INTERLUDE
ANNELIESE’S GRIMOIRE
June 1, 1831
Morning. I have discovered what Nathaniel is—his true nature. The last time we lay together, the things he forced me to do ... I cannot speak of them. I will not. And his eyes. The darkness behind them! How had I never noticed it before? I must have been under a glamour. A wicked spell. I must do what I can to protect myself and Jakob.
June 3, 1831
Eventide. Nathaniel tried to come to me once more, last night. Though my powers are diminished, I warded the cabin door and all the windows as best I could with blessed asafetida and oil of cloves. He paced about the porch and begged me to open to him. His footsteps were as loud as ten men. I held Jakob on my lap, shushing him until Nathaniel departed. I’ve no doubt he will be back. I am sore afraid.
June 9, 1831
Zenith of night. As I suspected, Nathaniel returned. I did not open to him. When I was sure he had departed, I found a parcel on the porch, wrapped in brown paper. I had a suspicion it might be charmed, so I doused my hands in oil and opened it out of doors. It was a length of fine white silk—enough to make a bridal gown, and a letter. A proposal of marriage. I stoked a fire in the yard and burned both.
June 13, 1831
Reddest dawn. Nathaniel returned for my answer last night, howling for me at some unholy hour—three or four in the morning, by my reckoning. Through the door, I shouted, “I will not marry you, Nathaniel Walker! Not in this life nor any other.” As soon as I spoke the words aloud, a ragged scrabbling began in the walls, as if a thousand rats had been let loose in the timbers. I clapped my hands over my ears to drown out the sound, to no avail. Nathaniel roared such foul, disgusting things I shudder to remember them. Jakob woke, and ran to me, terrified. I soothed him as best I could and prayed to any god who might hear for Nathaniel to depart and leave us be. I must try to reclaim my power, though I fear it may be too late. He has taken almost all of it.
June 23, 1831
Overnight. My worst suspicions were confirmed. I am with child. Nathaniel’s child. Already, I can feel what little power I had left draining from me. This fiendish creature, this cambion growing in my womb, will take all that I am for sustenance.
July 7, 1831
Today, I am rid of my pregnancy. My usual methods did not work, so I had to employ ... other means. I am weak. Tired. Conflicted in feeling. There can be no doubt the child was wrong in a way that could not be overcome. Still yet ... I grieve. If it were not for Jakob, I would not have had the courage to follow things through. I must protect him.
July 17, 1831
Half past midnight. He knows. Nathaniel knows.
August 2, 1831
Elizabeth came to me today, bringing milk and cheese. The mercantile will no longer sell to me. The women have stopped coming to my door. If it weren’t for dear Elizabeth’s true Christian charity and my little hens, we would feel the bitter bite of hunger once more.
Elizabeth told me the rumors have grown fierce. A wasting disease has claimed the lives of some of the village children. Nathaniel is blaming the plague on me from his pulpit.
“He’s saying Jakob is the child of the devil, Anna,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. I laughed at this. If only I could tell her the truth!
“It is no laughing matter. I fear what he might do. You should take the boy and leave.”
But I cannot. I will never leave my home. This land is a part of me. I will remain—even if death comes to claim me.
August 17, 1831
I have had another vision. Nathaniel will come for me soon, with his cold demon heart. He will have his vengeance for my refusal to bear his unholy child. The townsfolk are his willing hands—the very same people I helped and healed are now my accusers. The scent of excrement and offal assails me each time I go out of doors and their wicked, common words are etched in my memory. All the power I have left is in my blood and in the land. For Jakob’s sake and for my progeny’s sake, I will sacrifice. I have seen the far-off future. I have seen my daughters—my legacy. They will bring a reckoning to Tin Mountain and purge the land of this oppression. This is not the end.
TWENTY
DEIRDRE
1881
Deirdre stood on tiptoe, grasped the banister for balance, and swiped at the stairwell’s corners with her flannel-wrapped broom handle. There. Finally. No more cobwebs. A satisfied smile curved her lips. It was the day before MissMunro’s summer ball. While Deirdre’s chore list had grown longer by the week, the added work kept her from worrying about things at home and kept her eyes from the shadows.
Hewas there, now, his specter hovering on the second-floor landing, watching her go about her work. Deirdre frowned up at him. Willed him to go. He was ever toying with her, like a cat with a mouse. She shut her eyes as his sinuous voice wound through her head, promising foul, decadent things.
She thought of Esme’s lips.
