Page 100 of You'll Be Sorry

You know,” Betty was saying, “I don’t mind doing the work if you need to take a break.”

Raquel glanced up absently. Both women were seated before the hearth, taking turns holding up pages in front of the fire, while the other hastily scribbled down as many of the faintly appearing letters as they could decipher at a time. It was a slow, subjective process, with most transcriptions heavy on fill-in-the-blank.

Theo had disappeared upstairs to let them work in peace. The dog couldn’t seem to decide what to do, periodically heading up in search of Theo, only to reappear and crash beside Raquel. She was too preoccupied to notice.

Between the disappearing ink, historic spellings, and just plain poor condition of the diary, nothing about this job was simple. Still, some themes were starting to emerge.

“‘April 11. A rainy cold day,’” Raquel read out loud now. “‘Roused at dawn by Mr. Sebastian Baird. His wife, Elizabeth, suffers sorely during her third travail. I arrived to find her much distressed. She was delivered of a second daughter. The infant fared poorly and I feared would expire, but revived.’

“Okay, so that’s the official entry,” Raquel continued. “Now, best I can tell, the entry within the entry: ‘The woman seemed possessed of a fit. Screamed of flickering flames and dancing demons upona cavern wall, while a stone of night stole away her soul. The fifth such mother to beg me to take away her babe as it was verily a child of Satan. My best ministrations made little difference. None of the infants have lived past their second morn. I am sorely vexed, nay, fearful. Something dark moves among us. I have resolved to speak to Mr. Samuel Dixon. He is a wised and learned man. I pray for the Lord’s guidance during these fearful events.’”

Raquel glanced up. “That’s one of the last entries, and the final unrecorded infant who died shortly after birth.”

“You can see why people started worrying about witchcraft,” Betty mused with a troubled expression. She sighed heavily, then checked her watch. “All right, time to take a break. How about a nice cup of tea?”

“Umm, okay.” Raquel gazed at the few remaining entries with longing. But yes, they’d been at this a couple of hours, and her eyes were starting to burn. A brief respite wouldn’t hurt.

She heaved up off the floor. Betty remained sitting, busily making more notes. Raquel had a moment, looking at the woman, the dry, brittle pages, the built-up fire.

“You know, I have quite an extensive tea collection. Why don’t you come personally select what you want.”

“Oh, whatever you’re having will be fine.”

“I might have coffee.”

“Then I’ll have coffee.”

“You’ve already had two cups.”

Betty stopped writing long enough to look up curiously. “Is everything all right, dear?”

Raquel flushed, made a show of wringing her hands. “Reading all these accounts has been disturbing. I guess I wouldn’t mind some company.”

“Absolutely.” The older woman set down her pencil, then rose to standing with surprising grace.

Raquel led the way to the kitchen. She was increasingly unsettled. Last night’s attempted burglary, the discovery of the cave, the horrible hidden contents of the journal. She couldn’t put her finger on a singular source, but her skin felt too tight, while some internal alarm was buzzing.

The last time she’d felt like this, her mother had been holding out a spoonful of chocolate pudding to her brother and demanding that Charlie Boy eat up. He’d known. She supposed they all had. But this was their mother, their dark, all-powerful mother. So of course he’d swallowed.

“Ooh, mint would be lovely!” Betty declared, inspecting the row of offerings.

Raquel set the kettle to boil, while Betty popped open the tea cannister and inhaled deeply.

“This smells heavenly. Definitely a step up from what I get at the corner market. You’ve done well for yourself, dear. All things considered.”

Raquel eyed the woman warily. Betty was still smiling brightly. Maybe too brightly.

“I know, I know,” the woman declared in a rush. “It’s in poor taste. I promised myself I wouldn’t ask any questions. But I’m such a true crime junkie it’s hard. Bunny Borden. Seriously, you’re her?”

And just like that, Raquel’s stomach dropped while roaring filled her ears.

“Most won’t get the connection, of course,” Betty added. “And those that do…Well, once the initial fuss settles, that’ll be that. We have more than our fair share of infamous individuals in these parts. Did you ever watch the showNorthern Exposure? Probably before your time. But our little village isn’t so different. People who live off the beaten path have a tendency to be an interesting and eclectic sort.”

A sharp whistling pierced the air. Water boiling.

Raquel forced herself to focus on the teakettle. She swore Betty was watching her slyly.

“What are you talking about?” Raquel finally managed, carefully pouring out steaming hot liquid.