Rosethorn

by Ava Zavora

  Andrew tried the door. The massive knob turned stiffly and the door creaked open.

  Feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland, Sera stepped over the threshold with Andrew and walked in.

  They were in a spacious hall, a great staircase in front of them. Instead of being dark and closed in, as Sera had expected, the inside was light and airy, all the strangely-shaped windows distorting the light so that looking left and right into the open, empty rooms, Sera could see fanciful patterns projected on the wooden floor.

  Sera spied something colorful in the room to the left and pulled Andrew eagerly, pushing open the double doors on either side of its entry. It was the room that had the big star window on one side, but Sera only saw the giant fireplace, which dominated the space.

  Gasping in wonder, she ran to it and crouched in front. Two wooden griffins had been carved to bear the mantle and flank the grate. She wiped the dust off of one beaked face and its wooden eyes looked stoically back at her. Each griffin stood on attention, face forward, taut muscles carved so realistically that Sera half-believed that they were about to fly off. Their great wooden wings could be seen in profile, its span running the depth of the fireplace and its tips reaching all the way to the edge of the mantle.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it." Sera turned to Andrew, eyes wide. “Have you?”

  Andrew shook his head, looking as awed she felt.

  She then noticed what had initially caught her attention, the colorful tiles surrounding the grate. Each tile was different, fit together to form an elaborate pattern of scrolls, flourishes, leaves, and flowers painted in vivid hues.

  Sera stood in the middle and tried to reach each griffin with her outstretched arms, but was unable to do so. Andrew stood in her place and reaching as she had, barely touched each beak.

  Sera crouched a little in front of the griffin to the left and wiped the dust of its face to match its twin.

  “How did I do? Do you like it?” he asked needlessly.

  “It’s amazing, Andrew." She leaned close to the griffin’s beak as if to hear it speak.

  She had never felt so odd as she did in this house. Though she had never before set foot in it, it was familiar to her somehow, as if it were a long ago, fantastic dream suddenly remembered.

  “Who lived here? And what happened to them? Don’t you feel,” she said to him as she looked around, “That this is a sad house that wants to be happy?"

  She expected Andrew to laugh at her fanciful thoughts but he remained silent. He was sitting with his long legs drawn up, looking into the empty grate.

  “I can feel it. Don’t you?" Sera asked, searching his face.

  Andrew shook his head.

  “What is it?" Sera finally asked.

  He looked up at her, his head tilted back. He took a deep breath and in a small voice asked, “What about us? You look at me like...." He gave a feeble smile. “Something’s different."

  Everything that had happened yesterday was suddenly in the room with them, demanding attention and refusing to be ignored.

  Sera took a few steps then crouched down in front of Andrew.

  “I’m sorry I freaked out yesterday." Sera picked her words deliberately, sensing the fragility of what they held between them. “It’s just that everything’s happening so fast. I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “Me either.”

  “Aren’t you scared, even a little?”

  “Only of you shutting me out like you did yesterday. Where did you go? What did you do?”

  “I just thought a lot about everything and... I’m just not ready.”

  “I know, I got that." Andrew gave out a mirthless laugh. “I didn’t mean to lose control like that. It won’t happen again." He cupped her hands in his. “If you want we’ll slow down. Just tell me what you need and I’ll wait. As long as it takes." He saw something troubling in her eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

  “No, it’s not that. I believe you when you say you’ll wait. I do. But what if I’m never ready? What happens then?” she withdrew her hands.

  He drew in his breath. “Then we’ll deal with it. Just don’t shut me out. Everything that’s happening is happening to both of us, Sera." He took her hand and placed it on his heart. “Look at me and tell me if you don’t think I’ll do everything possible just be with you."

  His voice was raw and there was no turning away from what he had laid bare for her to see.

  She tried to swallow the knot in her throat, but realized she just had to let it out.

  “You said something to me yesterday." Sera finally tore her eyes from Andrew and looked down, her face growing warm, her heart still, for once. “I don’t know if you remember or if you even meant it. Maybe it’s something people say when...they...you know."

  She felt him grow agitated and say almost angrily, “I’ve never said that ever to any--” and stop as his eye was drawn to her hand, which was lifting the hidden necklace from below her shirt, at the end of which hung the silver bullet he had given her. He stared at it and then at her, surprised.

  Hand-fastened to a silver chain by a thin wire Sera had wound tightly around the cylinder, the silver bullet caught the light streaming from the window and shone between the two of them.

  “I’ll wear this always so that everyone will know how I feel.”

  “Which is?" His forehead touched hers. “Say it.”

  “I love you." Exhaling in great relief, he held her then, gently as if she would break, and she succumbed, laying her head on his chest.

  She was, however, afraid to look at him, for at that moment when she should have been wildly happy, some strange presentiment had visited her, foretelling that the happiness she would come to know in this house would be equal to its sorrow.

  Chapter 9

  Andrew shifted in the long silence, seemingly impatient.

  “Let me show you around,” he said abruptly, getting up.

  “I really should let you get back to your work." Sera got up too and started fidgeting with her dress. “You’ve been kind,” she said softly.

  She looked up at him, summoning the strength to say goodbye without any traces of hurt or meaning. She extended a hand, which she noticed to her dismay was shaking, and said, “Thank you for the lemonade."

  He reached out his hand as well and without taking his eyes off her, clasped it. Sera’s skin felt charged. She realized with some hopelessness that artifice would have to suffice. She had no defenses against a past as alive and blue-eyed as this.

  Holding onto her hand, he turned around and said, as he gently pulled her towards the front, “C’mon. Take a look inside."

  Sera did not say anything nor did she withdraw her hand as they made their way. When he did let go, it was to open the door and Sera found herself at the threshold. She looked at the hand he had held, not recognizing it. How had she let herself be led meekly back into this house?

  “Won’t the owner mind?”

  “That's never stopped us before." He grinned. "Besides, I'm the only one here.”

  Sera’s reluctance gave way to curiosity and an eagerness to look inside the house whose rooms and hallways had been the architecture of potent memories. She took off her sunglasses and stepped in.

  There was no furniture in the house, but it was clean. No traces of the cobwebs that had draped the corners like fine, lacy netting and the carpet of dust that had covered the floors had been swept away. The walls had been stripped of the flowery wallpaper, which she remembered as peeling and missing in places. In front of her was the staircase leading to the second floor. She ran a hand over the wood balustrade, intricately carved and inlaid with dark patterns. The top of the newel post now had a carved lion’s head on it.

  “This is new,” she said, looking at Andrew as she stroked it.

  He shook his head. “I found it in one of the cupboards in the kitchen. It must have fallen off at one time.”

  “It fits. It reminds me of the weathervane on top of the turret."


  “Would you like to see it? The turret?” he asked, pointing to the top and already walking up the stairs.

  Sera followed him up and at the top of the stairs they turned left and up a small stairway, at the end of which was an open door. She excitedly walked past Andrew and into the room, gasping in surprised delight.

  The round room was illuminated and otherworldly with the muted brilliance of the afternoon sun shining through the tall leaded and stained glass windows running almost all of the circumference. She stood in the center, where the translucent emerald, ruby, sapphire, and golden shafts met and whirled around.

  “It’s been cleaned!” she said ecstatically to Andrew, who stayed in the doorway, hands on the frame, inscrutable.

  “You were right."

  She had once rubbed the years of dirt on the glass and said that all the room needed was a good scrubbing inside and out. She had envisioned out loud that in the right light, the room would sparkle like a crystal jewel, but it had surpassed even that.

  “It’s magic,” she said in wonder, bathed in light, arms extended and hands open as if to catch the colored beams. She spun around again, unable to contain herself.

  “More beautiful than I had ever imagined,” Andrew remarked quietly. Sera stopped, self-consciousness returning, and turned around to see him looking at her.

  She put her arms down quickly, then crossed them. She was not herself in this house.

  “I would love to take pictures of this room. With the owner’s permission, of course.”

  Andrew leaned against the frame, his head missing the top of the doorway by a few inches, still looking at her without a word.

  “It’ll make a dazzling pictorial."

  “Yeah." He turned around abruptly and started walking down. “It’ll be nice."

  Sera felt rebuffed, not quite knowing why, and followed him after a moment.

  She walked behind him as he walked her through the many rooms, saying little, pointing out a few things he had done, what he planned to do. He seemed dissatisfied.

  All the rooms were empty, except for one, which she saw had a bed, a dresser, and some big boots by the closet, before Andrew closed the door.

  Some of the walls were still a dirty white, other rooms had been stripped of their paper, remnants of stubborn glue and paper marring the surface here and there. The owner had left the big claw foot tub in the upstairs bathrooms, which Andrew had converted to allow for a shower head.

  The bathroom was spotless, gleaming white. The cracked mirror above the white porcelain pedestal sink had been replaced, she noticed, with an oval one almost identical to it. A razor, toothbrush, and a neatly rolled up toothpaste tube sat on the lip of the sink.

  “The captain built this house right,” Andrew said, a hand on the beadboard. “The finest materials, good foundation. He built it to last.”

  As they made their way back downstairs, Sera wondered, and not for the first time, if it affected him at all to be working on this house. She had not been in its shadow a minute before falling headlong into the past, stronger and more real to her than her life in New York.

  She had expected, perhaps secretly hoped to come upon a semi-ruin, even a razed lot. She had thoughts of spending a quiet hour wandering the grounds alone, like some tourist in a dead city identifying artifacts whose significance only she knew. She had expected to find that her memory had deceived her.

  Instead, the house distorted her perception of time. Even as their adult selves now walked and talked, their younger selves were present too, dreaming in vain and making foolish promises. It pained her to have to walk these rooms and make small talk about tile and walnut finishes with him of all people.

  He led her at last to the great room with the tiled fireplace and the wood mantle of carved oak.

  She hesitated, then walked over to one of the griffins sculpted in relief on both sides and rested her hand on its beak.

  “Amazing,” she said finally. “Just as I remember." She ran her finger on its wooden wing, which spanned the depth of the fireplace.

  “Not much has to be done here,” He placed a hand on the other griffin. “Just some paint on the walls and polish on the floors." She felt him look at her expectantly.

  She pointed to the tile surrounding the grate, which had a bright pattern of blue, red, and yellow designs. “You know, this is Italian, I think. The captain must have imported it." The tiles looked similar to classical patterns on Italian majolica ware she had seen in Orvieto.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. I think the marble fireplace upstairs is imported, too. Carrera, I believe. It seems he spared no expense."

  “I’m glad you’re a part of all this,” she said, looking at the empty grate and not at him. “It’s funny, how things turn out."

  It was the closest she would venture into all that was unspoken between them, for this room, of all the rooms, was the most unbearable for her. She supposed that it would be a fitting place to draw whatever it was they once shared to a neat and tidy close.

  “Is it?" Andrew was tilting his head to meet her downcast eyes. He took a deep breath. “A lot’s happened.”

  “Congratulations on your engagement,” she plunged in, braving a smile to show how very far she had come.

  “Alli’s husband used to work with your brother, Michael, before he transferred to Fairfax,” she explained when he looked at her questioningly. "She e-mailed me."

  Much had indeed happened in the many years since last they met. The last time she had been in this house, she had waited in vain, growing colder and colder with each hour alone until she felt she would never be warm again.

  Hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, she could now stand by this fireplace, look him in the eye, and wish him happiness in his future life with another.

  “We broke up,” he slowly.

  “When?” she asked stupidly. “I mean. I’m sorry to hear that,” cursing herself for being clumsy, yet again.

  “Are you?” he accused, his eyes piercing through her like a blade.

  She faltered momentarily, surprised by the way he looked at her, the sharp tone in his voice. The wound must be fresh then, she thought, and still stung. Polite responses withered under his gaze.

  “Yes, Andrew, I am,” she said simply, returning his look without reproach.

  He looked away and shook his head, a bitter smile on his face.

  Something told Sera to walk away now. He’s a mystery to her and she will never know him again.

  “You’re obviously very busy and I’ve taken up enough of your time." Sera started walking to the front hall, resisting the urge to run away like a child.

  “Good bye, Andrew,” her hand was on the door. And in a low voice, with her back to him, she added, “It was nice catching up."

  He did not follow her.

  Once outside, Sera took off her heels, and not caring if he saw, ran as fast as she could to the gate. She did not stop to look back.

  Chapter 10

  A cowbell rang to announce Sera and Andrew as they entered the Venetia History museum, which was a two-story clapboard house near the freeway. She vaguely recalled coming to the museum for the mandatory field trip in third grade. At the time she had wondered how there could possibly be a museum dedicated to the town when nothing had ever happened there.

  On the walls hung old, brown maps of the area when it used to be divided into ranchos, next to various black and white portraits. Ancient, rusting farm equipment on display took up most of the space. The faintest hint of manure greeted them at the door then vanished.

  An old man in overalls sat in the other end of the first floor, saying a quick “Howd'youdo” without looking up from the paper he was reading. A woman with an enormous, haphazard bun on top of her head sat in an armchair dozing next to him. Even the golden retriever sprawled on the carpeted floor barely glanced at the newcomers before laying his head back down to resume his interrupted afternoon nap.

  S
era began looking at the portraits on the wall of flamboyantly mustachioed men in stovepipe hats and lamb chop sideburns from over a century ago, the town’s founders for whom many of the streets were named. Andrew followed her in imitation, expressing exaggerated interest in the displays.

  “It smells weird in here,” he whispered while examining a gigantic black contraption with a wide funnel on top and a crank.

  “That’s an apple press for makin’ cider,” the old man called out from behind his paper.

  Andrew looked at Sera and mouthed, “What the?”

  “Sweetser and Delong planted apple trees all over this town and shipped the fruit to San Francisco every day." He continued as if by rote. “They had the biggest fruit business in California at that time."

  “Oh,” Sera replied politely. She moved to the big pink wooden Victorian doll house in the middle of the museum, peeking through its perfectly rendered windows at the tiny furniture inside.

  “Trumbull made that for his daughters one Christmas. It’s in miniature scale of the Trumbull place on Rica Vista."

  Andrew pointed two fingers back and forth between his eyes and Sera. “I’m watching you,” he mouthed.

  Andrew quickly dropped his hand when they heard the crinkle of newspaper. “You kids here to do a report?" Magnified eyes behind Mr. Magoo spectacles looked over the newspaper at them.

  Sera sidled over to the counter, with Andrew falling behind her. “Kind of. We’re interested in the history of Venetia."

  “As I said, the whole valley used to be all apple trees,” The old man launched. “Then Sweetser and Delong started selling parts of the rancho,” he pointed to a framed poster on the wall, advertising $10 an acre for the first 100 people. “That’s when the chicken farms got started up. We had more chicken farms than Petaluma back in those days. Eggs used to cost---”