The Peculiars by Maureen Doyle McQuerry Read Free Book Online

stiff black dress. Lena smiled at the ladies in recognition, but they were too engaged in conversation to notice her.
    The china teacups were delicate, covered with a pattern of blue forget-me-nots. Lena reached a trembling hand for the teapot. Her fingers wrapped around the thin handle. With practiced concentration she maneuvered the teapot with only one hand, steadying her cup with the other. Her long fingers made it much too easy to drop one of the tiny cups. By the time she had poured her tea and reached for a roll, a thin trickle of sweat had run between her shoulder blades.
    “It’s the fog, Mrs. Fetiscue.” Poppy Hat’s voice carried across the room. “It would drive anyone mad.” She lowered her voice. “It’s a cover for evil.”
    “Once,” her companion replied, “the fog didn’t lift for three weeks. Imagine that, Mrs. Fortinbras. You couldn’t hardly tell if it were day or night. That’s when the lot of them came slinking over the border. Killed a family in their own beds and then disappeared back to where they come from.”
    “Evil, Mrs. Fetiscue, pure evil. I don’t know how a God-fearing woman like yourself could have lived here so long.”
    “You know, sister, that ever since our husbands died—God rest their souls—I’ve counted you as my closest friend and ally. It’s how I’ve bore living in this heathen place.”
    Mrs. Fortinbras leaned across the table and patted her sister’s hand. “There is no friend like a sister, Mrs. Fetiscue. I’m glad to have been some encouragement.”
    By now everyone in the room was listening. Miss Brett entered from the kitchen carrying a steaming tray of eggs. “The fog is natural to all sea towns.”
    “It’s wicked!” declared Mrs. Fetiscue. “People do things under the cover of darkness they would never do in the light of day. Fog provides them the same benefit.”
    Mrs. Fortinbras nodded so vehemently that her poppies shook.
    “Are you saying the people of Knoster are wicked?” Miss Brett set the tray of eggs down with a thump.
    “No more than the average. But living so close to the borders of a land thick with heathens . . .” Mrs. Fortinbras’s voice trailed off, but the point was clear. “My sister and I are traveling into Scree to convert the heathens. We’ll have to get used to such things.”
    Miss Brett peered down the length of her nose.
    Lena couldn’t help herself. “Do you believe there are Peculiars in Scree?” she asked.
    “Oh, there are Peculiars, all right. But we won’t beconcerning ourselves with them, dear. Peculiars do not have souls. Nothing to convert.”
    The rest of breakfast continued with subdued conversation. As soon as she could politely escape the dining room, Lena fled. A strange hollowness had filled her at the missionary’s words. Perhaps this is how it feels to be soulless, she thought. Could one feel a soul? Lena concentrated very hard, focusing her attention on her rib cage. Surely that was where the soul would be encased. Nothing, except the anxious fluttering of her heart.
    Lena tried to put her unease aside. It was time to be businesslike, time to focus on the reasons she had stopped in Knoster. She drew a thick shawl over her fitted jacket and took her second-best purse out of her luggage—the first-best having been the one lost on the train. As she prepared to leave, she had two purposes in mind. The first was to stand on the shore and touch the sea. The second purpose required more courage: Find a reliable guide into Scree, one whom she could afford now that her circumstances were considerably reduced.
    All roads in Knoster wound down to the harbor. Foghorns beckoned, and Lena kept a good pace, although thick fog still obscured most of the view. Tall, crooked houses brooded like ghosts over the cobbled streets. Miss Brett had predicted the fog would burn off before noon and then Lena would be able to see some of the glories of Knob Knoster. The promise of a steam carousel near the boardwalk