The Secrets Amongst the Cypress

by Cradit, Sarah M.

  Then he threw his arms around Amelia and crushed her in the embrace, sloppy and haphazard but whole and real. They cried together, limbs stretched over shoulders and around backs, rocking through their shared thoughts with a grief only the two of them could ever understand.

  “Love isn’t a strong enough word,” he sobbed into her hair, breathing her in, choking on his tears. “For what you’ve given to me, Amelia. There isn’t a word I know of that comes close.”

  “We don’t need words,” she answered, brushing his black hair back off his face, smiling. “We never have.”

  Jacob cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, the salt of their mingled tears somehow healing. “We have to leave this place. I think we have what we came here for.”

  Amelia slowly nodded. “I have so much to tell you.”

  “I already know,” he replied. His thumb brushed fresh tears away from her eyes. “I know about Victor.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “How long have you known?”

  “Since about five minutes before I found you here.”

  She laughed. “And you rushed right over, not considering I might have wanted to be alone.”

  “Did you?”

  Amelia pressed her lips to his, lingering. “No.”

  “I’m not mad at him. But it hurts, the way he looks at you. He has a right, but he also has no right.”

  “You were correct the second time,” Amelia assured him. “He has no right. A reason, maybe, but I’m not his Cerridwen. I can’t change what will happen to her.”

  “Ophélie?” Jacob asked in wonder, as the realization visibly came over him. A guilty look flashed in his eyes. “I should have known. I talked to her the other day, just the two of us, and it felt as if… well, I felt like I was talking to you.”

  “It was right in front of me and I didn’t. Not until tonight.”

  “It’s sort of amazing we both have medical degrees.”

  Amelia scrunched her face. She sniffled away the fading tears. “It’s a good thing I changed my minor from time travel to Latin.”

  “You narrowly avoided certain embarrassment to your family,” Jacob agreed.

  Amelia snuggled back into him. Her heart felt exposed and raw, but it no longer frightened her the way it once had. “We should say our goodbyes. And … then I have no idea, I guess.”

  “There is no magic to moving on,” Jacob said. His nervous feet went still as his fists relaxed into open palms. “Except what we can give each other as we do.”

  Amelia sucked in a deep breath and began to rise, but Jacob tugged on her hand. He looked up. His green eyes implored her. “I can’t ask that you not be conflicted about Victor. But I don’t know how to compete with my own self.”

  “Donnelly,” she said with a slow, happy smile. So much awaited them ahead, but at this moment, she felt once again as if there was hope. “I love you, and only you. And only you, and only you.”

  “But he is me! It’s as clear, or as confusing, as that.”

  “No.” Amelia pulled her husband to his feet and pressed her hands against his face. “There is only one you.”

  DAY

  SEVEN

  XXXIII

  Healing came in many forms. It revealed itself in different ways for everyone and changed with each circumstance and variable turn. Jacob didn’t know what their path looked like, or how long it would be, but for the first time since their shared tragedy, he was certain they were on the right one because they approached it together, hands locked, hearts open.

  He and his wife spent the next hours catching up on their individual adventures at Ophélie. Amelia spoke of her dreams, and of Victor. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had. When his name was on her lips, she expressed fondness, but her eyes didn’t light up.

  Jacob told her of his sleepless nights and channeling his worry into the avoidance of his own pain. He recalled his tenuous adventure with Jean (Amelia went ghastly pale during the telling of the knife-wielding assailants) and his fear their lack of welcome might turn violent.

  It was time to leave, but for now, whispering their secrets amongst the cypress was as close to being free of their demons as they had ever been.

  Jacob didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the earth began to shake. When he opened his eyes, night had turned to dawn.

  Startled, he nearly dropped Amelia against the trunk of a nearby tree. He shook his head to get his bearings. The rumbling turned to the sound of rolling thunder, followed by sharp cries of excited men.

  He went to adjust Amelia back to a comfortable position, but she was already awake, ears alert to the same sounds.

  She craned her neck toward the levee. “What on earth is that?”

  “Horses… maybe,” he muttered and scrambled out of the tangle of branches and up the backside of the levee. The warm Louisiana sun had dried all signs of the evening storm, and the world was restored. “Wait here.”

  “Sure,” she said with a laugh and followed him.

  The hooves and whoops grew louder, and as they reached the crest, a giant cloud of dust obscured their vision. Four horsemen came to an abrupt stop, their mounts throwing up more brown clouds.

  “We’re going to war!” a young one cried. Jacob squinted for a better view and saw his gray uniform; the wardrobe of the Confederacy.

  “This can’t be good,” Amelia said and followed Jacob as he jogged down the short hill and toward the riders paused at Ophélie’s gates.

  “Hi, there!” Jacob called out as he approached.

  “Hello!” Someone yelled back in response. “Is the master home?”

  “I’m the master,” Jacob lied. The two men exchanged handshakes. The officer was oblivious to the fabrication.

  “We’re riding to all the landowners to share the news,” the officer replied. Sweat and dust stained his face. “Louisiana announced our secession from the Union. We’ll join the other states already ahead of us, Glory be to God.”

  “There’s to be war!” the young one repeated and spat. He stank of whiskey and unbridled excitement.

  An elder officer shot him an exhausted look. “War has not been officially declared, but it’s a matter of days. Weeks, mayhap. All men over the age of thirteen and under sixty, unless infirm, are being ordered to appear at the courthouse in St. James to register for Confederate service. Aside from yourself, sir, how many can you commit?”

  “Two,” Jacob said with a blank look. This risk had been prevalent since their arrival but he somehow never saw the reality.

  “Good to hear.” He handed Jacob a thick sheet of paper. “The bill, in the event you need the formal summons.”

  “Thank you.” Jacob gaped at the words. No words would make a difference. He could do nothing. War was inevitable.

  Somehow, this was the most real their journey had seemed.

  “Good day to you, sir. And to you, madam.” The officer tipped his hat at Amelia, flashing her a broad smile before turning back to his reigns. “If you’ll pardon our short stop, we have many houses to hit before sundown.”

  They were off in another rousing cloud, echoing their whoops and cries along the way.

  “I suppose we better go tell Charles,” Amelia said. Together, they watched the men disappear into the distance.

  “And…” Jacob slipped his hand through hers as their eyes stayed on the specks far on ahead, both of them in a daze. “We need to make our plans to leave.”

  “Seems like we just did this. Running from chaos.” Amelia chuckled, and it almost sounded natural. “I hope we don’t flip into another shaky situation.”

  “We haven’t seen the Battle of New Orleans in person,” Jacob joked. His comment elicited a small smile, and it made his heart happy. “If we do… well, then we do. We’ve already been through the worst that could happen to us. Everything else will seem like a carnival.”

  “With clowns? You know I hate clowns.”

  “I can’t promise that, but we can kill any we encounter.” />
  “Fair compromise, I guess.”

  “We are nothing if not adaptable.”

  Amelia swung his hand. Her head dropped to look at the earth beneath her dusty feet. “I’ve seen what a life without Cianán has done to Ophélie,” she said in a quiet voice. “She can’t survive what’s coming without him, and I know I can’t live through what’s happened to me without you. The situation isn’t anything science could explain, but that doesn’t make it any less true. A hundred and fifty years have passed, and nothing has changed.”

  “Give or take a few millennia.” Jacob smiled, and lifted her hand to her face, pressing his over the top. “I love you, mi bruja blanca. The rest is noise.”

  “I had a baby,” Amelia answered in a near whisper, the words sitting on her lips as she seemed to consider them, turning them over, making them real. “We did. When I see that night, I don’t think of that because it doesn’t seem possible. You and I learned of her shortly before she was taken on the same night. We never had a chance to get used to the idea.”

  A tightness spread across Jacob’s chest. He, as well, had pushed that part of the night aside, like a fantasy. He had never known how badly he wanted to be a father until the Quinlans insisted he must, then it had happened and been ripped away before he understood how his life had changed.

  Maybe he and Amelia could try again. Maybe they would. But that was not what Amelia needed to hear.

  “Little scars dot our souls.” Jacob pressed his forehead to hers. “But they do not draw our life’s picture.”

  “What an unusually poetic thought.”

  “My mother,” he replied. “She said it to me when I was a boy. Mom said a lot of stuff I thought was nonsense. Now I know better, but her wisdom is coming back to me. A lot of her words are. Ever since we answered your Aunt Nora’s letter with a visit.”

  “Is that all our daughter is, then? A scar?”

  “A memory,” he answered. “A part of us. A lesson from our past.”

  “And what lesson do you take from this?”

  Jacob wrapped her in his arms. “That love saved us years ago, and it will save us now.”

  XXXIV

  Ophélie knew this day would come, but it did not make the arrival any easier. Although the past two years of her life had been wrought with struggle, when she considered the beginning of the end, it was this day, the day the riders came, where she expected the countdown.

  And now that day was here.

  She wanted so badly to be brave. Ophélie tried with floundering desperation to draw from the strength of her ancient soul, but the weight of being a sixteen-year-old girl in this lifetime seemed so much more tangible than dozens of lifetimes past. She wanted her mother, but the woman she craved was not the one who’d given birth to her, but rather the idea of a mother who might have loved and protected her if life had granted her a safer passage.

  It matters not when the end is the same. Oh, but it did. The finality of her situation would be much less agonizing to bear if she could rely on the comfort of someone who loved her… someone to see her to the finish.

  Charles did love her. Ophélie was often surprised how easily she dismissed her one ally in the household, but his time was spent buried in business, not sorting out emotions.

  His love for her would deliver Ophélie from agony in her final moments. Her father’s love would be what propelled him to lift the knife and sink it into her chest, face full of tears. Ophélie adored her father for his future courage, but she also hated him for allowing it to arrive far too late.

  I’ll bet my fortune in Confederate bonds the war will be over within a month. Those Yanks don’t know what they’ve awakened! Her father had declared when they gathered in the parlor to “celebrate” the news. How bold and blustering the South was, when their downfall would be spelled out in less than five years’ time! Many men, friends of the Deschanels, had ridden to Ophélie to share in Charles’ foolish sentiment over cigars and brandy. Only Victor and Marius had the good sense to know when silence was better.

  “Your Confederate bonds soon will not be worth the paper they’re printed on. And the only part of this war that will be over quickly is the lives of many, including mine,” she whispered as she paused briefly at the parlor door.

  Ophélie wiped at the rogue tears in the corners of her eyes and pulled her shoulders back. She was in the final stretch now and could face it with fear or with bravery, but she must face it. For herself, and for Amelia.

  Ophélie needed to locate Amelia and Jacob, to warn them. Her mother had gone silent on the subject of the visitors and Ophélie knew that could mean only one thing: She had stopped digging because she’d found her answers. It would also not do for Jacob to get caught in the swarm of men enlisting for service. He and Amelia had found what they’d come for, and every moment they dallied was one closer to trouble.

  Yet she hadn’t seen either of them since they returned, hours ago, after the riders delivered their message.

  Ophélie stopped in the center of the kitchens, squinting through the long windows to survey the back of the property for signs of her friends. The evening sun blinded her, and as she reached for the door, intent to search the entire estate if she needed to, a hand clamped around her wrist. She was yanked into the pantry.

  “Apologies, mademoiselle,” Victor whispered in the dark, damp room. He handed her a green stalk of cane sugar; she could make out this treat even in the darkness. “I brought you one in case you are so inclined.”

  “I am,” Ophélie said and quickly took the stalk from him, placing the sweet goodness between her back molars. She drew in a deep breath, forgetting her distress for one quiet moment.

  The reality of all she understood brought her back to the present. Victor. Cianán. She knew. He undoubtedly did, as well.

  “We will get them away from here. We must,” Victor said. Of course, they were in accord. Ophélie and Victor had been thus for many, many moons. “And you… what can I do for you, sweet Ophélie?”

  Emotion bubbled up from her chest. When had anyone ever spoken to her with such tenderness? “Nothing lasting,” she replied, dropping the cane from her teeth. She tossed it into the corner.

  Victor knelt before her. He pulled her hands into his and craned his neck to gaze at her in the dimness. “I would save you yet.”

  Ophélie turned her head away. Her tears were her own, and she did not wish to share them with anyone, not even Cianán. “It hurts more to speak of what cannot be than to accept what is. Don’t say foolish words. I can’t bear them.”

  “They aren’t foolish if I mean them,” Victor countered. He rose and his lips came upon hers. Ophélie’s knees turned to jelly. Her first kiss from a real lover, and oh, how wonderful to be on the receiving end of love without violent lust!

  Ophélie let Victor kiss her. She didn’t know when, if ever, she would have another moment like this, and she wouldn’t deny herself. When his arms eased around her back, enveloping her, she allowed this, too. He was no ordinary man, but her Cianán, and even if the goddess would deny them their happy ending in this lifetime, she had said nothing about a kiss.

  He whispered the next words against her mouth. “We could disregard the goddess and her prophecy. We could, you know. How many lifetimes have we endured, trusting in the truth she promised? Our suffering is our own to decide.”

  “Blasphemous,” Ophélie hissed, stumbling back. She had come to terms with her sacrifice, and he would attempt to undo her courage? “Have you forgotten all those lifetimes were ours, too? And the next? Don’t be so short-sighted.”

  “It’s more than that,” Victor replied. He didn’t approach her, perhaps sensing her immediate rise to anger. “I have done something, Ophélie. Something terrible that I cannot undo, but my action changes everything.”

  “We have no time to waste. Tell me, or hold your words to yourself, but make the choice now,” Ophélie said, with a glance at the door. She could not relax until Amelia and Jacob were saf
ely back in their own time.

  Victor’s soft steps grew closer, and he again came into view. “Then suspend your doubt of me, and agree to believe whatever I say, no matter how unlikely it may sound.”

  Ophélie nodded with a short sigh. “Go. Tell me. Be quick.”

  “As quick as I can,” Victor agreed. “You know of my family. Of their unusual nature. It can be explained, but that explanation requires more time than we have at present. There are two pieces of information you must know to understand, however. The first is that we possess the gift of immortality. The second is this gift is a choice.”

  Ophélie’s pulse raced. Whether or not she was capable of believing his words, she had to let him speak them.

  “I knew who I was, my past as Cianán, before I was offered this gift. These truths came to me in my teenage years, as they come to you now, but I didn’t accept them as you do. Rebelliousness runs in my blood, and I balked at the notion my fate was not my own to decide. I toiled with it, languished over what it might mean. And yet, I hesitated to take my gift when offered because I knew it would affect who I was as Cianán. At the time, I was at constant cross purposes with myself, about who I really was, and whether I could accept what it would mean.

  “For years, this went on. It ended when, after a particularly rough night with the bottle, I made the impetuous decision to leave my past behind and charge forth with my family, into a future of my own design.”

  Ophélie had held her breath at some point. She remembered to take one now. “Are you saying…”

  “At the moment I accepted this gift, I ceased to be Cianán,” Victor said after a long pause. “I had his memories, his desires. I spent nearly thirty years as the incarnation of a being with thousands of experiences, and they didn’t disappear with the gift. But his soul returned to the goddess, and I became simply Victor de Blanchefort. I surrendered my endowment from the goddess for a gift from another.”