Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  Beside her she heard her father take a deep breath as he spotted Patricia too, and she sensed him pull back his shoulders and stand a little straighter, braced for confrontation with his cruel mother-in-law. It made her smile secretly, to know that her dad was on her side, and that she wasn’t the only one who dreaded having to speak to her battle-axe grandmother.

  A sour expression flitted across the older woman’s face when she caught sight of Rhiannon, and she tried to swallow down her hurt. But as her grandmother reached out to shake hands with her – there were no fond kisses hello in this branch of the family – a clap of thunder boomed out directly above the cathedral, and Rhiannon almost laughed at how perfect the timing was, and how rattled the perfect Patricia was by it.

  Fear touched the woman’s eyes as the sound reverberated through the great stone cathedral, quickly followed by a look of distaste.

  “Hello Grandmother,” Rhiannon said, voice demure and deferential, even as her heart recoiled at the sad charade. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Rhiannon,” she replied curtly, and for a moment it looked as though she’d forgotten why she was actually there, and what loss she was referring to.

  “And Michael,” she added, voice clipped, emotionless, as she extended her hand just as coolly to her son-in-law. If her performance today was any indication, it didn’t look like Patricia would be keeping up the in-law appearances for much longer, which Rhiannon couldn’t bring herself to feel sad about. The woman had been cruel to Beth, as a child and as an adult, which was reason enough to not want to spend time with her or build a relationship. But on top of that she’d also been nasty to Mike for years, and distant, cold and occasionally downright mean to her and Brodie.

  A small hand on her leg brought her attention back to the present. Her little brother was hiding behind her skirts, eyes scared as he gazed up at the imposing figure of his grandmother and saw the hostility in her eyes. Rhiannon tried to shield him, pushing energy outwards from her core, as Rose had explained at one of the rituals she’d attended with her mum. And the more she concentrated, the louder the thunder crashing above the church spires became. She felt all the fury of the storm, felt herself becoming stronger, more powerful, as it grew, and a smile spread across her face.

  It slipped the moment Brodie opened his mouth though. “Where’s Mumma?” he asked her, and Rhiannon felt sparks coming from her fingertips as her heart split in two. More insanity, she thought, as she peered down at her hands. Why did she keep imagining fire and electricity, thunder and lightning? There was no way she could be controlling the weather.

  Was this increasing delusion part of her grief, this strange desire to be in control of something? Trying to shake it off, she clenched her hands into fists, knelt down at her brother’s side and put her arm around him, realising in that moment just how fortunate she was, that she had sixteen years of memories with her mother.

  “Hey sweetie, we’ve talked about this, remember? Mumma is with the angels now, but she’ll always be with us, in our hearts, and watching over us, loving us always. She’s very sorry that she had to leave us, but we’re still all together, you, me and Dad, and Mum will be with us too, as long as we remember her and honour her.”

  It hurt her heart to see her brother’s little face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to understand that the safety and security he’d taken for granted no longer existed. How could a five-year-old comprehend death? How could she? But she continued her efforts to reassure him.

  “Why are we here?” he persisted, his sweet face looking pained as he tried to understand what was going on.

  “Today we’re saying goodbye to her in this huge cathedral, so Grandmother and Grandfather can wish her well, but tomorrow we’ll have a ceremony with Rose, and lay Mum to rest back in our little cemetery, so we can talk to her whenever we want to, take her flowers, pick her favourite ones, maybe even plant a jasmine vine for her, so the scent reminds her of us, and we can spend time near her…” she said gently.

  “For god’s sake Rhiannon, how can you live with these lies?” her grandmother snapped. “I know it’s not entirely your fault,” she added, glaring pointedly at Mike. “But Elizabeth is dead, there’s no romanticising that, and filling your brother’s head full of rubbish is just cruel. She won’t be with you, and she’s not watching over you. It’s all nonsense.”

  “Excuse me Patricia, but don’t you ever speak to my children that way again,” Mike interrupted, voice sterner than Rhiannon had ever heard it, and far colder and more firm.

  “You have no idea what Beth is doing now. You made her life miserable when she was young, you were stone-hearted when we got married, and you didn’t visit her once while she was sick. We’ve allowed you to run this farce of a funeral so you can look like you have some compassion in front of the society associates you clearly care for far more than your actual family, but I will not let you destroy our children’s memories of their mother, or make them more upset than they already are, just because you’re so heartless and cruel.”

  Mouth open in shock, Patricia stood speechless in front of him. Rhiannon was equally stunned, and totally amazed, that her usually quiet and unassuming father, who she’d thought was spineless when it came to his mother-in-law, had found the courage to stand up to her.

  “Go and join your poor, long-suffering husband in the front row, and try to manufacture a few fake tears for your dead daughter. I know that Beth will be relieved that our children won’t have to see you again after today.”

  “But, their inheritance…” she stammered.

  “Oh Patricia, please,” he scoffed. “You’ve made it perfectly clear on several occasions that you aren’t going to leave any money to Rhiannon and Brodie, and that’s fine, we never expected you to. You’ve also made it plain that you don’t want to spend any time with them, or see them again, so while I feel sad for you and Frank that you’ll miss out on so much, I can’t say it’s any great loss for us that you want no contact with our family,” he said sternly.

  “Now go, please. This is an incredibly difficult time for us, mourning the loss of the most precious person in our lives. Your disrespect is an insult to Beth’s memory, and I won’t hear another word,” he added. Then, leaning down, he picked up Brodie, winked at Rhiannon over the young boy’s shoulder, and led them to the pew across the aisle from his in-laws.

  Flabbergasted, Rhiannon stared at her father, shocked and impressed in equal measure. But he held up his hand to stop her when she opened her mouth to speak.

  “I took no pleasure in it darling, and it makes me sad that you were about to compliment me for being so harsh. But I won’t have her being cruel to either of you, especially today. To be honest, I feel sorry for her. She’s a cold, lonely woman, and I can’t even begin to understand how she could not want to have a relationship with you both. But it’s her loss,” he said firmly. “Now, let’s not waste another moment on her, all right?”

  She nodded. “I love you Dad.”

  “And I love you,” he replied, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before gently pulling Brodie onto his lap.

  Rhiannon’s heart bled for him. He was too young to be a widow, too inexperienced to be a sole parent. And he looked so lost without his beloved wife. Her mum had been the outgoing one, the social one, the strong one. And yet her dad had displayed a steeliness and power of his own over the last week, keeping things together for Brodie when she knew he would have been happy to check out and join his wife, and now standing up to his ogre of a mother-in-law.

  It struck her finally, that there were different kinds of strength. Some would consider Mike a pushover, because he was happy to let others choose the restaurant, or the holiday destination, to let them take the lead. Yet when it really mattered, like today, he dug deep to find his voice and speak his truth, standing up for himself, his children and his wife.

  “Oh love, you have to pick your battles,” he said, as though reading her mind. Hmm, he
was also more intuitive than she’d given him credit for. “If something doesn’t matter to me either way, I’m happy for others to choose. It’s the time together that I loved about our family holidays, so the places we went never mattered to me, it just made me happy knowing we could go where your mum longed to visit. But the big things, the important things? That’s different. I will always fight for you and Brodie. With my last breath I will protect you both.”

  Tears welled in Rhiannon’s eyes, but no sparks flew from her fingers and no thunder crashed overhead. She felt sad and a little bereft that she’d underestimated her dad for so long.

  “Bravery isn’t about bossing people around or fighting against everything in life just for the sake of it,” Mike continued. “If I’m happy with either option, why would I insist on choosing when it means something to the other person? But I will not stand by and watch you two being hurt, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me feel,” he insisted.

  “And yes, of course I’m terrified of Patricia, I have been since the day I met her, and she thrives on that. I don’t care for me, but it used to break my heart that she hurt your mother so deeply. Beth knew it was nothing personal though, and she let go of trying to impress her, or convincing her to love her, a long time ago. Our family, the four of us, was always enough for your mum, and don’t you ever forget that.”

  Rhiannon smiled sadly. “And your parents loved her like a daughter. That must have helped.”

  Leaning forward, Mike kissed the top of Brodie’s head and smiled at his growing-up-too-fast daughter.

  “Yes they did. And so did Rose,” he said, but his words were twisted with some emotion she couldn’t identify. A sharp spear of pain shot through Rhiannon’s heart, and she stared at him, panicked. Why did it hurt him to say that? What made him so devastated by the mention of Rose loving Beth like a daughter that she could feel his emotions and his struggle?

  “Why didn’t Rose ever have kids?” she asked, surprised she’d never wondered before. “I know she lost her husband quite young, at least I think she did, but she never remarried?”

  Mike’s face paled, and it looked like he was going to pass out. “Rose and Louis did have a child, a daughter,” he whispered, and Rhiannon stared at him in shock.

  “What?”

  “Violet. We went to school together. But she left home when she was seventeen, and Rose never heard from her again. No one knows whether she died, or just disappeared,” he said, sadness in his voice, and… was it regret?

  “It would have destroyed most people, and in some ways it did break Rose, but it also made her even kinder, even more compassionate. And Beth’s death is really hurting her, although she’s trying to be strong for us. But she cares about you love, so if you ever need her help, or advice, or anything at all, know that you can go to her. If something is too hard for you to discuss with me, Rose will be there for you.”

  Before she could make sense of Mike’s revelation, or ask any more questions, the priest strode out of the side room. Beth’s coffin was raised on the platform, and from that moment on everything passed in a blur. Rhiannon was aware that her grandmother spoke, her words chilling in their insincerity, and that the priest preached and hymns were sung, but she didn’t feel fully present.

  And all the while, the violence of the storm outside raged on above the old stone cathedral.

  Chapter 11

  The Final Farewell

  Rhiannon…

  Blue skies greeted Rhiannon when she peeked out of her bedroom window the next morning, and for the briefest of moments she forgot just how black her world had become. But then, abruptly, it all came flooding back, and the grief poured through her limbs, clouding her mind and piercing her heart all over again. She wanted to crawl back into bed, hide under the quilt and stay there forever. She didn’t want to speak to anyone, listen to anyone, or see anyone. She wanted to disappear from the world.

  Yet she couldn’t, not today at least. Today was Rose’s ritual for her mum, and learning that the priestess had lost her own daughter twenty years ago made Rhiannon even more grateful to her for the love she’d always had for Beth, and her determination to honour her as she deserved.

  It was a small mercy to know that at least it couldn’t be any worse than yesterday’s funeral service, and a fleeting smile crossed her face as she recalled her dad standing up to her grandmother for the first time. And it seemed that she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing the woman who had been so cruel to her own daughter, so disdainful of her son-in-law, and so cold towards her and Brodie, again. She couldn’t understand why people like that even had children, but she supposed she should be grateful, because her mum had been the sweetest, kindest, smartest person she’d ever known.

  Steeling herself for the ordeal ahead, she threw on some clothes and made her way downstairs. Her nice grandma Anne was in the kitchen with Brodie, making pancakes and chatting with him about the bike he’d been learning to ride, the fort he was building at Ben’s place, and what he’d like for lunch.

  “Sweetie,” Anne cried, moving over to the doorway where Rhiannon lurked and hugging her. It felt so nice to be held, yet it also reminded her that she would never have one of her mum’s cuddles again, and that thought almost made her lose what little composure she had. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she walked over to her brother and kissed him hello.

  “Are you feeling better now Rhi-Rhi?” he asked, his innocence breaking her heart. “Nan said that you haven’t been feeling well, so I shouldn’t go and wake you up.”

  Her grandma grimaced, and mouthed “sorry”, but Rhiannon smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be okay buddy,” she said to Brodie with forced cheer, and sat down next to him. “So, can I eat all your pancakes?” she asked, hovering a fork over his plate, and he squealed and shook his head, his worry forgotten as he protected his breakfast.

  Anne brought Rhiannon her own towering plate of pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, and told her that Mike had gone to the cemetery to finalise preparations, but would be home in plenty of time. Rhiannon tried to lose herself in her interaction with her brother, tried to be brave for him at least, and shut off her emotions, but it was tough, and she was relieved when her grandmother finally told her to go and get ready, while she took Brodie down to the park.

  * * * * *

  That afternoon, her legs felt like lead as she reluctantly climbed the stairs of the healing centre and braced herself for the ritual to come. It had seemed a nice idea when Rose had offered – Rhiannon had been so mad at her dad for letting her mean grandmother take over the funeral service, so a ceremony of remembrance with her mum’s real friends sounded perfect. But now she didn’t know if she could face any more public grief, any more sympathy, any more compassion, any more sad eyes levelled at her, bringing out her guilt. Just as she decided to turn around and flee, she heard the door above her open, and froze where she stood.

  “Rhiannon, sweet girl, I’m so glad you’ve come,” Rose called out from the landing, and she cursed her timing as she glanced up to the top of the staircase. There was no going back now, no escaping the heart-rending, heart-breaking, ritual to come. The priestess looked formidable, her long silver hair floating loose and wild around her face, her expression reminding her of an ancient power brought forth into their world, the wisdom of the ages residing within her heart and mind.

  A glimmer of fear shot through Rhiannon as she felt the strength contained within the woman facing her, but she shook it off. For as long as she could remember, Rose had been like another grandmother to her, a real grandmother, caring for her and Brodie, sharing holidays and special moments with their family, teaching her things, encouraging her, championing her.

  There was no rational need to be afraid of her, and yet she was. She was scared that this wise old crone would see within her heart, see the broken parts of her, see the shame snaking through her veins and blackening her soul. See that it was her fault that Beth was
dead and her family was shattered.

  A crack of thunder shook the building, and the flash of lightning just a few seconds later sent a ghostly illumination into the upstairs room, which spilled out onto the landing and lit up Rose’s face. From her position halfway up the stairs, Rhiannon paled, but the priestess smiled.

  “Come sweet girl, you can help me prepare,” she offered calmly, holding her hand out to her.

  “I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t think I should be here.”

  Rose’s face clouded over, and for a moment she looked angry. Rhiannon trembled, nervous again, but the expression passed, and the older woman extended her hand a second time.

  “You need to do this,” she said, voice stern but eyes now kind. “You will regret it for the rest of your days if you don’t. Now, did you bring the objects I asked for?”

  With a sigh of defeat she nodded, then forced herself up the remaining stairs and handed the black velvet bag over. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer to the heavens to help her get through this afternoon, then jumped, shocked, when another rumble of thunder crashed above their heads.

  Rose stared at her with narrowed eyes as the lightning flashed through the windows, and Rhiannon was terrified that the wise woman knew she was causing the storm. But maybe she’d imagined her expression. Maybe it was simply a trick of the light in this gloomy space. She hoped so.

  “Perhaps you could light the candles,” Rose suggested, and Rhiannon shivered again at the way she was watching her, scared that every thought she’d ever had, and every thing she’d ever done, would be revealed. Yet she made herself move forward, made herself pick up the box of matches then walk over to the candelabra in the corner, the one furthest away from the all-seeing, all-knowing priestess.

  “Sorry Mum,” Rhiannon whispered as she slowly began to ignite the wicks. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here honouring you, grieving you, loving you. It’s just that I don’t know how I will keep it together amongst all these people who were so close to you. Or, to be honest, with Rose. I know she’s going to see right through me, she’s going to know, the minute the ritual begins, that it’s my fault you’re dead. And I don’t want to disappoint her, not after all that she’s done for us, all that she’s been to us,” she added with a sigh.