The Secret by R.L. Stine Read Free Book Online

Rachel’s head with these stories, and she takes them too seriously.”
    â€œSo you do not believe in the curse?” Delilah asked him, locking her eyes onto his.
    â€œThere is no curse,” Jonathan replied, frowning. “And there would be no feud if Papa would only let it die. This is all of his own making—he brings trouble on himself. Our constant quest for the Goodes hasalmost ruled our lives, but the Goodes themselves have done nothing to hurt us.”
    â€œWhat about Abigail?” Rachel demanded.
    Jonathan paused. He didn’t like to think about Abigail.
    Abigail would still be alive if it were not for Papa’s crazy ideas, he thought bitterly. Papa forced us to live in Wickham when no decent family should have stayed there.
    Abigail’s death was Papa’s fault.
    Jonathan tried to shake away his unpleasant thoughts. He turned his gaze on Delilah. She was studying the portrait of Abigail.
    â€œAbigail looks a lot like you, Rachel,” Delilah said.
    â€œMost people say that,” said Rachel, smiling at Jonathan.
    â€œPerhaps we should talk about something else,” Jonathan said uncomfortably.
    â€œDo you have any brothers and sisters, Miss Wilson?” Rachel asked eagerly.
    â€œRachel, you may call me Delilah,” Delilah said. She turned to Jonathan and added, “You may, too.”
    Jonathan thought he saw her blush slightly.
    â€œI am an only child,” she told Rachel. “My mother died when I was born. I live with my father. He is a minister, but his congregation is very small We live on a small farm.”
    Jonathan studied her dress, made of homespun linen dyed pale green. For the first time he noticed how worn it was. The lace at the sleeves was frayed, and here and there the skirt was expertly patched.
    She probably wore her best dress to come calling on us, Jonathan thought. She must be very poor. It doesnot matter. She is still the prettiest girl I have ever seen.
    Jonathan walked into town a few days later to see the blacksmith. His mother wanted a new pot to hang over the kitchen fire.
    He ordered the pot from the blacksmith and left the shop. Just outside he bumped into a pretty, brownhaired girl in a dark blue dress and white sunbonnet.
    â€œDelilah Wilson! How pleasant to see you again.”
    â€œI am glad to see you, too, Jonathan.” She carried a small basket. Jonathan took the basket to carry for her. It was empty.
    â€œWhere are you going?” he asked.
    â€œI am on my way home,” she replied. “I have just come from Papa’s church. He has been there all morning with nothing to eat, so I brought him a bit of cheese and bread.”
    â€œI am on my way home, too, as it happens,” said Jonathan. “May I escort you?”
    Delilah smiled. “Thank you. That is very kind.”
    The afternoon sun shone bright and hot as they walked out of town and down the road to Delilah’s house. Jonathan could feel himself begin to sweat under his collar.
    â€œHow is your family?” Delilah asked. “Your mother and sister?”
    â€œQuite well, thank you,” said Jonathan.
    â€œI liked them both very much,” Delilah went on. “Your sister especially. She is very sweet.”
    Jonathan felt a little uncomfortable at the memory of Delilah’s visit—his mother’s confusion, Rachel’s talk of a family curse. Delilah is being polite, he decided. She must think us very strange.
    â€œI must apologize for Rachel’s behavior the other evening,” he said. “I hope she did not frighten you—or bore you—with her silly talk.”
    Delilah laughed. “Not at all. She is only a child, and children love wild stories. I was exactly the same at her age.”
    â€œI am sure you were much more sensible than Rachel,” Jonathan protested.
    â€œIf anything I was sillier. Just ask my father. At eight I was sure that a fox would come in my window in the