He withdrew his hand.

Carolyn braced.

Her eyes moved over to Douglas. He smiled at her, and mouthed the words again that he had said that day: I love you.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Young was saying as he looked down at the piece of paper in his hand.

“Who is it?” Linda called out, her eyes wide with terror as she gripped her husband’s hand.

The old man looked up, and his gaze told Carolyn what she feared most had come true.

He was looking at Douglas.

“I am so sorry, my little hoodlum.” And he began to cry.

“It’s okay, Uncle Howie,” Douglas said, walking over to him and embracing him. “It’s okay.”

Paula was sobbing. Linda brought Dean’s hand to her lips and kissed it.

Carolyn couldn’t move.

No.

A voice inside her was saying it was wrong.

No, it’s not Douglas.

She saw Ryan and Chelsea exchange a small smile.

He rigged the lottery.

It was Diana’s voice.

Philip rigged the lottery!

Carolyn’s eyes darted over to Philip, who was moving toward the fireplace with the box.

Don’t let him dispose of the names.

Carolyn bolted. “Stop!”

Everyone in the room looked at her.

“Don’t turn that box over into the fire!” she commanded Philip.

“What are you talking about?” he barked.

“I want to see the names!”

Philip’s face tightened. “Absolutely not. That is not part of the tradition. Ever since Aunt Margaret began writing the names, the slips of paper were always burned immediately after the lottery took place. We cannot depart from what has always been done.”

“Give me that box,” Carolyn ordered.

“You are not a family member,” Philip said, and he began to tip the box over the flames.

“No, she isn’t,” said Paula. “But I am.”

She had darted over to the fireplace just in time to snatch the box from Philip’s hands.

“How dare you?” he shouted. “Give me that box!”

“Philip!”

The voice was Howard Young’s. The old man’s eyes were black with fury. His face was red, every vein in his neck and forehead pulsing.

“Stand aside, Philip,” Mr. Young said. “Paula, bring me the box.”

She obeyed.

Carolyn saw Ryan and Chelsea take a few steps toward the back of the room. Philip’s face was bright red as he watched the proceedings in mute horror.

Paula handed the box to Mr. Young. With his trembling hands he lifted the lid, slipping his long, gnarled fingers inside. He removed each slip of paper and read the name that was on it.

“Dean,” the old man’s voice intoned. He removed another slip. “Paula.” And another slip. “Douglas.”

There was a gasp. Douglas’s name had already been drawn. There shouldn’t have been another slip in the box with his name.

“Howard,” the old man read. His lips curled as he read the two final names. “Douglas.” He paused. “And Douglas.”

He spun around to confront Philip. Carolyn was stunned that he could move so fast.

“Four times Douglas’s name was entered in that box! Four times!”

“Uncle Howard,” Philip said, his hands imploring.

“And not one slip with the name of Philip!” His eyes were blazing. He spun now to point a crooked finger at the two young people cowering in a far corner of the room. “And neither was there any slip bearing the name of Chelsea or Ryan!”

Thunder boomed from above the house, as if the point needed any emphasis.

“How dare you?” Mr. Young growled.

“Uncle Howard, please…” Philip said.

“How many years has this been going on?” Paula pushed forward, only a few inches from Philip’s face. “How many years?” Her face contorted in grief and anger. “My father died in that room! Your brother, Uncle Philip!”

“I haven’t,” he stammered. “This is the first time-”

“Liar!” Howard Young snarled. “You are a liar, Philip!”

Chelsea was sobbing in the back of the room.

“If I had my way,” Mr. Young said, “I’d send you into that room right now, Philip.” He turned away from his nephew, as if he couldn’t bear to look at him. Paula left Philip’s side and helped the old man sit in his chair. “But I don’t have my way,” Howard Young said. “I only have the way that has been passed down to us for eighty terrible years.”

He let out a long sigh. “The lottery needs to take place again.”

He closed his eyes as if he wanted to die right there. Then, with apparent effort, he forced his eyes open again. “Dean,” he asked, “will you draw up a new list of names?”

“No!” Chelsea cried, crumpling to her knees. Ryan stood beside her, his face white with shock and horror.

“Write the name of every Young in this room,” the old man instructed. “And write it only once.”

Philip sat down in front of the fire, his face in his hands.

Carolyn hurried to Douglas’s side.

“I knew it wasn’t you,” she said, no longer worried if the family discovered their relationship. “I knew it wasn’t supposed to be you.”

He smiled wanly. “Oh, but I think it is supposed to be me. Every Douglas Young before me has been called into that room.”

She took his hand in hers.

Dean was writing the names. “Hurry along, Dean,” Howard Young commanded. “It is nearly midnight.”

The old man was once again presented the box.

He took a deep breath and inserted his hand.

Carolyn squeezed Douglas’s hand.

Howard Young looked at the name on the piece of paper he had drawn. “It makes no difference,” he said, almost offhandedly. “Philip’s perfidy was still an act of cowardice and betrayal, one that none of us will ever forget or forgive.”

He handed the paper to Dean, who looked down at it with shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking over at Douglas.

“You see?” Douglas tried to smile. “I told you it was meant to be me.”

In the back of the room, Chelsea’s sobs suddenly ceased. Dean returned to his wife, who embraced him. Paula walked over to the window, softly crying. Philip remained on the hearth, his face still in his hands. And Howard Young simply sat in his chair, his face like stone, staring at Douglas.

“Carolyn,” the old man said.

She felt like stone herself. She couldn’t move.

“Place the amulet around Douglas’s neck,” Howard Young instructed. “Then it is time for us to take him downstairs.”

Chapter Twenty-four

The amethyst sparkled as it hung around Douglas’s neck. He looked down at it, fingering it carefully. Then he looked back into Carolyn’s eyes.

“We’ve just got to believe,” he told her.

He had asked his uncle for a moment alone with Carolyn. No questions were asked. Everyone seemed to grasp the truth of their relationship. Everyone had filed out of the parlor, led by the humiliated Philip. Uncle Howie had closed the double doors behind him, but not before cautioning, “We don’t have much time.”

Thunder crashed overhead as Douglas took Carolyn in his arms and kissed her.

“The amulet will protect me,” he whispered in her ear. “Diana said it had great power.”

She nodded against his chest. It was as if she couldn’t raise her eyes to look at him.

“But whatever happens,” Douglas added, “you have got to always believe you did everything you could.”

She finally lifted her beautiful green eyes to his.

“I wish it had been anyone but you,” she admitted. “I wish it had been Philip.”

Douglas shook his head. “It was supposed to be me. Ever since Uncle Howie told me about the room and the lottery, I felt it was going to be me. My father went into that room. My grandfather. My great-grandfather.”

Carolyn clutched at his shirt, pressing her face against his chest once more. The amulet brushed against her. She kissed it for luck.

Douglas’s mind raced back in time, to the day ten years ago when his father stood in this room, no doubt holding his mother much as Douglas held Carolyn now. Douglas had been sound asleep upstairs, unaware of the drama that was taking place beneath him. Mom surely clutched at Dad’s shirt the way Carolyn was doing. She would never be the same after Dad’s death. She had loved him that much.