“Child, speak,” she cajoled, her hazel eyes burning.
A tear slid down my cheek and dripped against the sleeve of her dress. Another. “V saw me,” I choked out.
“Veronica?”
I nodded.
“Saw you do what?”
“In the field, I…” My hands shook inside hers. I looked away.
I couldn’t say it. I knew how Liza would feel and I couldn’t stand to disappoint (or horrify) her. But I was only given until nightfall before I was taken away by the Witch Hunters, the men with pistols and torches, and thrown into a cell.
My mouth went dry, a metallic taste coating my tongue. Oh, God. How stupid of me to use my powers out in the open. Usually, I was the only one out there. Only V knew I visited that field to pick flowers before supper. She must have thought it would be funny to scare me.
“Aunt Liza,” I said, meeting her eyes again. My hands steadied, and I sucked in a deep, broken breath so I could finish. She deserved to hear it from me. Not anyone else. Me. I was the one who’d hidden it from her since I first discovered my powers. Maybe, just maybe, as horrified as she would be, she could help find a way out of this. A way to keep me safe.
Besides Jacob, she might be the only one I have on my side.
“I’m a witch. And she saw me use my gift.”
Chapter Two
Witch Indeed
Her first reaction wasn’t what I thought – laughter. It started as a chuckle. “Rosanna, dear,” she tsked, releasing my hands, then turned for the kitchen. “You gave me an awful fright. Now go wash up, so you can help with supper.” The laughter then bubbled into something musical. “A witch indeed.”
“I’m serious,” I called after her. “V saw me, and she said she’d give me ‘til nightfall until she told. They’ll take me away tonight.”
A scornful look. “Now, that’s quite enough. And lower your voice.” Her eyes cut toward the neighbor’s house.
“Liza,” I said, lower, and stepped toward her. My palm kneaded against my heart to keep it from falling out of my chest. Once she realized I was serious, once she knew the truth, what would it do to her? I was all she had. “I’m serious. She saw me. I’m a witch.”
“Stop it,” she hissed. This wasn’t so amusing anymore. “Don’t think I can’t still paddle you. Now go-”
“Watch…” I said, interrupting her, and headed for the vase of wilting flowers from last night’s supper. We didn’t have time to argue. They’d be here in a couple hours.
She watched with a jutted chin (an involuntary thing when she was upset) as I plucked the flower from the vase and grasped the stem so tight my knuckles turned ashen. Tentatively, I positioned my fingers over the droopy petals and closed my eyes to steel myself.
You can do this.
Without sparing another glance to gauge her expression, I waved my fingers over the flower. The petals’ shriveled texture smoothed, and the invisible web I wove around them pulled them erect and spread them wide.
I held my breath, my eyes never parting from the flower, as I awaited her reply. The kitchen was quiet, so quiet I had to quickly glance at her feet to make sure she was still there. I knew what I would see if I looked up – blood draining from her cheeks, jaw slack, eyes flared wide.
I didn’t dare speak until she did.
“Rosanna,” she managed. Her voice was thick with despair. “I need you to go to your bed chambers immediately. I’ll be there shortly.”
Without hesitation, I headed for my room.
“And leave the flower.”
***
It was only a couple of minutes before she came to visit, but it felt like an agonizing eternity. The sun had fallen just short of the horizon and burned blood red.
Fitting.
Would V change her mind?
No. If somehow word got out that she saw me and hadn’t turned me in, she would be punished as well. Put on trial, even, for possibly being a witch herself. Or at least involved in conspiring to protect one. Besides… she must have felt betrayed by me. I knew what had happened to her mother and yet I continued my friendship with her, also knowing how she felt about my kind. And on top of that, had gotten close with her brother.
One of her family members had already fallen victim to a witch, she wouldn’t risk that with her older brother. With anyone else she loved.
But what would he do? Would he try and rescue me?
My heart broke as I realized the answer. No. No, he wouldn’t… right? With his mom gone mad and dad deceased, he needed to be there to help with the family. As the eldest, he worked to help provide and was the glue holding them all together. He couldn’t risk hiding or saving me.
Not to mention, his sister wouldn’t be the only family member against having a witch in their life.
“Rosanna,” Liza said from the doorway.
I jerked, swiped away the wetness from my cheeks, and met her eyes.
Tears shined against her irises, but her lips were a straight hard line. The key to my room dangled from her folded hands. “I only have one option here,” she said, and her chin quivered. Her head tilted lovingly. “You know that.”
In truth, she had many options, but her faith and sense of self-preservation wouldn’t allow but for one. How naive I’d been to hope she might have helped me in some way. Yes, she loved me, but she loved her God more and was His faithful servant. And I? I was now a disgrace. Had embraced what she saw as a dark power. A vessel for Satan to use.
I nodded somberly.
“I’ll always love you, child,” she choked out, and after the door shut behind her with a soft click, the key turning the lock into place, I could hear her sniffling over the shuffling of her feet down the hallway.
I was her prisoner until the men with pistols and torches arrived.
***
By the time they came to collect me, it was close to midnight and a storm had rolled in. Instead of torches, they used glass lanterns, so we could find our way through the dark streets and to the holding cells that smelled of human excrement and despair.
It felt strange and infuriating to be under the same roof as thieves and killers and other ‘witches’, who had been accused of doing terrible things. But at least I had three stone walls and iron bars separating us.
I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t. Though now everyone looked at me like I was, and there wasn’t a thing in the world I could do about it, either. Or the fact I would rot in here until my public trial. And possible lynching.
Unfortunately, my gift was of no use to break me out of here, and everyone I loved had turned their backs on me… including Jacob, judging by his continued absence. Before they’d come to get me, I kept imagining he would show up outside my window at home… former home… like he’d done so many times before. “Let’s go,” I’d fantasized him saying, a sack of necessities slung over his shoulder, eyes wild, inky black hair slicked to his forehead from the rain. “We’ll find somewhere to hide you until we can figure something out.”
When Witch Hunters had escorted me here, I then imagined he would dive in and steal me away, a horse waiting to take us somewhere safe. Neither happened… not that I expected it to, but the thought was oddly comforting, all the same.
He could have at least come to say goodbye, though. There wouldn’t have been harm in that.
Unless he’d washed his hands of me like everyone else. Or feared me.
I was completely and utterly alone.
Chapter Three
A Boy Torn Apart
As I awaited my fate in the cell, all I could think about was the day Liza had brought me home. Of course, I didn’t remember it, but she’d told me the story a million times. “The first time I held you, I knew you were meant to be mine,” she would coo. “Eyes like crystalline waters. Hair as soft as a baby fawn’s. You were a gift from the Lord, Himself, and I’d name this rosy-cheeked baby Rosanna. It was the only thing that fit.” She’d then cup my cheek. “My God-gift has been the light of my life.”
But the memories and the warming glow they’d once casted over my heart were both made sour in this musty prison air. The woman who’d saved me from the orphanage, would be a part of my demise. The Lord had brought me to her, and in her mind, Satan had taken me away.
I knew she grieved for me, but it was hard to not be bitter about it. It didn’t have to be like this. She could have heard me out. If she’d really taken the time to think it through (like I had a million times), was blooming flowers really such a dark practice? How could it be?
She wasn’t going to gamble on it, I knew, but she didn’t even give me a chance to say anything after I’d shown her my gift. I think that was what hurt the most—sixteen years with her and she couldn’t spare five minutes.
Same with V. And apparently Jacob. Their love for me had stopped a week ago when I was thrown into this cell. There was now a gigantic black mark on my name, and everything they thought they knew about me had been tarnished. I was evil.
I suppose there was no coming back from that.
But maybe this fate of mine was supposed serve some grand purpose, though it was hard to not be bitter about that, either.
Born to die an early, unjust death. To serve as an example that even miracles and gifts aren’t tolerated. Are an abomination.
The only thing any of this proves to me is people are inherently narrowminded and aren’t allowed to think for themselves. Why would I want to be a part of a world like that anyway?
***
During the night, I heard a new noise – slow, measured steps pausing at every cell.
I sat up and squinted against the light of a lantern, and a hooded figure stood tall outside my cell.
“Hello?” I said shakily, recoiling into the damp stone against my back. My voice was weak and raspy from underuse.
Silently, this person held the lantern toward me, bathing me and this dingy cell in flickering yellow light.
I buried my face in my shoulder, embarrassed at my appearance – a frightened girl with disheveled hair and a dirty face and dress – but I was mostly frightened. Visits from hooded figures in the night couldn’t have meant a good thing.
This person took a good minute before he said something. “Rose?”
My heart stopped at the sound of his voice.
Jacob.
I gathered myself and answered, “Jacob?”
He exhaled, a long, painful sound. “Rose.”
Frailer than I’d been a week ago when they first threw me in here, I stood from the hard bed and made my way to him over the rough stone floor. He then held the lantern up, so I could see his face better, the movement casting haunting, unnatural shadows around us.
A sad shade of purple underscored his eyes, his eyelids swollen from crying. He was a boy torn apart, and my heart ached at the sight. Judging by his grimace, the sight of me was doing the same to him.
I guess he did still love me.
“I’m so sorry this happened,” he managed. A shaky, strong hand found its way through the bars.
I grabbed on for dear life. “Me too,” I replied. The familiar roughness of his hand made tears spring to my eyes. I never thought I’d feel that again.
“Are they mistreating you in here?” He clenched his teeth at the thought, a muscle flickering along his jaw.
“No. They’ve been surprisingly... kind.” Which might not have been the case if I’d been seen doing anything other than making flowers bloom.
He nodded his approval, his dark eyes raking over me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You had a right to know.”
“Don’t,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize.”
“So… you aren’t cross with me then? You don’t think I’m a-”
“Never,” he said, almost a growl. “I know you. I know your heart. I know you wouldn’t…” He screwed his eyes shut, unable to finish. A tear rolled along his cheek, and I came undone. I never could stand to see him cry.
There we were, two heartbroken people, sobbing like it was our last night on Earth. Which technically, it could have been. No one had told me when my trial would be.
“I’ll never forgive them,” he finally said. “I’ll never forgive V for turning you in, and Liza for turning you over. And now there’s nothing I can do to help you. All I can do is pray for a miracle.”
I pulled my hand from his, reached through the bars and caressed his cheek. His tears poured faster. Did they reserve miracles for witches? Probably not. It also wasn’t lost on me how our secret love affair might have been the cause of our ultimate demise, the revealing of my powers merely the vessel to see it done. V knew we were close, but she didn’t know how close. Our late-night kisses at my bedroom window. Pledges of eternal love.
But… God did.
Marriages were an arranged, political thing, and I was adopted with no bloodline or prominence in society. Jacob didn’t care. My differences made him love me all the more, and apparently, he still felt that way, though our behavior would have definitely been frowned upon (or worse – smited by God, Himself) if someone had found out.
This was our ‘worse’.
Lives we’d hoped to share would be cut short. Maybe God had intended Jacob to be with another, and I was a distraction. So, maybe there was no ‘grand purpose’ to my death other than– Jacob was meant for someone else.
How imprudent of us to think we knew better. That our love would somehow prevail.
It wouldn’t be an issue soon enough. A higher power had seen to it.
“I’ll always love you, Jacob.” It was the only thing I could think to say. What else was there? We were powerless to do anything about it. What was done was done, and now the story of Jacob and Rosanna was over.
At least I would die knowing he still loved me.
Chapter Four
Terrible Being
“How do you plead, Rosanna Frey?”
Judge Abbott squinted to study my expression, the crinkles in his cheeks deepening. I wasn’t sure what he saw there. Probably fear. Regret. A pinch of animosity.
I scanned the room. No Jacob. I then glanced at the witnesses to my right. Veronica and her sister, Liza. Their stories had matched up. I’d used ‘sorcery’ to make flowers bloom. To confirm their claims, the men with lanterns, the Witch Hunters who’d come to get me that night, also testified about what they’d seen: a vase full of wilting flowers on the kitchen table, the one I’d restored for Liza lying beside it. They made sure and brought the evidence today. The ones that had already started wilting were now black and shriveled. The one I’d restored was barely hanging on, but in better shape.
“Guilty,” I said, knowing the judge had made up his mind anyway. I was a witch. What cause would my friend and the woman who’d raised me have to conspire against me? Even today, they looked devastated at the thought of turning me in. But they thought they had to.
Gasps around the room… as if it were a total shock. Sometimes the accused would plead guilty to avoid all the ‘tests’ and torture to get it out of us. No need to draw all this out.
“Then I sentence you to death. You’ll hang at dusk.”
***
When the horse buggy dragged from beneath my feet, the plummet to my death was a quick one. The rope cinched, cutting against my neck and smashing my windpipe. The tree branch above me groaned as I swayed.
Sometimes, the descent would instantly snap a neck and it would be over in an instant.
But I didn’t weigh much.
Since I’d have to do this slowly, I made sure and stared at the eyes in front of me. I wanted them to remember me. The way I looked as I hanged for a ridiculous crime. Rosanna, Witch of the Flowers, Bloomer of Petaled Things. A terrible being indeed….
It was a good thing they were safe from me now.
As the darkness crept into my vision, lungs heaving and burning in vain, I held my gaze on the closest woman, the one who seemed to loathe me the most. I didn’t recognize her, but I fix
ated on her auburn hair. Her furious eyes. Her pink lips drawing into a smirk, and suddenly, they were gaping in shock.
I could only see through the size of a keyhole now, but my eyes traveled to the person on her right. Same. An open mouth and wide eyes.
The people behind them were searching the cart a few feet away from me.
A small boy squatted to look under it.
What was happening?
That was when the rope around my neck went slack and I fell.
I hit the mushy cold ground with a thud, my numb legs folding backward, my cheek slapping against the mud just beside the wheel of the cart. I coughed and sputtered, spit and blood flinging from my lips. My lungs spasmed as I sucked in that first breath of precious air. The wheezing sound it made through my crushed windpipe was the thing of nightmares.
Sluggish and desperate, I attempted to move my arms so I could push to my knees, but nothing seemed to work.
The boy who was searching for me now had a friend, and they were looking right at me, but more like through me. Like I wasn’t here at all. More people squatted and searched. Some looked up at the branches.
“Where’d she go?” the woman with the auburn hair gasped.
I lay still, everything within me screaming not to move, my vocal cords scraping together as I breathed in and out. In and out. I didn’t know how the rope had snapped, or how they couldn’t see me or hear my awful wheezing, but I’d somehow been freed from death and I wasn’t going to ruin it now.
Just stay still.
“Come,” a deep voice whispered behind me.
I squeaked, a scratchy, pitiful sound, then bit my tongue. Someone could see me.
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