by Julia Byrd
I turned to head for the safety of my cemetery gates and tilted my chin up to stare at the stars. Clouds obscured most of them, but a few twinkled merrily. Had I learned anything, or had I only stirred up a poor woman’s grief? Juno had been in the house, but so had half a dozen others.
The following day was cool and damp. I mentioned nothing about the Pfeiffers to Everett. At the end of the afternoon, a white scrap of paper waited outside my door. It was folded into quarters and weighted down by a rock. My head swiveled, hoping for a glimpse of the messenger, but I saw no dark hair or swirling skirts. I crouched and retrieved the note, my fingers thick and slow as I hurried to unfold it.
But it only was my own handwriting. Tell me you are not in danger. I reversed the paper, scanned for some mark or addition, but there was nothing. Juno had rejected my overture, returned it unaltered. Possibly even unread. I crumpled the page in my fist and entered my silent home for another evening alone. Even a hungry dog will go away if kicked too often.
Chapter 8: Rite of Sanctuary
The second day after my note was returned, Everett and I spent an afternoon clearing clinging vines from the north wall. Left unchecked, the sticky little feet of the Hedera helix would eat away the mortar between the bricks, so we diligently cut them back twice a year. I enjoyed the weary ache in my fingers and the weak afternoon sun on my shoulders. Maida House, watchful on the nearby hill, also needed vines cleared from its façade, and I imagined the house martialed patience to endure its long neglect.
Everett was in a fine mood. He complained good-naturedly and assigned ulterior motives to each creeper he attacked.
“Social climber,” he muttered, yanking. “Elbowing in upon your betters. Ought to know your place, vine. Let go now. Off, off.”
I shook my head at his grumbling. “Old man.”
“Someday, I hope,” he replied, “I will grump at my grandchildren. And I hope yours beg you to read them lengthy fairy tales before bedtime. Complete with monsters and princess voices.”
“Hmph.”
“Perhaps if you trimmed your hair, some unsuspecting lady might be persuaded—”
We were startled by the groaning, squealing hinges of the front gate. I had recently oiled them myself—they should not have had cause to make such a complaint unless some weight threw them off balance. I thrashed free of the fallen ivy encircling my feet and hurried towards the path. Everett cursed and followed me.
The hinges fell silent. Had the gate moved in a gust of wind? We strode along the gravel together, curious but unafraid, until I heard a high-pitched cry.
I broke into a trot, then a sprint as the voice trailed off.
Juno Stephens clung to the iron barrier like a dancer to her partner. She had both hands wrapped around black posts. The sweep of the gate’s path, demarked in a gravel rut, was blocked by another woman who lay in a heap. All I could see of her was blue skirts and an unraveling blonde braid.
Juno had been gazing down at the fallen woman, speaking to her, but she lifted her head as I ran forward. Blood ran from her nose down over her lips, and around her left eye, her face was swelling. Even through those injuries, I read something new in her expression. Something I hadn’t seen before. She was afraid.
“Ben.” She said my name on a long gasp. “Help me lock the gate. Get Sarah out of the way.”
“Wh-why? What’s happened?”
“She’s hurt,” Everett said unnecessarily.
“There’s no time, please just come and—”
Juno was frantic, not thinking clearly. I knelt beside the figure on the ground. She was more girl than woman, and she shivered and emitted a mewling noise of distress. “Juno, if you lock that gate, we will be trapped in.”
Juno shook her head. “I just need time to find somewhere else—please, Ben.” She tugged on the gate, nudging it up against the girl’s spine.
The last time she had been to Maida Green, she had performed some heathen ceremony, and I had ejected her. My jaw clenched at the memory. God doesn’t exist, Benjamin. I checked. My weakness for her pained beauty was as profound as her transgression. I forced out a defense. “I c-cannot be a party to…whatever it is you do.”
“What I’m doing is closing the damned gate! Will you help or not?”
I hesitated. More than anything, I wanted to ease the look of fear from her face. “All right, move aside. Then you’re going to explain.”
It was the most I had spoken in several days. I scooped up the girl from under her knees and shoulders and rose heavily to my feet. She clutched a small bag of clothing as if she’d fled in a rush. Juno blockaded us inside the cemetery with a metallic clang.
“Everett, take the key from my—”
But Juno’s hand was in my trouser pocket, fishing for the brass key I always carried there. As soon as I registered the odd intrusion, she was gone again, fitting the key into the lock. Was that how she had lifted the key in the conservatory? I shifted the girl in my arms. She was conscious but dazed, and she pushed weakly at my chest.
“Let’s go before he sees us,” Juno urged. “Back to the cottage.”
“Before who sees us?” asked Everett.
“Come on.”
She was already striding along the path, despite a slight hitch in her gait. Everett shot me a bewildered glance, and we followed Juno back to my house.
I deposited the fair-haired girl on the bed while Everett stirred up the fire. Juno came to stroke the girl’s hair, so I snatched up a basin and went back out the door. When I returned from the pump, I set the full basin on the table and dropped the latch on the door.
“Sit here,” I commanded Juno, pointing at a chair, then plucked a clean cloth from a stack in the cupboard.
“But Sarah—”
“Sarah is resting.” It was true. The young woman had huddled into the bed and rolled to turn her face to the wall, still grasping her sack of meager possessions. I suspected she was shocked and collecting herself. “Let me tend to your face. Everett, will you please make us all a pot of tea?”
He nodded once and moved to fetch the kettle. Everett knew my home well enough to find teacups and sugar.
Juno hesitated, then checked the blonde girl’s motionless form before easing into a chair. I dipped a corner of the cloth into the icy water and crouched before her.
“Hold still,” I murmured, leaning close. She set her dark eyes on me and held her breath. I dabbed at the drying blood under her nose. “Who did this to you?”
The bruise shadowing her eye made me clench my jaw. I knew about her odd rituals and unsanctioned practices. Juno flirted with danger—not only to her immortal soul but to her life in this village if others learned what I had learned.
But I was complicit. I had not urged her to stop, to confess and repent. I had seen the marks on her throat and done nothing other than leaving an unwanted note.
“I shouldn’t tell you,” she said softly.
“You should. I asked you if you were in danger, but you—”
“You asked me to tell you that I was not in danger. I could not reply with such a statement, for it wasn’t true.”
Damnation. Was that why she’d returned my note? Because she could not comply with my request? “Who did this?” I repeated.
“Sarah’s father.” Her eyes darted to the girl. “She’s been staying at my house these last few weeks. He’ll be looking for her. For me.”
“Why?” I rewetted the cloth and wrung it out, then pressed it against the corner of her eye. I thought I’d glimpsed someone at the top of her stairs. She’d been hiding Sarah that day. She hissed and clamped strong fingers around my wrist. “Easy.”
Juno exhaled slowly, her grip loosening, although her hand remained. “It’s not my story to tell. Sarah came to me for help.”
The girl stirred at the sound of her name. Everett, who had been tending the kettle and the fire, crossed to kneel by the bed. He spoke to her softly, and I turned back to Juno.
“What will you do?
”
She leaned away and released my arm. I dropped the cloth into the basin and settled back on my heels. Juno’s eyes followed me blankly, her gaze turned inwards.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I need to take Sarah away for a while. Perhaps her father’s ire will calm with time and distance. But he knows where I live, and she has no family nearby. I have yet to think of a place where I can safely conceal her for a time. I came here because the gates are stout, and I knew you would be here.” She pressed her lips together. Then her gaze sharpened and focused on me. “What should I do?”
Those few words, that plain question, roused in me a sort of male pride. She was different than she had been before, less irreverent and more sincere. Gone was the vixen who beckoned and smiled, and in her place was a woman with a worried crease between her brows. The thin connection between Juno and me that had been born, and strained, ten days earlier flared back into strength. She did things I could not agree with, but she did good things too. I could not dispute that she’d helped loosen my tongue.
I should have been more firmly attached to my moral center, my church and my fear of God, but alas, the attention of a beautiful woman turned my head. And she was asking for my help.
“I know a place,” I said. “Not far. No one will think to look for you there. Can she walk?”
Juno’s eyebrows lifted, but before she could respond, we were all startled by a sudden clanging. Sarah emitted a squeak.
“The gate,” Everett said, rising. “I will go and see.”
“I’m coming.” I gave Juno a flat look. “Bar the door after us.”
Anyone who could get through the cemetery gates would not be deterred by the cottage door, but it was something she could do. She nodded.
Everett and I paused at the lean-to and selected a flat-bladed spade and a hoe to carry with us. Thus, armed like farmers, we followed the sound of growling and jangling back to the entrance.
A stout man wrapped meaty fists around the bars and peered at us. He had straw-colored hair and a ruddy complexion. He gave the locked gate another rattle.
“Afternoon,” I said mildly. Everett and I stopped a few yards short of the wall. I planted the head of the hoe in the gravel and leaned on the handle. “We’re closed for maintenance.” The man blinked once, twice. He was deciphering my stammer. My stomach turned over, and the desire for safe silence washed over me. What should I do? Juno needed the man to leave. “Come back tomorrow,” I added, speaking past clenched teeth.
“Where is she?” He pressed his face against the bars, looking left and right into the shadows along the wall.
“We have scores of ladies resting here, sir,” Everett said. “I can check the logbook if you need to locate a plot. Tomorrow.”
“Everyone knows you’ve been friendly with that witchy Widow Stephens, Hood. She’s got my Sarah. Now tell me where she is.”
Everyone knows? I had never seen the man before, and yet he knew my name and my recent acquaintance with Juno. Village gossip was a force of nature. What had my mother heard? I put it aside to ponder later.
“Mrs. Stephens was bleeding from her nose when I last saw her. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“So you have seen her! The woman stumbled, I didn’t touch her. Where is my daughter?”
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Mister…”
“Charles Greeley. Your family has come down in this world, so don’t play high-handed with me. Are you going to answer my question or am I going to come through these gates?”
I shifted slightly so that Maida House would rear up over my shoulder from the man’s vantage point. “Mr. Greeley. If your daughter felt the need to absent herself from the warm bosom of her family, perhaps she will find her way back when she’s ready. I know nothing of the matter, and you won’t be entering Maida Green today.”
“Bumbling simpleton!” he roared, shaking the gate in a sudden fury. “Listen to you babble like a child. How dare you keep a man from his daughter? You’re a worthless gravedigger. I have rights, and the girl cannot defy me!”
I wasn’t babbling. I may have repeated a few syllables, but his insults flowed past me, less meaningful than any speech I had ever mangled. “I am certain she’ll be chagrined to hear it when you find her. Good day, Mr. Greeley.”
Everett and I turned as one and strode away. Greeley cursed and tugged on the gate, but I had no doubts about its sturdiness.
“Let him tire himself out,” I said under my breath. “He’ll go away.”
Everett shouldered his spade and looked pleased. “Regular knights, we are. Defending the walls and the maids within from foes without.”
I snorted. “Armed and dangerous, that’s us. He’d best watch out if he comes back with a thistle plant.”
Juno unbarred the door as we returned to the cottage. Inside, Sarah was sitting up and drinking tea, and the sight of a young woman on my quilt was strange. Tracks of dried tears showed on her cheeks, and shadows like bruises lurked under her eyes, but otherwise, she appeared unharmed. She appeared to be sixteen or seventeen years old, although her form was small and pale.
“Is he gone?” she asked in a tremulous voice. It was Everett she addressed, not me, and he crossed the room in two long strides. Did they know each other from the schoolroom? The renewed clatter from outside provided the answer to her question.
“He’ll be gone soon enough,” Everett said. “He can’t get in.”
I set my back to the door and crossed my arms. Four people were three too many for the small space. “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain the reason for your father’s anger?”
Sarah and Juno exchanged glances.
“No,” Juno said. “But I assure you Sarah has done nothing wrong.”
“Thank you for your help,” said Sarah.
It was no more than I expected. “All right.”
“You said you know of a place we can go,” Juno said. “I don’t mean to encumber you with our troubles.”
Everett shook his head. “Sarah’s father is still out there. You can’t leave here until he’s gone.”
“Well…” I scratched at the corner of my jaw, delaying. Old family secrets come to light only reluctantly.
He stared at me, eyes narrowing. “Surely you don’t intend to send them away, Ben.”
“There is another exit,” I said on a rush of air. “Pack up some food and firewood. I will show you the way.”
Chapter 9: Rite of Passage
“Where?” Everett demanded. “I’ve been all over this place. There is no other gate or break in the walls.”
Juno was very still. I wondered how much she had known, or guessed, with her witchy ways.
“I said I’ll show you.” I found a rucksack and began loading it with all the food in my pantry. It would be enough for Juno and Sarah for a couple of days, and I could bring them more. “Bring a few sticks of firewood from the pile outside.”
He grumbled but went to gather the fuel. Juno wrapped Sarah in her cloak, then came to stand by my elbow.
“Are you certain?” she asked. Her words were so quiet that I ducked my head to catch them.
“Of very little. But I am reasonably certain that Mr. Greeley won’t search where I’m taking you.”
“No, I meant—thank you. But I meant to say, are you certain about allowing me—all of us—inside?”
I paused, then searched her expression. She did know something. I resumed extracting food from the cupboard, which was nearly bare.
“It’s fine,” I said shortly as I tossed a large chunk of cheese, a crock of butter, and three apples into the rucksack. “The house is still mine. The wallpaper may be moldy.”
“I’m not concerned about the wallpaper. I’m concerned about your walls.”
“Probably drafty and sheltering several colonies of mice, but the walls should be—”
“Ben.” Juno’s hand landed on my hip, just above my belt. It was odd, intimate. Not the
gesture of a casual friend. “Your walls. This intrusion will mean something. To you.”
I edged sideways, away from the heat of her fingers against that vulnerable soft spot. “You assign meaning everywhere.”
It was intended to be dismissive, but she pondered my remark. “I try to. And your help means much to me. I’ll think of a way to properly recognize it.”
Of course, she would. Being holy is only paying attention. I didn’t want unnatural rituals happening in my name, but the look on her face was so certain, I said nothing.
Everett cracked the door. A load of wood tied with rope was slung over his back. “Are you standing around? I thought we were going somewhere.”
“Yes, right. I just need to find one more thing.”
I crossed the room and opened the little table by my bedside. With a glance back, I shifted to block Sarah’s view. In the drawer, I found what I wanted and pocketed it. Then I grabbed up an oil lantern and joined Everett in the doorway.
“Are you ready?”
Juno helped Sarah rise, and I led everyone out of the cottage yard. Clustered in a tight group, we walked on the main path for a minute or two. The noise at the gate faded.
“My mother is buried here,” Sarah said suddenly. “Just there, along the third aisle. I am almost—” She pulled in a gulping breath. “This schism between Father and me would have broken her heart.”
None of us had any response to her comment. After another hundred yards, I turned off the path at an old Pinus sylvestris. The tree predated the cemetery by several decades.
“Where are we going?” Everett asked. “There’s nothing back here yet. This is all unbroken ground.”
“Not completely. This land existed before Maida Green, you know.”
We walked for another few minutes along a shallow valley. The populated portion of the burial ground was far behind us, although the walls were always in sight. Maida House loomed closer as we ascended a slight rise.
Then, amidst a thicket of Prunus spinosa, we came upon a dozen gravestones. They lilted drunkenly, and much of the engraving had been worn away by time and weather. A small, marble mausoleum held court from one side.