Meet Me in the Garden

by Rosa Sophia

  It has to work. It has worked before. It will work now.

  ***

  There was a chill in the study. Myrna wasn’t certain if it was the temperature of the room, or Malachi’s disposition that was making her so uncomfortable. She watched him carefully reorganizing his precious handwritten texts on the shelf against the wall.

  “You’ve not been here much.” His voice was edged with anger.

  Myrna cringed. “I…I enjoy walking in the woods.”

  He eyed her suspiciously, then stepped around his desk. As he drew closer, staring her down, she felt her heart pounding in her throat.

  Does he know? Does he know about the Woodsman? How could he? I walked so far to meet him.

  “Something’s different. You’ve built a wall between us.”

  “Malachi, no—” She reached out a hand to touch him, but he caught her by the wrist.

  “I feel ye lying to me.” His tone was gravelly, a hoarse whisper.

  “Malachi.” She blinked back her tears. “Why would I lie to ye?”

  Yes, why would I? Why have I? Why do I continue to…?

  It was mid-morning and the sun was streaming in through the large window behind the desk in the study. Myrna had ended things with the Woodsman, and she wanted to be with Malachi. That much was certain. She decided in that moment to take everything in stride—his distance, his moods, and his tendency to isolate. She didn’t mind that he sometimes called her names, insulted her. It was the pain talking. He was damaged, he couldn’t help it. She had sworn to remain by his side, and she would continue to do so. But they had to repair what had broken between them.

  “Malachi, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I want to be with ye. That’s all I want.”

  “Then we’ll have to rebuild on a burnt foundation.” He took her hands in his. “Can ye do that?”

  “I can.”

  For a moment, there was a flicker of fondness in his eyes. Then he stepped away, back to his desk.

  “Would ye like to go for a walk with me?” Myrna asked.

  “I cannot. Work to do.”

  “Oh.”

  She knew she had been dismissed when the room grew quiet and a shiver danced across her neck. Because of how he was during his moods, when he yelled at her, she was often frightened of him for no reason. Yet, she loved him still.

  She walked to his side and gently kissed him on the temple. He leaned in to her, and for a moment she thought he would turn and kiss her, but he didn’t.

  “I’ll go for a walk by myself for now.” Myrna gently squeezed his shoulder.

  He turned his head to glare up at her from where he sat. “You won’t go far, will ye? I don’t like when you’re alone out there.”

  “I won’t, I promise. I’ll have lunch with Fianna later. And then, afterward, I’d like to talk with ye. Malachi?”

  “Yes?”

  When he turned his head, she kissed him on the lips, inviting passion but receiving none. He was already too engrossed in the task at hand.

  “Remember, I want to talk with ye, about our future.” She stroked the back of his neck with her fingers. “Later on, meet me in the garden.”

  “Of course.” He turned back to his work, leaving her standing there by the desk, her hands clasped in front of her.

  Before she reached the door, Myrna placed a hand against her chest, feeling the heaviness grow within her. She turned and looked at him sitting there, lost in his books. She almost spoke again, her lips parted slightly—but no words emerged.

  She almost said I love you, but she wanted it to be just right. She envisioned a perfect moment in the garden, when their devotion to each other would be renewed, and all the walls would fall down, making way for a beautiful, untarnished union that would last forever.

  Instead of speaking, she walked out the door and down the hall. The words floated in her mind, never reaching the air—never reaching his ears. Her footsteps echoed in the corridor.

  She didn’t know she was walking down that hallway for the very last time.

  ***

  The sun came out, filtering through the trees and throwing mottled patterns of light against the forest floor. Myrna felt so safe in the forest; walking alone had never worried her. She heard a twig break behind her, leaves crunching, and she startled, turning on her heel. The estate was behind her, hidden by foliage, and she was a short walk away from the stone steps that led down the hill and back home.

  “You frightened me.” She spoke in a small voice.

  The Woodsman was standing there, his bow in his hand. The blood of some animal had stained his pants. For a moment, Myrna was fixated on it, but then he spoke and she broke out of her reverie. He’d asked her what she was doing out there. He looked sad—no, confused. Angry.

  “I…I wanted to go for a little walk.” She glanced behind her, back toward the house. “What are ye doing here?”

  “Are ye lookin’ to see if you’re alone?” He cocked his head. “Is your keeper watching us?”

  “Malachi is not my keeper!” The words came out shriller than she’d expected. A flush rose to her cheeks.

  The Woodsman stepped closer. Myrna’s heart leapt into her throat. When she thought she was falling for him, the Woodsman was kind and loving toward her. Now she was seeing another side of him.

  “I told ye the other day,” she said boldly. “I am not yours. I have decided I want to be with Malachi. There is nothing ye can do to change my mind.”

  “Ye said ye were fallin’ in love with me,” he growled. “What is that, nothing?” He brandished the bow as if to make a point, clenching it until his knuckles turned white.

  She’d never seen his expression look so dark. His eyes narrowed, his lips clenched together, and he looked like a wild man. It occurred to her that he was wild. He lived in the woods and hunted game for whomever would hire him. He was alone, separate from the rest of the world, operating on his own set of values. Myrna realized she didn’t know those values. Her infatuation, her loneliness, had clouded her judgment.

  “I…I don’t know, I’m so sorry. I’m just not sure what…what are ye doing?”

  He had stepped close enough to touch her, and now he grabbed her by the arm with his free hand. Compared to her small frame, he was huge, and his thick fingers wrapped easily around her wrist.

  “We’ve spent so much time together, I just don’t understand how this…how ye can throw this away so easily.”

  “Let go of me.” She tried to yank her arm away, but he held fast.

  “I won’t let go until ye tell me why.”

  “I don’t want to hurt ye.”

  “Tell me why.” The fury in his eyes demanded an answer.

  With one fast pull, she was out of his grasp and stepping back. “Because…” His eyes were wide and filled with bewilderment. She felt guilty, awful for hurting him this way. “Because I don’t love ye,” she hazarded.

  Unmistakable rage marred his otherwise handsome face, weathered by days and nights in the forest.

  “How can ye say that? I’ve sat and listened to ye complain about him”—he brandished a finger in the direction of the estate—“and about how he never listens to ye, he yells at ye. What’s happened to ye? Ye seemed so strong when I met ye. I don’t judge ye, maybe he does, but I don’t. Maybe the rest of the world would, but I wouldn’t.” He stepped closer to her, and she backed up. “They all turn on ye because you’re a witch, ye worship the old Gods. Your family abandoned ye, what makes ye think he won’t? People will kill ye for what ye believe. You’re better off with me, ye know that, don’t ye?”

  “No, I’m not,” Myrna said firmly. “I love Malachi. I want to be with him.”

  She turned and walked steadily down the path, toward the stone steps. He fumed behind her, cursing her, demanding she turn back and face him. Fear hammered against her chest. She lifted her skirts so she could move faster, skipping around the brambles that curled over the narrow path.

  She decided she would tell Mala
chi everything when they met in the garden. She would tell him about the Woodsman, tell him how frightened she was, and beg his forgiveness. She would tell him how much she loved him, how she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Would he accept her, or would he turn her away? She wasn’t certain, but it was the only choice she had left. She had no one but Malachi and Fianna left in this world.

  “Myrna, look at me, damn it!”

  His voice was so pleading, so broken, her guilt made her turn back. She stood at the top of the stone steps, ready to make her way back to the estate, back to Malachi.

  He stood so close she could feel his breath on her face. For a moment, she almost gave in to him. His stare pierced her, nearly captured her, and she remembered what it was like to be held in his strong arms. But she knew it was wrong. She didn’t love him, so she couldn’t indulge this. It was that simple.

  “Please,” he begged.

  The birds sang around them, midday fast approaching. The sunlight felt warm on her neck. She was aware of the rising heat, and the restrictions of her dress. With her feet flat on the ground, she could feel the earth beneath her. And for the first time in a long time, through her searing, painful emotions, she felt the pulsing of the world around her. Her ears pricked to take in each subtle sound, each nuance nature afforded. Those few seconds were imprinted on her soul for all eternity.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry I misled ye.”

  She could see the anger bubbling up within him. The energy around her changed, and she could feel his darkness as though it were palpable. She realized she didn’t really know this man. She only thought she did.

  “Please understand,” she muttered.

  “No, you understand. I wasted my time with ye. I loved ye. And now you’re just casting it away?” He cursed, grabbing her by the arms, squeezing.

  Myrna yelped. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Yell out to yer keeper, see if he answers. See if he cares. Because I don’t anymore.”

  He barely touched her, but it was enough. It was a shove, perhaps more than he’d intended. She lost her balance and swayed a moment. As she rocked to catch herself, the hem of her dress caught on her foot.

  “Help!” She reached out desperately.

  Maybe he didn’t realize what was happening, what he’d caused.

  Perhaps he knew, and didn’t care.

  Her hand grazed his arm, and she fell backward. The world spun. Sunlight mixed violently with images of leaves and trees, brambles and weeds, as she flew backward, tumbling head over heels down the rock steps and toward the bottom of the treacherous hill.

  As the world around her ceased its brutal assault, everything blurred. Pain lanced through her head for a split second, no more, and a deafening crack filled her ears. Darkness pervaded.

  There was a brief moment in which Myrna was aware of nothing except coldness and shadow. The day had been so bright, so beautiful, but now—something had changed.

  She didn’t know how she did it, but she sat up. When she realized she was standing, she looked up the path. The Woodsman was at the top of the steps, a shocked expression on his face.

  “I’m all right!” she called out. He seemed not to hear her. He turned and bolted, bow in hand, and she was left there in the woods alone.

  She realized she couldn’t hear anything. It was as if someone had turned off the world. The trees swayed in a breeze, and the sun was blindingly bright, brighter than ever before. Myrna turned, thinking she would head back to the house.

  When she saw the girl crumpled on the path, her neck twisted at an odd angle, Myrna grimaced. Why had she not seen her before?

  Suddenly a realization came over her, as though a voice whispered in her ear.

  You are dead.

  “No, no I’m not…I can’t be.” It was almost early afternoon. Myrna was supposed to have lunch, then meet Malachi in the garden.

  You cannot do that anymore.

  “Who are you? W-w-who is that?” Myrna looked about, but didn’t find the source of the voice. She also realized her movements were different—more free. She didn’t feel anything. “Malachi, I have to see him. W-w-w-what’s happened?”

  Fear translated into darkness in this new, strange world. Shadows appeared where there hadn’t been any before. Her panic gave rise to apparitions that peered at her from behind trees, watching her as she stood vigil over the corpse that had once housed her spirit. She wanted to scream, so she did. Her scream shook the trees. Her primeval shriek made the air around her waver, as though trying to escape her sorrow.

  You are dead. This will do you no good.

  “Stop talking, voice!” Myrna shouted. “Whoever ye are, I do not like ye, I do not like ye!”

  It matters not.

  She resisted at first, but a witch knows the seasons of life better than anyone. Myrna looked down at her body, her head crooked on the rocks, her eyes wide open, and she knew it was over. Her panic dissipated. She knew time was not linear, that it never had been. Time was a construct of human life, something she could now discard because she was no longer alive.

  She had helped many spirits cross over. She could see the dead, and now she was one of them. She didn’t want to be trapped by her own anger, her own fear of moving on. She knew what that could do to a spirit. She’d seen the dead stuck on earth, confused and constantly circling in nonlinear time, searching for a way out that didn’t exist. They eventually forgot who they were, and because they were trapped, they could not be born again. They could not reincarnate.

  You must move on.

  The voice, whatever it was, was correct. Myrna could not stay.

  “I must see him before I go.”

  She cared for Malachi more than she’d ever cared for anyone else. Her heart ached for him. She knew she would love him beyond the end of time itself, and she would find him again. He was her soul mate. The voice did not argue with this. In fact, the voice seemed to confirm it. Like a whisper on the edge of space, the voice affirmed Myrna would one day be with her love again, in a different place, in a different time, in a different skin.

  She realized she could think of a location, and be there instantly. Some time had passed. Myrna saw one of the workers from the fields walk up the steps, and find her body. She watched his reaction, then saw him turn and run toward the house, alerting several others along the way. One of them was Fianna, who stood near the veranda cradling a basket. When she heard the man’s frantic yelling, she dropped the basket, her harvest spilling across the grass and dirt.

  Then Myrna saw Malachi seated behind his desk. As usual, he was deep in thought, poring over the written word. She tried to call out to him, but he didn’t hear her. She’d so hoped he would.

  The man who’d found the body burst in, disturbing Malachi at his work. He was about to admonish him, but then he heard his words. Malachi’s heartbreak tore Myrna in two. Nothing would ever hurt as much as seeing him in pain. He was already a broken man from the war. Now he slammed his fists against the desk, threw his books, and let out a bellow of pure rage and grief. The man who’d brought the news turned and ran, not wanting to be a target for Malachi’s fury.

  Growing tired, Myrna knew she had to leave. This was not her world anymore. She wrapped her essence around Malachi, drawing him as close as she could, holding him though she knew he couldn’t feel it.

  She would see him again, she just didn’t know how or when. Her fear was fading fast, overtaken by a haze of peacefulness. She allowed it to envelop her as she drifted away, memorizing the feeling of his lips on hers, swearing she would always remember the house, the way the hill rose up to meet the forest, and the gardens.

  She would never be able to tell him everything she’d wanted to—at least not in this life. She’d tried so hard, but it wasn’t enough. There hadn’t been enough time. Ironically, the one thing that didn’t exist, linear time itself, had been her downfall. Somehow, she knew it was supposed to be this way.


  One day, she thought. One day we’ll meet again. In her memories, she saw herself kissing him for the first time, then the last. Meet me in the garden, Malachi. Meet me in the garden.

  Chapter 28

  2013, Jupiter, Florida

  Amalie shot up in bed, chilled yet covered in sweat, gasping for breath, and sobbing uncontrollably. The tears coursed down her cheeks as the grief she’d experienced in her dream assaulted her with visceral intensity, images flashing across her mind like reels from a movie. She threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed, unaware of the time. It was dark, so it must still be night, or perhaps early morning. She almost tripped on Zoey on her way into the hall.

  Ian’s bedroom door opened before she even touched the knob.

  “Are you okay?” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling him into the room. “Were you in the hallway a few hours ago? I haven’t slept that well, and I could have sworn I heard two voices, but that couldn’t be—”

  “What do you mean?” Amalie buried her head in his chest, trying to calm her wracking sobs.

  “I was half asleep and I thought I heard you, or someone, crying and saying something, but I couldn’t understand. Then I thought I heard a man’s voice yelling, but it must have been a dream. I mean, it had to be a dream.”

  Amalie’s vision flashed back to her. She clenched her fist against Ian, balling a part of his t-shirt between her fingers.

  “Oh, God,” she mumbled. “I see it now. I didn’t see it before, but I understand. Now I understand.”

  “What?”

  “The people in the hallway. It was us.”

  ***

  The clock on Ian’s dresser was the only light in the room, red and blaring. It was five after three in the morning. Amalie cuddled against him, his arm wrapped around her, drawing her closer. Somewhere outside, a car alarm went off for a few minutes, and then stopped.