by R. L. Stine
Christina stared down at her hands. He hopes if he repeats that often enough, I’ll believe it, she thought. It’s so sweet of him to try to reassure me.
“I know things look bad now,” Matthew continued. “But I’m sure the Petersons are good people. When I was in trouble, they aided me.”
Christina looked up at him. “They bought me,” she said bitterly.
“I know it is hard,” Matthew said. “But the practice is not unheard of. Many people get their start in the New World in this way. Besides, it won’t last forever.”
“You don’t know that,” Christina said.
Matthew got up and paced around the room. Christina watched him. Taking in everything about him.
He was tall, with handsome features. His clothes weren’t fancy. But they were well made. And his eyes. Christina loved their rich brown shade.
“You mustn’t give up,” Matthew said finally, his dark eyes filled with passion. “No matter what happens. No matter what comes.”
He stopped his pacing and knelt in front of her. He reached out and took her hands. “I know what it is to face impossible odds, Christina,” Matthew confided softly. “But I have not lost faith in my mission. I still carry on.”
“What mission do you have?” Christina asked, intrigued by his words. For a moment, she forget about her own troubles.
“I am one of two brothers,” Matthew replied. He rose and sat back down beside her. But he did not release her hands.
“We have recently arrived in the New World. But no sooner did we land, than someone stole a valuable family heirloom from us. Now my brother and I are searching for it. If it takes forever, we will get it back.”
“Where is your brother?” Christina asked.
Matthew sighed. “I don’t really know,” he said. “After the heirloom was stolen, I stayed to search the coastal towns. Benjamin went farther inland. I have no idea where he is or when I will see him again.”
“How terrible for you!” Christina exclaimed. “I know what it is to be all alone in the world. I feel for you, Matthew.”
Christina didn’t know what to say next. Suddenly she felt shy.
Neither spoke for a long moment. Then Christina heard the voices of Mistress Peterson and her daughter.
My time with Matthew is almost over. Mistress Peterson and her daughter will appear any second.
“I cannot halt my quest, Christina,” Matthew burst out, his words tumbling over one another. “I must recover my family’s heirloom. I feel sure it is very near. But when I find it, I will return for you. I promise. That is, if you will wait for me.”
Christina’s body began to tingle. She felt her heart turn over once again.
“I know we just met,” Matthew continued. “But I also know what I feel for you. It cannot be false. It is too strong. Too sudden.” Tenderly, he drew her into the circle of his arms.
Christina gave a shaky laugh against his chest. “I don’t even know your full name.”
“My name is Matthew Fier.”
Matthew Fier, Christina thought. The name of my rescuer. The name of my love.
“I cannot do anything until I find the heirloom, but then . . . ” He hesitated.
“I will wait for you, Matthew,” Christina said.
Matthew squeezed her tightly. Christina gazed up at him, her heart swelling.
He must be my soul mate, she thought. The one my mother used to speak of so long ago.
No matter what comes, I will love you, Matthew Fier, she thought. I will love you until the day I die.
Chapter
15
“Why, Matthew,” a bright voice called out from the doorway. “What brings you back here?”
Christina and Matthew jerked apart. A young woman about Christina’s age came into the room. Her long, blond hair framed her face. Her bright blue eyes sparkled. She is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Christina thought.
And all her attention is focused on Matthew Fier.
Matthew rose, as was proper when a woman entered a room. “Good evening to you, Miss Peterson,” he said.
Emily gave a trill of laughter. “How formal you are tonight, Matthew,” she said. She glided up to him, and laid a hand on his arm. “You weren’t so standoffish the last time you visited us.”
Christina felt her heartbeat falter. Matthew’s face turned a dull red.
“And you’ve brought our servant to us,” Emily went on, her blue eyes taking in and then dismissing Christina.
I can never compare with her. What must Matthew be thinking now that he sees us side by side? Christina wondered.
“My mother will be coming in a moment to give you some instructions,” Emily said to Christina. “You may wait here until then. But move over there, so you do not disturb us.”
Tears stinging the back of her eyelids, Christina rose and walked to the far side of the room. She has no right to treat me like this! she thought. But she knew she was wrong. Emily Peterson could treat her however she liked. Christina was nothing but a slave in the Peterson house.
“Now, Matthew,” Emily said, as she urged him back onto his chair. “You must tell me all about your travels. What have you been doing since you last left us?”
With a rustle of skirts, Emily sat down next to Matthew—leaning so close her body brushed against his arm.
Christina stared at the two of them, so close together. Get away from him, she thought. He wants me. He doesn’t want you.
“Christina!” Mistress Peterson called loudly. “Come this way. I will show you to your room.”
Christina could feel Matthew’s eyes upon her as she followed Mistress Peterson. But she didn’t dare return his gaze. If she did, she feared she wouldn’t be able to maintain her composure. And she didn’t want to give Emily Peterson the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
Mrs. Peterson led Christina up a flight of stairs. The second floor appeared even more dismal than the first. Christina had not thought it possible.
“This is my room,” Mistress Peterson said, as they passed the first door. “And this is Emily’s room. You are not to go inside them unless we give you permission.”
At the far end of the hall Mistress Peterson threw open a door. “This will be your room.”
Reluctantly, Christina passed through the doorway. It was so low, she had to duck her head to step inside.
The room was small and narrow. It held little furniture. Only a narrow bed with a thin quilt and a basin and pitcher sat on the floor. A single candle gave the only light.
“Clean yourself,” Mistress Peterson said shortly. “It offends me to see you so untidy. When you are finished, come downstairs.”
She stepped back out into the passageway and slammed the door. Christina took another look around. It’s not a room, Christina thought. It is a prison cell.
But this would be her only place of refuge. Until the day that Matthew Fier completed his mission. Until he came to rescue her.
A sob rose in Christina. She pressed her hands against her throat to hold it down. If I give way now, I will never recover. I’ll do nothing but sit in this room and sob and sob.
I must learn to be strong. Matthew is strong—and I can be too.
Filled with new determination, Christina crossed to the basin and knelt beside it. She seized the pitcher and poured some water into the basin. Then she plunged her hands into it. The water felt icy cold.
Christina splashed the cold water on her face. Then she dried herself with a rough towel. She unbound and then repinned her hair.
I feel better, she thought as she stood up. But I don’t look fresh and beautiful. Not like Emily Peterson.
Emily Peterson laughed.
Christina spun around. She snatched up the pitcher and clutched it to her chest.
No one there. The sound came from below, she realized. Where Emily entertained Matthew.
Christina stood motionless, listening. Emily laughed again.
The sound cut through Christina. It c
ut straight through to her heart.
What is happening downstairs in the sitting room? she wondered. A thousand painful images crowded through her mind.
Matthew and Emily sitting together. Matthew holding Emily’s hands as tightly as he’d held hers.
Christina’s hands tightened on the pticher. The blue veins stood out along the back of her hands.
What if Matthew doesn’t come back for me? she thought. What if he comes back for her?
The pitcher shattered into a dozen pieces. Christina cried out as the sharp pieces of pottery sliced into her hands. Bright red blood spurted from her cuts. So much blood.
Christina rushed to the door. But her hands were too slippery to pull the door open. Slippery with her own blood.
Christina wrapped one hand in her skirt and opened the latch on the door. She dashed down the corridor, blood dripping from her fingers. She felt dizzy and light-headed as she forced her feet to carry her down the stairs.
She burst into the sitting room, bloody hands stretched out before her. “Matthew! Help me!” she cried.
Matthew, Emily, and Mistress Peterson leapt to their feet. Matthew started forward. But Emily pushed him aside. She darted over to Christina and seized one of her bloody hands.
Christina screamed. Emily squeezed her hand, her sharp fingernails digging into Christina’s bloody palm.
“Hold still!” Emily commanded, her blue eyes wild. “Hold still or you’ll spoil everything.”
Blood oozed from Christina’s cuts. Emily cupped one of her hands, so she could catch every drop. Christina’s ears began to buzz. Spots danced in front of her eyes.
Emily squeezed her hand again.
Christina gasped in pain. She’s going to bleed me, she thought. She’s going to bleed me dry.
“Blood,” Emily panted. She stared down at the red liquid she held in her cupped hand. She raised it to her nose and took a deep sniff. “Fresh blood.”
Still panting, Emily ran from the room.
Chapter
16
Christina’s knees buckled. The world whirled around her. Matthew caught her before she struck the floorboards.
“Did you see her, Matthew?” Christina gasped out. “She wanted my blood. She took some of it.”
“Nonsense!” Mistress Peterson cried sharply. She hurried forward to look at Christina’s hands. “You misunderstood her actions, that is all. Emily was just trying to cleanse your wounds. You’ll heal faster if you bleed freely.”
“Christina, what happened?” Matthew asked. He helped her up into one of the chairs. His touch was gentle and comforting.
“I broke the pitcher,” Christina said. Her ears still buzzed a little. Her head felt strange. She couldn’t think clearly. “I didn’t mean to. It just exploded in my hands.”
“There now,” Mistress Peterson said. “The pitcher’s not important. But we must tend to those cuts. I’ll fetch some bandages.” She bustled out of the room
Matthew grasped one of her hands in his. He carefully removed the slivers that still remained in her cuts. “We’ll take care of you,” he said.
Fresh blood welled up. At the sight of it, Christina began to shake uncontrollably. All her fears about the Petersons returned.
I’m not wrong, she thought. I know Emily Peterson wanted my blood. But why? Why would she do such a horrible thing?
Christina shivered. It has to be for some strange, unnatural ceremony! The rumors in the village must be true. Emily must practice the dark arts!
Horror gripped Christina. “Matthew, I can’t stay—”
Mistress Peterson strode back in the room. She gave Christina a sharp look. She heard me, Christina thought.
“Cleanse her hands in this water, Matthew,” Mistress Peterson said briskly. She set a basin down beside him along with several strips of fresh linen. “Then bandage them with these.”
Matthew carefully bathed Christina’s hands. The water in the basin turned a bloody rose color.
“There,” Matthew said to Christina, when he had finished. “You should heal nicely now.”
“Thank you, Matthew,” Christina murmured. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. But Mistress Peterson stood watching them closely.
Matthew rose to his feet. “I must continue on to the village,” he informed Christina and Mistress Peterson. “I have arranged for a place to stay there.”
He gazed over at Christina, his eyes warm. “I will return as soon as I can.”
Silently, Christina and Mistress Peterson walked Matthew to the door. They stood on the cold front porch and watched him mount his horse.
Christina squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. I’m all alone now, she thought. There is no one to protect me. I must be strong and take care of myself . . . until Matthew can return for me.
Mistress Peterson put her arm around Christina’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about Christina, Matthew,” she called. “We will take good care of her.”
“Thank you,” Matthew answered. “I know you will.” Then he spurred Thunder and rode away.
The second he disappeared from sight, Mistress Peterson grabbed Christina by the hair. She shook Christina’s head back and forth. “You broke my pitcher, you stupid girl! Nobody breaks my things and gets away with it. It’s the cellar for you tonight!”
Mistress Peterson hauled her inside. Christina struggled, twisting and turning. But she couldn’t loosen Mistress Peterson’s grip.
Step by step, Mistress Peterson dragged Christina to the dark cellar door. She threw the door open, and pushed Christina in. She stumbled on the narrow wooden steps.
Mrs. Peterson slammed the door shut. A chunk of dirt fell from the wall and landed near Christina.
“No!” Christina cried out, throwing herself against the door. “You can’t do this! It isn’t fair! I didn’t mean to break it!”
Mistress Peterson slid the latch into place.
Chapter
17
The earth walls of the cellar made Christina feel as if she had been buried alive. Her breath came in shallow gasps.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She noticed dozens of red spots along the floor and dotting the walls.
Eyes! Not spots—dozens of tiny red eyes!
Christina pressed her back up against the cellar door. I’m imagining things, she thought. There’s nothing in here with me.
But everywhere she glanced, she could see them. Tiny pinpoints dividing up the darkness. Tiny red eyes.
She heard a rustling sound. The eyes moved forward up the stairs toward her. Something scurried over her feet. Christina kicked it away.
High-pitched squeals filled the cellar. A thousand scrabbling feet raced over her. Piercing her with their sharp claws. A cold nose pressed against her cheek. Another rooted in her hair.
Christina screamed. And screamed again. Rats! Dozens of rats.
She reached into her hair and pulled out a wriggling, warm body. She threw it down the cellar steps.
Thunk!
She tried to grab another one. The rats scattered, scurrying out of reach.
Christina sat down on the top step. She rocked back and forth with her back to the door. What if they weren’t rats? If the Petersons practice black magic they could be—
Stop, she ordered herself. Things are bad enough without making up monsters. I’ve got to be like Matthew. I’ve got to be strong.
She wished Matthew was there with her. Holding her. Just the thought of him made her feel better.
Christina wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay warm. She felt something hard pressed against her chest. The silver pendant. She had almost forgotten about it.
She tugged on the chain and pulled the pendant free. She cradled it in her hands. It felt warm to the touch.
Holding it made her feel comforted. Just as thinking of Matthew did.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Get up, you lazy girl! I didn’t pay good money for you just to have you sleep all day!”
<
br /> Mistress Peterson opened the door to the cellar with a jerk. Christina tumbled backward and struck her head on the bottom cellar stair.
“Clumsy oaf,” Mistress Peterson muttered. “If you’re not out in the yard in ten seconds, there will be nothing for you to eat this day.”
Christina scrambled to her feet. Her head swam. But she forced her feet to carry her up the cellar stairs after Mistress Peterson.
She stuffed the silver pendant back inside her dress. She didn’t want Mistress Peterson to see it—and take it away from her.
“Very good,” Mistress Peterson said when Christina made her way out into the yard.
It’s barely dawn, Christina realized. She felt exhausted. Her sore ankle throbbed and every muscle ached.
“You can begin your chores right away,” Mistress Peterson said. “When you’ve done the first one to my satisfaction, you can have some food. Start by cleaning up the mess you made in your room yesterday. Hurry, now! I will not tolerate laziness. Go get a bucket of water from the well.”
Footsteps dragging, Christina fetched a bucket and filled it with water. She slowly carried it to her room, careful not to spill one tiny drop. If she did, she feared Mistress Peterson would lock her into the cellar again.
Christina got down on her hands and knees, and began to scrub the floor. It took forever to get the bloodstains off.
She tried not to remember how the stains came to be there. Tried not to remember the sound of Emily Peterson’s laughter or the way she smiled at Matthew Fier.
When she finished, her tiny room shone. That should satisfy even Mistress Peterson, Christina thought. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She hefted the bucket of bloody water and started back downstairs.
She heard a rustling from Emily’s room. Christina hurried past the door, not wanting to see the blond girl.
And she heard someone moan.
Christina dropped the bucket. Water splashed out onto the hallway floor. The moan came again, louder this time.
Is Emily sick? Heart pounding, Christina crept closer to Emily’s door. She didn’t want anything to do with Emily. But she couldn’t ignore her. What if she hurt herself somehow?