Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  Drifting for a while, Beth lost track of time, but eventually the sensations in her body died down, the silver-haired woman bade her farewell, and Rose put a gentle hand on her shoulder and softly told her she could open her eyes when she was ready. Blinking in the soft golden light of the candle flame, she slowly sat up, her hand brushing against her forehead curiously. Rose raised an eyebrow at her in question.

  “I didn’t realise you were going to use essential oils,” she said, and Rose looked even more puzzled.

  “On my forehead, when you dropped the scented jasmine oil between my brows – all I could think was that I would have to wash my hair as soon as I got home, so Mother doesn’t roll her eyes at me again and tell me that I’m not respecting her, or whatever today’s complaint is. Because obviously the way I dress and how I wear my hair has nothing to do with my own preferences, it’s all carefully orchestrated just to annoy her,” she said, and sighed a heavy sigh.

  “I didn’t use any oils,” Rose replied.

  “Yes you did, there were four drops of what smelled like jasmine oil, on my forehead,” Beth said firmly, touching her brow again and wondering why it didn’t seem at all oily. “Just five minutes ago.”

  Shaking her head, Rose motioned to the table, which was bereft of any small potion or oil bottles. “I was standing at your feet for the final twenty minutes, I promise. But that’s fascinating, that you felt that sensation. It’s nothing bad.”

  “I smelled it too,” Beth said, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

  The priestess smiled reassuringly. “People do experience all kinds of sensations in a healing like this, from tingling bubbles that seem as though you’re in a spa bath, to changes in temperature, and even the feeling of hands on your body. But it’s nothing to worry about,” she assured the shaken girl. “What were you thinking about when you felt the oil drops?”

  Beth cast her mind back. “When I giggled, it was because I felt like I was in a bath tub full of champagne, and all the bubbles were touching my skin and popping on impact, which was all pretty tickly – and also a bit nerve-racking, since I opened my eyes for a moment, expecting to see you with your hands above my legs, but you were at my shoulder.”

  She paused, and looked scared for a moment, but then she continued anyway. “And with the oil, aside from the conscious thought that Mother would be furious if I didn’t wash my hair right away, when I let that go I felt like I was floating. And... um, well... I know this will sound crazy, but I saw a woman with long silver hair, and she talked to me for a while, then handed me three roses, and told me what they represent, and how I could maybe deal with Mother better.”

  Rose smiled at her. “I saw her too,” she admitted, hoping Beth wouldn’t be too freaked out by that idea. “She was such a gentle soul, and she loves you very much. She told me a little about your struggles with your mother, and offered a few insights, if you would like to hear them?”

  Seeking comfort, Beth drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs, then sat pensively, doubt flickering over her face, her emotions flashing through her eyes. Clearly she wanted to know, yet part of her was afraid. And another, smaller part, still thought it was all a load of rubbish.

  “I should go,” she finally said, voice wavering, and got up from the table. “Thank you for today, it was very… interesting. And are you sure I can’t pay you for your time?” she asked.

  Rose stared at her sadly. “Yes, I’m sure, it was my pleasure,” she insisted. “But before you go, I understand if you don’t want to talk about your mum. My mother and I, well, we didn’t see eye to eye on anything either, and it was truly the best day of my life when she moved to America. Distance can certainly neutralise the pain and angst, and I heard today that your father has expanded his company, and they’ll have to move to the city, if that helps you decide what you want to do from here.”

  A smile lit up Beth’s face, and relief flooded through her. “They’re really leaving town?”

  “Apparently they’re going to announce it after your sister’s wedding,” the priestess replied.

  Hope ignited in Beth’s heart. If her parents were leaving, she no longer had to flee the village, and for a moment she dared to dream that she could stay here, be friends with Violet and Mike, and pursue her passion to be a teacher – a vocation her mother had told her in no uncertain terms was beneath her, and definitely not an option. A great weight lifted from her shoulders, and she felt the same sense of freedom she’d discovered when she left home two years ago flare back to life.

  “You will be a wonderful teacher,” Rose said, ignoring Beth’s nervousness. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” she continued, her voice gentle and non-judgemental. “Sweet girl, your guide told me that a man has hurt you.”

  “Oh… well, he didn’t really mean it,” Beth replied, shame washing over her. How could this woman know that? “And he apologised afterwards, and made up for it.”

  “But it wasn’t a one-off occurrence,” Rose stated, and this time there was a touch of sternness in her tone.

  “Um, okay, yeah, it did happen twice, but it was nothing. It’s not like he really hurt me – there were no broken bones, or skin, and no bruises,” she finally admitted. “But it’s over. I’ll probably never see him again.”

  She blinked in surprise as she heard the words coming out of her mouth. Something had definitely shifted in her. Her plan had been to go back to London after the wedding, track Andrew down and do anything and everything she could to repair their relationship, to try to win him back.

  But spending time with Mike and Violet had shown her what real love looked like. And now, sitting here in this candlelit room with the lavender and chamomile in the oil vaporiser soothing her heart and her mind, she realised that for the first time since she’d met Andrew, her yearning for him had dulled, and the thought of never seeing him again no longer filled her with anxiety, as it usually did, but relief.

  And if she didn’t need to find him, she could go back to Paris, and resume her job with the family she loved so much.

  Suddenly she grinned. Maybe this healing really had worked on her in some strange way.

  “Darling Beth, you deserve better than that,” Rose said, breaking into her thoughts. “You deserve a man who respects you, who treats you well, who loves and encourages and supports you. Promise me you won’t go back to him. That you will only be with a man who is worthy of you.”

  Trying to banish the image of Mike that came into her mind at Rose’s words, she nodded, feeling the truth of the sentiment, then asked her again if she could pay her.

  Suddenly Rose couldn’t bear it any more. Standing abruptly, she moved over to the shy young woman and cautiously embraced her. Although Beth was stiff at first, she finally relaxed into the embrace, and once that happened the floodgates opened and tears streamed down her face.

  “Oh sweet girl, it’s my pleasure to have been able to offer this to you, so of course I don’t want payment. You deserve a healing, and you are worthy of receiving gifts, no matter what their form. And I hope it wasn’t too personal. Please know that everything we shared today is completely confidential, okay?”

  Beth nodded.

  “Now, be gentle with yourself for the next few days, and pay attention to any messages you get or dreams you have. You are stronger and wiser than you comprehend Beth, so listen to your inner guidance, and trust yourself.”

  Her tears came even harder in response to the love and kindness she felt from the healer, and so did her embarrassment at being so vulnerable. She shuddered as she fought down her desire to flee. This woman, practically a stranger, had gone out of her way to help her, had given her a free healing, and most importantly had listened to her.

  That’s what cut her up the most about her parents – they didn’t even acknowledge she was there most of the time, and even if they were drawn into a discussion, they dismissed her comments outright or just ignored them, which was what really hurt. She wanted to be s
een, and heard.

  That was the most important gift Rose had given her – she’d listened to her, and she’d seen her. And Mike and Violet had reminded her that she was worthy of being a friend, which meant that there were other people out there who would value her thoughts and opinions too, value her, and who would think she was worth having a conversation with. Worth having a relationship with even?

  Chapter 10

  A Sad Charade

  Rhiannon... Today…

  The screeching of her alarm clock ripped Rhiannon from another nightmare, and she groaned as she rolled over to hit the off button. Sleep tried to draw her back under, dreams tried to pull her back in, but her brother’s high-pitched voice from his room next to hers dragged her back to awareness. She didn’t know what was worse, the terror of her dreamscapes each night, of storm, fire and flood, or the brutal reality of her waking hours. There was a gaping hole in her heart, an agony that she could feel physically, and a web of despair surrounding her and weighing her down, like her own personal black cloud, always ready to pound her to the ground with its thundering presence.

  The last week had passed in a blur of shock and pain and grief, and she was grateful that her dad hadn’t made her go to school. It would have been pointless her even trying – she couldn’t think straight, let alone speak coherently to anyone. For his part, Mike had managed to get Brodie ready and drop him off at school every morning, but then he returned to the house and locked himself in his office all day, keeping his distance from her, giving her space – or protecting his own, she wasn’t sure which.

  Fortunately Rose had been as good as her word, coming over each night with dinner for the three of them – a vegie lasagne the first time, a pot of chilli beans the next, a tray of spinach filos after that. Patiently she washed the dishes piled up in the sink, served Mike dinner and poured him a glass of wine, took a plate of food up to Rhiannon and left it at her door, then crawled around on the floor with Brodie. It was the most attention he got, because his sister and his father were too shattered to do more than stagger zombie-like through their days. Rhiannon knew she had to get over this crushing grief and help her little brother, but she just couldn’t. Not yet.

  A knock on her door jolted her from her reverie, and she glanced at the clock to realise she’d just lost fifteen minutes.

  “Hey love, we need to leave soon for the church,” her dad called out, and the blackness she felt within was answered with a rolling crash of thunder that seemed to be right above their house. Forcing herself out of bed, she walked across to the window and peered out from behind her thick blood-red velvet curtains. Although the forecast had said there would be blue skies today, it looked like a huge storm was about to unleash itself, and Rhiannon felt a strange stab of satisfaction.

  They shouldn’t be farewelling her mother under calm, clear skies – the world should weep for Beth, it should express its outrage at her being taken from them far too soon. Rhiannon desperately wanted the rain to fall and the storm to rage – she needed the physical world to match her tumultuous inner world, even if just for a moment.

  Hurrying over to her closet, she pulled the long black dress off the hanger, but as her hand touched the fabric, she jumped back as though she’d been burnt, the electricity crackling through the fabric from her fingertips. Glaring down at her hands, she backed away from the dress and threw herself onto the bed, giving herself over to her sobbing grief. She couldn’t believe that the dress she’d bought to wear to her mum’s fortieth birthday party was instead going to be worn to her funeral. And although she was trying not to think about it, it was freaking her out that her fingers seemed to be shooting sparks of electricity.

  “Rhiannon!”

  Sighing, she pushed herself off the bed, gingerly picked up the dress and slipped it over her head. It fit perfectly, and when she’d tried it on in a store in the city on a recent day out with her mum, she’d felt really good in it. It was the most grown-up and sophisticated outfit she had, and she’d really been looking forward to wearing it to Beth’s birthday dinner. But now, instead, she was going to wear it as she watched her mother being buried. If this was what being a grown-up meant, she didn’t want it.

  Mirrors still terrified her, because she was sure the brokenness of her soul would be reflected back to her there, so she picked up her brush from the dressing table without looking into the glass, and scraped her hair back into a severe ponytail. No ribbons, not even black ones, and no make-up. She wanted to be invisible in her grief, wanted to blend in to the sidelines. She didn’t want anyone to notice her, or look at her, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to think she was trying to look even remotely attractive.

  Downstairs she greeted her dad with a half-smile, touched her little brother on the shoulder in greeting, then spooned some muesli into a bowl. Her appetite was non-existent, but she’d tried not eating in the first few days after Beth died – accidentally, not on purpose, just too upset to even try – and it had made her grief and anger even harder to cope with when she added grumpiness to the mix.

  Shovelling the cereal into her mouth, she forced herself to chew it then swallow, despite it tasting like cardboard. What could she expect though? All of the sweetness had been sucked out of her life, all the goodness, and she’d been left a broken shell, trying to get through each day as best she could.

  “I hope this storm clears up soon,” her dad said, voice distracted as he peered out the window. “Although I guess there’s something poetic about even god crying for Beth.”

  A shiver snaked up Rhiannon’s spine. There was nothing poetic about death. Nothing poetic about her losing her mum, or her dad losing his wife and best friend. And there was certainly nothing poetic about her little brother growing up without a mother, or even the memory of one. It broke her heart to know that he would soon forget their brave and beautiful mum.

  Glancing over at him now, her eyes filled with tears. He didn’t understand what Beth’s death meant – part of him just thought she was still in hospital, and would soon be all better, and hurrying home to them so life could go back to normal. But she knew nothing would ever be normal again.

  A sharp rapping on the front door startled her out of her pondering, and she looked at her dad in a panic.

  “It’s just your grandma, kids,” he began. “Not that one!” he added hastily. “Nanna Anne offered to pop down and stay with us for a few days, make sure we’re doing okay…” He looked as though he wanted to get up and invite her in, but just didn’t have the will or the strength to get out of his chair. Rhiannon glanced at him as she stood up, noticing for the first time that his tie was knotted all wrong, and his jacket was inside out. Yes, they could definitely all benefit from a little TLC.

  As she stumbled down the hallway and wrenched open the door, she suddenly wondered if she looked just as unkempt as her dad. But before she could glance down at herself, her grandma had pulled her into her arms, and she could feel tears falling onto her head. Oh god, no more tears. She couldn’t cope. They would only set her off again, and she wasn’t sure there was any moisture left in her body.

  Fortunately she was saved by her dad coming towards them with Brodie in tow. He hugged his mum, thanked her for coming, and shepherded them all out to the car, although not before Rhiannon caught the look of naked pain that he was trying to hide from his mum. Clearly he was handling this as well as she was – that is, not at all.

  * * * * *

  It was stifling hot in the church, and Rhiannon found herself longing for the cooling, cleansing rain that seemed to have been following her around lately. She was still out of sorts, and she thought it might soothe her fury a little.

  When her dad had announced that they’d be having a funeral at the huge cathedral over in Smithfield to farewell her mum, she’d been angry, disappointed and annoyed. Surely Beth would prefer a ritual at Rose’s healing centre, or if it had to be religious, for it to be held in the small local church where she had attended services from time t
o time.

  Mike had agreed with her, but he’d shrugged helplessly. Beth’s parents had swooped in and taken over the arrangements, and no amount of explaining what their daughter had actually wanted had swayed them from planning a society funeral for all their friends and business associates, who were coming down from London for the day. Like vultures.

  “But they didn’t even come and visit her the whole time she was sick. Why do they get to take control now?” she’d whined.

  Smiling a tired smile, Mike had leaned over and ruffled her hair, which had disconcerted her. She was sixteen, not a kid!

  “I agree with you love, but this was the only way they’d let us bury your mum at home, where we can spend time with her. They have no interest in that, they just want to put on a grand show, to pretend they care. And your mum won’t mind – she’s not here now, she’s here,” he’d said, pointing to her heart.

  “I’m sure she’s laughing and rolling her eyes that we have to endure this,” he’d continued. “And Rose is facilitating a ceremony tomorrow, a proper memorial, and we’ll bring her back home and bury her close to us. So we’ll do it right, I promise, the way she wanted, we just have to compromise a little by doing this too. Don’t let it get to you love – funerals are for the living, not the dead.”

  Reluctantly she’d agreed, but her resentment swirled around her now as she watched her grandmother walk down the aisle towards her, string of pearls around her neck, hair perfectly coiffed and as stiff as the elegant, obviously expensive black dress she was wearing, and a fake smile plastered across her perfectly made-up yet insincere face. How this woman had given birth to her kind, creative, free-spirited mother she had no idea.