Free Dreamwood by Heather Mackey Page A

to snake oil,” he muttered darkly. “Never should have changed to electricity in the first place.”
    Lucy and Pete shrank back against the wall, giving him a wide berth.
    â€œWhat was that about?” Lucy asked. “What’s snake oil?”
    â€œFor the lamps,” Pete said. “It’s cheaper than electric. I guess we’re turning off the power.” He was about to say more when Anya came bustling by with a tray of coffee and sandwiches.
    â€œThank goodness you’re back,” she said breathlessly. “They’re in a state.”
    â€œAnya!” called Gordon from his study.
    â€œComing!” the cook replied and hurried off.
    Lucy and Pete followed after her.
    The door to the study was open, and Lucy could hear Dot’s agitated voice as well as Gordon’s defeated replies. They were standing in a small room decorated rather severely with gloomy landscape paintings and dark wood furnishings.
    â€œHe was growing it, Gordon. Right here. On our land!” Dot was standing over a desk, rifling through an explosion of papers. Two livid spots stood out on her thin cheeks.
    â€œLet’s be calm,” Gordon said, pacing behind her. “I’m sure he wouldn’t do any such thing.”
    Dot’s voice got high and shrill as she bent down to read. “It’s all here. Written down. Pages and pages of notes about how it grows. Look, it says here,
Rust is a fungus. I’ve managed to grow it and study it in a controlled environment.
”
    Lucy stepped closer. Pages and pages of notes—that had to be her father’s research.
    Gordon coughed. “He does say
controlled.
”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter!” Dot, her head down, hadn’t noticed Lucy’s approach. “He brought this on us,” she said despairingly. “We should never have let him anywhere near us. And to think—we took in his
child.
”
    Lucy’s stomach churned as she realized Dot was talking about her.
    Dot looked up and at that moment saw Lucy. But she didn’t apologize. Instead the sight of Lucy seemed to push her past some final barrier of rage. “Your father has ruined us!”
    It was as though she’d been slapped. For a moment Lucy was numb, unable to speak. She put a hand on one of the room’s high-backed chairs. “What do you mean?”
    â€œHis experiments.” Dot thrust out a notebook in front of her.
    Gordon looked at Lucy unhappily. “I was searching for some papers relating to our land deeds and I happened to look through your father’s notebooks. He grew Rust on our land and now it’s spread to our neighbors’ as well.”
    Lucy felt as if a block of ice had settled in her chest. Her father never would have done anything to hurt someone. And people were always grateful for his work. Sometimes they might pooh-pooh his ideas or methods. But he’d never been accused of anything like this.
    â€œThose notes are his research for a cure,” Lucy said. She looked at Pete—who’d come to stand beside her—hoping for corroboration. But he was stock-still, a look of anguish on his face.
    â€œWe’re lucky he’s disappeared then,” Dot said in fury. “Any more of his cure and the whole forest would be gone.”
    â€œDorothea,” Gordon said, reaching for his wife. “She’s just a child. She had nothing to do with this.”
    But Lucy had heard enough. Anything said against her father was as good as said against her.
    â€œHe was trying to help!” she cried. She knocked into Pete as she turned, storming from the room. She slammed the front door behind her and had the satisfaction of hearing the windows rattle.
    And then she was running, running with such fury she didn’t know where she was going, just away.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    For some time Lucy simply crashed and ran, pell-mell, into the woods. There’d been a path, of sorts,