Page 42 of The Witch

The next day, I wake up feeling better rested than I’ve been since I arrived.

For once, I didn’t wake up during the night. I’m not sure if the mysterious noises never happened or if I have just learned to sleep through them. Maybe Caroline decided to take a night off. Hey, just because she’s a ghost, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to rest.

I’m so worn out from the last few days that I end up sleeping until after ten. When I get downstairs, the living room is silent. Too silent.

The grandfather clock stopped again during the night. Once again, its hands are frozen at 3:41.

While I am in the living room, I look at the portrait of Archie and Molly Eldridge with renewed interest. I had it all wrong. I thought that Caroline was executed, and then later Archie met Molly and attempted to restart his life with her. But that isn’t what happened at all.

Molly worked for Caroline. She betrayed her.

I stare into the eyes of the woman in the portrait. My great-great-great-etc.-grandmother. I only exist because of this woman’s deviousness. This is a woman who arranged for her employer to be executed so she could steal her husband.

And now she’s being honored in a portrait in one of the oldest houses in the country. It just goes to show there’s no justice in the world. Poor Caroline.

No wonder she hates us. Our ancestors were responsible for her execution. If I were her, I’d be interested in some serious vengeance.

“Ethel? Is that you?”

It’s my grandmother’s voice, coming from the kitchen. I rip my gaze away from the portrait and hurry there. Gram is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking from another mug.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she says. “You always did like to sleep in.”

I yawn involuntarily. “Morning.”

“Can I make you some toast?”

God, no. “No, thank you. Can I make you anything?”

“Well,” she says thoughtfully, “a fried egg would be nice. I always liked the way you make them.”

I have never once cooked my grandmother eggs in my entire life. But instead of pointing that out, I grab the carton of eggs from the fridge and get to work. I make a fried egg for each of us, and then a piece of toast that isn’t burned to a crisp, with a little pat of butter in the middle. Gram’s eyes light up when I put the plate in front of her.

“Oh, this looks wonderful!” She digs her fork into the yolk, which runs all over the plate. She takes a bite and gasps. “And it tastes so good!”

Ah, the magic of salt and pepper.

As I dig into my own eggs, I eye the necklace around Gram’s neck, which contains the keys to the house, including the attic. Ethel doesn’t seem to be around, and I wonder if I might be able to persuade her to part with them.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Gram reaches out to close her hand around my wrist. “I missed you so much, Ethel.”

I open my mouth to correct her, but then I shut it. She thinks I’m Ethel, for some reason. And while she might not be willing to give her keys to me, Julia, she might be willing to give her keys to me, Ethel.

This is a perfect plan. The only problem is that when it’s over, there’s a tiny chance I might go straight to hell. Then again, at least I’m not as bad as my great-great-great-etc.-grandmother.

“Letty,” I say to Gram, calling her by her given name for the first time in my life, “I was wondering if you could do me—your sister, Ethel—a favor.”

“Of course.” Gram smiles happily. “You know I would do anything for you.”

“Right.” I nod. “Well, all I actually need is to borrow a key to the attic. I lost mine somewhere, and I just need to get in there for a minute.”

Despite her confusion, Gram knows a trick when she hears it. She looks at me for a long time, her lips pursed. Any second, she is going to say to me, I know who you are. You’re Julia.

But then, to my surprise, she reaches for the chain around her neck and pulls it over her head. “Okay, Ethel,” she says. “As long as you promise to give it right back.”

“I will.”

Her eyes are so trusting. Yes, straight to hell for me.