By late Saturday morning, our plan is in action.
With no sunshine to burn off the fog, a thick mist creeps above the snow-covered terrain as Thomas, Honor, and I wait outside the general store for Victor.
At this hour, my family would normally visit with Mama and Grace at the cemetery, but this is the first Saturday since they passed that we've not gone to see them. Papa didn't sleep well last night. He decided he needed more rest, a luxury he doesn't typically allow. He set out squirrel traps for the day then went back to bed, not even bothering with breakfast.
"What's taking Victor so long? He knew we were coming." I grit my teeth and brace myself against the cold. "Will you please go see what he's up to?"
Thomas gapes at me in surprise. "And run the risk of having to speak with Mrs. Lloyd? No thank you. Besides, he said she doesn't want us inside. We're supposed to wait out here, remember?"
"I'll do it," Honor volunteers as he marches toward the door.
"You will do no such thing." I yank him back to my side and he careens toward me like an unsteady toddler.
"You never let me do anything!" Honor thrusts out his lower lip and rams his shoulder into a giant icicle hanging like a dagger from the covered porch. It breaks in half and crashes to the ground, bursting into a dozen jaggedy pieces.
Thomas kicks a chunk of ice and it spins across the road, narrowly missing a passing horse and wagon.
I shoot him a quick look before turning back to my brother. "Don't pout. If you go into that store with no intention to buy, she's going to bite off your head." When my teeth come together in an exaggerated chomp, Honor giggles.
Just then, the front door shrieks open and Victor steps outside, his face shadowed behind the hood of his coat.
"It's about time." Thomas rubs his mitted hands together and bounces from one foot to the next. "Any sign of Mr. Baptiste?"
Victor shakes his head. "I told you I'd come and get you if I saw him."
"Are you certain he's going to be here?" I try to keep the impatience from my voice. Make it seem like I'm simply curious. But my self-restraint is wearing thin. It was my idea to sneak into the mansion, but waiting outside in the freezing cold for a man who may or may not appear feels extreme now that we're actually here. What if he doesn't go shopping today? Then we'll have all caught hypothermia for no reason.
Victor scowls in my direction. "No. But Saturdays are our busy day and we're closed tomorrow. As far as I know, he hasn't bought groceries or kerosene since early in the week. That big old house isn't going to heat itself."
As if on cue, a blast of wind tears at my overcoat and drills through the layers of my clothes, including the flannel underwear underneath. I duck my chin inside my scarf and wait for the squall to pass.
Honor turns against the blast, his teeth chattering, his shoulders hunched over his ears. "Sissy, I'm cold."
Repositioning his hat and scarf, I shield him between myself and the building. Honor lets out a cough, a bellowing hack from deep inside his chest. It shakes his entire body.
My sigh comes out in a cloud of breath. "Honor, you should go home. You have no business being in this weather."
Amber eyes peer up at me from between his wool hat and scarf. "I'm coming with you."
I wedge him even closer as another gust whistles around us. "I knew this was a bad idea. I should have never agreed to let you go."
"Stop it, sissy!" Honor's voice cracks like a whip. He looks up at me, the top of his head not even reaching my shoulders. "You're not my mother. You can't tell me what to do."
Hurt flashes through my limbs like lightning and I reel back as though I've been slapped. I try not to let him see it. "Go home. Now. We'll discuss this later."
Thomas gives him a gentle nudge. "Listen to your sister, kid. She only wants what's best for you."
Honor and I stare at each other for a long moment before he turns and stomps down the road. A pebble of guilt sinks in my stomach. I hate that I upset him, but it's for his own good. He doesn't need to get sick like Eliza.
"Come on, Victor," Thomas finally says, breaking through the uneasy tension. He hides his chin in his coat. "Let's wait inside. We're going to catch frostbite out here."
"Well ..." Victor wraps his arms around himself as he debates what to do. "Pa did come home this morning. Maybe if we offer to sort through the merchandise, he'll let us stay."
We tuck our gloves in our pockets and follow Victor into the store as a soothing warmth rushes over us. A few men with mouths full of chewing tobacco trade stories around the pot-bellied stove in the corner. They take turns spitting wads of brown scud into a metal spittoon, and don't bother to glance over as we enter.
Mrs. Lloyd is elbow-deep in a crate, pulling out stock her husband purchased on his trip. When she looks up, her eyes narrow. "Oh no, Victor. Not today. We're too busy."
Victor shoots us a quick look. "But Ma, they came to help."
Her thin eyebrows raise in suspicion. Just as she opens her mouth to respond, a deep voice interrupts from behind the counter. "Well, I think that's a marvelous idea."
Mr. Lloyd curves around his wife, cradling a sack of chicken feed in his arms like an infant. When he plops it beneath a table, a cloud of black soot rises from the floor. He fans it away from his face. He's a tall man, with long limbs and a head full of dark hair.
"Willard, this store is no place for a bunch of kids." Mrs. Lloyd fixes us with a glare. "Now, run along. You should be playing outside."
In this weather? I open my mouth to protest, but then clamp it shut. There's no point in arguing with someone who's hell-bent on having the final say.
"Oh, Kitty, stop being such a battle ax! It's colder than a witch's teat out there. Let the kids come in and warm up, for goodness sakes." Mr. Lloyd grins as he smoothes down his slicked back hair. He reaches into a bin and pulls out a fistful of candy, pressing a small golden disk into each of our hands. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth, that's what I always say. We could use the extra help around here. It was a real bitch getting through all that snow and now I'm ready for some sleep."
Mrs. Lloyd gasps. "Willard Lloyd, you'd better watch that mouth of yours!"
He ignores the splayed hands on her hips and the angry creases across her forehead. "I rode half the night in that damned wagon and my buttocks are killing me. I'll tell you what, it'll be a real blessing when that railroad is finally finished and I don't have to make these god-awful trips anymore." He stifles a yawn, the dark circles beneath his eyes proving his point.
Mrs. Lloyd needles him in the side with her finger and mutters a string of words I can't make out. I tune out their bickering and pop the sticky treat into my mouth. The rich flavor of butterscotch explodes across my tongue.
"Victor, how about you work on the tool display?" Mr. Lloyd turns away from his nagging wife and nods toward me and Thomas. "And you two can stock the shelves with jars from them there crates." He shows us what to sort and how to sort it before disappearing into their living quarters with Mrs. Lloyd stalking after him.
When we shrug off our coats and scarves, Thomas looks at me sort of funny. "So, we're really doing this then?'
I pull two tins of coffee beans from the box and set them eye-level on the shelf, all the while avoiding his gaze. "What—stock the shelves? If we want to stay warm, I guess we have no choice."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
I steal a glance at the men gathered around the stove. Even though they're not paying attention, I still lower my voice. "Sneaking into the mansion is the only way we're going to learn more about Mr. Baptiste. Unless, you have a better idea?"
"I just want to make certain you know what you're doing. If we get caught—"
I cut him off and finally meet his eyes. "If you don't want to do this, why did you volunteer?"
"Because I'm not letting you go alone," he hisses back. Thomas stares at me for a moment before reaching into the crate. He grabs a jar and turns it back and forth in his hand, feigning interest in the contents. "I know better than to argue with you. Once you get an idea in your head, no one's going to change it. You're as headstrong as an old mule."
Heat rushes across my cheeks and prickles over my scalp. "I am not!"
"Oh, no?" When he turns to me, his lips curl up at one corner. "Remember a few years ago when my father taught us how to fish? You were so sure you were going to catch one first, and when you didn't, you wouldn't speak to me for a week."
I bite back a giggle and give him a playful shove. "That's because you were gloating."
"Was not." He places the jar on the shelf. "I even offered to let you keep it, and you told me I could—"
"Stick that sea bass where the sun doesn't shine." I'm laughing now, until the weight of what we're about to do settles across my shoulders. "Seriously, Thomas. What does that have to do with this?"
He grabs two more containers and lines them along the back of the rack. "Because I know you, and you don't like to be wrong." He stops what he's doing and studies me. "You're willing to sneak into someone's house to search for answers that may not exist."
My mouth goes dry and I shake my head. "I can't explain it, but I know Mr. Baptiste is hiding something. Maybe he's even responsible for what's going on? There are so many clues incriminating him."
"How? Because he moved to town around the same time the Milton kids died?" Thomas lets out a slow breath. "That doesn't make him guilty."
"It doesn't make him not." I arch my brows in a challenge. "Unless you believe what Mrs. Lloyd said about them being Undead?"
"I didn't say that."
"You did before," I remind him. "You agreed with your father when he said they did the right thing by burning Andrew and Agnes' hearts."
He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again.
I bite the inside of my cheek. "Look, Thomas. I don't want to do this. But it's the only way we're going to find out what's going on."
After a long beat, he nods and shifts back to the shelf. We empty the rest of the crate in silence but it's not until I pull out the last few jars that I find something interesting. Turning the container over in my hands, I read the label out loud. "Rattlesnake Oil. It says it's supposed to help with the common cold." I glance up. "Do you think we should stop by Eliza's house and let them know it's here? Maybe it will help her feel better?"
But Thomas isn't looking at me. He's staring out the window. "We'll have to do it later."
I follow his gaze just as Mr. Baptiste enters the store, the bell above the door giving a tinny clink.
Mrs. Lloyd is back behind the counter and pounces toward him with a toothy grin. "Mr. Baptiste! What can I help you with today?"
A ball of anxiety tightens in my chest as I push Thomas into action. We grab our coats and I wave at Victor as we scramble toward the door. Before we step into the cold, I take one final glance over my shoulder. When my eyes lock with Mr. Baptiste's, the air leaks from my lungs.
He's watching us. He's watching me. Almost like he knows what I'm up to.