Page 48 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

“As the town expanded, he and his family rebuilt their home over along Silver Pines and the town erected the bell tower,” I tell Dante as we stand beneath the stone monument and peer up at the bronze bell mounted at its highest window. “It usually only gets rung during death and weddings.”

There’s a very good chance that he already knows all this. He’s been in town for a while. He must have driven past the tower at least once.

But he doesn’t interrupt. He follows along next to me, listening attentively while I go into the history of Jefferson.

I don’t know it as well as most of the people who were born and raised here, but I pay attention.

I ask questions and I’ve read the tourist guidebook City Hall issues to newcomers .

I take Dante along the main vein. Past the bank and Maisie’s in the direction of City Hall.

All around us, tiny witches, pirates and superheroes plunge through leaves and chase each other with plastic swords.

Their shrieks and giggles twine with the soft breeze toying through my hair.

Storefronts glow with fairy lights. Front steps are lined with grinning Jack o’ lanterns, candles flickering behind carved teeth.

Plastic bats dangle from display windows, and perch upside down from doorways, their glass eyes watching us stroll by.

“We don’t celebrate Halloween,” I tell Dante as we step aside for two fairies to scramble past in their colorful tutus, glittery wings shimmering at their backs. “By name,” I add with a chuckle. “The town calls it the Autumn Festival, but it’s basically Halloween.”

“What’s wrong with Halloween?” he asks, crouching down to pick up a fallen wand and passing it back to one of the fairies.

“Demons.” I grin when he lifts an eyebrow.

My excitement bubbles as I realize I get to be the one to tell him the story.

“Oh, you don’t know yet! It’s so good. Okay, so,” I clap my hands together once to warm up.

“There’s this story that goes back to the 1800s, back to when the town was still growing, a group of women emerged from seemingly nowhere and built a home deep in the Red Hollow Woods.

They kept to themselves, wanted nothing from the townspeople, but had a way with plants and herbs that the townspeople didn’t.

Of course, as you know, women who don’t want to conform to society and have no need for men are clearly witches. ”

Dante nods solemnly but with a glint in his eyes. “Clearly.”

We resume our stroll to the black gates of City Hall.

“Well, for years, this relationship continued where the women were called to help with giving birth and check on the sick. In thanks, the people would give them what they could. Chickens. Eggs. Fabric. That kind of thing. They kind of found a balance with the town. In return, the only thing the women wanted was to be left alone.”

“Monsters,” Dante mutters.

I chuckle. “Right? But here’s the thing. So, there was an outbreak in 1819. All the kids got horribly sick. Some even died.”

“And they blamed the women,” he finishes, lips turned down in displeasure.

“No, believe it or not. They blamed Hetty Grodman. One of their own. The women in the woods did everything they could go save the children, but Hetty, her husband, who, was a fur trader, died shortly after returning from a long journey. Around the same time, she also lost her baby.”

I wait for him to connect the dots, but he continues to frown at the sidewalk .

“The townspeople believed she killed their children out of grief and jealousy by making a pact with the devil.”

Dante’s head jerks up. “Stop it.”

Thrilled by his reaction, I nod excitedly.

“So, they decide the only way to save their children was to kill her and break the connection. Of course, the historical society claim the people only wanted to exile her,” I roll my eyes, “Bullshit, I say. Jefferson, today, is wildly religious. I can only imagine the actual state of it back in 1819 when this happened. Anyway, one of the wood women overhears plans to ... remove Hetty and goes to save her. They bring Hetty to the woods with them and give her security and shelter.”

Dante groans and rubs a hand over his face. “This can’t end well.”

I give a little hop. “Sure doesn’t.”

He casts me a wary side-eye. “You’re way to excited about this.”

I grin up at him, body swaying side to side. “This is one of my favorite stories.”

“Weirdo.” He plants a kiss on my nose. “Let’s hear the rest.”

“Well, the townspeople find out that the women in the woods are harboring the one person whose death could save their children. They are furious. They decide, as a community, to confront these women.”

“With torches and pitchforks, no doubt,” he grumbles.

I gasp in feigned outrage. “These are good, God-fearing people. They would never.” I drop the pretense and frown.

“Of course, with pitchforks and torches. You know they marched out there ready to drag Hetty out. But the women were already standing outside, calm and ready. When the lynching committee arrived, they were warned not to pass the circle of salt. First person who does, the devil would take their soul.”

“Oh, shit.”

I nod. “In the town’s mind, this solidified the existence of evil in their midst. They thought they could trust the women when in fact they were the ones responsible for their misfortune.”

“They turned fast.”

“Sure did. They demanded that the witches release their children and leave. So, here’s where the records get hazy. The version at the historical society says the women lifted their curse, packed their bags and left willingly. But I did some digging.”

Dante grins. “Of course you did.”

“There are a lot of people with a lot of opinions who passed down information they are more than happy to share over a cup of tea. So, I accidently-on-purpose bumped into a few and asked some questions. Now, here’s my thoughts based on the pieces I put together.”

I pause to glance around us. I hadn’t been paying attention to our destination, but we seem to be halfway through Clover Lake Park.

Seeing no point turning back now, I continue us along.

“I think they burned them. I think they waited the women out until the next rainfall when the salt circle melted, went in and dragged them out.” I stop as the hot tang of anger simmers in my gut.

“One of the people I talked to mentioned the Ashwood Barn being where the matter was settled. But there’s a legend amongst the kids that the witches were taken to Hemlock Island and burned.

I’ve been to Ashwood. Unless they built the barn over top, I didn’t see any evidence.

Granted, this happened two hundred years ago so there might not be any.

Anyway, that’s why we don’t call it Halloween.

The devil already came to Jefferson once.

We don’t want him to get summoned again. ”

“Christ,” Dante sighs. “What happened to the town children? Did they get better?”

“It was chicken pox. Remember the merchant husband?” at his nod, I continue.

“He contracted it while traveling, brought it home. Hetty’s baby was the first to get it, but babies died all the time back then.

No one put two and two together. So, when the sickness spread, they blamed the supernatural and coincidence. ”

“And that’s your favorite story?”

I roll my eyes. “No! Legend has it that on Halloween, if you go out towards Ashwood, you can hear voices telling you to come closer. There are people who swear they’ve seen a group of women in the woods just waiting.”

“For what?”

I shrug. “I think revenge.”

“It’s been two hundred years. Everyone responsible is dead.”

“But!” I stop on the path to face him. “Ghost time works differently from living time. Plus, ghosts can be confused when they first die. Or they’re gathering their energy.”

The hint of a grin crinkles around his eyes and the corner of his mouth. “I see you’ve given this some thought.”

Nodding vehemently, I take his hand and tug him along. “I actually have a theory. You see, I did some digging and you will never guess who started the whole thing.”

Dante shrugs. “Who?”

I bite my lip to stifle the urge to blurt it out too soon.

“Joyce Dymond ... Dolores Winslow’s great something grandmother.”

His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

I nod again. “It was her ancestors. I’m still working on it, but I bet I can find all the people responsible. ”

“Obviously, the mayor,” he pipes in. “He would have known.”

“Definitely. The Ferguson family have been in charge of Jefferson since the beginning. Nothing happens here without them knowing.”

“So, what’s the plan once you uncover the mystery?”

I shoot him my best devious smirk. “I’m going to write out all their names, their current family’s names and addresses in a book and leave it in the woods.”

Dante cocks his head in my direction. “You little shit-disturber.”

I give a bump of my shoulder. “Justice. But there are so many more stories. Jefferson is full of weird, disturbing facts that people brush off as history, or myth, but this town definitely needs to get studied.”

The arm connected to the hand clasped around mine twists back to hook my waist and pull me into his chest.

“Isn’t Ashwood near the festival?”

My eyes narrow. “Not exactly. It’s about an hour drive. Why?”

Rather than answer, he kisses me.