Dreadwood

Chapter 1

A layer of fog blanketed the fields like a half-forgotten dream, swallowing the familiar rows of sweet corn that normally greeted Eloise Marlow on her journey into town on a summer's day. Only the white tassels at the top of each stalk sprouted through the mist. Any other day, her eyes would light up at the sign of impending harvest, but nothing could brighten the dark mood surrounding the morning. Just as nothing could stop her family's creaking carriage from reaching its destination.

Eloise hadn't spoken a word since Mama had woken her. The sun had still been asleep then, but now it peaked above the line of trees in the distance, rays bleeding across the sky and ticking away the final moments until Dreadwood received its sacrifice.

"You're white as a sheet." Mama's harsh whisper was like a sickle's blade cutting wheat. "You best compose yourself before we arrive. Father McRae will deem any sympathizers as guilty by association. Lenore Carrington dug her own grave."

Eloise cringed at her mother's sharp words and the truth she spoke. She remembered the daisies Lenore used to weave through her hair when they were children. Eloise would hide in her bedroom to keep the dainty yellow and white flowers tucked in her braids before Mama had a chance to rip them out. Then Eloise would hum one of the songs Lenore had taught her, ever quiet for only the two of them to hear.

Eloise's mouth went dry. "But Lenore is my friend." Her whisper didn't even sound like her own.

"Which is why you should be more cautious about your demeanor," Mama scolded. She tucked Eloise's stray hairs behind her ear, pinning it back with the rest of her pecan-colored hair. Eloise finally tore her gaze from the passing crops and to the judgement laced in Mama's wide nutmeg eyes. "The girl was guilty of impurity, and my daughter will not be suspect of the same. Not when the harvest is this close. Not when you're soon to find a husband."

Pa harrumphed from the box seat of their open carriage, reins in hand, his old straw hat tilted on his head. He never intervened, but Eloise wished he would. If he had, maybe Mama's nails would've retracted from Eloise's spine a long time ago. Maybe she wouldn't have become Mama's pretty puppet—a belle to be given as a prize to the man with the richest crops south of Dreadwood.

The carriage fell silent again aside from the creak of wood and the clip-clop of horses pulling them down the dirt road. Eloise glanced back out to the blossoming fields, and as Mama's words repeated in her head, a pit of gloom took root in her belly.

She understood Mama's worry. She knew what happened to sinners in Belle Parish because she'd seen them tossed away like they were poison—a risk to infect the masses. Father McRae preached that casting out sinners to the reaching, gnarled branches of Dreadwood was the very reason each harvest in Belle Parish had been so bountiful, and the town ate up those ideals like they were buttermilk pie.

Except for Lenore Carrington.

If Father McRae knew half of what the young men and women did behind their parents' backs, there would be no youth around for five-thousand acres. They were all sinners. It was just a matter of who got caught.

All the fields were empty as their carriage passed. Croppers usually began work in the early mornings during the summer, to avoid the late heat in the day, but not today. Not with Lenore's judgment hanging over the parish.

Eloise felt sunken in and hollow, everything seeming to pass in a blur even though the horses didn't move quick enough to rile a dust cloud in their tracks. Before she knew it, the cluster of buildings that stood as their town square came into vision through the fog that dissipated in the rising sun. The church's white steeple stood proud among the squatter cream-colored buildings, like an older brother watching for any wrong-doings committed by his siblings.