Case Closed by Jan Burke

unfamiliar sound to any of us.
    â€œWhy did you not tell me?” I asked my father.
    â€œShe did not want us to take you from your school,” he said. “She has come to believe you will be safer there than here.”
    I hurried to her bedside. She looked so thin and weak.
    â€œJohn, you are home!” she whispered to me as I sat beside her. “Rebecca, Daniel, and Robert are with the Lord. I’ll be with them soon. They are good children. They’ll not bother me. I have not dreamt of them. They won’t come and take me.”
    â€œWhat does she mean?” I asked my father, when she fell asleep again.
    â€œWinston!” he said angrily. “He’s all about the village, telling everyone that the consumption is caused by vampires.”
    â€œVampires!”
    â€œYes. He tells his tales to any who will hear him. Gets the most ignorant of them to believe that the spirits of the dead consume the living, and thus the living are weakened!”
    â€œBut surely no one believes such things!”
    â€œIn the absence of any cure, do you blame them for grasping at any explanation offered to them? Grief and fear will lead men to strange ways, Johnny, and Winston can persuade like the devil himself!”
    â€œYes, he was ever one to seek attention,” I agreed.
    â€œHe has gained a great deal of it during this crisis,” my father said. “And the rituals he has driven some of the more superstitious ones to perform! It sickens me!” He shivered in disgust.
    Mother died two nights after Christmas, as Father held her, singing hymns to her. The next day, he dressed her in her favorite dress and sent word to the undertaker. The stonecarver had already completed her headstone, and her burial place had long been chosen.
    Noah wrote to me of Nathan’s illness in late January of 1892, and I hurried home again. That first night back, as I studied my father’s face, etched in grief, I saw that my mother’s death had wounded him even more deeply than I had imagined. I had never doubted their love or devotion to one another, but I had not before realized how much of his strength must have come from her. If this great man could be made so weak, what would become of us? I suddenly felt as small and frightened as a boy of Nathan’s age.
    â€œPapa!” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
    He looked at me and smiled a little. “It is some time since you called me ‘Papa.’ ”
    â€œYou—you need your sleep,” I said. “Won’t you go up to bed?”
    The smile faded. “So empty, that room  . . .” he murmured.
    â€œPlease, it’s so late and you seem so tired—”
    â€œI cannot—I will not be able to sleep there.”
    Understanding dawned. “Then I’ll make a place up for you here, near the fire. But you must sleep. Please. Nathan and Noah need you. I need you.”
    And so he consented, but when I left him to go back to Nathan, he was staring into the fire.
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    The next morning, my father gently shook me awake. I sat up stiffly in the chair next to the bed where Nathan still slept. I could hear our dogs barking. Father gestured for me to step into the hallway.
    â€œWinston is on his way up the drive! I’ve asked Noah to delay him all he can. But I must tell you this—make sure Nathan hears nothing of his foolish talk.”
    I started to tell him that Nathan’s head was already full of Winston’s foolish talk, but he had hurried off.
    I stood near the window of Nathan’s room, straining to hear the conversation that was taking place below. Winston was a large man, whose new derby, well-made coat and fine boots signaled his prosperity, but could not improve his rough features. As my father approached, Winston’s pock-marked cheeks were flushed. He eyed the dogs warily, until Noah called them to heel.
    â€œWill you not ask me in,