When the Black Roses Grow (11 page)

ELEVEN

A secluded, breathtaking cabin rested amongst the trees in a quiet corner of the meadow. Vines of ivy grew in all directions along the outside walls, like fingers, they stretched from the ground and spread up the wood to the rafters. Smoke billowed from the chimney and floated through the branches, leaving a lingering haze above the tiny roof.

“’Tis beautiful here.” My astonishment was not more than whispered breaths as I halted along the trail.

Bushes of wild flowers and plants outlined a path down to the front door, their soft petals fluttered in the light breeze. Even in the daylight, the umbrella of trees cast shadows down upon the cottage, and candlelight flickered from the few windows.

Emerged from my dreams, I only believed something as this could exist in my imagination, not in real life.

“Thank you.”

“No, James, ‘tis absolutely a beautiful home. How did you find it?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “We just found it. Logan and I spent a few days working on fixing a few loose boards or broken windows. Logan doth not care for the place, but I like it, and Willow loves it.”

“Willow?”

“My sister.”

“Quite a unique name.”

“She is quite a unique girl. My parents chose her name—my brother and I did not, but the story of her began with a willow tree, so they named her as just.”

“Do you know the story?”

He shook his head, and a spark twinkled in his eyes. “’Twas their secret. Not kept out of malice, but for them to share with one another and no other.”

He drew my body into his, kissed my forehead, and wrapped his arms around me. The deep breath he sighed blew my curls and tickled my ears.

“I suppose such is part of the enjoyment,” he whispered. “A husband and wife who share their own language that no one else knows—secrets, hopes, dreams, even desires.”

Leaving me speechless, his words tickled through my mind. Each one brought life back into deep thoughts of love and a life lived with a husband. Desires and dreams, I buried months ago, casting them aside with the delusion that I did not need them or want them.

James outstretched his hand, and after I entwined my fingers through his, he led me down the pathway through the flower bushes. Rocks crunched under my feet, a rhythmic tone as I stepped: right, left, right, left. I tugged and twisted my apron with my free hand—a nervous fidget. My heart pounded, my pulse deafened.

James opened the door, and nodded as his hand gently guided me inside. The scent of boiling stew and baking bread filled the air of the cozy home. Just as perfect on the outside, the inside breathed a flawless sigh.

Each piece of furniture was carved out of thick wood branches and tree trunks. Some still wore bark in places, while others chiseled down to the bare entrails with the pale sand color and dark brown knots.

A fire burned in the corner hearth, and a cast iron pot hung over the sparking and crackling flames. Next to the fireplace rested a carving stand and cabinets for the kitchen and a beautiful table with three chairs.

On the other side of the room, four different chairs perched on thick legs, each with a tiny table at its side, home to a few books and candle holders. They surrounded another fireplace, a quite space for reading or worship in the evening hours before bedtime, and separated from the kitchen by a thin staircase that climbed up to another floor.

I tiptoed around the room before facing James. “’Tis absolutely breathtaking.”

“Do thy wish to meet Willow?”

“Is she well enough?”

“She was when I left yesterday afternoon.”

I took his hand and followed him up the staircase. My knees trembled with every step.

“James?” a weak voice called out as I stepped up the last rung. “Is that you?”

Over in the corner, Willow lay in a bed with blankets covering most of her delicate and fragile body. Her head rested upon her pillow, and her long white silver curls dangled over the edge of the bed. Her pale skin was as white as snow, and yet darkened around her sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks.

“Good afternoon, dear sister.” James leaned over and kissed her forehead. “How are thee feeling today?”

“And, who is this?” She ignored his question and nodded toward me. Her every movement whispered an elegance unmatched by anyone else on this earth. She captivated me with an energy that seemed to light the entire dimmed room. Her utter beauty glowed in an amazing breathtaking way. It drew me into her with a force I could not explain.

“Emmalynn Hawthorne.” James answered her.

She stared at me with light blue eyes that as she slightly turned toward me faded into a pale red. No matter the color, they held a wisdom that spoke of an old woman who had seen a lifetime, although she was only eleven years old.

“’Tis a pleasure to make thy acquaintance, Willow,” I whispered.

“You are pretty.” A broad grin spread across her lips and she giggled. The sound warmed my soul and drew me toward her.

Suddenly, her laughter ruptured into a ravaging cough, and James strode to her bedside table to fetch the glass of water collecting condensation that dripped down upon the wood.

“My apologies,” I said as he helped her sit up ever-so-slightly. “I did not mean to—”

She shook her head and stuttered in between sips of water and coughs. “’Tis . . . not . . . thy . . . fault.”

“May I sit?” I motioned toward the foot of her bed and she nodded. “Thank you for the compliment. I think you are pretty, too.”

She took a few more sips of water and leaned against her pillow as she drew the covers up to her chin. Although beautiful, her hair lay wet and tangled against her forehead—drenched with fever. She closed her eyes, licked her lips, and then sighed. “Not as much as you.”

Certainly, I disagreed. I could not dream of anyone as striking as the young girl lying in the bed before me.

“I saw you walking along the road a while ago,” she whispered. “When I took daily strolls with Logan through the forest.”

“I remember.”

“I wish Logan and James would allow me outside again. Sadly, they hath forbidden me to leave my bed.” She frowned before glancing at James.

“We only mean to ease thy pain and suffering.”

“I suffer in this bed.” Her voice rose an octave and another coughing fit threatened as she jerked the blankets.

“Perhaps, when you feel better, they will allow you to enjoy walks through the forest again.” Although, I knew such would never happen, my only thought, my only concern was to ease the fury in her exhausted eyes.

“That day I saw you, you were leading a herd of goats. Where were you taking them?”

“To meet a peddler along the bridge so I could trade them for a cow.”

“Do you live in Salem?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to live in town so I could hath more visitors. Logan and James never allow anyone to visit me.” She scowled at James, who smiled at the growl under her breath.

“No one visits me, either.” I giggled at my confession. “However, I do not mind.”

“Why? Are you not lonely at times?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I suppose at times.”

“Why are you not married?”

“Willow.” James lifted his finger as a warning, but his tone held a hint of amusement. “’Tis not thy place to ask such a question.”

“’Tis all right, James, she may ask any question she likes.” I inched myself a little further onto her bed, brushing the corner of the blanket from my ankle. “I am a widow, my husband passed to Heaven nearly a year ago.”

“Why hath you not remarried?”

James inhaled a deep breath, but Willow and I both ignored his unspoken argument.

“I do not know.”

The sound of the slamming front door echoed through the downstairs room and up through the stairs. I flinched and rose to my feet as I glanced at James who strode toward the opening in the floor near the staircase.

Heavy boots thumped across the floor and marched, one by one, up each of the stairs; the clunky thumps matched my thudding heartbeat. Within a few seconds, the large man I had seen strolling along the road stepped up onto the last rung and faced the three of us.

“What do you think you are doing, bringing her here?” He pointed at me with his huge hand and fat finger.

The fire in his eyes exaggerated the scar slashed across his face. Deeper than I once believed, the laceration left his eye discolored and his skin tight.

I clutched the frame of the footboard, my knuckles white with fear from my death grip.

“I wished to introduce her to Willow, and to you, too.” James braced his stance, squaring his shoulders and tightening his fists.

Logan growled and strode a few steps toward us with his hands clasped in tight fists. “Are you daft? Hath you forgotten that no one is to know about Willow? If anyone discovers her whereabouts, or knows she exists—”

“No one will discover her,” James snapped.

“You hath complete faith that she will not tell anyone, then?” Logan, once again, pointed his finger at me.

“I will not—”

Logan shot me a fiery glare and I bit my tongue before another word came out. He did not want to hear what I had to say any more than he wanted to hear my voice.

Heat prickled through my skin, like an odd itch I could not scratch, even if I tried—an annoying discomfort I tried to ignore. I had felt it once before, the same day I saw Willow, and struggled with the peddler trying to steal the goats.

“She will not speak a word to anyone.”

“How doth thee know that for certain?”

“Because, she has already lied to the sheriff, the doctor, the reverend, and a deacon about seeing her, and you,” James shouted. “If she planned on divulging what she had witnessed, she would hath done so already.”

“Not without certainty—and I do not know what you speak of. She has never seen me.”

“The day you foolishly strolled along the road, down near the bridge, instead of staying in the cover of the trees. You happened upon a woman leading a herd of goats, did you not?”

Logan shook his head, denying James’s accusation.

“That woman was Emmalynn. You told me no one saw you and you forced Willow to speak untruthfully about that day.”

Logan squared his chest to James and inhaled a deep breath. He held it for a long time before he exhaled with a deep groan and shook his head. No matter what James said, no matter how much his refuted words made sense, none of it would matter.

“You will never convince me she will not breathe a word to anyone.”

“’Tis thy problem then, Logan, and thine alone, because I believe she will not. I trust her and I think you are a fool not to.”

Hot sparks flared through my chest—a dull pain, but such that caused me to squirm as I stood at the foot of Willow’s bed. I clutched my chest. My eyes fixed upon the floor, the world around me began to vanish as the panic set in, pulsing through my veins, and shortening my breaths. I did not know how much longer I could pretend nothing was happening to me.

“Both of you, stop!” Willow’s shouted demand erupted in another, horrible coughing fit, and as she wiped her mouth, blood smeared across her chin.

“Now look what thou hath done.” Logan strode over to the bed, jerked a rag from the pocket of his pants, soaked it in the water glass, and began cleaning her face. “You two need to leave, now.”

James opened his mouth to retort, but I stepped forward and shook my head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Willow.”

“No, do not leave,” she cried as I retreated from the room. “I am all right. I will be all right for you to stay.”

She slapped at Logan’s hands and jerked her head away from him, trying to snatch the wet rag from him to clean herself.

“’Tis all right, Logan, I want her to stay. No one ever visits me or speaks to me. All I know is you, James, and this house—this tiresome house with the four lonely, dreary walls. I am chained to this bed, chained to you and James with a lock that doth not hath a key.”

Tears filled her eyes as she continued to fight. Her life unfolded before me. While I loved the seclusion of my home, she battled hers. While I, although at times disliked my loneliness, I embraced it instead of challenged against it as she did.

“Willow—”

“No, Logan, no. You believe I do not know what is happening to me. I am sick and I am dying.”

With her words, she began coughing again. Blood filled her mouth and streamed down her chin as it threatened to choke her. Logan grit his teeth together, his hands clenched into fists, and shook for a moment before his frustration vanished.

“Please, Willow, please just rest,” he begged.

Looking into his eyes, she surrendered to the pain and laid her head back against her pillow.

Logan glanced at me, the once scorching fire in his eyes, demanding for me to leave, faded into a sincere and concerned request.

A request I obliged. “Willow, you should get some rest. I will visit you again, as soon as can be arranged.”

She smiled and drew the covers up toward her chin.

I glanced at both of the men and glowered at them with equal disapproving glares before I marched toward the stairs. An argument that did not need to take place, they had caused her unnecessary worry and trauma.

James quickly followed, and we stood alone downstairs just staring at one another with unspoken remorse in both of our eyes. Our intention for the visit, once believed for the better, suddenly seemed like a horrible mistake that weighed heavy on the both of us.