Chapter 9

Susana sat at a long wooden table in the Virginia Historical Society's reading room. She had her pencil -- no pens were allowed -- and her notebook ready and was awaiting the librarian's return. An hour's worth of scanning card catalogs and holdings lists had produced several dozen listings for the Fryes and the Randalls in colonial Virginia. Susana was determined to get to the bottom of this so-called feud.

She stared out the window and tapped her pencil against the polished table. The apple blossoms were in full glory, the branches swaying gently in the light breeze outside. Richmond in late spring was something to behold, but the days were getting warmer and stickier. Soon the stranglehold of summer would be upon them.

The librarian arrived with a push cart. "Here you are, Ms. Randall," the older woman lilted. "Now, most of these are reproductions of the original documents, of course," she explained, looking down on Susana. There are a few originals here, but they are all less than a century old. Still, we ask that you handle them quite carefully." She placed Susana's list on the table in front of her. "These items," the librarian indicated red marks next to several of the listings, "are only available on microfilm. Come see me at the reference desk when you are ready to see them."

Susana nodded obediently, feeling completely overwhelmed. "Yes, thank you."

The librarian stepped away, and Susana stared at all of the books and file folders loaded onto the pushcart. She was dumbfounded. Where to begin? She looked back down at the list in front of her. Might as well begin and the beginning, she told herself. Several of the items at the top of her list would have to wait, as they were on microfilm. So she looked for the first available item, pulled the corresponding book from the cart, and started reading.

"Land holding records for Richmond, Virginia, and the surrounding counties in the mid-1600s," she muttered to herself as she scanned the table of contents.

* * * * *

Lily sat at the breakfast room table, and a half dozen bottles of tincture and extract stared back at her. She had one each of Tic's two potions; the rest she had created herself. In a pile beside the bottles was a small collection of sachets she had pulled together, and next to those lay a pile of herb-filled bags intended for brewing either teas or bath water.

"Sunlight for the body; moonlight for the heart," she whispered to herself. But what about the soul? she wondered. Maybe a combination of the two?

She glanced down at the grid she had drawn on the legal pad. It was time to run a few experiments, and she wanted to make sure she properly tracked the results. It had been a long time since she'd done any real research with herbal remedies. Even when she had worked for Tic in his home-based business, he kept her occupied mostly with the gardening chores, clipping plants, sorting through seeds, and labeling bottles and bags. Every once in awhile, though, he had let her help him organize his notes.

Baird dragged himself into the kitchen. He stopped briefly in the doorway to gauge what Lily was doing. Confident that she wouldn't be getting up soon, the old dog shuffled across the floor toward her and lay down at her feet beneath the table.

Feeling the thud of Baird's heavy body against her chair as he relaxed, Lily got an idea. She leaned forward and found the bottle marked 'day.' She grasped it in her fist and got up from the table, disturbing the dog. Baird let out a protesting sigh, but dropped his head back to the floor as Lily stepped over him. She cross to the far side of the kitchen, stopping in front of Baird's water bowl. Lily grabbed a small dropper from a nearby drawer and then knelt down on the floor. She opened the bottle, filled the dropper, and squeezed a few drops into the dog's water, counting each drop as it fell.

"One. Two. Three." She closed the bottle, slid it into her pocket, and stirred the water with her finger.

"Hey, Baird!" She called out cheerfully. The dog blinked back at her. "Are you thirsty, Baird?" Lily leaned closer to the floor in an attempt to get eye-level with the dog. She sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor. "I know I'm not Susana.... but could you just come over her and do this for me?"

Baird raised his head and looked at her.

"That's it, sweetheart!" Lily encouraged him. "Come on over, boy!" She stretched her arms toward him, beckoning him toward her. Baird struggled to get to his feet and slowly limped across the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry, Baird. I know it hurts. But this should help." Reaching her, Baird sat down beside Lily and stared down into his water bowl. "It's okay, Baird. This will make it all better." She tapped the side of the metal water bowl, and Baird leaned down to drink. "That's it. Good boy."

* * * * *

Hours had past, and Susana was still at the reading room table, scanning through old books looking for references to the Fryes and the Randalls and what might possibly have happened between them, any time between the 1600s and the twenty-first century. Susana checked her watch. She still had a couple of hours to go before the library was due to close, but still she knew that she wouldn't get to the microfilm today. She privately chastised herself for embarking on such a fool's errand.

Sure, there were plenty of mentions of both families over the years. The Randalls had been particularly well documented, given their wealth and early standing in the fledgling community. She knew all about their land-holdings, the higher-profile marriages and deaths, the annual income of the family tobacco trade for every year of its existence, save for the years during the Civil War and immediately following. There was less information about the Fryes, of course, given that they were simple tradesmen and were not a family of means. But they still popped up in the records here and there, usually related to business transactions, along with the occasional death notice.

But no mention of kidnapping, murder, or human sacrifices. No official records of any dark witches or curses and hexes. Even the two personal journals she'd found -- both written by prominent Randall women, of course -- made no mention of any such nefarious activities, though she had run across several terse mentions of the Frye name. But there was never any explanation for the anger behind the sparse words.

Susana rubbed her forehead and blinked at the text in the book before her. Her eyes were getting tired.

"Miss?" There was a light tap on her shoulder, and Susana looked up at the older woman standing over her. She was impeccably dressed and perfectly coifed.

"I'm sorry to bother you, dear," the woman smiled gently, her hands clasped delicately in front of her. "But I heard that you have been searching for material on the Randall and Frye families?"

Susana nodded, too burnt out to speak.

"I am a volunteer here in the society library," the woman explained. "May I sit down."

Susana was embarrassed, having forgotten her manners so completely. "Yes, please do," she stammered, getting up from her own seat to pull out a chair for her.

The older lady settled herself into the straight-back chair, and Susana attempted to organize her books and notes into tidier and more presentable piles.

"My name is Simone Carver," the lady said. "And you look to be a Randall."

Susana cleared her throat. "Yes, ma'am. Susana Randall. Susana Frye Randall," she added.

Mrs. Carver nodded and smiled. "I see. And what relation might you be to Thomas Icarus Frye, then?"

Susana blinked at her, then frowned. "Tic? You mean Ol' Tic, right?"

"Tic, yes," Mrs. Carver smiled sadly. "He was just Tic when I knew him. Nothing old about either one of us, not yet." She looked down at her hands and wondered where the time had gone.

Susana leaned forward in her chair, her eyes wide. "You knew Tic?"

Mrs. Carver smiled across the table at Susana. "Knew him well, years ago." She took a moment to adjust the high collar of her linen shirt. "Tell me, how is he doing?"

Susana's jaw tightened and she looked down at the table. "I, I am afraid I have some bad news for you, Mrs. Carver."

The elderly woman tightened her hands into fists in her lap, beneath the table. She closed her eyes only for a moment, then sniffed back the rising emotion and again adjusted her collar. "I see." She patted the hair at the side of her head. "And when, when did it happen."

"Quite recently. There wasn't a funeral, and only a small announcement in the paper," Susana explained.

"What is to become of the house?" Mrs, Carver asked.

"Actually, he left it to me and my cousin, Lily."

Mrs. Carver smiled. "Good, it's staying in the family then. You know that was his grandparents' place?"

Susana nodded. "Yes, ma'am, we found one of his grandmother's books the other night."

Mrs. Carver fixed her with a sharp look. "Did you find the book?"

"The book?" Susana responded quizzically.

"If you found it, then you know the one I speak of." Mrs. Carver rested her hands on the reading table in front of her and glanced at the books Susana had been studying. "You've got quite a collection here. What is it that you're looking for?"

"There's some old rumor," Susana began, not really wanting to get into the particulars of her research. "I just wanted to find out what may or may not have happened a long time ago, to cause a rift between the Randalls and the Fryes."

Mrs. Carver relaxed back into her chair and smiled at Susana. "Let me guess. Your head has been filled with those ridiculous tales of human sacrifice, eh?"

Susana looked across the table at her in surprise. "Well, yeah, something like that."

"And you've heard this from your own family," Mrs, Carver continued. "The Randall side."

"Pretty much." Catching herself, Susana added, "Yes, ma'am."

Ms. Carver laughed, dropping most of her formal demeanor. "Nonsense," she said with a wave of her hand. "You would have thought that story would have died out by now, but not in this town."

Susana smiled at the change in her companion. "Richmond always did love a good scandal."

"Indeed," she responded with a smirk, but then her face grew more serious. "Problem is, we never let them go, do we?"

Susana didn't understand. She waited for Mrs. Carver to continue, squaring her notes in front of her in the silence.

"Let me tell you what really happened," Mrs. Carver offered at last. "But on one condition." She raised her finger as she looked at Susana.

Susana nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Carver."

"That condition is that you must call me Simone. No more of this 'yes,ma'am,' 'no,ma'am,' nonsense. And..." Simone took a deep breath. "You must answer me a few questions about Tic. Agreed?"

Susana smiled, "Yes, ma'am. I mean–" she laughed as Simone shot her a teasing look of warning. "Simone," Susana continued. "I would be grateful for whatever you might be able to tell me."

Simone pushed herself away from the table and stood up. "Then I think you should come with me," she suggested to Susana. "They don't take kindly to much conversation here in the reading room," she said, indicating the reference desk with a node of her head.

Susana got up from the table and tried to organize the books before she left.

"You won't need to trouble yourself with those any more," Simone offered.

Susana smiled and nodded. She picked up her notebook and pencil and followed Simone out of the reading room.

Simone led Susana out of the main building through a side door. Susana blinked at the bright sunlight as they stepped outside, and she pulled her sunglasses out of her jacket pocket and slid then onto her face. Simone simply shielded her eyes with one hand and walked down a gently sloping sidewalk leading toward the back of the building.

"There's a little garden back here," Simone told her, "where I like to sit sometimes. It's a good place to have a quiet lunch or catch up on my reading."

Simone moved quickly for a woman of her years, and Susana nearly dropped her notebook trying to keep up with her. They rounded the corner and found themselves surrounded by dogwood trees. It was only a few short steps to a marble bench, and Simone gestured to Susana to sit down beside her.

"I can't say that I know the whole truth, of course," Simone began. "But there's only so much you can find in books."

Susana exchanged her pencil for a pen and uncapped it, ready to take down Simone's story. Simone placed her hand over Susana's pen. "You don't need to write this down, dear," Simone suggested. "Just listen. That will be enough."

Simone glanced around the small garden, appreciating the flowers in bloom and feeling the gentle breeze on her skin. She smiled at the blossoms on the dogwood trees hanging over them. "It's hard to imagine," she said softly, "that a place of such beauty could be filled with so much pain. Hate even." She looked down at her hands, "This is how it was told to me," she began.

* * * * *

Randolph Randall was the head of the Randall family and was the first Randall -- the first Randall son, anyway -- to have been born in the New World. He was the son and heir of William Randall, himself the second son of a British baron; William had means but no title in the Old World and so had sailed for America to build his own empire. Life had been hard in the colonies, but the Randalls had never wanted for anything. They generally married the prettiest girls from the wealthier families, they went to church services on Sunday -- they even owned the church. The Randalls were not a family that anyone wanted to cross swords with.

Randolph was getting on in years. He was fifty-seven, and a widower, having lost his wife to a flu epidemic several years prior. He had four strong sons and two daughters, all grown and married. He owned the town and was a friend to those who were useful to him. His land holdings were large, and while he generally treated well his tenant farmers and those tradesmen who worked in his shops, he dealt harshly with anyone who dared question his authority.

Randolph had spotted a pretty girl in the town, Belinda Carmichael. She was hardly from a wealthy family -- her people were blacksmiths and cobblers -- but she was young and comely. Seeing her straw colored hair and pink cheeks, he decided it was time he should marry again, that young Belinda was the answer to his loneliness.

And so Randolph bought himself his new bride. He paid a princely sum to Belinda's father for her hand, even over her protests that her heart belonged to another. Randolph knew there was no suitor who could offer Belinda what he could, and he also knew that his power and status could buy anything or anyone. In the days leading up to the wedding, however, Randolph did arranged for several of his men to stand guard at the small Carmichael home. While he claimed it was for the protection and comfort of his bride and her family, it was understood that the guards were there to prevent the entrance of one Nicholas Frye, an apprentice apothecary who was Belinda's true love.

The day of the wedding arrived, and poor Belinda -- who had made no secret of her dread of marrying the elder Randolph -- awoke in tears and wept through the entire ceremony. She was only sixteen when she married Randolph in the community church -- a ceremony that was well attended by everyone in the community, save for the Frye family. Young Nicholas was barred from making an appearance, and the rest of the Frye family stated away in protest. Belinda didn't touch a bite at the celebratory feast that followed the ceremony, and she was numb with grief as she was led to her bridal bed.

Sensing her desperate state, the servants had removed all sharp objects from the bed chamber. Though she should have been glad that Randolph had been called away on business for several hours, she knew that her reprieve was only temporary. She had been desperate for some potion, a deadly poison that might save her from this wedding night; but such medicine could have only come from the Fryes, and she had been forbidden contact with her beau's entire family.

She sat alone in the bed chamber, preferring the hard chair for the comfort of the bed. She had refused the assistance of the servants, urging her to change into her bedclothes. She would not willingly remove her clothes for this despicable man, even if he was now her legal husband. As the night deepened, Belinda wept alone. At last, mercifully, she fell asleep.

Belinda did not hear the commotion downstairs in the Randall homestead. She did not hear the shouts from below her window, nor the heavy gang of footsteps rushing toward her door. But when the door was forced open, she awoke with a start. She cried out at first, confronted with the figure standing in silhouette in the doorway, certain that the moment she had dreaded had finally come. But then she was soothed by a familiar voice.

"Belinda! It is I, Nicholas. I have come for you!'

She jumped up from her chair and ran to her lover's arms, only then noticing the guard that lay unconscious outside her bedroom door. She looked into Nicholas' face in dismay, but he reassured her gently as he held her close. "We've not hurt anyone. They will all be recovered by morning. But come! We must depart quickly." Taking her by the hand, Nicholas ran with her out of the bed chamber, down the stairs, and out of the house, where his brothers and cousins were waiting. Nicholas put Belinda on his horse, then climbed on behind her and spurred the horse onward as they fled out of the city and into the surrounding woods. Nicholas' kinsmen followed behind on foot, preventing any of Randall's men who might try to pursue.

* * * * *

Susana followed the story with intense interest, but Simone had suddenly stopped talking.

"And then what happened?" she prompted her.

Simone turned to Susana with raised eyebrows. "You know the ending. They lived happily ever after."

Susana frowned, confused. "Wait a minute. So that was the big kidnapping? What about the murder?"

Simone laughed. "There was no murder. There was no satanic ritual, no devil worship. Certainly, Mr, Randall wasn't particularly pleased over this turn of events. He pursued the matter legally..."

"Legally?" Susan asked in disbelief. "He didn't go after them? After Belinda?"

Simone scratched her chin. "There may have been some brief pursuit. But the business he had been conducting that night turned out to be more desirable to him than Belinda had ever been."

"You're kidding."

Simone smiled. "He had just been offered a contract with the Virginia Company. The Virginia Company had an exclusive contract to provide tobacco to the Crown, to England, and was making a number of colonists, including the Randalls, quite wealthy. But Randolph Randall struck a particularly attractive deal that evening, one that would bring him an army of slave labor to work his fields, and would allow him to kick the tenant farmers off of his property, so that he could devote all of his land to the production of tobacco."

Susana looked down at her notebook. "Slaves...." she said quietly.

"My dear," Simone toucher her on the arm, "most of the old Richmond families you still see here today were once slave owners. That's just the way of it." Simone looked up into the sky. "The good families, anyway."

"So.... what about the curse?" Susana asked.

Simone laughed lightly. "There is no curse. Never has been. At least, not at that time." Simone gathered her thoughts, then continued. "Immediately following Randolph's business boon, he was set to become even more powerful and wealthy than ever. He had no trouble convincing Belinda's sister -- her younger sister, if you can imagine -- to take her sister's place as his bride, and I'm sure she jumped at the chance. His marriage to Belinda was immediately invalidated, with the second wedding to the sister taking place less than a week later. The Carmichael family was able to keep the dowry they had received for Belinda, and even a bit extra for their trouble. As for Nicholas and Belinda...." Simone smiled wistfully. "They pretty much made the life they wanted for themselves. They married, had children, the usual. Nicholas eventually took over the family business."

Simone turned to Susana and smiled. "The very business that Tic inherited from his grandparents. And that you seem to have on your hands now. Funny, a Randall running the Frye business."

Susana smiled, still trying to absorb everything she had just heard. "Yes, ma'am," she said quietly, then looked up into Simone's eyes. "But how do you know all of this?"

"Because I was born Simone Amanda Carmichael. It's my family, too," she explained. "Even if the relation is distant now."

Susana almost laughed. Even after thirty years in this Southern capital, she still couldn't get over how everyone was inevitably related to everyone else.

"You wanted to know about Tic...?" Susana asked Simone?

"Yes," Simone replied, swallowing hard. "Did you know him well?"

Susana shook her head, "I didn't know him at all. And yet he left me his estate...."

Simone's face softened. "You're a Frye, child. You said it yourself."

"Yes, my mother insisted that I have Frye as my middle name. I don't know why." Susana thought for a moment, remembering her bitter argument with Bitsy over lunch. "Since there's so much bad blood between the families. Or was. Or.... whatever."

Simone smiled as she touched Susana gently on the shoulder. "It only remains for those who want to hold onto it. Those old rumors were born merely of jealousy and embarrassment. Belinda wounded Randolph's pride when she ran away from him, so whispers began that she had been bewitched by Nicholas Frye. And it just grew from there."

"That's it?" Susana asked in astonishment.

"That's it," Simone nodded. "But tell me, was Tic happy? Do you know?"

* * * * *

Lily watched Baird closely. She thought he had drunk enough of the water for the herb to have an effect on him, but she wasn't sure. If she had been hoping for an immediate transformation, she was disappointed. Baird had just traipsed back across the floor to resume his place beneath the breakfast table, and had promptly fallen asleep.

Sitting on the floor, Lily dropped her hands into her lap and leaned back against the kitchen cabinetry. "Great," she sighed, looking down at the brown bottle in her hands. She rolled the glass bottle in her fingers, wondering what she had expected. Herbal medicine required patience, she reminded herself. These were just aids that helped the body heal itself, not miracle drugs that were advertised in those commercials that always came blaring from the television.

She got up on her knees, then noticed that Baird was watching her. There was a strange light in his usually tired, mournful eyes. He raised his head as she stood up, and he watched her expectantly. He seemed to be asking her a question. Lily wished Susana were home; she could tell her what Baird was trying to say.

Lily rested the bottle on the kitchen counter and looked down at Baird. "I don't know, boy," she said to him. "Don't know what to tell you."

Suddenly, Baird sprang to his feet and leapt out from beneath the breakfast table, sliding a bit across the floor as he came to a halt. Lily took a step back, startled by his sudden surge of energy. He shook the full length of his body to wake himself up, then chased his tail.

He's chasing his tail! Lily couldn't believe her eyes. This ancient dog looked like a mere pup.

Baird stopped suddenly again and stared at Lily. His look was intense but not menacing. If only Lily knew what he was trying to tell her.

He barked. Baird barked and wagged his tail, doing a little dance across the floor. Getting no response from Lily, Baird turned and dashed through the dog door out into the backyard.

"Oh, wow," Lily muttered to herself. She quickly grabbed her pad and pen from the table and followed the dog outside.

* * * * *

Susana's head was still reeling from her conversation with Simone. All this time, years, generations.... so much animosity and bitterness based on nothing at all? Certainly not everyone had played into the rumors, but others had latched on with a vengeance. She though of her stepmother, remembering her vitriol over lunch. But Bitsy was neither Frye nor Randall, not really. Why would she care?

She walked through the front door, only vaguely aware of the door closing behind her. Lily was at the diner, no doubt, which suited Susana just fine. She needed some quiet space to herself just now. She climbed the stairs slowly, her eyes almost completely closed. She would just get to her room, slip off her shoes, and get into bed. She didn't care if she slept straight through 'til morning.

Susana crossed the threshold into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. She kicked her leather loafers across the floor and simply let her body fall sideways onto the comfort of the old quilt. Adjusting her body on the bed, her shoulder came up against something hard. Susana turned over to find that someone had placed an old book on the bed.

"Oh, no," Susana groaned. "Not another book!"

She pulled herself up to sitting on the bed and pulled the book into her lap. It was an old, leather-bound journal, thick with handwritten pages. Carefully, she lifted the front cover to reveal the introductory page. In what was now familiar handwriting, Susana recognized Tic's inscription: "Personal Journal, Thomas Icarus Frye, 1942-1947."

"Tic's journal..." Susana said out loud. She turned the page and started to read.