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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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The next several days pass by uneventfully. We spend our waking hours in cautious optimism, while the nights remain bitter and cold.
Mrs. Lloyd insists that the decline in unexpected deaths means the blood-thirsty Milton children are no longer feasting on loved ones as they sleep. "Burning their hearts answered our prayers!" she exclaims. And the townspeople agree.
I still refuse to believe it. Their narrow-minded certainty is something I try to ignore, but doing so doesn't answer any of my questions. Stories of the Undead are nothing more than macabre fairy tales created to scare small children into obeying their parents.
Yet it doesn't escape my attention that the strange happenings have just...stopped.
Eliza hasn't been to school since that day in the cemetery. Every morning, we stop by her house only to have her parents tell us the same story: "Eliza's not feeling well today" or "She's just a little under the weather" followed quickly by: "It's nothing at all to worry about".
But I am worried. Winter brings illness, and illness often brings death. Eliza's never been down for this long before. And with the doctor out of town, there's no telling if Eliza's family have the medical supplies they need. Syrup to soothe a cough, or laudanum for pain. Kerosene can be purchased at the general store and slathered across the chest for congestion, but it's useless against the more serious ailments that require a physician's check-up and proper medication.
Eliza's not the only student absent from class. Clara Singleton, one of the older girls, has been out, too. She's Miss Perkins' favored helper, assisting the younger kids with their penmanship or simple arithmetic. It frees up time and allows our teacher to focus on more complex subjects with the older students. In Clara's absence, I've been asked to take her place.
"Maybe you'll be the next teacher?" Thomas says at lunch.
Hope blooms in my chest like a long-awaited spring. Sharing knowledge with hungry, young minds has always intrigued me, but I've never confided that thought with anyone. Not even Mama. Thomas has this curious way of seeing inside me, yet I still brush off his comment so I don't get my hopes up.
"The only reason Miss Perkins chose me is because I was finished with my school work. It doesn't mean anything." But I want it to.
Thomas and I, along with Honor and Victor, take up a bench at the back of class, each of us picking at our meager rations of pork and beans.
When the weather allows, we're sent home for an early afternoon meal with the intention of returning to school once we've finished. But this winter has been so frigid, each family donates ingredients for various stews that Miss Perkins heats in a kettle on the stove. Leftovers are stored in the icebox for later. Nothing goes to waste in South Harbor, especially food. Preservation is a necessity during the winter months when resources are not as plentiful.
