by Rona Jameson
All energy drains out of me and I sag against the wall beside Dad. “Both Reverend and Wild are well aware of who you are. They won’t risk being exposed here to do anything to me. You know that. They’d be really stupid if they did. And they’re not stupid.”
Dad reaches out and tugs me into his arms. “I worry.” The pause is thick with emotion he’s never shared. “And I hope you’re right.”
“I always am.” I chuckle and try to hide a yawn behind my hand. “I’m also going to bed.”
“Will you slow down with Wren? Please?”
My fists tighten at the thought of staying away from her and a pain ripples through my belly. “I’m not sure I can promise that.”
Nothing else is said as I make my way up two flights of stairs to my attic room.
20
WREN
THE PLAIN, deep red dress hangs on my slim body, and when I turn a certain way, the light from the window shines through the gap between my legs. The shape of my body will be seen through the dress when I’m outside, even with tights covering my naked skin. Goose bumps run up and down my arms at the thought. It makes me wonder whether the dresses have purposely been designed to show off our young bodies, or whether it’s an error that the Reverend will be angry about. Either way it’s not my fault, so I have nothing to worry about as I clump downstairs.
The Reverend has just finished his breakfast when I arrive, and he smiles when he sees me. I pull up short in surprise and wonder what is going on with him. He never smiles. “Morning, Wren. You look pretty in your new dress.” His eyes roam over my body and I get a weird sensation in the pit of my belly, which drops to my toes when he stares too long at my chest. I don’t feel like that when Rafael stares. Another smile lights the Reverend’s face. “Don’t look so horrified. I’m trying to see why Peter is impatient for you to turn eighteen, and I understand now. You are a beautiful, delicate creature that needs nurturing by a man who has the means to do so.”
The Reverend straightens his spine at the look of horror on my face and take a threatening step toward me. “Do you have anything to say, daughter?”
“What does me turning eighteen have to do with him?” The words are out before I can sensor myself. The room goes so quiet that I can hear the faucet dripping in the bathroom upstairs.
“You’re intelligent. I’m sure you can work it out.” He continues to watch my reaction with his beady eyes as he slips his long arms into a dark blazer. “I won’t be home until late, so make sure you’re in bed by the usual time. I’ll see you in the morning.” He moves to the front door and turns back. “The journal entries start today. Leave it on the kitchen table when you go to bed.” He steps outside and quietly pulls the door closed behind him.
The sudden onslaught of air that fills my lungs makes me sag against the refrigerator. Relief settles over me that I don’t have to see or speak to him again until tomorrow morning. The journal, I want to toss into the trash where it belongs.
Idiot!
I’m stupid and should have kept my mouth shut. He’d been extremely specific with the words he’d spoken. My naivety isn’t as bad he thinks. I know what Peter Wild wants with me. He wants me for sex, and if he’s like the Reverend, which I think he is, then he’ll want me to be the good little obedient girl. The plan in my head for the day I turn eighteen has to happen. All the years of planning hadn’t been because I was completely blind.
I’ve always known something would happen when I reached adulthood. I’ve seen other young girls who’ve been at school with me suddenly get married and then disappear. Their husbands are still around. With what the Reverend said, and with the changes being made around town, I’m starting to wonder about those girls. Have they been forced to be with their husbands? I don’t know. And, to be honest, I never questioned it before now. But one thing I do know for sure, I will not allow myself to end up like they have.
At least with the Reverend, I’m an unpaid housekeeper, one who gets punished with a night or two in the basement every now and again. I haven’t been forced to have sex with anyone. I would rather die fighting if that were ever the case.
I need to pull myself together and head to school. The last thing I want on the first day of journal writing is to be late. I grab the largest banana out of the fruit bowl and quickly peel it, then drop the skin into the compost bag. My backpack feels heavier on my shoulders today and it seems to press differently against my lower back. Another complaint to add to the list of complaints I have from the day before.
Part of me is excited as I walk down the lane to school. I’ll see Rafael again. He’ll be in his uniform and I look forward to seeing him in something other than black. My fingers reach and press against my lips, remembering the soft kiss he’d brushed against them, and that’s when Tiger Lily lands on my hand. He looks at me as though he has a question to ask. Ridiculous really.
“Morning, my little butterfly.” I blow him a small kiss. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I will be tomorrow morning.” I would have told anyone that he smiles at me. I know he doesn’t. It’s all in my imagination, but it looks so real. “Go on home and I’ll see you in a little while.”
I watch as his beautiful wings open wide before he takes flight and hovers. Mere seconds later, he is fluttering back toward the house and that’s when I notice he hasn’t sought me out alone. Other butterflies take flight from the plants at the side of the lane as Tiger Lily reaches them. The sight of them grouped together in flight looks like a moving rainbow with the colors they display as one. It’s a beautiful sight and makes my heart flutter behind my breastbone.
I certainly feel lighter as I continue the boring walk to school. It’s a pretty walk with all the plants and colorful weeds along the lane, but it’s hot and humid even though it’s only early. I have walked this lane so many times that I can’t even put a name on it, so after all these years, it’s a boring walk. The other students start to appear in my vision as I go around the corner. I misstep but quickly right myself.
We all match in our uniforms and I grudgingly admit that we all look nice. There is something about seeing everyone in a uniform. We look clean and part of something. I frown. I’m not sure I want to be part of whatever the Reverend is planning. I shake those thoughts from my head. The boys look neat in their uniform and neatly combed hair. I glance around and notice the girls have the same problem as I do. You can see straight through their dresses as they walk.
Entering the school grounds, I walk closer to the school building and stop. Others stare, making me self-conscious. I quickly glance down at myself and nothing sticks out. I slowly turn and realize everyone is now looking at me. Is it because of who I am to the Reverend? Maybe they don’t like what he’s forced us all to do. Except the more I watch the others, the more I know I’m wrong. They like what they’re wearing. They don’t like me any more than before, actually, I get a sense of hate coming from them.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and continue staring at my fellow students—just trying to find that one other person who shows a friendly face. There is no one. I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Wren?”
I turn and there stands Rafael. He stands so close that I can see the tick of annoyance in his jaw. My eyes roam over him in his dark navy-blue pants that cling to his thighs and cup him nicely. I quickly snap my eyes up and enjoy the fit of the deep red shirt he wears. It’s short-sleeved like the black T-shirts he usually wears, but, for some reason, his tattoos seem to stand out more. As I lift my eyes, his jaw is pulled tight and his eyes light with fire.
“You have to stop looking at me like that,” he hisses, and takes a heavy breath. “You’re too beautiful for your own good.”
“I can’t help how I look at you.” I smile and tease. “You already know I like what I see.” I like that Rafael brings this out in me. I’ve spent too many years keeping my thoughts to myself. Becoming serious, I glance over my shoulder before I meet Rafael’s gaze. “Have you not
iced they’re all staring at me with hatred.” I frown and chew on my lip.
His brows draw together, and his eyes look around the school grounds, left to right, before his brows deepen into a heavy frown of confusion. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’ve lived here all my life and have only had the Reverend look at me like that.”
“Follow me.” He turns and leads me away from prying eyes into a small alcove at the back of the building. “I think it’s the uniform. Everyone is wearing the same thing, so features stand out more.”
“I don’t like being a novelty. I’m weird because I keep to myself and have butterflies as friends.”
Rafael grins. “You’re not weird, you’re my butterfly girl.” He holds my gaze and lightly traces along my forehead with a finger. “Skin so soft.” He trails down and along my cheek. “Pale with a hint of sun.” My mouth slips open as his finger hesitates before pressing against my lips. “So red and swollen here.”
A groan gurgles up from my throat and Rafael’s eyes darken and swirl with emotion. Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he drops his face into my neck and breathes deeply. I go with instinct and reach up, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I slip a hand to the nape of his neck and tangle my fingers in the overlong hair there. He sighs and shudders in my hold.
“Rafael,” I mumble against his ear, “what’s happening to me? My body feels tight.”
He grabs hold of my hips and pushes me away from him, his eyes heavy-lidded as he stares. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He runs his hands through his hair and tugs, his fists tight. His whole body is tight if I think about it, which I do. I can’t help it when he’s so handsome standing in front of me.
The bell for morning class rings heavily in the air but neither one of us moves. My feet stay planted firmly on the ground, as do Rafael’s. Before my brain starts working, I blurt into the silence, “I want to feel like that again.”
He swallows hard and takes another step away. He shakes his head. “We have to get to class. The Reverend can’t know anything about us being alone.”
“I know,” I admit sadly. “He’s home really late tonight. Said he’ll see me at breakfast tomorrow.” I shrug. “Do you want to come over?”
He wants to. I see him fighting with himself. All his objections to come and not to come flash across his face. “I can’t. We’re flying up to visit Mom and Roman. I’ll be back in a few days. I promise, Wren.” He turns and I follow him to class, feeling my heart hurting for him.
21
RAFAEL
THE OLD CEMETERY is the same as it had been the day of the funeral. There haven’t been any recent burials, which I’m relieved about. The thought of having to witness fresh earth on a grave makes me shiver. It’s difficult enough being back here without having to see that. My eyes dance everywhere but where my family is buried.
I haven’t been here since the headstone had been commissioned. The large piece of black granite stands tall on the small rise, beneath a tree. I swallow around the lump in my throat and try to blink my tears away as I trace their names with my eyes. Sarah DeLacroix. Roman DeLacroix. I doubt I’ll ever get over their loss, but the promise I made to find the men responsible will be kept.
Throwing my head back, I stare at the darkening gray clouds swirling in the sky above. I welcome the rain because it keeps most people indoors. It also helps me breathe while I’m surrounded by death.
Clearing my throat, I smile as Mom’s face swims before my vision. She smiles like I remembered when she was happy, singing and dancing in the kitchen. Her happy place, she would say. Her smiles weren’t often, but when she was in such a good mood, Roman and I were too.
Dropping to my knees in the soft earth, I place the flowers I bought on the ground beside me for now and run my hands up and down my thighs trying to think of the words I want to say to her. My body is chilled, even though it’s close to ninety degrees. I slow my breathing and force myself to focus on the headstone once again. It had been slightly easier before the stonemason had erected the memorial because then I could pretend it wasn’t my mom and brother buried in the ground. I can’t do that any longer.
My lungs feel like they will burst as I struggle to take a proper breath and my vision blurs. Seconds tick by. Then a butterfly appears.
I blink a few times to bring my vision into focus, and I know I’m not mistaken. A large, blue butterfly has landed on the top of the headstone. It’s as still as I am. As I stare in awe, the tiny creature flutters its wings, hovers, and then takes flight.
Sitting back on my heels, I realize I’m breathing just fine and the tension, which has had a hold of my body, has dissipated. I’m calm. Whatever just happened has settled my soul.
The granite headstone gleams in the sun seeping through the dark clouds. My eyes trace along the golden edges of my mother’s name again.
I’m here to tell her about Wren.
My beautiful butterfly girl.
“Mom,” I whisper, “Dad said you’ll always hear me talk. I’m not sure I believe him, but I need to tell you about a girl.” I smile, imagining the look on Mom’s face had she been standing in front of me. “I’d give anything for you to be here to tease me about her. For Roman to be running around the house chanting her name.” I catch myself as my voice breaks, and I quickly swallow back my tears.
“Her name is Wren…”
Telling Mom everything I know about Wren feels good to finally be able to get it all out. Dad is good at listening, but I can’t tell him some of the stuff I tell Mom. I wouldn’t have told her half of it if she’d really been in front of me, though. If she is looking down on me, she’s laughing, knowing that too.
I frown when I notice the fresh flowers on the grave. Why hadn’t I noticed them to begin with? I shake off my sorrow and really look at them. They have been arranged by the same florist from where I purchased mine. Dad’s too, but he’ll leave his when he comes to pick me up.
Shrugging off the weight from my shoulders, I stand and move closer to the bouquet of lilies. As I hover over them, I spot a card inside the cellophane. Without touching the flowers, I wrinkle the clear covering as I slip my hand inside. Between my two fingers, I withdraw the card and bring it closer to my face.
Revenge is mine.
S. M.
Who is S. M., and what revenge? Their deaths?
“What’s wrong?” Dad asks, coming up beside me.
He takes the card from my hand and I watch as all color leaves his face when he stares at the words.
“Dad? What’s going on? You know who this is from?”
“Sarah’s brother,” he whispers. “But that’s impossible.”
“I didn’t know Mom had family other than us.”
“We thought he was dead.” Dad’s hand trembles as he puts the card back where I retrieved it from. “He loved Sarah. He had no clue what had happened to her before I met her. I don’t think anyone knew he had once existed other than me. And now you.”
“How can that be?”
“He was ten years older than your mom. Enlisted in the military on his eighteenth birthday. Sarah believed he would have come for her if he’d known the situation that she’d been in. He was killed in action, or so we were told.”
“What’s his name?”
He inhales and holds my gaze. “Silas Mathis.”
I wonder aloud. “You don’t think he’s managed to get close to Peter Wild or the others, do you?”
Dad frowns and turns sharply. “Explain?”
I run my hands through my hair and wince, not wanting to admit being caught snooping the other night. “There was a man in the trees close to where I hid behind the church. He was tall with close-cropped hair and a goatee. He smokes, too. Quiet. The kind of man who doesn’t miss anything.”
“Goddammit, Rafael!” The moment Dad curses, he prays for forgiveness for cursing in a cemetery.
“He made sure I saw him and told me to ‘go’ before Wild found me. He
knew my name and didn’t give me away. Could it be Mom’s brother?”
“I’ll ask John to double-check Silas’s military record. I don’t see how he could be here if he’s supposed to be dead.”
“Whoever he is, he must be on our side, otherwise, he’d have told Wild.”
“Hmm.”
Dad stays silent all the way home, frowning now and again—both of us are clearly lost in our own thoughts.
22
WREN
PUTTERING IN THE GLASSHOUSE, I collect some tomatoes and small zucchini in a bowl on the workbench. I’ll grill vegetables with chicken for dinner, and I know how much the Reverend enjoys the fresh food. I always make a point of using the homegrown vegetables as often as possible so that he knows I’m at least doing some good in the glasshouse. It keeps him happy and me in his good graces.
A few butterflies hover around as I work, but the majority are out in the garden feeding on the plants. I take the clippers to the strawberry plant and wonder if Rafael likes the fruit. I’ve missed talking to him and feeling him close since he’d been in New Orleans, but now he was home. I’ve especially missed his warmth, which had clung to me for hours after we’d laid side by side on the roof. He’d made me feel lighter for having searched me out. My heart and body had felt different, and I want to feel like that again. It’s dangerous for me to be anywhere near Rafael because of the Reverend. It terrifies me what he’d do if he were ever to discover that my feelings have started to go beyond friendship for the boy. He’ll be angry if he knows we’re friends. I’m terrified of his rage if he knew we were anything more. I fear for Rafael more than myself.
“Daydreaming.”
Startled, I drop the pruning shears and spin around to face the Reverend standing in the doorway. My heart gives a lurch but then settles when I see he’s in a good mood.