“Do you know much about sawmills?”
“I am learning a little more each day,” Nicholas answered, still feeling puzzled.
Mr. Manning beamed. “Good. My grandfather built this sawmill. He passed it on to my father who passed it on to me. I will pass it on to Ruth when the time comes. She will pass it on to her children. Do you like Shadyside?”
Nicholas blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Yes, sir.”
“It is a good place for a man to settle down. If he can find the right woman.” He winked and tilted his head toward Ruth.
He wants me to take an interest in his daughter, Nicholas realized. That is why he came over.
“Mmmhmm,” Nicholas murmured. He did not want to offend his employer. But he did not want to encourage Mr. Manning either.
Nicholas gazed over at Ruth. She stared at the ground, her head bowed. He thought he could see a faint blush on her cheeks.
She is embarrassed, he thought. He felt sorry for her. What girl would want to hear her father trying to bribe a man into courting her?
Ruth raised her dull black eyes, as if she felt him staring at her. “Sorry,” she mouthed, shaking her head slightly.
Nicholas rolled his eyes, trying to show her he understood how parents could be.
“Ruth is my pride—”
“Father, have a sandwich,” Ruth interrupted. She pulled one out of a box and handed it to him.
Nicholas bit back a laugh. That is one way to keep him quiet, he thought. Keep his mouth full.
Ruth pulled out another sandwich for herself and offered one to Nicholas.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I have my own lunch.” He pulled out his lunch box. Betsy had drawn some roses between the hearts. He felt silly letting Ruth and Mr. Manning see it.
Mr. Manning was too busy eating to comment. He consumed his sandwich in four bites. Ruth handed him another before he could ask for one.
Mr. Manning nudged Nicholas with his elbow. “You see, she knows how to look after a man.”
“Father—” Ruth began to protest weakly. She stopped and stared at her father’s face. “Are you all right?” she asked. She sounded frightened.
Nicholas turned toward Mr. Manning. His face had a greenish cast to it. And little beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. “You do look ill,” Nicholas said.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Manning grumbled. He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped away the sweat. “I merely ate too fast. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you enjoying your lunch, Nicholas?” a high voice called out. Betsy. She rushed over, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders.
Nicholas smiled at her. She wore a white dress with red polka dots. Ribbons and lace covered every available spot. Rosalyn would never wear a dress like that, he thought. She told him she thought they made girls look like big dolls.
And Ruth would look ridiculous in such a dress. The bright polka dots would only emphasize her shyness and her dead, black eyes.
But on Betsy the dress was perfect. “The lunch is delicious,” he told her. “Thank you for making it for me.”
“I like doing things for you,” Betsy told him.
Nicholas heard Mr. Manning give an annoyed snort.
“You look very pretty today,” Ruth said softly.
“Thank you,” Betsy answered. “It is sweet of you to say so.”
Betsy straightened the row of lace around one wrist and looked at Nicholas expectantly.
“Ruth is right,” Nicholas said. He did not want to hurt Betsy’s feelings. “It is a nice dress.”
I hope Betsy does not think I am flirting with her. I will make sure and tell her all about Rosalyn tonight, Nicholas promised himself. Perhaps they will even become friends when I bring Rosalyn to Shadyside.
“I am going to bake my special sticky buns just for you to have with your supper this evening,” Betsy told him in her usual mile-a-minute fashion. “And I—”
“Betsy!” Jason yelled. He leaned against a tree near the entrance to the mill. “Come here!”
She pouted. “Guess I better go see what he wants.” She winked at Nicholas. “Hurry home after work. My mother has gone to visit her sister, so the two of us can have dinner alone.—after I serve the other boarders.”
She ambled over to Jason. Jason glared over the top of Betsy’s head at Nicholas. Then he took Betsy by the shoulders and talked to her with a grim expression on his face.
Warning, her to stay away from me, I am sure, Nicholas thought.
* * *
Nicholas rushed out of the sawmill as soon as he guided the last board through the saw.
He could not wait to get away from the men’s hostile glares. No one had openly accused him, but he knew most of the other workers held him responsible for Ike’s accident.
Besides, Nicholas thought, Betsy wanted me to be home early.
He hurried to the boardinghouse and circled around to the kitchen door. The scent of yeast greeted him before he even opened it.
Nicholas grinned. It smelled as if Betsy had been very busy.
He shoved open the kitchen door and stepped inside. Waves of heat hit him in the face.
How could she stand to have the kitchen so hot? She must have had the stove on for hours.
“Betsy?” Nicholas called.
The smell of the yeast was almost overpowering in the kitchen. But Nicholas noticed another smell underneath the yeast.
The sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar mixed with something … rotten.
“Betsy?” Nicholas yelled.
Then he saw her.
“Nooooo!” he screamed.
Betsy was crumpled on the kitchen floor. Her hands tied behind her back.
Chapter 22
Nicholas dashed over to Betsy. He untied her hands, tugging impatiently at the rope.
Then he gently rolled her over onto her back.
Nicholas’s stomach twisted inside him as he stared down at her.
Betsy’s face. Her pretty little freckled face. It was swollen. Horribly swollen.
Nicholas could hardly see her eyes. The skin around them had swollen so much they were almost completely covered.
“Can you hear me, Betsy?” Nicholas called. He picked up her wrist, trying to find a pulse.
Then he noticed something thick and white pushing its way out of her mouth. Nicholas dropped her wrist. He parted her lips and teeth.
The gooey white substance billowed out of her mouth.
Dough.
Nicholas checked her nose. Thick white dough filled it, too.
Someone had stuffed Betsy’s nose and mouth with dough. And left her by the stove with her hands tied behind her back.
As the dough rose, she suffocated.
“Oh, Betsy, I am so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. He stood, not certain what he should do.
Who could have done this to Betsy? What kind of enemies could a girl like Betsy have?
Suddenly Nicholas remembered Jason grabbing Betsy by the shoulders. Jason appeared so angry today. Could he be jealous enough to …
No, Nicholas told himself. He had only known Jason for a few days, but he knew Jason could not have done this horrible thing. Not careful Jason. Jason who always followed the rules.
The sickly sweet odor hit his nose again. And this time he recognized it. The smell of decay. The smell of death.
Nicholas staggered out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
He flopped down on the grass alongside the house and sucked in deep gulps of air. Trying to force the smell of death out of his nose and lungs.
The smell made him think of his mother. Of the night she died. The night she begged him never to leave Shadow Cove.
His mother had been so careful to keep him away from Shadyside. She never even told him his true name. Did she believe in the bad luck of the Fears? Nicholas wondered.
A horrible thought flashed through Nicholas’s mind. Would Betsy still be alive if she had not invited a Fear into her ho
me?
Would Ike’s accident have occurred if Nicholas had stayed in Shadow Cove?
What would happen next? Who would be hurt next time? Did a horrible death await Nicholas himself in Shadyside?
Now Nicholas understood why someone had thrown a rock at him. He had only been in town a few days, but he seemed to have brought the Fear bad luck back to Shadyside.
Nicholas plowed his hands through his hair, his fingernails scraping his scalp. He did not know what to do, where to go. Who would want to help him?
Mr. Manning. Maybe Mr. Manning could help him figure things out. At least he did not blame Nicholas for Ike’s accident. And he had given Nicholas a job without knowing anything about him.
Nicholas climbed to his feet and headed for the road. Then he stopped. There was something he needed to do before he could leave.
Nicholas forced himself to go back into the kitchen. He jerked the tablecloth off the table and gently spread it over Betsy.
Then he walked out the door without looking back.
* * *
Nicholas ran all the way to the Mannings’ house. He ran hard, arms and legs pumping. His lungs burned.
But he could not run fast enough to escape the vision of Betsy’s bloated face. Or the feeling that somehow he was responsible.
Nicholas slammed through the Mannings’ black wrought-iron gate and hurried up to the front door.
He grabbed the door knocker and rapped it several times. Mrs. Baker slowly opened the door halfway and stared up at him, a frightened expression on her face.
“It is Nicholas Fear, Mrs. Baker. May I see Mr. Manning?”
“He’s not well this evening,” she answered, sounding doubtful.
“Please. It is very important that I speak with him,” Nicholas begged.
She opened the door a little farther. “Come in, then.”
The gaslights flickered as he entered the foyer. “Follow me,” Mrs. Baker instructed.
Mrs. Baker led Nicholas up a shadowy staircase. She stopped beside a polished oak door. “In there.”
Nicholas tapped on the door, then stepped inside.
Mr. Manning was in bed, the comforters pulled up to his chin. “My dear boy, it is so good to see you,” he called.
Nicholas crossed the room. Mr. Manning held out his hand, and Nicholas shook it. He could feel the older man’s hand shaking. And it felt cold. Too cold.
Nicholas sat down in the chair beside the bed. Mr. Manning’s appearance frightened him. The man’s skin had turned a sickly green, worse than it had been at lunch. Sweat beaded his brow. He licked his chapped lips.
“I am sorry that you are feeling ill,” Nicholas said.
Mr. Manning rolled his head from side to side. “Just a cold or some such. I will be up and about as good as new in a day or so. What brings you here this evening?”
Nicholas did not know what to say. “Betsy is dead,” he finally blurted out. Then he described everything he had seen at the boardinghouse.
“I did not know what to do,” Nicholas concluded. “I did not know where to go.”
“You did right in coming here,” Mr. Manning assured him.
He rolled to his side and grabbed Nicholas’s hand. He squeezed it hard, with more strength than Nicholas thought the older man possessed.
“You must stay here tonight,” Mr. Manning said urgently. “Please. We have a spare room. What if someone comes after my dear Ruth? I am too ill to protect her. Please stay until I have regained my health.”
Nicholas nodded. “You have been so kind to me. How can I refuse?”
He pushed himself to his feet. “I will let you rest now,” Nicholas said. He did not like the raspy sound of Mr. Manning’s breathing.
“Send Mrs. Baker to notify the preacher of Betsy’s death,” Mr. Manning wheezed. “I need you here. Ruth is not safe. Not after what happened to poor Betsy.”
Nicholas and Ruth attended Betsy’s funeral together. It was the only way he could keep his promise to Mr. Manning—and do what he thought Betsy would want him to.
The service seemed to last forever. But at least the coffin was closed. Nicholas wanted to remember Betsy’s face before her murder, not swollen and bruised.
Nicholas felt tears prick his eyes. He heard Ruth crying softly beside him, and Mrs. Winter sobbing in the first pew.
He turned his head slightly. Jason sat across the aisle from him, his blue eyes locked on Nicholas. His mouth was set in a grim line, his jaws clenched together.
When the service ended, Nicholas stood and hurried Ruth out of the church.
He needed to be out in the sun. Out in the light.
Nicholas felt a strong hand grab him and spin him around.
He stared into Jason’s unforgiving face.
“We should have been burying you today—not my cousin,” Jason growled.
Chapter 23
Nicholas’s heart pounded in his ears. So loud it was the only thing he could hear.
Jason is Betsy’s cousin—does that mean he is a Goode? Is that why he hates me so much?
Jason moved closer, his face inches away from Nicholas’s. “You killed Betsy,” he snarled.
Nicholas did not back away. He stared right into Jason’s eyes. “I did not kill your cousin,” he declared, slowly and deliberately.
“Nothing but evil can come of a Goode mixing with a Fear,” Jason insisted. “I am a Goode. I know my family history. I know what the Fears have done to the Goodes. I warned Betsy that bad luck follows all the Fears, but she would not listen.”
Nicholas glanced down and noticed that Jason’s hands had curled into fists. “Hit me, if that will make you feel better,” Nicholas challenged.
He heard Ruth gasp behind him.
He moved even closer to Jason. “It will not bring Betsy back, but go ahead.”
Every muscle in Jason’s body seemed to tighten. Nicholas could see a vein in Jason’s head pulsing.
“Watch your back, Nicholas Fear,” Jason said softly. “Because I promise you I will watch it. I will watch it as you leave this town.”
He turned and walked away.
Nicholas glanced around. People were staring at him. Some looked angry. Some looked frightened. Some looked curious.
How many of you are Goodes? he wanted to ask. How many of you hate me simply because my last name is Fear?
He stared back at the crowd, meeting each pair of eyes directly. Maybe bad luckdid follow the Fears. But Nicholas did not kill Betsy.
He did not stuff her mouth full of dough and leave her to suffocate. No, someone else in Shadyside did that. Someone evil.
One by one, people turned and walked away.
“Let’s go,” Nicholas muttered to Ruth.
Nicholas did not feel like talking. He was glad Ruth kept her opinions to herself as they made their way home.
When they reached the big iron gate in front of her house, Ruth put her hand on his arm. She looked up at him, her black eyes expressionless. “I am sorry,” she said.
Ruth pushed open the gate and Nicholas followed her up the walkway.
“He does not know anything about me,” Nicholas blurted out.
Ruth turned to face him. “Who?”
“Jason Goode. He does not know it, but my mother was a Goode. A Goode just like him,” Nicholas declared.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” she asked.
“Why should I explain anything to him!” Nicholas cried. “He accused me of killing Betsy without asking me one question. Everyone in this town has decided to hate me—and most of them have not even spoken to me yet.”
“Not all,” Ruth answered quietly.
Nicholas immediately felt bad. “No. You are right. You and your father have always been kind to me.”
“My father thinks very highly of you,” Ruth told him as they continued up to the house. “He wants to teach you all about the lumber business.”
She is right, Nicholas thought. I will stay in Shadyside. I will work for Mr. Manning until
I can pay off the back taxes on the Fear land. Then I will build a mansion so huge no one will ever forget there is a Fear in town.
Ruth opened the door and they walked inside. Nicholas helped Ruth off with her coat. He thought he noticed her blushing again.
Poor Ruth, Nicholas thought. She is not accustomed to the smallest attention from a man.
“I want to go check on Father,” Ruth murmured, her eyes on the floor.
“Thank you for attending the funeral with me,” Nicholas called as she crossed the room. Ruth gave a little nod in reply.
Nicholas hung Ruth’s coat on the coatrack and removed his own.
A high wail of anguish sounded from upstairs.
Ruth!
Nicholas dropped his coat and dashed toward the stairs.
Ruth flew down them. Her face pale.
Tears streaming down her cheeks.
Nicholas grabbed her by the shoulders.
“What is it? What is it, Ruth?” he demanded.
“My father …”
Her lips quivered as she struggled to speak.
“My father is dead!”
Chapter 24
Nicholas sat next to Ruth on the parlor sofa a few hours later. She held a cup of tea in her hands, clutching it so tightly her knuckles were white.
Nicholas did not know what to say to her. So he just sat there in silence.
His mind raced over the events that had occurred since he arrived in Shadyside. So many deaths.
“I need to tell you something, Nicholas,” Ruth said. She kept her eyes on her teacup.
“What is it?” Nicholas asked when she did not continue.
“I do not know how to say it,” she admitted.
Nicholas felt like groaning. He wanted to be alone. He needed time to think. To figure out what he was going to do.
But he could not leave Ruth all by herself. “Tell me,” he urged, trying to sound patient.
“It was my father’s last wish that I marry you,” Ruth said all in a rush.
“What?” He gasped.
“I was as shocked as you are.” Ruth set her teacup down and turned to face him. “Last night I sat up with him. I was holding his hand. He started talking about dying.”