Betrayal by R. L. Stine

Author:R. L. Stine [Stine, R. L.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780671868314
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 1993-08-02T05:00:00+00:00

“He has a strong will. He is a true Fier,” Benjamin growled approvingly.

“I am not!” Ezra cried peevishly. “I am Ezra. That is all.”

Everyone laughed.

Rebecca dropped a chicken leg onto the boy’s plate.

“Eat your dinner,” she instructed softly.

“What a fine family we are,” Matthew said happily, patting his large belly. “Look around this table, Benjamin. Look at our children and grandchildren. And think of our prosperous farm and trading store. How can you say this family is cursed?”

Benjamin chewed his food slowly before replying. “Cursed,” he muttered after swallowing. “The new roof shingles. Edward finished putting them up just last week. And last night that thunderstorm washed away half of them. Is that not a curse?”

Edward chuckled, “Only a few shingles were blown off, Father,” he said, reaching for his pewter water cup. “There will still be light after dinner. I will go up on the roof and examine it closely. I am certain it is but a minor repair.”

“Cousin Edward, it will be too dark,” Mary warned. “Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

Mary and Edward were more like brother and sister than cousins. Mary was also close to Edward’s wife Rebecca. There were few young people in the village for Mary to befriend. She had only her family to turn to for companionship.

“There will be enough light to examine the shingles,” Edward assured her, helping himself to more string beans. He smiled at Mary. “Do not fret. Wipe your uncle’s words from your mind. There is no curse on the Fier family. The only curse around here is my crotchety old father!”

The family’s laughter rose up from the long dining table. It floated out the window, out of the two-story stone house to reach the ears of a white-bearded man in ragged clothes who was hidden behind the fat trunk of an old oak tree just beyond Mary’s small flower garden.

Careful to keep out of view, the man leaned toward the sound of laughter, the sleeve of his worn coat pressed against the rough bark. His tired eyes explored the steep shingled roof of the sturdy farmhouse. Then he lowered his gaze to the window where the tangy aroma of roast chicken floated out.

The man’s stomach growled. It had been a while since he had eaten.

But he was too excited to think about food now.

Too excited to think about his long journey. A journey of years.

He could feel his heart pound beneath his thin shirt. His breath escaped in noisy wheezes—such rapid breathing his sides began to ache. He gripped the tree trunk so tightly his hands hurt.

“At last!” he whispered to the tree. “At last!” A whispered cry of joy, of triumph.

The white-haired man was William Goode.

For almost twenty years I have sought this moment, he thought, staring intently at the flickering light through the window, listening to the chime of voices inside.

For twenty years I have searched the colonies for the Fiers, my enemies.

At last I have found them.

At last I can carry out my curse. At last I can avenge my wife and daughter.

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