Several hours later, Jeannie approached. “M’lady, we have all your belongings at the cottage. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take you over before the evening meal.”
“Of course.” Rebeka followed Jeannie.
“I gathered some items I think you’ll need,” said Jeannie. They crossed the road to the cottage. “This is not right, you going to the cottage, m’lady.”
“Jeannie, this will be fine. I’ll only be here a short time more. This is Katherine’s—”
“It is not!” Jeannie stopped in the middle of the road. “This is Lord Arik’s home. Katherine is only a guest like you.”
Jeannie’s vehemence startled her—this was a side of the maid she didn’t know—but secretly, it pleased her. It felt good to have someone in her corner.
The tall weeds formed a barrier that hid the cottage from view. “This is the original cottage the family used before they built the Manor house. It’s not in poor condition but it is neglected. It’s only used for storage now.” So she was to be housed in the cottage. How ironic. “We tried to get things in good order for you but we didn’t have much time,” Jeannie apologized. They approached and saw several guards taking out the rest of the debris. One brought in a new bed.
“Lady Katherine forbids any of the staff to help get the cottage ready. But news travels quickly. Everyone’s here to help. Here are a few old pots and dishes that won’t be missed.”
She took Jeannie’s hand. “Thank you all so much. I’m not certain how to repay you, but I will.”
“Before I go back to the Manor, m’lady, I put some food in the larder.”
Rebeka wrapped her arms around the woman, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of gratitude. “Ah, Jeannie, you’ve been with me from the day I arrived. Helping me every morning, teaching me what I needed to know and to expect. You’re a good person and an excellent friend. I’ve you to thank the most.”
“Now not to worry, m’lady, I’m not far away. I must get back to the kitchen.” She pulled away from Rebeka, wiped a tear with her apron and started to leave. As an afterthought, Jeannie turned. “M’lady, you’re not alone. Not here.”
The night wasn’t so bad. The guards had put rushes on the hard-packed dirt floor, and a light lavender fragrance drifted up. Jeannie’s work, she was certain. It was a new day with new promises.
She wanted to open the windows but tall overgrowth covered them. Dressed in soldier’s pants and sporting a loose-fitting shirt and large brimmed hat she found in the cottage, she went into the front garden eager to attack the weeds. With the sun coming up, she bent to work, pulling out, cutting off and cleaning out the garden, throwing everything into a pile.
There was a rush of visitors all day as villagers who had heard about her banishment stopped by with food and supplies, or helped cart away debris. Rebeka had not realized how well she was liked.
Hot, and sweaty, her hands scratched and bleeding, she felt productive. By midday most of the grounds were ready for planting. Tired, she leaned against the door jamb, her legs crossed at her ankles, her arms across her chest. Relaxed and at ease, she surveyed the results.
“Admiring your work are you?”
Rebeka straightened up. “Mary. How nice to see you. Alfred and Luke were by earlier to help.”
“Yes, they told me. I’ve come to see your cottage.” She stood with her hands pressed against her back.
“Come inside and sit down. I’ll make some tea.”
“I can’t stay long.”
“Wait, I have some fresh mushrooms and savory I picked. I know you like them. I can’t eat all these anyway. They’ll only go to waste.”
“I’ll take them only if you let me give you something in exchange, a loaf of bread.”
“You don’t have to give me anything.”
“Ah, but I want to.”
Rebeka opened the door to the shed. The scents, pungent and sweet, tingled her nose and brought a smile to her lips.
“Rebeka, a herbarium? What a wonderful idea. There are several other women who have difficulty getting to the field and there are the older women who cannot walk the distance. I’m certain they would trade for your herbs. We haven’t had an herbalist since the passing of Lady Leticia.”
It was a win-win solution for everyone. Before Mary left she promised Rebeka she would speak to the other women in the next few days.
Later, her evening meal done, Rebeka settled at the table ready to make the day’s entry in her journal.
“Rebeka, may we come in?” Recognizing their voices, Rebeka opened the door to Skylar and Aubrey. “Does Katherine know you are here?”
“No,” Skylar snapped. “We didn’t say anything to her. For all she knows we’re in our rooms. Hugo sought her out after the meal. He had more news for her from her family.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. He takes messages to her frequently. There are times she locks us out telling us it’s privileged information and not for our ears.”
“I’m curious. Do you have any idea what kind of news?” Rebeka led the way to the hearth and they settled themselves in mismatched furniture that somehow made the room look comfortable and cozy.
“No, but I’ve overheard snippets. Hugo once told her he had a message from her husband and she got all upset. I thought it a bad jest.”
“Skylar, is she married?” Rebeka couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
“Oh, no, everyone knows she has her eye on Uncle Arik.”
Mine! The thought flashed through Rebeka’s mind as her anger ignited and started to spill over. Just as quickly, it subsided. Where did that come from? The vehemence of the sudden reaction startled and confused her.
“Although,” continued Skylar, seemingly oblivious to Rebeka’s piqued expression, “there are times when I think I see hatred in her eyes and not a sign of any love.”
Is this why Katherine hates me so? She forced the thought away and concentrated on giving the girls her attention.
“Well, maybe it’s just frustration. I’ve never seen Uncle Arik encourage her. I think he still waits for his soul mate.”
“Soul mate?” What a romantic idea. Well, let Skylar have her dreams. She’ll learn soon enough. He would be a good catch for Katherine. Rebeka centered her mind and calmed her body. She’d analyze her reaction later when she didn’t feel so raw.
“I wanted to hear about your day,” Aubrey interjected, “and tell you about mine. She can’t keep you from us. I’m going to come here every evening, if only to say good night.”
“You’re always welcome,” said Rebeka, a knot in her throat. She welcomed the change in subject. “But not too long, I don’t want either of you to get in trouble.”
That night, too restless to sleep, she cleaned and oiled her walking staff the way her father taught her. The staff had become her talisman.
She remembered how, as a child, her father kept her enraptured pretending to imbue their staffs with magic. Her father, a professor of Celtic mythology, called them their Protectors. She held his staff and looked into the fire and saw another time.
“Dad, hand me my staff please.” He passed his staff to her to pack in the car with the rest of her things. She was moving into the freshman dorms at Kensington University in upstate New York.
“Dad, this is your walking staff.”
“I want you to take care of it for me for a while. I won’t have any use for it in England and I’d feel better if you kept it. You’ve outgrown yours. This will be your Protector now.”
She took it from him and handled it reverently.
“I have added some new carvings. Do you like it?” Pride was evident in his tone.
“I didn’t know you could do such intricate carvings. These are nothing like the others. It’s magnificent. I love this strapping.” She wrapped her fingers around the soft leather. “It makes it easier to hold.”
“I wanted it to be more than a broom handle. I want you to keep it with you always.”
“I pr
omise you I’ll never lose it and will always keep it with me.”
They drove the three hours to the campus. He helped her settle into her dorm room, made the obligatory trip to the campus store and took her out for dinner. Over a glass of diet cola he toasted her. “To hearth and home.”
“Yes, Dad, to hearth and home.”
“I know you’ll make me proud.” It was time to leave. He gave her a bear hug and kissed her on her forehead. “Beka, your mother would be so proud of you. I wish she was here to see all of your accomplishments.”
He didn’t speak of her mother often. Rebeka was so young when Ellyn Tyler died that she didn’t remember her. She knew her death devastated him. There were no pictures of her anywhere.
One last hug and he got in his car. She waved as he drove away.
It was the last time she saw him. Two months later he was killed, victim of a terrible hit-and-run car accident. The authorities never found who was responsible.
Chapter Thirteen
Rebeka bent over the library table, her mind absorbed in studying the random points marked on the maps. What are they?
“Good morning, Rebeka.”
Surprised by the intrusion, Rebeka jumped. “Oh, Aubrey, you startled me. Are you here to visit or are you hiding from Katherine?”
“She’s simply awful, Rebeka.” Aubrey entered and closed the door behind her. “How she could be related to us is beyond understanding. Uncle Arik sent word he won’t be returning for a few more days and Cousin Katherine thinks she can rule the Manor.” Aubrey threw herself onto the sofa and sulked.
“Surely this isn’t the first time he’s been away. Is she acting any differently now?”
Aubrey hesitated before she answered. “Actually, yes, she is different. She’s never taken such control before.”
Rebeka didn’t miss interacting with Katherine, although she did miss dining with the family. It used to be the highlight of her day. “You can hide in here if you like. Katherine never comes here.”
“Have you been able to find anything about the lightning and weather?”
“No, there’s a lot of information in these books but nothing to help find answers to Arik’s problem. I have found a great deal of information about the family, the land grant from the king, even information about his great visit, but nothing you would consider…” Rebeka searched for the right word. “…magical,” she said, finishing the sentence. Magical. That was it! She had been thinking about magic, with a 21st century viewpoint. Doward may have been right. It may be magic, but magic defined by someone in the 16th century.
“Rebeka, are you all right? You have a funny look on your face,” said Aubrey.
“The pulse of energy from the lightning is not tied to rain and storms. Elfrida told me the lightning comes from nowhere, like magic. The lightning has nothing to do with weather,” she said, a bit of wonder in her voice. “I’ve been searching in the wrong place,” she said more to herself than to Aubrey.
This time there was no knock on the door. It simply flew open at the hands of Katherine. “There you are, Aubrey. What are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be in here. Go, and don’t let me find you in here again.”
She turned to Rebeka with a warning. “If you cannot find what you are looking for without disturbing the entire household you’ll have to be restricted to using the library after we’ve all gone to sleep.” A smirk slid across Katherine’s face.
Rebeka didn’t hear a word she said. How could she have been so blind? She stood at the library table, leaning on her fisted hands, her head down as ideas and pictures flashed in her head. She hadn’t viewed the problem from every angle, only from one, hers. She knew better. Doward warned her. Did she actually expect to see the answers staring her in the face?
Rebeka picked up her head and stared at Katherine, struck by the kernel of a thought. What would Katherine do if she had a big secret? She wouldn’t write it down for everyone to see. No, she’d protect it, hide it away. Maybe she’d write it in a personal journal. So I’m back to the journal.
But it’s not Katherine’s secret. Leticia. Jeannie called her the protector of the land. The thoughts echoed in her mind and felt so right. Katherine seemed to have regained her composure, and was after Aubrey about something. Rebeka took Katherine’s face in both her hands and gave her a big kiss on the cheek before leaving the library.
“Rebeka, where are you going?” Aubrey caught up with Rebeka in the kitchen.
“To your mother’s work room in the garden. I need to find some things.”
“You won’t find any of Mother’s things there, Rebeka. After Mother died, Cousin Katherine burned them.”
“Burned them?”
“Uncle Arik and Uncle Logan were in the field helping with the harvest when Katherine took Skylar and me to Mother’s work room. It was exactly the way Mother left it the last day she was there. Her books open, her cup of tea on her table. Cousin Katherine examined everything. She called Jeannie and made her take everything out and put it in the middle of the garden. She lit the fire herself, telling us Mother was gone and it was time her things were gone too.”
Rebeka saw the distant look in Aubrey’s eyes and knew the child relived the day, back in the garden seeing the fire and her mother’s belongings go up in smoke. How cruel, no, how evil.
“Hush, child,” said Jeannie. “You only remember part of the story. Your uncles returned when the fire started and rushed into the blaze to save what they could. Lord Arik was furious. He and Lady Katherine argued in Lady Leticia’s garden room for some time.”
“But he let her stay, Jeannie,” said Aubrey. “Why did he let her stay?”
“Because, child, she told him she did it for you. Your mother was sick and we were fearful for you and Skylar. We had no idea what caused her illness. Aubrey, you were the most touched by her passing. Lady Katherine said she did it to get your mother out of your mind.”
“Jeannie, how ridiculous,” said Rebeka.
“Yes, I know. Everyone knew Lady Katherine did it for her own reasons but she won the moment.”
“Leticia’s journals can’t be gone. Jeannie, they must have survived. I’m certain they hold the key to protecting the land.”
Rebeka stood in silence. The haunted look in Jeannie’s eyes made it clear to Rebeka that Jeannie relived the moments as Aubrey had earlier. “She was in the garden room. It was her favorite place.” She flashed a weak smile. “She sent everyone to the evening meal. When the meal was done Skylar went back to say good-night and ran back to the Great Hall to tell us the room was empty. We all bolted. Lord Arik found her in the road. She must have been trying to come to the hall through the front of the Manor. Lord Arik carried her to his tower room. They were up there for only a short time before he called the girls to her side. She gave each her blessing and said goodbye. She peacefully closed her eyes and left us.”
“I’m sorry to have brought this all back,” said Rebeka.
Jeannie turned to Rebeka, her voice trembling. “I know, m’lady. I hope you find the answers you need.”
That evening Rebeka sat restlessly by the hearth, oiling her staff. After speaking to Skylar and Jeannie, she’d returned to the library to find it in chaos—papers strewn across the floor and all over the table. Katherine, obviously. Rebeka had straightened up and then divided the library in sections in order to methodically inspect the books. Several estate books dating back to the 14th century were tucked away in a document drawer. She had leafed through them quickly, not very hopeful they had the information she needed when she found some runes marked in the inner margin. The runes for Druid Master, Bran, and Arik were clear.
What did it all mean? She leaned her head back on the chair, her eyes heavy. Pictures and snippets of other places flashed in front of her. The runes on her staff took on a golden glow, but through her tired haze, she thought it only a reflection of the fire’s light.
She clearly heard George’s voice in her mind. “The books are very s
pecial. They’re filled with secrets.” It must be Leticia’s journals that Emily had found—would find, she corrected herself. But how could she have found them if they were destroyed?
Random thoughts danced in her mind. The cigar box she kept under her bed filled with childhood things she didn’t want to share with anyone. A note passed in school from her secret admirer, the brown velvet pouch George handed her. George. Her brows wrinkled. Her eyes flew open.
She put the staff aside with trembling hands, the glow long forgotten. She wiped her sweaty hands on her dress and took stock of the chimney. Remembering George’s instructions, she pressed the spots under the mantel. Nothing happened. Her hands scoured the side of the chimney for the release mechanism. “Find it, find it, find it,” she repeated to herself like a mantra.
She ran her hands over every inch of the chimney’s side. Disappointment washed over her. She pressed her forehead against the wood relief, willing her heart to slow. When she pushed away from the chimney, she felt the wood give just a little.
Encouraged, she prodded the relief while her eyes combed the fireplace trying to see if anything moved. Again and again, she coaxed the carving until finally she noticed the metal ring on the front of the hearth sway ever so slightly.
She tentatively pulled the ring and heard the faint sound of a metal clink. She reached for the carving, gently swung it away and searched inside. Books! A stash of them. Leticia hadn’t been going to the front of the Manor when they found her in the road. She went to the cottage to hide the journals and was on her way back when she collapsed. Leticia had made a valiant effort to protect the journals with her dying breath. They must contain something important.
Cautiously, she pulled them out of the vault. The answers have to be here. She brought the books to the table and examined the cover, noting the hand-tooled leather. The writing inside was elegant and the pages well cared for. She carefully turned the vellum pages and found the delicate writing was interspersed with several different languages. It would take her some time to complete these translations.
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