“Are you sure?” Eliza asked weakly, detesting the tremor in her voice.
“I’m sure. But let’s go before someone realizes we’re all missing,” Helen replied.
Holding hands, Eliza and Theresa scrambled up the sloping bank of the ravine and joined Helen at the edge. All three of the girls looked down at their fallen friend. Eliza closed her eyes.
“Take her to Heaven, oh Lord. She was a good, pure soul,” she said.
“Not like the rest of us,” Theresa added seriously.
“No,” Helen said. “Indeed not.”
A Pact
The forest was pitch-black as Eliza, Helen, and Theresa tromped through the underbrush in the dead of night for what Eliza hoped would be the final time. Helen and Theresa carried the heavy trunk full of books between them, while Eliza struggled with the three large, rusty shovels they had borrowed from the storage shed.
“Here,” Helen said suddenly, when the girls were about half a mile due north of the chapel. She pointed at a patch of clearing, which was covered over by fallen pine needles. “This spot should be big enough.”
“Thank goodness,” Theresa said, dropping her side of the trunk. The thud frightened some dozing birds from the trees above, sending them cawing off into the sky.
“Let’s get to work,” Eliza said sullenly. She shoved the tip of her shovel into the dirt and began to dig.
Together the three girls toiled away, clearing a hole that was about four feet wide and at least six feet deep. The longer Eliza worked, the faster she went, feeling that with each jab of her shovel, each toss over her shoulder, she was somehow excising the horrible events of the past few weeks. Sweat prickled under her arms, above her lip, and along her brow, but she didn’t stop to rest or to clear it away. She only worked harder.
“I think that’s enough,” Helen said finally.
Eliza started. The three of them had been silent for so long, the sound of a voice seemed almost unnatural. She and Theresa were standing inside the hole, while Helen hovered above them. For the first time in more than an hour, Eliza really studied Theresa. She had a streak of dirt across her cheek, and her dark hair was matted with perspiration. The look that passed between them was one of wary respect. Suddenly, Eliza’s heart was full. She felt as if there was no malice left in her. She had no space left, no energy left, to harbor such things.
“You saved my life,” she said as Helen jumped down into the hole, leaving her shovel behind. Eliza looked from one to the other, her eyes shining with tears. “You both saved my life.”
Theresa reached for Eliza’s hand. “You would have done the same for me.”
“And me,” Helen added, taking Eliza’s other hand.
For a long moment the three of them stood there, holding on to one another, and Eliza could feel that none of them wanted to let go.
“It’s not your fault, Eliza, that he loves you,” Theresa said suddenly. She looked at the ground. “I know it’s not your fault.” She looked up again and shrugged, though her eyes were full of tears. “No one ever loves me best.”
Eliza’s heart welled, but she found she couldn’t speak. How could she respond to that? How could she possibly make it all right?
She squeezed Theresa’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get on with it.”
The other girls nodded. Helen climbed back out of the hole and shoved the trunk toward the edge. Carefully, she lowered it down into the waiting arms of Eliza and Theresa. The trunk was heavy and awkward, with the books sliding and clunking around inside. Once the trunk had been placed squarely in the center of the hole, she and Theresa crawled out and took up their shovels.
“Wait,” Helen said, holding out a dirt-covered hand. “We must make a pact. We must swear right now that none of us will ever come looking for this trunk again. That none of us will ever tell anyone where to find it.”
“I swear,” Eliza said willingly, placing her hand above Helen’s.
“I swear,” Theresa said, adding her hand above Eliza’s.
“Good,” Helen said with a nod. “I’ve had enough witchcraft to last two lifetimes.” Then she pushed her shovel into the pile of dirt at her side, and made to cover the trunk.
“Wait!” Eliza said suddenly. “I almost forgot.”
She reached up, clasped the locket in her hand, and gave it one good yank, breaking the delicate gold chain that held it. Without a second thought, she tossed the trinket into the hole, where it bounced off the top of the trunk and came to rest on the ground.
“Good riddance,” she said.
As she gazed down at the locket, Eliza felt a momentary pang, remembering the day she’d first held it in her palm—that day in the sun with Catherine and Theresa and Alice—the last day of their innocence. But then the memory was gone, chased away by all the horror that had followed. Her lips set in a thin line, and she reached for the handle of her shovel.