Eventide

by Sarah Goodman

  “All right. Let’s go.” I slipped out first, Papa following a split second later, and pulled the barred door carefully closed behind us. The urge to run rose like a flood tide, but I forced myself to walk across the road and down the sidewalks toward the edge of town.

  Papa took my arm. “We are only out for a stroll,” he said, raking hair over the swollen bruise at his temple.

  As we passed the bank, a young man stepped out in front of us. My heart scrambled into my throat. “Evening,” he said, tipping a hat to me and nodding to Papa. He must have missed our arrest, or else he would’ve recognized us on sight.

  “To you as well,” Papa replied. The clerk settled the hat on his head and started down the sidewalk, glancing once over his shoulder at us. I gave a tight smile and, when he turned back, we ducked down the alley.

  “Hurry,” Papa said, breaking into a run. Together we sprinted toward the woods.

  My lungs began to ache, but I willed myself on, legs churning, skirt balled in my fists. All the while I tensed for the sound of pursuit. I heard only the whipping of grass against my legs and Papa’s pounding steps beside me.

  The woods drew closer, the shadows of the trees reaching for us. Papa broke through first, and was swallowed almost immediately by the gloom. My heart thudded in time with my racing feet.

  I ran as hard as I could into the darkness.

  37

  Night consumed me. The canopy choked out all lingering light. I stumbled to a halt beside Papa. “Keep moving,” he said, his voice hushed.

  We headed in what I hoped was the right direction, but before we’d gone a hundred yards, a cold wind whipped by. The chill of the fog began to rise around me. “Not this,” I said, voice quaking. “Not now.” The fog pressed in and seeped through my clothes, leaching all warmth until my bones felt brittle with cold. I clung to Papa for support, struggling against the freezing, creeping feeling of confusion that came with the fog.

  “Which way?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know,” I said. Tears threatened. We couldn’t come this far only to lose Lilah to the dark and the fog. But the blank grayness ahead gave no hint at which way to go.

  A weak light appeared, casting an uncertain circle of illumination. In its center stood the silent little girl I’d encountered the day I’d found the well.

  Josie Loftis, Della’s sister.

  Papa went stock-still. “A spirit child,” he breathed, awed but unafraid. For once, his readiness to believe in what should be impossible wasn’t a hindrance.

  “We need to find the well,” I said. “Will you show us the way?”

  The ghost girl’s face shone eerily in the strange, watery light. The edges of her form blurred, like a charcoal drawing smeared by a careless hand. I feared she’d fade away. Instead she crooked a finger, beckoning us to follow.

  I took Papa’s hand, and together we followed Josie’s spectral light as it wavered through the fog. Dread clenched my insides. With no way of following the sunset, I couldn’t be sure we weren’t too late. I picked up my pace, ducked under a limb, and drew even with our guide. “How much farther is—”

  In an instant, she was gone. Darkness crashed down. Papa’s hand in mine stiffened, but he whispered calmly into the black woods, “Thank you for guiding us.” Then, speaking close to my ear, he added, “I think we’re right where we need to be.”

  Just ahead, through the trees, tepid lantern light pushed at the dark. We peered into the fog-smothered clearing. At its heart stood the well. And beside it, Miss Maeve.

  She knelt in a pool of light, her white nightgown and silvery hair almost glowing. Lilah lay motionless on the mossy ground before her, face deathly pale in the hovering fog. “Is she alive?” I asked in a strangled whisper. I could see in Papa’s terrified eyes that he wasn’t sure.

  Miss Maeve tied something around Lilah’s wrist, humming the uncanny lullaby I’d heard Lilah singing to her doll. “We’re going to run at her on the count of three,” Papa whispered.

  Tensing, I dropped his hand and prepared to spring. “One … two…” We rushed forward, silent on dampened leaves.

  Miss Maeve rose with the swirling mists and leveled a pistol at us.

  We slammed to a halt. Papa lifted his hands, palms out. I looked to Lilah, small and still at Miss Maeve’s feet. The little finger on one hand twitched.

  Papa risked a glance at Lilah, then focused on the woman who had once been his true love, the woman now holding us at gunpoint. “Mary.” He said her name like an apology, an accusation, and a confession all at once.

  And in it, I heard the lingering love for the girl she’d been.

  “It really is you,” she said. Her voice was flat, but a tumult of emotion gleamed in her pale eyes. “I suspected Reuben had betrayed my trust, but I couldn’t be sure you were the man I’d seen him talking with.” Her grip on the gun tightened. “It’s a shame, after all his loyal work. He helped me ruin you, and he played the hateful miser so everyone would pity me.” A vein pulsed at her throat, but the hand that held the pistol was steady. “It’s my own fault, for deciding to toy with you. I should’ve killed you and been done with it, before Reuben had time to go soft.”

  Papa edged forward. “Put the gun away, Mary. Let’s discuss this calmly.”

  Miss Maeve cocked the hammer. “The time to talk is long gone, Matthew. Dead and buried, along with our baby. All that remains are debts to pay.” She tilted her head toward Lilah. “I’m taking what’s mine.” Miss Maeve’s voice began to quaver. “She is my recompense. She is my payback for the suffering I endured at your hand.”

  Papa stood before her, racked with remorse. His once-handsome face was gaunt and twisted with guilt. “I harmed you greatly. But I didn’t know about the baby. That night we tried to elope, your father told me you were better off without me. He made serious threats. I was young, and frightened.”

  “Do you think I wasn’t?” she asked, her voice rising.

  “Mary, I’m sorry. We should’ve had a little girl together. A life together.” The sincerity of his words showed in every tortured syllable. “But hurting Lilah will not bring our baby back.”

  “I would never hurt my own daughter.” The gun began to tremble in her hands.

  “You plan to drown her,” Papa said, almost gently. Even in my terror, I marveled at his calm.

  “It’s the only way to keep her with me always. She’s not safe without me.” Angry tears slid down Miss Maeve’s fair cheeks. She kept the gun trained on us. The snub-nosed barrel gleamed oily black. “I’m taking care of her.”

  “This is not how a parent cares for a child,” Papa said. His words rang through the clearing.

  “What do you know about it?” Miss Maeve shouted. “Nothing! She is owed to me, and I’m taking her.”

  Papa shook his head, taking another step forward. I tensed, waiting for Miss Maeve’s reaction. She only stared at Papa, her eyes gone suddenly forlorn. “That’s not true,” he said. “You know it, deep down.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “She’s mine,” Miss Maeve said, but a hint of doubt edged her words. I risked a glance at Lilah, who lay so unnaturally still, surely drugged with one of Maeve’s concoctions. “Mine,” Maeve repeated, and this time it was almost a question.

  Slowly, Papa reached for the pistol handle held in Miss Maeve’s white-knuckled grip. His fingers wrapped gently around hers. “She can’t replace our lost little girl, Mary. Lilah isn’t that child. She’s my daughter, mine and Elizabeth’s. Nothing you do will change that.”

  I saw the flash in her eyes a split second before I heard the shot. Smoke billowed out, mixing with the fog.

  I froze, torn between rushing to Lilah, or to Papa.

  Through the smoke, I saw him stretched full-length on the ground, one hand draped over his chest. Bright blood spread across his grubby shirt. I flung myself down at his side, moved his fingers, and saw the dark hole in his chest. So small and so brutal.

  “Papa, stay with me. Keep your eyes o
pen.” I ripped the bottom of my skirt and pressed the wad of fabric to the wound, my thoughts and emotions thrashing in a frenzied jumble. “I have to keep pressure on the wound,” I said in a steady voice. Amazing, because I felt like I was shaking apart from the inside out. “Lie still. We’ll get the bleeding under control and then I’ll—”

  Papa placed a hand over mine. Blood pooled on the ground beneath him, staining the torn hem of my skirt. I watched it spread.

  My heart turned to ash.

  His eyelids fluttered, but he forced them open, and touched my cheek. His blood was warm on my face. “I love you, Verity. Tell Lilah the same. You girls were my second chance to be a father. I’m sorry for … not being … for … letting you both down.”

  I quieted the panic roaring through me. I would be calm for him. “You did no such thing.” My smile wobbled, but held. “I love you, too.”

  The pained lines around his eyes lessened, and he looked, for a moment, young again. Then a thin trail of blood snaked from the corner of his lips. His breathing frayed. Papa’s hand slipped from my face, landing heavily on his ruined chest.

  I watched a girl’s fingers reach out to wipe the blood from his face and close his eyes. My fingers, I noted. Strange, because I was far away, huddled in the moment between a razor’s slice and the hissing pain that follows. I held still in the stretched instant, feeling nothing.

  A blast of bitter wind cleared my head. My senses returned. Every nerve vibrated with warning.

  Where was Miss Maeve? I sprang up. The gun lay on the ground near her lantern, but Miss Maeve and Lilah were gone. The well loomed only feet away, shrouded in fog. I snatched the light and staggered toward it. A double pulley and ropes came into view below a crossbeam, all new additions since I’d last seen the well.

  The pulley turned, spooling the rope down into the well.

  Far below, I glimpsed Miss Maeve’s white gown. She sat in a rope hammock, Lilah’s body in her lap.

  I reached toward the pulleys and ropes, desperate to stop their movement, but they were out of reach. At the same instant I heard the distant splash of Miss Maeve reaching the water. I screamed as she plunged Lilah beneath its black surface.

  Without even stopping to unlace my boots, I climbed onto the side of the well. I took a deep breath and stepped out into nothingness.

  38

  I hit the frigid water and plunged into utter blackness. My heart stuttered in the cold. Panicking, I kicked upward, fighting the weight of my clothes and shoes, clawing through the water until my fingertips grazed rough rope.

  With a gasp, I hauled myself up. Tremors racked my limbs. I swiped dripping hair from my eyes. In the near dark, I could scarcely see more than a few inches. But the lantern high above on the well’s edge gave enough light to show the stomach-twisting sight before me.

  Lilah lay alone in the hammock, her body and face submerged. Her arms floated gently at her sides, one wrist wrapped in a woven bracelet. It was made of twisted vine and strands of hair. The gold nib from her fountain pen—an item she held dear—was trapped within the vines.

  I reached a shaking hand to pull Lilah’s face above water.

  There was a splash from behind, and Miss Maeve’s fingers wrapped around my throat.

  “Just like your mother,” she said smoothly, her breath warm in my ear. “Neither of you could stop meddling in my life.” I scrabbled at her fingers, choking, gagging. I slammed my head backward, trying to break her nose.

  She dodged, and her grip tightened. Black encroached on the corners of my vision. Then, inexplicably, her hold on me released.

  Icy water pulled me down. Struggling with all my might, I fought for the surface again, coming up across the well from Miss Maeve. Before she could react, I threw my upper body over the side of the hammock.

  I struggled to lift Lilah’s face above water. My muscles were leaden with cold, and the angle was all wrong. Splashing and cursing, I wrenched myself further into the hammock and gripped her under the arms. Miss Maeve, treading water effortlessly, lurked at the far side of the well, making no move to stop me.

  Desperation gave me strength, and one final pull brought Lilah’s head and shoulders above the water. There was no gasp for air. No sound at all. My breath plumed in a frozen mist around her face as I slapped her bloodless cheeks. Her lashes didn’t even flutter.

  Miss Maeve spun a carefree circle in the water, fingers trailing along the surface. The gold charm on her bracelet swung beneath her slim wrist. “Lilah is safe now,” she said with sudden, dreadful calm. “She’ll be with me every moment, forever.”

  Lilah’s limp hands floated just under the water’s surface. The bracelet, twined with the coppery hair I’d brushed and braided since she was a toddler, stood out like a slash against her white wrist. Lilah might be gone, but I would not let her spirit be trapped. She’d be free to move on, to find our parents. To be at peace.

  My energy surged back and I scrabbled with both hands at the cruel trinket, wrenching and twisting with all my might. The woven vines and hair bound Lilah’s wrist as tight as the cuffs I’d worn to jail. My cold, wet fingers couldn’t slide underneath.

  Miss Maeve wrenched both my arms behind my back. I began to kick harder, fighting to stay above the surface. With one last desperate effort, I tried to tear the bracelet off with my teeth. Miss Maeve forced me under water.

  I gasped at the cold flooding over my face, felt the water rush down my throat. This was how it ended, then. My sister and I would die together in this well, drowned in freezing water.

  But no. Miss Maeve hugged me from behind and pulled me back to the surface. “It had to be done,” Miss Maeve explained, almost regretfully. She rested her chin on my shoulder as she spoke, as though we were old friends, comfortable with one another. Her breath misted around my face. “I’m saving her,” she said. “I’m the only one who can save her, Verity. I can protect her from this vicious, hateful world. Even you couldn’t do that. But when she’s with me, she’ll always be safe. I will never fail her.”

  I felt my mind begin to drag, slowing down like a clock unwinding. Safe. I’d promised Papa I’d watch over Lilah. They were both gone now. The violent shaking in my body stopped. Miss Maeve propelled me gently forward. She draped me across my sister’s still body. My head lay across Lilah’s chest, just as she used to lie on mine at night when she was little, talking away until sleep overtook her. I couldn’t fathom a world without Lilah’s voice. My eyes dropped shut. It wasn’t so cold now. I’d be asleep soon, and nothing could hurt me anymore.

  I heard a thump. Faint, from a long way off. Then a second one. An impossibly long wait. Another thump. Another heartbeat.

  Lilah’s heartbeat.

  It wasn’t too late. While she lived, there was hope.

  Angling my head, I could see Miss Maeve, mere feet away. Her silvery blond hair swept over her face like seaweed, bedraggled from our struggle. She ducked under water to smooth it. With the only strength I had left, I ripped Lilah’s bracelet off and slipped it down the high neck of my dress. It rested there, broken and close to my heart.

  Miss Maeve resurfaced and moved toward me, chin skimming the water as she approached, pale hair flowing out behind her.

  I knew this would be my last chance to fight her off. And to save Lilah’s life. But my limbs had locked up. Each breath grew shallower. Miss Maeve dragged me from the hammock with ease. Whatever the cold’s effect on me, it seemed not to trouble her at all. I grasped at the slick rope, barely keeping myself above water.

  “Lilah will be waiting for me in the Hollow when I arrive this evening. And every one after,” she said. “We can’t have you—”

  From far above came the sounds of a commotion. A new light appeared, darting back and forth across the opening of the well. Yelling voices drew nearer.

  “Help!” I called. My voice was frail. I knew it didn’t carry all the way to the surface. I tried again. “Down here … in the well!”

  Miss Maeve looked up,
annoyance darting across her face. “Whoever it is, they’re too late.” The flickering light glittered in her ice-chip eyes.

  She gripped my shoulders, her face only inches from mine. I tried to push her away and failed. All my energy was gone. Our skirts tangled as she kicked us away from the hammock. Away from Lilah.

  “If you drown in this well, your spirit becomes trapped in the Hollow,” Miss Maeve said. “Lilah and I can’t have you spoiling our sanctuary.” My head lolled to the side. She pressed her cheek against mine, righting me.

  “You do remind me of Elizabeth,” she whispered, placing a hand on either side of my face and looking hard into my eyes. A feeble hope sparked. Maybe the bond she’d once shared with my mother would be enough to save me.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  Miss Maeve slammed my head against the wall. “I can’t let you drown,” she said again, almost apologetically. “Drowning in the well is essential for bringing a soul to the Hollow.” Light burst in my vision, red fireworks of agony. Blood ran hot down my neck as she bashed my skull into the rocks again. “So I can’t let the water be the death of you. But you’re not getting out of this well alive.” A third blow, though I felt this one less.

  She hauled my limp body back toward the well’s center. The shouts from above and the lap of water against rock grew distant, as even the searing pain in my head receded. Miss Maeve placed me over the hammock, draping my torso across Lilah’s legs. She adjusted my body so my face was clear of the water.

  “You’ll bleed to death soon enough. Or freeze, although that might take longer.” She looked up, searching the distant circle of dark sky. Then her focus shifted back to me, and the merciless bite in her voice turned almost sad. “Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

  The light in Miss Maeve’s eyes vanished as the sun fully set. With her soul departed for the night, her lifeless body sank under the black water.

  I lay there, unable to move, my life ebbing away. I closed my hand around Lilah’s wrist, feeling her faint pulse.