Raquel Byrnes

  Biting my lip, I gazed at the woods through the raindrops that clung to the window. The storm had blown over, and I should walk to his workshop to just clear the air. Hefting the lens in my hand, I played with the chain before pulling it over my head. The magnifying glass hung like a necklace, the thick glass resting on my blouse.

  When I checked on Davenport, he was awake, already eating. I read a chapter while he drank tea, the need to go and find Simon so distracting I had to restart several times.

  Irritated, Davenport sent me away mumbling about taking a walk later.

  Leaving his room, I pulled the shawl around my shoulders and crept out of the house through the kitchen door. I followed the path towards the cottage workshop, my gaze scanning the woods.

  The cottage had no lights on, and when I tried the door, it was locked. Standing at the door, my resolve melted into disappointment. I took the dirt path leading to the main road, the slapping of my flip-flops the only sound. Shoving my letter in the mailbox, I hesitated before turning back to the house.

  Mrs. Tuttle was in the kitchen when I returned, and she looked at me with suspicion.

  “I was just mailing a letter,” I explained.

  “Well you just made it. The pickup for the outgoing plane is this morning.”

  She murmured something and pointed to the kitchen table so I sat down. She bustled around the kitchen scrambling eggs and burning toast. Setting a plate in front of me, she poured me a cup of black coffee and set the creamer next to it.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Tuttle,” I said genuinely grateful. “I didn’t know you had coffee here.”

  “We do now.” She turned back to the stove. “Simon asked me to get it.”

  I ate the breakfast despite my churning stomach and when I couldn’t eat any more, I sipped the dark drink and stared out the window. I wondered if I’d see Simon before I left for good. Was I doing the right thing? So much seemed to have happened between us in such a short time. My feelings for Simon threw me. Was this rebound? Had I ever really loved Michael? He’d broken our engagement, left me at the altar, and yet the thought of never seeing Simon again shook me more. My throat closed with an ache so deep, I had trouble taking in a breath.

  “He flew out with the cargo plane early this morning.” Mrs. Tuttle interrupted my thoughts. She sat at the table. “He didn’t say when he’d be back, but he’s gone for months sometimes. His wife, too, would often leave for Seattle over the weekend. She’d shop and dine out. Said she felt cooped up here. Poor Lavender. And Simon, never could keep that man to a schedule. I do hope he meets with her school’s headmaster while he’s out.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what to say.

  She’d just said more to me than she had in all the time I’d been here.

  I wound hair around my index finger, fidgeting. How had she known I was thinking of him? And what was this about Lavender’s school? “The dock is still out, then?”

  “That’s right.” She lifted the teacup to her lips. Her gaze went to the lens dangling from the chain. “No way off of Noble until they fix it. No way onto it, either.”

  “Except by plane.”

  “Yes, well, the cargo plane that dropped off the museum crates won’t be back for a while.”

  “When will the dock get fixed?” The sky outside grew dark as the breeze wafted gray clouds across the tree tops.

  “May take up to a week,” Mrs. Tuttle answered. “Why? Are you planning on leaving?”

  My spirits fell, and I stifled a sigh of resignation. “I guess not.”

  For now, anyway.

  ****

  The next three days went by with aching slowness. Every passing hour without word from Simon made my heart sink.

  Davenport slipped into a melancholy I could not coax out of him. He wouldn’t go outside, despite the sun making a rare appearance. Refusing to eat, he slept all day, making me worry about depression. I called Dr. Fliven to come for a visit, but without the dock in working order, he could only fly in if it was an emergency.

  Lavender kept Mrs. Tuttle busy by hiding at every opportunity, only to show up in the kitchen just long enough to steal cookies.

  I almost stepped on her one afternoon coming down the stairs.

  A panel on the landing, normally a linen closet, she’d turned into a “lair” as she called it. Resolving to give her space, I pretended not to notice when she slipped out and stole down the stairs after I’d passed the door.

  That night, I curled up in bed twisting my hair into knots and wondering if I would ever know why I was here. Hyper-aware of every sound at night, I didn’t hear anything. With my fear settling into general unease, exhaustion won out, and I slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

  After breakfast the next day, I decided to take advantage of the sun peeking through the haze and take a walk into the village. Obviously, I would avoid Nalla and the apothecary, but I needed to get warmer clothes. The last week of August proved to be colder than my T-shirts could protect against.

  Maybe I could find something at the market to cheer Davenport. Perhaps a sweet or a special treat to entice him to eat. I walked along the path Simon showed me that rainy day, hoping to use it as a shortcut to the main road. The hem of my flowing skirt brushed my ankles as I went. Morning dew clung to the delicate flowers and ferns at my feet, and I stopped to stand in a ray of light that poked through the forest’s thick canopy. Turning my face to the sun, I breathed in the scent of rich earth, flowers, and pine.

  Just outside the row of trees to my right, I spotted the meadow and headed towards it. Bathed in the warm light of morning, the rustling blooms whispered softly in the breeze as I walked among them. A terrifying screech stopped me in my tracks. A scream caught in my throat. It sounded human, but barely. Frozen in place, my pulse thrummed. The resounding crack of a gun going off in the nearby stand of trees sent me diving to the ground, trembling.

  I tried to look through the shifting grasses in the direction of the scream, but the wind picked up, and all I saw was the bobbing heads of flowers. Silence settled like a heavy weight, and I squatted in place, panting back the panic.

  Should I stay put? Should I run for it? Could someone shoot a moving target from that far? I had no idea what to do, so I did nothing.

  Thrashing in the distance kicked up my pulse, and I peeked over the top of the grass and saw a figure walking through the meadow towards me. Tears stung my eyes, and I glanced for something—anything—to defend myself. A familiar voice ticked at my ear, and I stopped.

  O’Shay.

  Relieved, I stood up. Stark fear froze my mouth open as I took in the bloody scratches on his face.

  He glared at me, a grimace pulling his lips, and my gaze went to the shotgun in his hands.

  “What are you doing out here?” he growled.

  14

  I stumbled back from O’Shay, suddenly aware that we were far from any witnesses.

  He lunged for me, his calloused hand closing around my wrist like a painful vise. “You have to get back to the house.” O’Shay pulled me, his gaze back at the woods.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped, yanking from his grasp. “What’s going on?”

  “Just get,” he snapped and grabbed for me again.

  I leapt away from his reach and backed up, gaze going to the shotgun. My chest tightened, fear squeezing the breath out of me.

  “Y—You’re covered in blood.”

  “There was…I chased off an animal.” O’Shay’s gaze slid from mine.

  I peered back as he led me to the path. He pushed me out in front, his face tight. Hands gripped the stock of the shotgun, and I noticed they were scratched as well.

  Mrs. Tuttle met us on the front steps, her face pale.

  “No…”

  “Just to startle,” O’Shay said through gritted teeth, his gaze on Mrs. Tuttle. “No one is hurt.”

  “What are you talking about?” I looked from Mrs. Tuttle to O’Shay. “He’s definitely hurt. Look at him.�
� I refused to be propelled against my will. “Did an animal attack you?”

  O’Shay merely grunted and pushed past me.

  Mrs. Tuttle stood wringing her hands, gaze searching the woods.

  “If there’s an animal out there, we should get Lavender inside,” I said.

  Mrs. Tuttle looked at me as if I’d just appeared. “No, she’s…” Her voice trailed off. “She’s upstairs. I just saw her not five minutes ago.”

  “That’s nothing in Lavender time,” I said and gathered the folds of my skirt. I ran up the stairs to her room. Empty. I checked the cabinet on the landing and under the library tables. I decided to check the cemetery, worry needling through my thoughts.

  I passed the kitchen, and Mrs. Tuttle’s plaintive voice caught my attention. She was crying. I peered in through the small window in the door, concerned. She and O’Shay argued across the table, a frantic look on her face.

  My worry for Lavender spurred me to move despite my curiosity.

  I called Lavender’s name as I ran to Simon’s workshop. She wasn’t there. I wove through the woods, searching for a hint of her dress and straining to hear her giggle. I spotted the iron lacework gates of the cemetery and called for her again. Stopping, I listened. Nothing but the rustle and creak of wind through the weeping willows. Behind the cherub, a glimmer of movement caught my eye.

  “Lavender?” I crept forward. “Honey, we have to go inside for a bit.” Noticing the line of black powder at the gate, I carefully stepped over it. I wondered who had restored it after I smudged it earlier. “Lala? Want to come and have a tea party with me?”

  The wind picked up, sending wispy dandelion fluff across my vision. A flash of movement, further now.

  She turned, her raven hair blowing across her face as she giggled.

  “Catch me,” she shouted happily and skidded behind a headstone. Her pink ribbons whirled as she darted between crumbling statues.

  “No, Lavender,” I called and followed her through the weeds and high grasses. “It’s not safe out here.” Attempting to slip along the perimeter, my skirt hung up on a rusty section of the iron fence, yanking me to a stop. Frustrated, I ripped it free, losing ground as Lavender pushed through the far gate and into the woods.

  “Come back!”

  “Lucien says you’re ‘it’, Rosie,” she called back and slipped farther from my view.

  “Lavender!”

  She was heading in the direction O’Shay had come.

  Remembering the blood on him, I gasped. Panic welled. I pulled off my flip-flops and ran, ignoring the painful jabs of the rocks under my feet. “Stop, Lala! Wait!”

  Her voice echoed through the trees, further than I thought. Not seeing her, I stopped, trying to judge the direction. I couldn’t tell where she’d run to. The thick canopy overhead blocked what little sunlight penetrated the cloud cover, making it difficult to see farther than a few yards. Picking my way along a blanket of fallen pine needles, I called and listened. No answer. In the distance to my right, a warbling shriek and then something flew at the trees overhead. Screaming, I ducked as a section of branch crashed near me. Did something throw that, or was it knocked by the wind?

  “Lavender,” I yelled, my voice cracking as I backed up to a nearby trunk. “This is important. There’s something out here.”

  A flash of light streaked across the trunks, sunlight off a window, and I remembered the greenhouse. Sprinting, I stepped wrong, tumbled to my hands and knees and cried out. Pulling to my feet, I kept going. Behind me, the shriek sent ripples of terror thrumming as I ran faster. There. A few yards ahead, the metal and glass of the greenhouse reflected the afternoon light back into my eyes. I crashed through the tall grass at the edge of the woods and grabbed the door.

  “Lavender,” I yelled as I yanked it open.

  A man turned, with fear on his face as he held Lavender’s hand in his filthy one.

  Coming up short, I gasped.

  “Rosie!” Lavender said with glee when she saw me.

  “Let go of her!” I dove for the shears on the table, holding them in front of me like a sword.

  The man, with the dark features and dress of the village gypsies, let go. Hands up in surrender, he flattened against the windows.

  “Rosie,” Lavender said with shock. “This is Josif. He’s Daddy’s friend.”

  Blinking, I focused on his face. He did look familiar.

  “Come here, honey,” I coaxed. “Stand next to me, OK?”

  Lavender sighed and walked over. “Lucien thinks you’re being silly,” she murmured, but took my hand.

  “What are you doing?” I motioned with the shears. “Why are you lurking around here?”

  Josif held my gaze, his eyes so dark I couldn’t see his pupils.

  Another screech sounded, far away now.

  I trembled, the shears wavering.

  Fear flitted across his features and he looked past me, outside.

  “Please,” he said in a low voice. Sweat along his brow dripped onto the parched boards as he pointed outside. “I am not the one who should frighten you. Your voice will bring danger. Please, you and I have met before. At the cottage.” His gaze shot to Lavender, and he made a pleading gesture, the same one he’d used with Simon in the woods. He’d been helping with the museum shipment, and later I’d seen him arguing with Simon in the woods.

  Licking my lips, I felt Lavender’s arms go around my waist, her head on my hip. She looked up with worry.

  “He’s Daddy’s friend, Rosie. Please don’t hurt him.” Her plea deflated my fear, and I lowered the shears, heart still hammering.

  Josif relaxed his stance and put a hand on his chest. “I mean no harm to either of you, but she should not be in the woods alone. She might encounter”—He gave me a strange look—“things that should be avoided.”

  “Do you know what made that noise?” I asked, setting the shears on the work table.

  “Dihanie,” Josif uttered. “A beast.”

  “A what?” I asked, shocked. “What do you mean, ‘a beast’?”

  “Fratele Hale.” He edged toward the door, peered out, and looked at me. “Where is he?”

  “He means Daddy,” Lavender said. “Fratele means brother, right, Josif?”

  “That’s right. Where is he?” Josif squatted down to her level, his expression softening. “Do you know, little one?”

  Lavender shook her head, her dark curls bobbing.

  I reached down, tied a wayward ribbon back into a bow, and smoothed her hair, feeling the need to keep her close.

  Josif rested his gaze on me. “You are bleeding.”

  “What?” I looked down. My right foot made a red smear on the floor. Dropping my flip-flops, I eased my feet into them. “It’s just a cut from running.”

  Josif’s gaze went from me to Lavender and back. “I see.”

  “This thing…the dihanie,” I said, shifting to avoid standing on my injured heel. “Is it an animal?”

  “Not an animal. Anguish.”

  “What?”

  “Come, let us walk,” Josif said, ignoring my question and stepping out the door.

  I followed him, Lavender’s hand in mine. As soon as we stepped out of the greenhouse, she shot ahead of us.

  “Lavender, no, wait for us—”

  “Let her go,” Josif said and looked over his shoulder to the woods. “We are putting distance between us. This is good.” He turned away from the forest, away from Shadow Bay Hall.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Another way. Not through the trees.”

  We walked in silence. The way was easy, and I was grateful to not have to climb with my sore foot. He took us along the perimeter of the meadow and tree line, along a route I realized was parallel to the main road. The shield of the forest was gone; the wind blew at our backs. A weak sun peeked through puffy clouds. I hadn’t seen this part of the island before. We walked at an incline, the rich dirt turning to sandy gravel. I noticed the flora was less dense here
, more of the sun-loving variety.

  “I’m sorry about the shears,” I said after a while. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “You were worried for the girl.” Josif nodded as if that were reason enough. “I must speak to Simon.”

  “Mrs. Tuttle said he left with the supply plane,” I explained. Glancing sideways at Josif, I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. “What were you and Simon arguing about the other day?”

  “In the woods?”

  “There was more than one time?”

  His lip pulled up at the corner, almost a smile. “Not arguing…discussion.”

  “Loud one,” I countered. “He looked angry.”

  “Frustration.” Josif bent, picked up a pebble, and threw it ahead of us.

  Lavender, who’d dropped back to walk with us, copied him.

  “He did not want the village or his father to know.”

  “Know what?” I wondered what secret Simon harbored behind those sorrowful eyes.

  “The money for the repairs. The ferry dock, the bridge…damages from the storm. It all comes from Simon, but he did not want certain people to know this.”

  “They don’t like him.” I remembered Nalla’s reaction to my mentioning Simon’s name.

  “They don’t know him.”

  “His wife.”

  “Her death has caused…” Josif took in a breath, his expression sad. “I don’t know how to say.”

  “Problems,” I offered.

  He nodded. “Many believe that Simon had a hand in his wife’s death.” His gaze held mine. “Not all think this of him, but enough do. You understand?”

  Stunned, Josif’s words hit me. Simon might be involved in his wife’s death? But how? Nalla’s angry words came back to me.

  Not an accident.

  I understood being hated. I understood it completely, but this?

  Josif’s voice tore me from my thoughts. “So you see why Simon does not want others to know. The gypsy are a proud people. If they knew, they would refuse and our island…” Josif sighed “We need Simon.”