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Once the sunlight goes to bed, that's when darkness wakes the dead.
When a series of grisly deaths devastate 19th-century New England, sixteen-year-old farm girl Faith must outsmart the Undead to ke...
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As Eliza and I enter Lloyd's General Store, a large, brass bell on the doorframe announces our arrival. The boys are already inside, and we're greeted with an overwhelming waft of salted meats and leather. Gray light spills in from the picture window overlooking Main Street and a cast iron stove simmers in the corner, leaving a thin layer of soot over much of the merchandise.
Near the entrance, Kitty Lloyd leans against the cash drawer counter as she speaks with Sadie Clumb, their heads angled together like two babbling schoolgirls.
At the possibility of a customer, Mrs. Lloyd peers around the younger lady's shoulder and releases a bothered sigh.
"Oh, Victor—it's only you." She gives her friend a look of disinterest before making her way around the side board. "I need to start dinner soon so you'll have to watch over the—" She stops short and gasps. "For heaven's sake, you're a mess!" She plucks the hat from his head and tosses it to the side, then licks her fingers and slides them through his dark hair. "You'll be running this store one day. Appearances are everything."
"Awe, Ma. Would you stop, already?" Victor squirms under her touch. "What if I don't want to run the store? What if I want to do something else?"
"Like what—play baseball?" Mrs. Lloyd pinches his chin between her thumb and forefingers. "You'll run this store, young man, and that is that."
"But it's not fair!"
"Oh, quit your bellyaching. Fair is fair is fair." She spins on her heel, and returns to her chore of holding up the counter. "Your father and I worked our fingers to the bone getting this business off the ground. You'll thank us when you're not slaving away on some godforsaken farm somewhere," she says, shooting a tight-lipped grimace in my direction.
My head tilts, daring her to say more. She doesn't.
"Speaking of baseball..." Thomas eyes me with a silent warning. Saving me from my own tongue, no doubt. "We're sorry to bother you, ma'am. Victor just wanted to show us his baseball card collection."
"As if you gave me a choice," Victor mumbles under his breath.
"What baseball card collection?" Her nose wrinkles as if there's an unpleasant odor, and she shakes her head at Miss Clumb. "I promise you, I have no idea what these kids are talking about."
"You know," Honor adds with a wide grin, "the Charles Gardner Radbourn and Larry Corcoran cards that came in the packs of tobacco."
Mrs. Lloyd clucks her tongue. "Victor isn't to touch the tobacco, much less retrieve whatever poppycock is inside. Victor," she announces, obviously bored with the conversation. "Wash your hands and get to work. I don't have all day." She rubs her forehead as if warding off a headache, and continues talking to her friend.
A blush colors Victor's cheeks, creeping higher until the tips of his ears turn bright red. He refuses to look at us as he mutters in our direction. "You heard her. You have to leave now."
