moment,” Edward said stubbornly. “Why do you always treat me as if I’m Ezra’s age, Mary?”

  “Why do you always insist on being so reckless?” Mary replied. “It’s as if you have to show off to Uncle Benjamin and my father. You have nothing to prove to them, Edward.”

  “Maybe I have things to prove to myself,” Edward muttered. “Now, please, Cousin—allow me to make my inspection of the shingles before the moon is up.”

  Mary obediently took a step back. “May I hold the ladder in place for you?” she asked as Edward began to climb.

  “You know you should be in the kitchen helping Rebecca and your mother clean the dinner dishes.”

  Mary groaned and rolled her eyes. “I am seventeen, Cousin Edward,” she said sharply. “I am not a girl. I am a woman.”

  “Your place is still in the kitchen,” Edward called down. He had reached the roof and was edging his way off the ladder. “It appears much steeper up here than it did down on the ground,” he said.

  Mary backed up a few paces to see him better. The sun had disappeared. Edward was a dark figure against an even darker sky.

  “Please be careful!” Mary called. “You’re up so high, and it’s so dark, and—”

  Her voice caught in her throat as Edward’s arms shot up. She saw his legs buckle and his body tilt.

  And then she opened her mouth wide and began to scream as she realized Edward was falling, falling headfirst to the ground.

  Chapter 14

  Edward hit the ground with a sickening crack.

  The horrifying sound split the air, louder than Mary’s screams.

  A second later another scream burst from the house.

  Matthew came hurrying from the toolhouse at the end of the garden, followed by Benjamin, hobbling as fast as he could with his walking stick.

  Rebecca was the first from the house, with Constance right behind her.

  Mary, her hands pressed against her face, hurried to Edward, diving beside him on the dark ground. “Edward—?”

  He gazed up at her lifelessly, a startled expression frozen on his face.

  “Edward—?”

  He blinked. Swallowed hard. Took a noisy, deep breath.

  “My arm—” he whispered.

  Mary lowered her gaze to his left arm buried beneath his body at an unnatural angle. She gasped.

  “I—I can’t move it,” Edward whispered.

  “You broke it,” Mary told him, gently placing a hand on his chest.

  “What happened?” Benjamin cried breathlessly, still struggling to get to the house.

  “Is Edward injured?” Matthew demanded.

  “Edward, can you get up?” Constance asked softly.

  Mary turned and raised her eyes to her mother and Rebecca. “Oh, Mother!” she cried in horror, her mouth dropping open in disbelief.

  The front of Constance’s dress was splattered with blood.

  “I—I—” Constance lowered her gaze. She held up her hand. Blood poured down her arm.

  “I was cleaning the carving knife when I heard you scream, Mary,” she explained. “The sound startled me. The knife slipped, and—” She hesitated. “I shall be fine. I just—”

  “Let us get you into the house!” Mary cried, jumping to her feet. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

  As Mary led her mother back to the kitchen, Matthew and Rebecca lifted Edward to his feet. With his good arm around Rebecca’s shoulders, Edward took a few unsteady steps.

  “I think I can walk,” Edward said, his jaw clenched against the pain. “But my arm … it is badly broken, I fear.”

  Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Benjamin Fier watched them walk off, shaking his head. “Cursed,” he growled to himself. “The whole family is cursed.”

  The harsh crowing of roosters woke Mary at dawn. Gray light filtered through her tiny bedroom window. The air in the room felt hot and heavy.

  She pulled herself up slowly, not at all rested. The back of her shift stuck to her skin.

  What a horrid night, she thought, stretching, her shoulders aching. I don’t think I slept an entire hour. I just kept picturing Edward lying on the ground in a heap. I kept hearing the crack as his arm broke. And I kept seeing the blood pouring down Mother’s arm.

  I tied Mother’s wrist as tightly as I could. But it seemed to take forever to stop the flow of blood.

  Meanwhile, Edward howled in pain as Matthew struggled to set the broken arm. Ezra was screaming and crying in the corner. Poor Rebecca didn’t know which of her family to comfort—Edward or Ezra?

  Finally a sling was fashioned for Edward from a bolt of heavy linen. Rebecca led her family back to their house, Ezra’s frightened wails ringing through the air.

  What an unfortunate night.

  Mary lowered her feet to the floor, then made her way to the dresser, squinting against the gray light.

  Why do I have this feeling? she wondered. Why do I have this dark feeling that our bad luck isn’t over?

  * * *

  Mary returned from the henhouse after breakfast, a large basket of white and brown eggs pressed against the front of her long white apron.

  The sun was just climbing above the trees, but the air was already hot and sticky. Puffy clouds hovered overhead. A rooster crowed. Somewhere in the direction of the barn a dog barked in reply.

  Mary walked with her head lowered, her copper hair flowing down her back nearly to the waist of her linen dress.

  She nearly dropped the egg basket when a strange voice behind her called out, “Good morning, miss!”

  Uttering a short cry of surprise, Mary spun around and stared into the sky blue eyes of a smiling young man. He grinned at her, his eyes lighting up as if enjoying her surprise.

  “Oh. H-hello,” Mary stammered. “I didn’t see you.”

  She realized she was staring at him. He was a good-looking boy, about her age, maybe a year or two older. Above his sparkling blue eyes he had heavy blond eyebrows on a broad, tanned forehead. The skin beside his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He had wavy blond hair the color of butter, which fell heavily down to his collar.

  He wore a loose-fitting white shirt, the front open nearly to his waist, over Indian-style deerskin breeches. His boots were worn and covered with dust.

  “I a
m sorry to trouble you,” he said, still grinning, his eyes locked on hers. “I am looking for the owner of this farm.”

  “That would be my father,” Mary replied, turning her gaze to the house. “Matthew Fier.”

  “Is your father around?” the young man asked, the morning sunlight making his blond hair glow golden.

  “I believe so. Follow me,” Mary replied shyly.

  He reached out and took the egg basket from her. “I’ll carry it for you,” he said, smiling pleasantly at her. “It looks heavy.”

  “I carry it every morning,” Mary protested, but she allowed him to take the basket. “We have a lot of chickens.”

  “It’s a very big farm,” the boy said, gesturing to the far pasture with his free hand. His boots crunched loudly over the hard ground. “My father and I settled here recently. We live in a small cabin outside the village. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a farm this big.”

  Mary smiled awkwardly. “My father and uncle came here before I was born. The farm has been growing ever since.”

  “What is your name, miss?” the boy asked boldly, his blue eyes flashing.

  Before Mary could answer, Matthew appeared, lumbering out the back door. His flannel shirt hung loose over his big belly. His knee breeches had a stain on one knee.

  Matthew yawned loudly and stretched his hands over his head. Then he noticed the young man holding the egg basket beside Mary.

  “Oh,” Matthew said, furrowing his brow and clearing his throat. “And who might you be?”

  Matthew’s brusqueness didn’t seem to bother the young man. “Good morning,” he said with a confident smile. “My name is Jeremy Thorne, sir.”

  “And what might your business be, Jeremy Thorne?” Matthew asked. “Has Mary hired you to be her egg carrier?”

  Jeremy laughed even though Matthew’s remark wasn’t terribly funny. “No, sir,” he replied cheerfully. “But I have come to your farm in search of work.”

  Matthew Fier stared rather unpleasantly at Jeremy. “I regret to say I’m not looking for farm help right now,” he told Jeremy. “If you would kindly—”