The Burning (7 page)

“W
hom will I be seated next to at the party tonight, Father?” Julia asked her father.

Simon Fear glanced up from the documents he had been reading. “Hmmm. I believe I have you seated next to the mayor, Julia.”

“Oh, no!” Julia leapt up from her chair by the fireplace and marched purposefully to her father, who sat behind his small writing desk. “Please, Father. Must I sit next to Mayor Bradford? You know the man is completely deaf! He cannot hear a word anyone says to him!”

“Then that makes him the perfect dinner companion for you, my dear Julia,” Simon replied cruelly, frowning over his square spectacles. “You never utter a word at our dinner parties. You always
sit in complete silence. So you and the mayor should be perfectly content!”

“Father!” Julia uttered an exasperated cry.

Simon studied his oldest daughter with some sadness. She had her mother's beautiful black hair. But Julia's face was plain, her jaw too wide, her nose too long, her tiny gray eyes set too close together.

She was quiet, withdrawn, and shy, with little personality. A disappointment to Simon. He had hoped that moving to Shadyside Village, where the Fear family was the wealthiest and most prominent family, would help pull Julia from her shell. But she had become even more awkward and shy since the move.

She is only happy at her potter's wheel, Simon thought. Making vases and clay sculptures—that is the only time she smiles or shows any sign of enthusiasm.

“Father, I think you are being unfair to my sister!” Hannah came bursting in from the back parlor. “Julia can have my seat next to Mr. Claybourne. I am sure that she and that charming old man will find plenty to chatter about, if that is what concerns you.”

Simon set down his papers and climbed to his feet. His back ached as he stood. He realized he was getting older.

He unfastened his stiff collar and pulled it off. “No, I am sorry. I want
you
to sit next to that windbag Claybourne,” he told Hannah. “I want
you to charm him, Hannah, as only you can. I need Claybourne's support for the library I wish to build.”

With his eyes trained on Hannah, Simon didn't see Julia's hurt expression.

“I am sure that Julia could handle Mr. Claybourne as well as I,” Hannah insisted, stepping behind her father's desk to give him a playful hug.

No, Julia could
not,
Simon thought. Hannah, he knew, was the charming sister. At sixteen she was tall, slender, and graceful, with wavy golden hair and lively brown eyes. She was as outgoing and lively as Julia was shy.

Simon needed his younger daughter at his dinner parties. He relied on Hannah to charm and delight the guests and to keep the conversation lively.

“The table is already set,” he told the girls. He removed Hannah's arms from around his waist and straightened the papers on the little desk. “There will be no more discussion of this matter.”

“Oh, Father!” Hannah complained with an exaggerated pout.

“I do not understand why we have so many of these endless, boring dinner parties, anyway,” Julia said bitterly. “Can you not build all your libraries and museums and parks without so many dinner parties?”

“We have discussed this before,” Simon replied impatiently. “I need the support of the important citizens of Shadyside. Why must I say all this again, Julia?”

Julia took a deep breath, struggling to keep back her tears. “Well, if you do not believe I have the personality to grace your table, if you really believe the only place for me is to be seated in the corner next to a deaf man, then perhaps I shall stay in my room tonight!” she cried.

Simon opened his mouth to reply, but a sound in the doorway interrupted him. He and the girls turned to see Mrs. MacKenzie, the housekeeper, enter with a short, red-haired girl in a maid's uniform.

“I am so sorry to be interrupting, sir,” Mrs. MacKenzie said, rolling her white apron in her hands. “But I am training Lucy here on the procedure for dusting. Lucy is the new maid. She just started this week. She is helping us tidy up and get ready for the dinner party tonight.”

Lucy blushed and lowered her eyes. She was a tiny girl, Simon saw. No more than eighteen. She had orangey red hair pulled back into a tight bun, pale green eyes, and a tiny, sharp nose like an upturned V.

“Go right ahead and dust, Mrs. MacKenzie,” Simon said, happy that his discussion with Julia had been interrupted. “I am going upstairs now to speak with my wife about tonight.”

“Now, Lucy, you be careful of Miss Julia's fine pottery here,” Simon heard the housekeeper instruct as he nodded goodbye to his daughters and made his way to the front stairs.

“Father, I wasn't finished!” Julia called shrilly.

Simon ignored her and continued down the long marble-floored hallway. As he reached the stairway, his three sons, Robert, Brandon, and Joseph, came bounding down, dressed in their riding outfits.

“And where might you be going, as if I could not guess?” Simon asked.

“I am taking the boys for a short ride,” Robert replied, straightening little Joseph's cap.

“My pony is waiting for me,” five-year-old Joseph told his father.

“Be watchful in the woods,” Simon warned Joseph. “My horse balked at a snake yesterday afternoon. Nearly threw me. I killed the snake, but there might be more.”

“I'm not afraid of snakes!” Brandon declared. “I step on them!”

Robert gave his younger brothers a gentle shove toward the door. “Don't worry, Father. I will take care of them.”

They went on their way, and Simon climbed the stairs, his mind on the dinner party just a few hours away.

At the top of the stairs a maid was polishing the mahogany banister. Simon stepped past her and hurried toward his wife Angelica's room.

“Angelica!” he called eagerly from the hallway. “Angelica, I have several matters to discuss with you, my dear.”

He stopped in her doorway, his hands on the doorframe—and gasped.

“Angelica!”

Simon stared down at her. She was sprawled on the floor on her back, her black hair in disarray around her head, her green eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, her mouth open.

Angelica. Not breathing. Lifeless.

“Angelica!”
Simon cried.
“Oh, Angelica!”

S
imon's frightened cries aroused Angelica, and she sat up. She blinked once, twice, and smiled at him, her emerald eyes shining.

“Simon—where am I? What is happening?” she asked groggily.

“I—I found you on the floor, Angelica!” Simon replied, greatly relieved. “I thought you were—”

“The spirits,” Angelica whispered, sitting up. “The spirits called me, Simon. I must have swooned, fallen into a trance.”

“I was frightened,” Simon said, taking Angelica's slender white hands and pulling his wife to her feet.

Angelica squeezed his hand affectionately. “I slip in and out of my trances and cannot control them as I used to.”

She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, straightening her black hair with both hands. She looked tired. In the sunlight from the window he could see that her once smooth face was lined, the skin tight and dry. Only her eyes retained their youthful glow.

“Angelica, perhaps it is time to put away the magic, to retire your dark arts,” he said softly, standing over her.

She gazed up at him in surprise. “Simon, my powers have served us well,” she said. She gestured around the luxurious bedroom. “We have become even more wealthy, the wealthiest people in Shadyside. We have five wonderful children. We have succeeded because of our powers, yours and mine. I cannot give up now.”

“But to enter your room and find you lying unconscious on the floor—” Simon started.

Angelica raised a hand to silence him. “When the spirits call, I must follow.” She muttered a chant.

“Angelica—”

“Simon, hush. The spirits will hear you. I will have to cast a cleansing spell to rid the house of your negative words.”

He sighed and paced the carpet in front of her. “Let us change the subject,” he said finally. “Let us discuss the dinner party tonight. I have spoken to Hannah and Julia and—”

“I cannot attend the party. I am sorry, Simon,” Angelica told him abruptly, climbing to her feet.

He turned, startled. His face reddened. “What?”

“I read the cards this morning,” Angelica told him with a shrug. “They advised against any kind of celebration.”

“Angelica, I beg of you,” Simon said heatedly. “I need you this evening. As you know, this dinner party is most important.”

“I am sorry,” she replied, taking his arm. “I cannot go against the cards. I cannot take that risk. I cannot tempt the vengeance of the spirits. I must always obey. Ask one of the girls to act as hostess, Simon. I will stay in my room tonight. The cards have instructed me.”

Simon sighed. He knew there was no point in arguing with his wife. He gazed at her with concern. Her dark powers had taken over her life, he realized. Her chants, her spells, her cards—they kept Angelica in her room for days at a time.

The children worried about her and missed her. And now Simon realized that he, too, was worried.

“Give the cards another reading, Angelica,” he urged, handing the deck of strange, colorful cards to her. “Perhaps they will advise you differently this time.”

“Very well,” she replied softly, “but I know what they will tell me.” Smiling, she gave Simon a gentle shove toward the door. “Go now, husband. Go ask Hannah to serve as your hostess. She will charm your guests even better than I.”

Reluctantly Simon bid her farewell and made his way from her room. He could hear her murmuring over the cards as he walked along the long hall to the front stairs.

Simon was halfway down the stairs when he heard a loud, shattering crash from the parlor.

“M
y favorite bowl!” Julia was screaming as Simon rushed into the parlor. “That was the best bowl I ever made!”

“I'm so sorry, miss,” Lucy, the new maid, said quietly, staring down at the shattered pieces on the carpet. “It—it just slipped from my hand.” She covered her face with her hands.

“What has happened here?” Simon demanded.

Julia bent to pick up the largest piece of her bowl. “Shattered,” she said sadly, shaking her head.

“I
told
you not to hold it in one hand like that!” Mrs. MacKenzie scolded Lucy.

“Lucy has dropped Julia's favorite pottery bowl,” Hannah told Simon. She walked over to Lucy and Mrs. MacKenzie. “I am sure you did not
do it on purpose, Lucy. Go get a broom and clean it up.”

“I
told
her not to hold it like that,” Mrs. MacKenzie repeated fretfully. She gave the trembling maid a shove. “Well, go on, girl. Let's be cleaning this mess up. And no more accidents, hear? We have a lot to do before the guests start to arrive.”

Simon shook his head fretfully at Julia. “I am certain you can make another bowl just like it,” he said impatiently. “We really have no time to worry about your pottery today.”

Hurt, Julia started to reply. But Simon turned quickly to Hannah. “I will need you to be hostess tonight, Hannah. Your mother is … not feeling well.”

The girls exchanged glances.

Hannah took her father's arm. “I shall be glad to take Mother's place tonight,” she said. “But shouldn't Julia act as hostess? She is the oldest, after all.”

Simon pulled away from her impatiently. “Please!” he cried sharply. “Enough arguments and discussion for today! I asked
you
to be my hostess tonight, Hannah. I do not believe any further discussion is necessary!”

Before either of his daughters could reply, Simon stormed out of the room.

Hannah turned to Julia, who still held a shard of pottery in her hand.

“Father has no confidence in me, I am afraid,” Julia remarked sadly. She let the piece fall to the carpet.