Aunt Brown slipped the knot loose and opened the lid.
Inside was a glove. Leather that had once been soft and white was now yellow and stiff with age. The fingers had curled inward, as if an unseen hand inside the glove were trying to hold on to something.
“Can I see?” Haley reached out. “Was it Mercy’s?” Aunt Brown nodded. All of Haley’s earlier anxiety had vanished. She just wanted to hold the box, to touch Mercy’s glove.
“It’s fragile.” Aunt Brown looked suspicious, as if Haley might grab hold of the glove and rip it to pieces. But she handed the box over, frowning. “You can’t take that with you. It must be treated respectfully. But you may look at it.”
Fascinated, Haley ran a finger gently along the glove’s scalloped hem. The leather felt smooth and dry.
“The Browns are a very old family,” Aunt Brown said again. Haley glanced up, but Aunt Brown didn’t notice. She was looking so fixedly at Mercy’s glove that Haley thought of a cat about to pounce on a mouse—hungry and excited and keyed up to a high pitch of eagerness.
“Can’t I take it with me? It’ll be great for my report. I promise, I’ll be careful—”
“Certainly not. It’s not something to be mauled about by a mob of schoolchildren. Give it to me.”
Reluctantly, Haley handed the box back. Aunt Brown shut the lid and reached for the cord to tie it down. Frowning, she seemed to be thinking harder than such a simple task deserved.
Haley’s fingers, deprived of the box, itched for her camera. She slid a hand into her jacket pocket. There it was. She’d tucked it in there before she left home, in case she came across an interesting shot.
Aunt Brown didn’t notice Haley turning the camera on and holding it out, tipping it to get the right angle, to capture that look of concentration in her aunt’s eyebrows, the tightness of her mouth.
Then Aunt Brown looked up. Haley’s hand jerked just as her finger pressed the shutter.
“It is extremely rude to take a photograph without asking.” Aunt Brown hadn’t moved, but Haley found she’d shuffled backward a few steps. How could such a skinny little woman be so scary?
She found her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . .” She was so used to taking pictures of her family and friends—or rather, they were so used to her doing it—that she never hesitated. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It is not a question of meaning,” Aunt Brown said icily. “Manners are a matters of deeds, not intentions. I’m sure you have never been taught properly, but that is no excuse.” She finished tying the cord as she spoke. Outside, there was a frantic barking and a scrabbling of claws on wood. Haley had left Sunny tied up for too long.
“You had better go, and take that animal with you.” Aunt Brown slapped the box down sharply on the table. For all her talk about the glove being fragile, she wasn’t taking such good care of it herself.
“Um. Sure. Thanks, Aunt Brown, really.” Haley was shuffling the papers together, tucking them inside the old envelope. “I’ll take care of this stuff, really.”
“I’ll expect it all back. In good condition.”
“Of course. Sure. Of course.” She was babbling. It was embarrassing. Outside, Sunny yelped. Aunt Brown took a step or two toward the hallway, as if she meant to do something about the noise the dog was making. Haley’s hand reached out and her fingers closed around the red box.
By the time Aunt Brown looked back, Haley had stuffed the box inside the envelope with the papers. She hurried away from the table, hugging the envelope close so that Aunt Brown wouldn’t notice its suspiciously lumpy condition. “Thanks.” She forced herself to meet Aunt Brown’s eyes and not to babble. “I’d better go. Sunny’s getting upset.” There. She could stop talking if she tried.
Aunt Brown walked her silently to the front door. The minute Haley was outside, Sunny flung herself at her, and Haley hurriedly knelt down to reassure her before the dog yanked the leash loose or scratched all the remaining paint off the porch floor.
Aunt Brown shut the door without a word of good-bye. She must be scared of dogs, Haley thought, and almost giggled. Aunt Brown, scared of Sunny? Sunny had to be the sappiest golden retriever around, and golden retrievers were not on anybody’s list of vicious guard dogs anyway. Haley’s imagination spun a quick giddy picture of Sunny standing guard at the airport or sniffing out bombs. If Sunny met a terrorist she’d probably lick him to death.
Now Sunny scrambled down the steps to the lawn, and Haley was dragged after her, clutching the envelope. The feel of the dusty dry paper between her fingers sobered her. Mercy’s glove was in there. Why had she taken it? She didn’t know. She hadn’t thought about it. It had been just like taking a picture. With her camera on, she didn’t think, Ah, yes, that’s the perfect composition, the lighting is ideal, the shadows just right. She simply saw it through the lens, everything falling into place, the perfect shot assembling itself, and she pressed the shutter. Click. No thought required. As if her eye were wired directly to her finger.
It had been like that. That red box, sitting on the table with Mercy’s glove inside. Her hand going out. Click.
Whatever the reason, she’d done it. She had the glove now. And she’d better get herself and Sunny out of the front yard before Aunt Brown noticed that the red box was missing.
The New England vampire tradition held little in common with its counterparts and probable ancestors in Eastern Europe.
Painfully, Haley dissected that sentence. New England vampires weren’t like the ones in Europe. No Draculas lurking around the farmhouses and fields of Rhode Island. No capes and Transylvanian accents. Right. She sighed and turned a page.
Indeed, the people who believed never used the term vampire themselves, though newspapers written by outsiders sometimes employed it. The vampires of New England did not typically grow fangs, turn into bats, or even crawl out of their graves. This curious legend, half ghost story and half folk medicine, focused on the heart of a recently deceased corpse, dead from the most dreaded disease of the time: tuberculosis. As long as fresh blood remained in that organ, legend said that the corpse was in some way alive, surviving by sucking the life from its nearest relatives—wives, husbands, brothers and sisters, children. As entire families sickened and died of the disease, tales were whispered of bodies disinterred by desperate relatives, who would find a fresh, red, beating heart in the breast of a rotting corpse. To stake the heart or burn it was the only remedy.
Haley shuddered and flipped the book closed. Her New England ancestors certainly had gruesome imaginations. It must have been those long, dark, cold winters. Too much time to dream this stuff up.
The box with Mercy’s glove in it sat before her on her desk, next to a few more library books, the envelope with Aunt Brown’s papers, and the laptop. Her father was off delivering some of his pots to a gallery, and he’d taken Sunny with him; she loved a ride in the car. Elaine was somewhere in the house, doing laundry probably; with Eddie around there was a lot of laundry. Haley thought she heard a low hum, like the dryer running, and distant footsteps walking back and forth. Eddie had to be asleep. Otherwise it would never be so quiet.
Haley flipped open a new book titled, invitingly, The White Plague, and settled down to making notes. It didn’t turn out to be much more cheerful reading.
Tuberculosis (TB) / consumption
Symptoms—
cough, pain w / breathing
weight loss
fatigue
chills
loss of appetite
Transmitted by sneezing, coughing. But not easy to catch.
Need daily exposure, abt 6 months.
Mercy’s mother and older sister had died of tuberculosis before she did. She’d lived in the same house with them, taken care of them. That must be how she’d gotten the disease. They hadn’t known, of course, back then, about germs, about infection, how sickness got transmitted.
But there had been other people in the house who hadn’t gotten sick. Merc
y’s father had survived. Was it just luck, nothing more, that he’d lived and Mercy hadn’t? Or had Mercy spent more time with the patients? The father, George, probably wouldn’t have helped much. Nursing would have been women’s work. Nothing he’d stoop to, even for his wife and daughters.
Haley laid her pen down.
Mercy must have known. When she began to cough up blood, to lose weight. She must have known she was going to die.
Haley’s fingers were playing with the old yellow cord around the box that held Mercy’s glove. One end was unraveling into threads, silky soft.
So who’d taken care of Mercy, then, when she was the one who got sick? If her mother and sister were already dead, if her father wouldn’t have done it . . . Haley dug under a pile of books—this desk was too small, no room for all her stuff—and found the Brown family tree she’d made yesterday, copied from the one in Aunt Brown’s papers. Yes. Grace hadn’t been Mercy’s only sister. There had been another one, Patience. The year of her birth was printed neatly under her name. She’d been five years older than Mercy. She must have been the one who nursed her little sister through tuberculosis.
Aunt Brown’s family tree had been kept meticulously up to date. There was Haley herself, down in the right-hand corner, and there was Eddie, too, their birth dates neatly printed in small, precise handwriting. Idly Haley ran her finger along the branching lines that connected her to Mercy. Funny how much information you could get from names and dates. Look at this Brown, Elijah. His first wife had died and he’d remarried, but he’d already had three children. How had they liked their new stepmother? Mercy’s father, George, had a sister and two brothers, so Mercy had an aunt and two uncles and—how many cousins? Haley went to count them up and her finger froze on the paper.
Oh, no. Look what she’d done. So stupid. Haley’s eyes traveled back and forth between the family tree she’d written and the one Aunt Brown had lent her. Idiot. She’d skipped a whole generation. She’d linked up her great-grandfather directly with her great-great-great grandfather, who’d been Mercy’s cousin James.
Now she’d have to do the whole thing over again. Haley crumpled up her family tree and threw it angrily at the wastebasket. What a waste of time. This whole stupid project was a waste of time, really. Look how long she’d been sitting here and she’d only managed to write down a third of a page on the symptoms of tuberculosis.
Suddenly Haley’s backpack, on the floor next to her desk, blared out a bright tune. Haley jumped, tipping her chair back on two legs, before she recovered her balance and dug into the bag to find her phone under her math book. She glanced at the screen to see who was calling.
“Hey, Mel.”
“Haley? You sound funny. Did you have to run for the phone?”
“Uh, no, I—” It was ridiculous, the way her heart was racing. “I was just—the phone startled me, I guess. What’s up?”
“I’m in the car. We’re going to the mall, Jen and Elissa and me—”
Haley could hear other voices. “Is she coming?” “Hey, I’m here too.” “Do you girls have your seat belts on?” “Yes, Dad!”
“Shut up, I’m asking her. Haley? My dad says he can pick you up too. You want to come?”
On the one hand, she had to copy out the whole family tree again. And there was the algebra homework she hadn’t even started. On the other hand, she hadn’t been to the mall with Mel in—how long?
“Come on, Haley,” Mel urged.
Haley smothered a little spasm of irritation. Mel knew she’d been busy lately, she knew what was going on—
—but still. The mall. A bright, normal, cheerful place, with stuff to eat and stuff to buy and lots of people and Mel and the other girls laughing and talking and sending texts back and forth to rate guys as they walked past—suddenly Haley wanted that, wanted it so much it hurt, a fierce grabbing pain in the back of her throat.
She had to cough and clear her throat before she said yes to Mel.
Then she stuffed the phone in her pocket as she ran downstairs. Her red jacket, her shoes. Where was her wallet? Oh, right, upstairs in her backpack. “Elaine?” Haley yelled. “I’m going to the mall. With Mel.”
No answer. Her voice echoed lonesomely.
Haley opened the door to the basement and stuck her head in. “Elaine?” The light was off; no sound came from the washer or the dryer. Why had she thought Elaine was doing laundry?
She checked upstairs. No one in the bedrooms. And Eddie’s crib was empty. The mobile above it, with tiny dogs in goggles and scarves flying little planes, twirled in a silent breeze.
Elaine must be out, and Eddie must be with her. Why had Haley been so sure her stepmother was in the house?
Back in her own room, Haley knelt to find her wallet in her backpack. When had it gotten so cold in here? Her arms, inside the sleeves of her jacket, had goose bumps. Her dad was so cheap with the heat. He hated to turn the furnace on before Thanksgiving.
There was her wallet, under her history book. She snagged it and stood up. The clutter on her desk tugged at her conscience a little. But it would just be for a few hours. There’d be plenty of time to work in the evening. She straightened up a few piles, stacked the books more neatly, put the lid back on the box that held Mercy’s glove.
Hadn’t that box been shut before? Haley looked down at it, puzzled. Her fingertips remembered the feel of the yellow cord. She’d been fiddling with it while she thought. She must have untied it without noticing.
It was so quiet in the house. So quiet and so cold. All at once Haley’s spine prickled. She should go downstairs and watch for Mel’s dad, but somehow she was very reluctant to leave her room. The skin at the back of her neck felt strangely vulnerable, as if someone was behind her. Someone might follow her along the hall, down the stairs . . .
A lock clicked. A door opened and shut.
“Haley!” It was Elaine’s voice.
Haley’s fears vanished. Reading all that stuff about sickness and death had creeped her out. That was all.
“Haley? Are you here? Come down and help me with the groceries.”
Haley ran down the stairs. Elaine, pink-cheeked from the cold, had Eddie in one arm and a grocery bag in the other.
“Haley, thank goodness. There, get down, monster. Haley, honey, can you grab the groceries out of the car, please? Eddie, hold still, let me take off your coat. Well, stop wiggling and I’ll be done faster.”
Haley ran out to the driveway, snatched up two plastic grocery bags from the front seat, and ran back, dumping them on the kitchen counter. “Elaine, I’m—”
“Careful, that one has the eggs. Honey, I need a big favor—oh. You’ve got your coat on. You’re going out?”
“To the mall. With Mel.” Haley tucked her hands in the pockets of her jacket—she was still a little shivery—and felt her camera there.
“On a school night?”
“Elaine! It’s not a school night. It’s a school day. It’s not even four o’clock. I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Haley. Wait a minute.”
Haley paused. Elaine made an apologetic face.
“I’m sorry. Really. But I’ve got to show a house and I can’t put it off. If I’d known you had plans . . . ”
“You need me to babysit.” Haley didn’t even have to make it a question.
“I’m so sorry.” Elaine was smoothing her hair, checking her lipstick in the mirror by the door, grabbing her briefcase from the counter. “This just came up at the last minute, and your dad won’t be home from making his deliveries until six. I’m sorry, sweetie, I can’t neglect this client. If I don’t sell somebody a house soon, we’ll be eating oatmeal for supper. Just make him a scrambled egg, order a pizza for you and your dad if you want. Maybe Mel can come over after the mall? Bye, thanks, you’re a hero, I’m so sorry about this—” The door shut behind her.
Eddie stared at the door in outrage. “Mama!” he bellowed.
“Oh, great.” Haley sighed.
Not bothering to take off her jacket, she bent over to pick Eddie up. His scream nearly ruptured her eardrum. “Hey, Eddie, hey, listen, it’s okay. Mama’s coming back. Hey, don’t cry, shhh, shhhh . . .” She tried to jiggle Eddie up and down—sometimes that worked—but his body was rigid and he was arching back in her arms, yelling.
“Okay, fine.” Haley carried him into the living room and dumped him on the soft carpet, where he could kick and thrash if he wanted to without hurting himself. “Go ahead, cry. Like it’s such a tragedy being stuck here with me. This wasn’t my idea of fun either,” she informed the little boy.
Eddie howled. There were no tears, Haley noticed. It was pure rage. His world had been disrupted, his plans had been laid aside, and it was all simply unacceptable.
“Yeah, well, welcome to the world, kid,” Haley muttered, and flopped down on the couch. When Eddie got like this there was no solution but to let him cry it out. In a few minutes he’d calm down a little and she’d get him a cookie, which would bring a good mood back like flipping a switch. Then she’d call Mel and cancel when there wouldn’t be screaming in the background. Elaine didn’t approve of her bribing Eddie with food, but Elaine wasn’t around, was she?
Haley felt the camera in her pocket nudge against her side and took it out. Turning it on, she focused on Eddie, zooming in for a close-up. His face was as red as a brick, his eyes squinched tight shut, his mouth open as wide as it could go. She clicked the shutter, zoomed in even more. Her brother’s angry face filled the screen the way his screams filled the room.
It was the heart of winter. Too cold to dig a grave.
In the churchyard there was a crypt aboveground, built of stones from the field. We were not a wealthy congregation and had no money to spare on fancy stonework for the dead. This was where they laid my body to wait until the ground thawed.