Excerpt from The Girls with No Names by Serena Burdick, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I shook the image from my head. The ground beneath my boots, the tree under my hands, the smell of rotting fish and manure were not my imagination. The twigs snapping under Luella's feet were real, the rapid knock on wood, silence, then the sound of a heavy bolt sliding back and the click of a latch. A light flared and the ghastly face of a man appeared, bearded, with red-rimmed eyes and gnarled teeth exposed in a mouth wide with surprise. I screamed. The man jumped and made as if to slam the door when he saw my sister.

"What the devil?" His voice boomed and the lantern in his hand swung, splintering light across the trees.

I was about to scream again when I heard my sister say, honeysweet, "I apologize for the disturbance, sir, but it appears we've gotten waylaid in the dark. If we could trouble you for your lantern, just to get us home, we'd be ever grateful. I'll have it returned first thing in the morning."

The man held up the light and stepped forward, peering into my sister's face, and then glanced down her dress. "We?" he said.

It disgusted me the way he looked at her. I'd seen men look at my sister like that before, but we'd never been unchaperoned and alone in the dark.

"My sister is just behind me." Luella took a step back, closer to me, but still out of reach.

"The screamer?" The man barked a laugh.

"If you can't spare a light, we'll simply take the road." There was a quiver to Luella's voice as she retreated.

"Hang on, now." The man caught her by the arm.

A ghost would have been better than this solid man of flesh and blood. I thought of crying out for help, but there was no one to hear us. Maybe I could lunge out of the darkness and take him by surprise, knock the light from his hand, then grab my sister and run.

I did none of these things, standing paralyzed with fear as my sister took a step closer to the man, the hem of her skirt brushing his leg.

"Oh, you dear, sweet thing." She placed her hand over his that gripped her arm, the affection startling him enough to ease his hold. "Aren't you kind to be concerned. Your chivalry will not be overlooked." In a flash she kissed his pocked cheek, at the same time slipping her arm free and plucking the lantern from his hand. Turning swiftly with two long strides, she caught me by the hand and rushed us up the hill as fast as she could.

Plunged into darkness, the man stood dumbfounded on his doorstep, knocked so far off balance by that kiss that I was sure for years to come he would think we were the ghosts who had come to haunt him.

We didn't slow down until we reached our front door where the fear of facing our parents replaced my fear of the dark and the ghost of hanging oystermen.

Out of breath, I pitched forward with my head between my knees.

"You're not going to have a blue fit, are you?" Luella sounded unsympathetic. If I had a fit, our parents would blame her, since she was older and therefore responsible for me. I was not allowed to run; it was a simple rule to follow.

I shook my head no, unable to speak as I took slow steady breaths, regaining my equilibrium.

"Good." She blew out the lantern, grinning at me as she stowed it behind the abelia bush, proud of her cunning to obtain it and not at all bothered at the idea of being in trouble for missing curfew. Daddy would get angry. Mama would scold. Luella would look appropriately regretful. She'd apologize, kiss Mama, throw her arms around Daddy and it would be as if she'd never done any wrong because, for all of my sister's rebelliousness, she was adored.

Tonight, however, we had no need to worry. Neala was dusting the glass panel on the grandfather clock as we stepped into the hall. It gave a resonant tick tock announcing our lateness. "I'm not even going to ask," she said in her Irish brogue. Neala, our household maid, was young and "spirited," as Mama called her. Maybe that's why she never tattled on us. "Your parents are out, and Velma's been kind enough to leave your dinner in the kitchen. No use setting the dining room for the likes of you two." She swatted the dust cloth at me as I passed, shaking her fiery-red head in mock disapproval.

Excerpted from The Girls with No Names by Serena Burdick, Copyright © 2020 by Serena Burdick. Published by Park Row Books.