The Secret (9 page)

Ezra narrowed his eyes at Jonathan but said nothing. He stepped beside his son. Together, their faces set in hard concentration, they heaved on the rope.

“It is so heavy, Papa,” Jonathan said, pulling with all his strength. “I cannot imagine—”

One final tug.

Jonathan gasped in disbelief.

And then he started to scream.

J
onathan's scream roared over the yard.

“What is it? What is it?” Rachel cried shrilly, running to the well.

Jonathan was too horrified to reply. Too horrified to move. Too horrified to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight before him.

At the end of the well rope, sprawled over the bucket, was the body of his mother.

Her skin was blue and bloated. Her wet hair plastered against her skull and face. Her soaked nightgown clung tightly to her lifeless form.

“No! No!
No!”

Jonathan's sobs wrenched his throat.

“Mama!” Rachel whispered. “Mama—why?”

Jonathan's father held on to the bucket with both hands. His eyes were shut. His lips moved in a silent prayer.

“No! No!”

Trying to turn his gaze away, Jonathan saw something. Something gripped tightly in his mother's closed fist.

He reached down and pried open the cold, bloated fingers.

“Ohhh!” Jonathan gasped when he saw it.

A white cap with blue ribbons.

“Mama! Mama!” Rachel repeated. She dropped to her knees in front of her mother and began to sob.

Without a word, Jonathan helped Ezra lift Jane's body and set it down on the grass.

Can that really be my mother? Jonathan asked through a blur of tears. Can that really be my mother so cold, so still?

He picked up his little sister and carried her, sobbing, into the house.

There is no doubt in my mind now, Jonathan thought later. The Fier family is cursed. I did not want to believe it. But Papa has been right all along.

The hair prickled on the back of his neck. In a flash Jonathan suddenly understood.

Delilah's strange sadness … Her sudden desire to leave, to get away from the Fiers … It all fell into place like the pieces of a puzzle.

Jonathan ran past where his father sat slumped at the table, his head buried in his hands, and out into the yard.

Rachel's face appeared in her bedroom window. “Where are you going?” she called down to him.

Jonathan did not answer her. Instead, he started to run. Glancing back, he saw Rachel following him, but he didn't stop to send her home.

Jonathan ran down the road to the Wilsons' farm. Delilah was in the yard, feeding the chickens.

As he came into view, she dropped the sack of feed. He grabbed her hands and held them tight.

“Delilah, my love!” he cried breathlessly. “You must tell me. You must tell me your secret.”

She stared at him, startled.

Rachel arrived, panting, holding her side from running so hard.

Jonathan ignored her. He did not care who was there, who heard what he had asked. He had to know if he was right. He had to know
now
.

“I already know your secret,” he told Delilah. “Just tell me yourself.”

He gazed deeply into her brown eyes.

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “I can see it in your face, Jonathan. You know my terrible secret, don't you?”

She shut her eyes, a tear falling onto her cheek.

“I am a Goode,” she confessed.

J
onathan stared at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“How can you be a Goode?” Rachel demanded. “I thought your name was Wilson.”

“We—we changed our name,” Delilah explained. “We once lived in another town, near Boston. But when word of the plague in Wickham reached our town, our neighbors drove us out. They had heard rumors that the Goodes were responsible for the plague, so they shunned us. We moved west—and Father changed our name. We became the Wilsons.”

Jonathan suddenly felt dizzy. He rubbed his temples with his fingers.

“I wanted to tell you my name was Goode,” Delilah said. “I knew I should be honest. But I liked you both so much. I did not want to scare you away. And I thought that maybe—maybe there really was no curse.”

She paused and gazed at Jonathan.

“You did not believe in the curse,” she said softly to him. “And you are so smart and kind. I thought that if you did not believe in it, then it could not be true.”

“I did not want to believe it,” Jonathan said. “I wanted to be happy.”

A sad smile crossed Delilah's face. “I am afraid we cannot deny it any longer,” she whispered. “There is a curse on your family. A curse on both our families.” She swallowed hard. “There is only one way to stop it.”

Jonathan's heart pounded harder. “There is a way to stop it?” he demanded breathlessly, hardly daring to hope it was true. “What is it?”

Delilah avoided his eyes. “It involves some sacrifice,” she said, blushing. “On your part.”

“I will do anything!” Jonathan cried. “Please, Delilah. Tell me how to break the curse.”

She took a deep breath. “The feuding families must unite. They must form an unshakable bond.”

“How?” Jonathan asked.

“Marriage,” Delilah replied, still avoiding his eyes. “A Goode and a Fier must marry.”

“But that is very simple,” Rachel interrupted. “You two can get married.”

Kneeling, Jonathan took Delilah's hand and kissed it joyfully. “How can you call that a sacrifice, Delilah? I am already in love with you. You must know that by now. I love you so much I would marry you even if it brought a
new
curse down on me and my family!”

Tears streamed down Delilah's cheeks. “Jonathan—”

He stopped her. “Please, dear Delilah, before you
say another word—I must ask for your hand in marriage.”

She smiled through her tears and struggled to speak. “I love you, too, Jonathan,” she replied softly. “But I am afraid—”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “You are not afraid of
me,
are you?”

“No, I am not afraid of you. I am afraid of the curse. I am afraid that something could happen—something terrible—to stop our wedding.”

“Nothing
can stop me from marrying you!” Jonathan declared, rising to his feet. “And to make sure of that, we shall marry as soon as possible. Your father can marry us. He is a minister. He can do it
today,
before anything can happen.”

Delilah's face lit up. Smiling, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He is at the church right now. Oh, Jonathan, I am so happy! I can hardly believe this is happening.”

Jonathan smiled at her, but deep inside him a question still burned. Could this marriage really end the curse—once and for all? Could that be possible?

“We will be sisters, Delilah!” Rachel exclaimed. “I will bear witness at the ceremony.”

Jonathan had almost forgotten his sister was there. “No, Rachel,” he ordered. “Run home and stay with Papa. He will be wondering where you are now—and he must not find you here. Run home—please. Hurry!”

In the tiny clapboard church Jonathan gripped Delilah's hand. Her father, the Reverend Wilson, stood behind a simple altar, facing them, a worn black leather Bible in his hands.

“I, Jonathan, take thee, Delilah …”

Jonathan repeated the minister's words, hardly knowing what he said. His heart was racing. His only desire was to get safely through the ceremony—and then to hold his new wife in his arms.

Now Delilah repeated the vows.

Jonathan stole a glance at his beautiful bride. He only wished his mother was still alive to share this moment.

The ceremony was nearly over. In moments I will be married, he thought.

And the curse will be ended. The Fiers and the Goodes will be joined.

The Reverend Wilson cleared his throat. “If anyone knows of just cause why these two should not be united in holy matrimony, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace.”

Silence.

Then a startling crash.

Spinning around, Jonathan saw that the doors of the small church had flown open.

Silhouetted against the bright daylight outside, a man came into focus.

What is that in his hand? Jonathan wondered, squinting into the bright rectangle of light.

A rifle?

Ezra!

“Stop at once!” Ezra screamed. He burst into the church and strode up the aisle, rifle in hand.

Rachel burst in behind him. “Jonathan, I am sorry!” she cried, her voice shrill with fear. “Papa made me tell! I am sorry!”

The little girl tugged desperately at her father's arm, trying to hold him back. Ezra pushed his daughter
roughly aside and continued down the aisle, his eyes narrowed on Jonathan, his features set in hard fury.

“Stop this wedding!” he demanded. He stopped and raised the rifle to his shoulder. “All Goodes must die!”

Jonathan felt his heart skip. “Papa—no!” he screamed.

With a desperate cry he dived toward his father and grabbed the gun, trying to take it from him.

They struggled.

Delilah raised her hands to her face and screamed.

“Traitor!” Ezra snarled bitterly to his son. “How could you do this to me?”

“Papa—give me the gun!” Jonathan demanded.

The two men wrestled over it, their shoes scuffling over the wooden floorboards.

“Give it to me!” Jonathan pleaded.

He tugged hard and pulled the rifle free.

As Jonathan staggered back with it, the rifle went off.

“Ohhh!” Jonathan uttered a startled cry as the sound echoed through the tiny church.

He heard a sharp cry.

And turned to the altar.

Delilah stood as if suspended by wires, her features twisted in shock and horror.

A red stain appeared on the front of her white dress.

Jonathan stared helplessly as the stain darkened and spread.

I've shot Delilah, he realized.

“D
elilah!”

Jonathan screamed her name in a choked voice he didn't recognize, and let the rifle fall.

Before he could run to her, Delilah's eyelids slid shut. She uttered a faint gasp and slumped to the floor.

Jonathan dropped beside her. “Delilah! Delilah!”

He called her name again and again.

But, he knew, she could not hear him now.

The dark blood puddled beneath her white dress.

“Oh, Delilah,” Jonathan sobbed, cradling her head in his arms.

Behind him, Jonathan heard a click. He turned.

Ezra had picked up the rifle, which he was now pointing at the minister's head.

“All Goodes will die,” Ezra said calmly, hate burning in his eyes.

The Reverend Wilson fell to his knees beside his
daughter's lifeless body. “Please do not shoot me!” he cried. “Please!”

Jonathan gently laid Delilah's body on the floor and stepped toward his father. “Papa, please—”