The Betrayal

by R. L. Stine

  Behind the blacksmith’s shop were the shimmering green woods. Tall poplars and beech trees leaned in toward the village. Behind these the woods grew dark with pines, oaks, and maples.

  A village woodpile stood at the edge of the woods, logs neatly chopped and stacked. But Susannah’s eyes were focused on the woods.

  Sunlight filtered down through the shimmering leaves, sending rays of light darting over the ground. Black and gold monarch butterflies fluttered in and out of the shafts of white light.

  I shall take a short walk into the woods, Susannah decided.

  It felt good to be out of the dark house, away from the heat of the cooking hearth, away from the crying baby.

  Away from her chores and the watchful eyes of her mother.

  Away from the heavy fear that hovered over the entire village these days.

  Susannah stepped into the woods, dry twigs cracking beneath her heavy black shoes. As soon as she was hidden by the trees, she pulled off her cap and shook her hair free.

  She walked slowly, raising her face to the shafts of bright sunlight. Her dress caught on a low bramble. She tugged it free and kept walking.

  A scrabbling sound nearby made her spin around, just in time to see a brown and white chipmunk scurry under a pile of dead leaves.

  Susannah tossed her long hair back and took a deep breath. The air smelled piney and sweet.

  I’ not supposed to enjoy the woods, she thought, her smile slowly fading. Susannah had been taught that the woods were a place of evil.

  As if mirroring her thoughts, the trees grew thicker, shutting out the sunlight. It became evening-dark.

  Away from civilization, deep in the woods, was where the Evil One and his followers dwelt, Susannah had been taught.

  The witches of the village came here to dance their evil dances by moonlight with the Evil One and his servants. The Evil One and his servants lived deep in holes in the ground, hidden by scrub and thick shrubs. Susannah believed that if she wandered alone into the darkness of their domain, they might reach up and grab her and pull her down, down into their netherworld of eternal torture and darkness.

  The air grew cooler. From a low branch just above Susannah’s head a dove uttered a deep-throated moan, cold and sorrowful.

  Susannah shuddered.

  “It is so dark, suddenly so cold,” she said.

  Time to go back.

  As she turned, she felt strong hands grab her from behind.

  “The Evil One!” she cried.

  Chapter 2

  “Let go of me!” Susannah screamed.

  To her surprise, the hands obediently released her.

  She spun around, her blue eyes wide with fright, and stared into the laughing face of Edward Fier. “Do I look like the Evil One to you?” he asked.

  Susannah felt her face redden. She glared angrily at him. “Yes, you must be the Evil One,” she said. “Why else would you be out in these woods?”

  “I followed you,” he replied, his expression solemn.

  Edward was tall and good-looking. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat over his straight dark brown hair, which fell below his ears. His gray doublet was made of the finest linen. The cuffs at the end of his sleeves were white and stiffly starched.

  His navy blue breeches ended just below the knee. Gray wool stockings covered his legs. On his feet were Dutch-style clogs fashioned of dark leather.

  No other young man in the village dressed as well as Edward. He seemed to take his clothing as seriously as he did everything else in life. In private some villagers criticized his fancy dress, accusing him of the sin of pride.

  But no one dared criticize him in public. For Edward was a Fier, Benjamin Fier’s son. And no one would dare say a word against Magistrate Fier or his son.

  As the trees shuddered around them in a sudden cold breeze, Edward’s dark brown eyes locked on Susannah’s. “We should not joke about the Evil One,” he said, lowering his voice. “My father says the Evil One’s slaves have overrun our village.”

  “I—I am so afraid these days,” Susannah confessed, lowering her gaze to the dark ground. “I keep dreaming about Faith Warburton. She—she was my friend,” Susannah stammered.

  “I know,” Edward muttered softly.

  “They seized her as a witch … because she wore a red ribbon in her hair. Th-they burned her—!” Susannah’s words were cut short by a sob.

  Edward placed a hand on Susannah’s trembling shoulder. “I know that my father must have had proof of your friend’s evil practices. He appears stern, but he is a fair and just man, Susannah.”

  “We should not be here together. We have to stop our secret meetings. They put me in great danger,” Susannah said softly.

  “You are in no danger,” Edward replied. “I … wanted to talk to you, Susannah. I wanted to—”

  Before Susannah could back away, Edward had his arms around her waist. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her.

  The hat tumbled off his head, and he pressed his lips against hers, urgently, hungrily.

  Susannah was breathless when she finally pulled free. “You—you are suffocating me!” she exclaimed, grinning at him. She raised a hand to his shoulder. “What if the Evil One is watching us?” she teased.

  To her surprise, he pulled away from her touch. His dark eyes flared with anger. “I told you,” he warned, “do not joke about the Evil One.”

  “But, Edward—” she began. His intensity always startled her.

  “You know I cannot bear blasphemy,” he interrupted in a low, steady voice.

  They had been meeting secretly for weeks, stealing moments behind the grain barn or behind the trees at the riverbank. Susannah had been surprised by Edward’s seriousness, by his solemn attitude about most things.

  She liked to tease but quickly learned he didn’t share her sense of humor.

  Why did she care so much about him? Why did she think about him night and day? Why did she dream about being with him forever?

  Because he needed her. Because he seemed to feel as she did.

  She gazed up at him coyly. “Being here alone together in the woods, that is a crime against village custom,” she said. “What do you think your father would say?”

  He picked up his hat from the ground, gripping it tightly in one hand. “Being here with you, Susannah, is no crime.”

  “Why is that?” she teased.

  He hesitated, gazing at her as if trying to see inside her head, to read her thoughts. “Because we love each other,” he said finally.

  And before she knew it, they were wrapped in each other’s arms again.

  I want to stay here, Susannah thought happily. Stay here with Edward in the dark woods. Live in the wild together, just the two of us, away from the village, away from everyone.

  She pressed her cheek against his, surprised that his face was as hot as hers.

  A sudden noise made her cry out and pull away.

  Voices!

  “Edward—someone else is here!” she cried, raising her hands to her cheeks in horror. “We’re caught!”

  Chapter 3

  Edward’s dark eyes grew wide with fear. He grasped Susannah’s hand tightly.

  They listened, frozen together in the dark woods as if they’d been turned to stone.

  The voices rose, carried by the wind.

  Chanting voices.

  “Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”

  “Ohhh!” Susannah gasped.

  The chanting voices weren’t coming from nearby. The wind was carrying the sound from the commons.

  “There is no one here,” Edward said, smiling with relief.

  “Poor Abigail Hopping,” Susannah whispered.

  “If she is a witch, she must face the fire,” Edward replied, still holding Susannah’s hand.

  Susannah rested her head against his shoulder. “We should get back. I went out for firewood. I should have been home. My mother will think the Evil One has taken me.”

  �
�You go first,” he told her. “I will wait here a while before I return.”

  “Are you going to tell your father … about us?” Susannah asked eagerly.

  “Yes,” Edward told her. “When the time is right.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him again. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to go back to her tiny, dark house. She didn’t want to return to all the anger and fear of the village.

  Edward gave her a gentle push, his hands on her shoulders. “Go.”

  She forced a smile, then turned and ran off, pulling on the cap and covering her hair.

  We’re going to be married, she thought, her heart pounding.

  Edward and I are going to be married.

  I am going to be the wife of Edward Fier.

  She felt as if she were floating through the trees.

  Susannah ran right past the woodpile and through the commons, and was nearly home before she remembered she had come out for firewood, and had to go back.

  “The carrots are small but sweet,” William Goode said. He sat stiffly at the head of the table, rubbing gravy off the wooden plate with a biscuit.

  Susannah watched her father eat his dinner. He looked tired to her, tired and old. He was not yet forty, yet his face was lined, and his once-blond hair had turned prematurely white.

  “Susannah baked the biscuits,” Martha Goode said.

  “Would you like more gravy, Father?” Susannah asked, gesturing to the gravy pot still simmering on the hearth. “There are more boiled carrots, too.”

  “I am going to mash some carrots and give them to George when he wakes up,” Susannah’s mother said.

  “I do not know why our carrots are so small,” Mr. Goode grumbled. “Matthew Pier’s carrots are as long as candles.”

  “Why do you not ask him his secret?” Susannah’s mother suggested.

  William Goode scowled. He narrowed his gray-green eyes at his wife. “Matthew Fier has no farming skills that I do not have. He has no secrets that I—”

  “The Fiers have plenty of secrets,” his wife interrupted. “Who are they, these Fier brothers? Where do they come from? They did not come to the New World from England, as we did.”

  “I do not know,” Mr. Goode replied thoughtfully. “They come from a small farm village. That is all I know. They were poor when they arrived, both Fier brothers and their wives. But they have prospered here. And that proves they are pious folk, favored by the Maker.”

  His wife sighed. “These carrots are sweet enough, William. I did not intend to hurt your feelings.”

  William Goode frowned. “Sweet enough,” he muttered.

  “Help me clear the dinner table, Susannah,” Martha Goode ordered. “Why are you sitting there with that dazed, faraway expression on your face?”

  “Sorry, Mother.” Susannah started to get up, but her father placed a hand on her arm to restrain her.

  “Susannah will clear the table in a little while,” he told his wife. “I wish to speak with her first.” He stood up, pulled a clay pipe down from his pipe rack, filled it with tobacco from his cloth pouch, and went over to the fire to light it.

  Susannah turned in her chair, her eyes trained on her father, trying to read his expression. “What did you wish to speak to me about, Father?”

  “About Edward Fier,” he replied, frowning as he puffed hard to start the tobacco burning.

  Susannah gasped. She had never discussed Edward with either of her parents. She and Edward were merely acquaintances, as far as her parents knew.

  Holding the long white pipe by the bowl, Mr. Goode made his way back to the dinner table. He pulled back the stool next to Susannah’s and sat down stiffly.

  “Wh-what about him?” Susannah stammered, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

  Her father leaned close to her. Pipe smoke rose up in front of him, encircling them both in a fragrant cloud. “You and Edward Fier have been seen walking together,” he accused. “Walking together without a chaperon present.”

  Susannah’s mouth dropped open. She took a deep breath, then started to speak, but no sound came out.

  “Do you deny it, Daughter?” Her father’s white eyebrows arched over his gray-green eyes, which burned accusations into hers. “Do you deny it?”

  “No, Father,” Susannah replied softly.

  “You were seen in the woods together,” her father continued sternly. He held the pipe close to his face but didn’t smoke it.

  “Yes, Father,” Susannah muttered, her heart thudding in her chest. Then the words just burst out of her. She had been longing to tell her parents. Now she could hold back the news no longer.

  “Edward and I are in love!” she cried. “He wants to marry me! Is that not wonderful?”

  Her mother turned from the hearth, her eyes wide with surprise.

  William Goode’s face reddened. He lowered his pipe to the table. “Daughter, have you lost your senses? Are you living in a world of dreams?”

  Susannah gaped at him. “Didn’t you hear me, Father? Edward wants to marry me!”

  Her father shut his eyes. He cleared his throat loudly. The pipe trembled in his hand. “You cannot marry Edward Fier,” he said quietly.

  “What are you saying?” Susannah whispered. “Why can’t I?”

  “Because Edward Fier is already betrothed,” Mr. Goode replied flatly.

  Susannah gasped. “What?”

  “Edward Fier is engaged to be married,” her father said. “Edward is to marry a young woman of Portsmouth. His father told me this morning.”

  Chapter 4

  The hearth fire flickered low. Long shadows slipped across the floor. In her sleeping alcove, huddled under an old feather quilt, Susannah turned her face to the wall.

  How could Edward be so cruel? she asked herself for the thousandth time.

  How could he lead me to believe that he cared for me, that he loved me?

  Susannah pressed her face into the pillow to muffle her sobs.

  She had gone to bed early, hoping her parents wouldn’t see how upset she was. Hours had passed now. A pale half moon was high in the late night sky, and Susannah was still wide awake, still tossing in her narrow bed, crying softly and thinking about Edward with anger and disbelief.

  I trusted Edward, she thought. I believed everything he said. I risked my reputation for him.

  And all the while he was engaged to another girl.

  Breathing hard, Susannah rolled over and stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace across the room. Her secret meetings with Edward Fier rolled through her mind. She remembered his words, his touch, his kisses.

  Edward always seemed trustworthy, she thought miserably. So honest and upright.

  So good.

  Susannah kicked off the quilt and pushed at the pillow, punching it with both hands.

  I will never trust anyone again, she told herself bitterly. Never!

  Across the commons, firelight blazed in the windows of Benjamin Fier’s two-story house. In the dining room Benjamin was standing at one end of the oak table, gripping the back of a hand-carved chair.

  Benjamin’s son Edward glared at him defiantly from the other end of the table.

  Benjamin was big and broad-shouldered, an imposing man who looked as if he could wrestle a bull and win. He had straight black hair that fell below his ears and bushy black eyebrows over small dark eyes that seemed to be able to pierce through anything.

  Benjamin’s face was red and almost always set in a hard frown. He was so powerful in appearance, his expression so angry, that most people in Wickham were afraid of him, which didn’t displease him in the least.

  Standing with his back to the fire, Benjamin unfastened the long row of brass buttons down the front of his black doublet, his dark eyes studying Edward.

  “I will not obey you, Father,” Edward insisted, his voice trembling. He had never defied his father. He knew it was wrong.

  Benjamin stared across the table, his features set. He didn’t reply.


  “I cannot obey you, Father,” Edward said when his father did not reply. “I will not marry Anne Ward.” Edward gripped the back of the chair. He hoped his father could not see his trembling knees.

  “You will marry the girl in the autumn,” Benjamin said in his deep baritone. “I have arranged the marriage with her father.”

  He turned away from Edward to indicate that the discussion had ended. Picking up a poker, he jabbed at the logs in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks flying up the brick chimney.

  Edward swallowed hard.

  Can I do this? he asked himself. Can I stand up to my father? Am I strong enough?

  Another question nagged at Edward as he struggled to find words: Is it right to argue with my father? Is it not my duty to obey his wishes?

  No! Edward answered his own question. I love Susannah Goode. I will marry Susannah and no one else. I cannot obey my father’s wishes this time. I will not!

  Edward took a deep breath. “Sir,” he called, causing Benjamin to turn away from the fire. “I cannot marry Anne Ward. I do not know her. She is a stranger.”

  “You will become acquainted with her after the wedding,” Benjamin said sternly. “It is a very fortunate arrangement for us.”

  “It is not fortunate for me!” Edward declared heatedly.

  “Do not raise your voice to me, Edward,” Benjamin warned, his face a dark crimson. He raised the fireplace poker and pointed it at his son. “Anne Ward is an excellent match for you.”

  “But I do not know her, Father! I do not love her!” Edward cried shrilly.

  “Love?” Benjamin tossed back his head and laughed. “Edward, we did not come to these colonies for love. My brother, Matthew, and I did not leave our village for love. We came here to succeed! We came here to escape the poverty of our lives, to escape it forever!”

  “I know, Father,” Edward said, sighing. “But—”

  “Do you know how poor our family was in the Old Country?” Benjamin demanded, setting down the heavy iron poker and returning to the table. His eyes burned into Edward’s, hotter than the fireplace flames.