by E. M. Moore
I crossed the room to the door and eased it open, listening, reminding myself of the first night, except this time Rose was the crazy one and not my mom. For once, not my mom.
Quick footsteps paced the wood floor below. My heart beat in time with them until I lost all nerve and turned to retreat back into my room. The house phone rang. The shrill ring screeched through the silent house, like the owl’s cry piercing the nighttime forest.
“Hello,” Rose barked. I didn’t need to descend the steps this time. My aunt’s voice was loud enough to hear standing on the landing outside my door. “No. No. She’s in bed already.” The footsteps halted. "A symbol? No, she didn’t tell me…” The older woman’s voice softened. "Well, I imagine she is upset.” I inched down the first couple steps. “David’s journal? It's in the library. Why?” And after a moment of silence, “Oh, I see. Huh. Well, it’s probably just some symbol that he liked." The footsteps started up again. They got louder as they neared the foyer, but they turned, sounding as if she moved toward the library door. At least in that vicinity. I hid in the hallway, out of view from the staircase. A big, throaty laugh echoed through the open room downstairs. “Yeah, she definitely is that, isn't she?”
I bit down on my lip. The phone beeped after Rose said goodbye and something about the lawn mower.
Her footsteps continued until the room fell silent. I only waited a minute before descending the stairs. I needed to get the journal back.
At the bottom step, I stood and listened. Off in the other room, a mattress groaned.
The journal was the key. Too bad it was in the library. I’ll just slip in, take it out, and have it back before she gets up in the morning.
Tiptoeing across the floor, cringing when the floorboards groaned and creaked, I stopped and listened. Rose’s room remained quiet. Only two more steps to the library and I’d be home free. One step…two steps…the board near the door sighed. I cringed again, ears straining to listen. Nothing.
The doorknob was cold and the metal rattled when I turned it. Well, tried to turn it.
“Sarah, is that you?”
I jumped and leapt back into the middle of the large room, eyes darting to the shadowy corners, searching for the voice. The lights flickered on and Rose emerged, one eye slightly closed as the light from the chandelier shone down on her.
“Sorry. I was just looking for…” The R drew out as I scanned the room for something to save me. “My phone! I was searching for my phone," I said, spying it on the end table. “I couldn’t remember where I put it.”
I crossed to the table and picked the cell up, holding it out to show Rose. The old woman nodded. “Okay, honey. Get some sleep now.” She rubbed my back as she guided me toward the stairs. “Drake said you had a bad day. We’ll talk about it later though. A nice, long rest will do you good.”
I nodded and managed to mumble a “Thanks.” In actuality, a nice, long stay in a sane town—let alone a sane house—would do me good.
What really worried me though wasn’t why Rose’s mood had flipped once again, it was why Dad’s journal had been locked in the damn library.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Isabella
1639
The rusted metal latch clinked into place as Isabella’s mother secured the door behind Mr. Lynne’s retreating steps again. It had become routine since her father started joining the rest of the males in the village on the witch hunts.
In her bedroom, Isabella’s ears perked, listening for the sounds of her mother busying herself for bed. The light of the full moon washed over her while she sat at the desk, waiting. The traveling cloak Mrs. Lynne passed down was already tied around her neck, warming her insides despite nervous chills spiking her skin.
Thomas had not come to her in weeks. She must see him.
From watching her father, Isabella learned he went witch-hunting every other night. The only piece of information she lacked? What night Thomas went out on. Happily, her father let it slip yesterday that Thomas Ludington led the party on the nights he did not go hunting. He griped that he got “Old Man Ludington, who could find a witch in a garden full of roses…”
As the first sounds of her mother’s wheezing snore sounded from within the room next door, Isabella willed herself to stay seated. By the time her mother’s usual deep groans reverberated, her fingertips ached from grasping the desk so firmly.
As easy as before, she slipped through the house and outside. Mrs. Lynne expected her daughter to be dutiful. She harbored no worries Isabella would try to see Thomas again.
A pang of guilt slowed her step, but as the road came into view, she ran toward the trees for cover. The night moved all around her. She heard not only her quick, light steps through the branch and leaf-toppled floor, but the scamper of small animals. Overhead, the groans from tree branches echoed as they succumbed to the weight of an owl or the pressure of the wind.
Halfway to town, a voice bellowed. It carried on the breeze until it smacked Isabella in the chest, sending her heart skipping. She sank low to the forest floor and hid her face behind the hood of the cloak. The earthen floor soaked the dress at her knees as she crawled behind the trunk of a huge oak tree. It smelled of fresh mud and bitter moss.
As the sounds of men talking drew close, she peeked around the tree. A group of twenty, some young enough that she bettered them in age, walked down the road with sticks that burned with fire. The orange flames licked at the moon. Mr. Ludington led them. A younger brother to Thomas held the fire high for the magistrate, sweeping it along the far side of the road. Both hunters gazed into the darkness of the forest with drawn-in, expectant faces.
Near the end of the pack, Isabella spied her own father. He held no torch or light and walked with his eyes to the road as if he expected a witch to appear there. Isabella remained still, as sturdy as the oak before her and breathed in shallow breaths to avoid sound. Only when the flames of the torches grew dim, and then dark, did she allow herself to move.
As she neared Adams village, Isabella’s expectations drained to the dank forest floor. A watchman stood guard at the point where the country road opened into town. Hope extinguished to a tiny burning flame of a candle. She would have to wait it out.
Wrapped in her traveling cloak, Isabella hid behind a pile of chopped wood. Her hiding spot left her with ample view of the guard as she willed him to fall asleep or tire of waiting and leave. Neither made any outward noises. The chirping of the grasshoppers’ chorus invaded the still of the town. No light came from windows, nor smoke from chimneys. No persons moved about tasting the alleviation of drink. This is not what she knew town life to be like.
The cheeping of the grasshoppers ceased. Isabella stiffened as the air around her buzzed. The guard noticed too. His head turned from one side of the road to the other, searching the shadows. A crow’s screech pierced the night sky as a hand gripped Isabella’s shoulders. Startled, she kicked away, sending logs from the pile toppling to the hard ground.
Thomas’ eyes bulged when he recognized her. Fast steps approached to their right. He held up his hand. “‘Tis me James,” he called out. "I tripped over some wood while walking the outskirts.” The young man hesitated. Isabella’s cloak shrouded her in darkness. “I am well.” James grunted and retreated to his post.
Thomas held out his hand and led Isabella further into the woods. Finally, he turned to her. The moonlight washed out his face. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“I needed to see you.” Her legs unsteady, she felt as if she’d ridden a hundred miles on her father’s workhorse.
She stepped toward him. Thomas immediately closed the distance, grasped her hands, and squeezed. “Oh, Isabella. How I’ve missed you.” He traced invisible lines with his fingers. They stood still for a long moment, Isabella’s eyes closed, wishing for it not to end.
The traces came to a stop. Isabella’s eyes fluttered open and she stared at Thomas whose face sat much closer to her now. He lifted his hand and traced a line from Isabell
a’s ear to her jaw. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
Thomas almost laughed. “Why are you here? You could have been seen.”
Isabella stared at him, eyes focused on the lines that etched his face. She wanted to say that she did not care, but the words would not come.
Thomas looked at her in earnest, his finger still tracing the same line on her face, his thumb skimming her cheek. “You had the courage to do what I could not.” His fingers ceased moving. “I am bound to you. My heart is yours, Isabella.”
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. The enormity of her actions squeezed her chest.
“Father has me leading hunts and preparing trials.” Isabella’s chin dropped. Thomas took her face in both his hands, cupping her behind the head. The tie in her hair came loose and her hair swirled around his fingers. “You have the loveliest green eyes. How I’ve missed those eyes.” He bent down, slightly pulling on his hands. She reached up and grabbed his arm. The muscle rippled underneath as he tightened from her touch.
Isabella leaned in, grazing her cheek with his. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck as his hot breath blew on her ear. “I do not need a ceremony, nor permission to feel this way.” Thomas’ shoulders sunk and he fell into her. They embraced one another. He stroked her hair all the way down to the small of her back.
She felt his heart beat as she moved her hands to his chest. The rise and fall of his body next to her made her feel safe. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes again, imagining doing this every night.
He finally moved, put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. One of the corners of his mouth pulled higher than the other. His eyes twinkled in the moonlight and his hair stood on end, not orderly as usual.
“Isabella,” Thomas breathed, moving his hands to the back of her head again. The tips of his fingers only spaces apart. “I will talk to my father about us."
Isabella found her voice; it came out in a rasp. “My mother knows, Thomas. Mrs. Shipton has told her.”
His eyes widened. “How does she know?”
“She spied us.”
His face pulled taut with the knowledge. “She is evil. I am determined to sway my father and—”
“My mother thinks I am a fool.” Tears leaked from her eyes, leaving a stream of salty water down her cheeks. “She does not believe you care for me."
“I shall speak to him!”
His voice echoed around the trees before quieting again.
Isabella opened her mouth to speak, but a thrash of footsteps disturbed the dry leaves. Thomas dropped his hands and hid Isabella behind him.
They heard the sound again, this time along with breaking twigs and leaves mashing one right after another until Magistrate Ludington stood before them, horse breaths snorting out his mouth and nose.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sarah
The stairs of the old Victorian curved around at the bottom into the vestibule where Rose and I had met for the first time. I stood there the next afternoon, fingers tapping the wood of the banister, waiting for Drake to show. I’d checked my cell phone twice already for the time before the front door opened and Drake appeared. "Sorry I’m late,” he said.
“It’s okay.” I led him into the dining room to grab the snacks Rose prepared.
After Rose found me hiding in my room earlier, she scolded me for not telling her about the police station. I was too shocked and discombobulated to argue with her. Then, she insisted I invite Drake over and immediately busied herself in the kitchen making cookies and cake. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Rose was a cougar.
She knew all his favorites, listing them off one-by-one and making sure she had all the ingredients to make two of his ultimate, all-time favorites. She put the radio on and started whistling and humming, which wasn’t so bad, but then she started murmuring how Drake liked extra chocolate chips and poured almost two bags in. It was at that point I decided to wait somewhere else. You'd thought she had the date with him, not me.
“Ooh, my favorite.” Drake grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies and then followed as I ran up the stairs to my room. “Mmm, extra chips," he garbled around a mouthful.
I rolled my eyes and gestured toward the corner of the room. “Here it is. The infamous desk.”
Drake walked over and reached out. “So, this is the one she freaked out about?”
“Yep. What do you think?”
He shrugged. “No idea. Looks like a desk.”
“Do you think your grandpa would know?”
“I told you, Sarah. I don’t want my grandfather involved in this. He’s old. He’s sick. He doesn’t need to worry about anything. Especially if it’s just that Rose is having an issue with you staying with her.”
"Drake. You should have seen her. She went completely insane. Screaming and pointing at me like I was some kind of intruder.”
“Has she mentioned it again?”
“No. She was actually kind of nice this morning…and last night. Mostly after you agreed to come over.”
Drake sat down and patted the bed. “What exactly did she say?”
I sighed, trying not to let my anger show. I already replayed the scene for him several times. “She told me I let it out. Whatever it is."
He grabbed my hands and pulled me onto his lap, our faces inches apart. “And the symbol?”
I swallowed a catch in my breath. “I didn’t have a chance to ask her about it.”
I barely recognized my own voice, it sounded breathy and soft. A tiny smile tugged at Drake’s lips and I wondered if he felt how fast my heart beat through his thin shirt.
He laced his fingers through mine. “Did you check anywhere else?”
“When are you going to stop asking questions and help me figure out what’s going on here?” I wanted to sound angry, but I wasn't sure I was convincing enough. It was most likely impossible to be mad at someone when staring at their lips and wanting nothing more than to cover theirs with yours.
“Hey-hey-hey, beautiful.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear that had fallen loose, dangling between us.
“Sorry,” I managed to mutter.
“Everything’s going to be just fine. I’m sure Rose had a good reason. You probably spooked her too.”
I rolled my eyes.
Drake threw me over onto the bed, flipping us like a pancake. He hovered above me now. “Stop rolling your eyes at me princess.”
“Or what?” I giggled.
“I won’t ever kiss you again.”
My mouth opened, then shut again. Could he tell that was all I thought about? He should be the psychic instead of most of the crazies around town. “What makes you think I want you to kiss me?”
“Please. It’s written all over you.” I tried to flip him and failed. He lowered his body onto mine. “You keep looking at me like I’m something to eat. I mean, I’m flattered, but—”
“But we have more important things to worry about right now?”
The teasing smile dropped from his face. My heart fluttered around in my chest, suspended in midair without a clue of which way to go next. He pushed himself up and gave me his hand to help me. “Let’s do some research down in her library."
“You can’t be serious.” The side of my lip curled. “She told me to stay out of that room.”
“It’ll be fine.
“It was locked yesterday.”
He arched an eyebrow as if to say, “And you know this how?”
I shrugged, unwilling to give any of my secrets away.
“Do you have a bobby pin?” he asked.
I crossed to the bathroom, came out with one, and handed it over. “Are you seriously going to pick the lock?”
In answer, Drake turned on his heels and left the room.
Giggling, I followed Drake down the stairs. He seemed taller to me, cuter even, if that was even possible because I already thought he was pretty damn cute. But hey, this was serious, he was willing to break a
rule for me and from what I knew of Drake Connors, he wasn’t really a rule-breaker. Especially when it came to Rose.
“Have you ever been in here before?” I whispered as Drake finally got the door unlocked.
“Once. With my dad,” he returned in a casual voice.
“Why aren’t you whispering?”
“Why are you?”
“I’ve got a better question,” another voice severed the light-hearted banter. “What are you doing?”
Drake recovered before me and seemed fine. His shock turned into that charming look he gave when he wanted to be cute. “Hi, Rose. We were looking for you actually.” I didn’t start at the lie. It sounded like a good cover-up.
Her voice sounded strained, caught somewhere between nice and pissed. “And why is that?”
Drake always worked magic on her though. “Sarah was upset about the conversation you had last night and wanted to know why the desk upset you.”
Totally not what I even remotely said. Of course, mentioning I believed Rose went nuts last night probably wouldn’t help us at this point.
Rose sneered at me as she took the question in. “She broke into the attic and brought down the desk, Drake.” Her voice was softer toward him, more pleasant. I clamped my mouth shut before I spouted off something not so nice. If we were dealing with memory loss, it wasn't her fault.
Drake made a noise with his throat. Probably a warning to keep my mouth shut. “Regardless of how it got there…” Drake waved the accusation away. “What is it about the desk that makes you so upset?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the story. Don’t you remember?"
Drake shook his head. “I remember something about a desk. A story my dad told me, maybe, but I can’t remember any specifics.”
She tapped her mouth with her finger, watching us before her eyes finally rested on Drake’s. “I’m sure you’ll remember one day.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” His eyebrows cinched together, like it pained him that she wouldn’t trust him with the information.