by Lisa Greer
“I see. That’s Evan’s domain. He has a gift for horticulture. It’s his work, really. He sells flowers in the local market in town and breeds them, too.” John joined her near the window. “That’s a remarkable piece of art, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“The anguish in The Baptist’s eyes seems to mirror that of the world,” he said. His tone was so somber, it gave Sophie pause.
“I suppose so.”
“I hope we will be happy and know a great deal less of the anguish we have tasted so far in life,” John said suddenly, touching her shoulder. “It is my greatest wish.” He squeezed her arm, and heat flowed from his hand to her body.
Sophie wanted more than just his touch in that moment. She swallowed hard, not sure where he was leading with this declaration. “I’m sure we will be.”
He dropped his hand from her shoulder and gave her a wobbly smile.
But she wasn’t sure at all. John’s mood had grown sober for reasons she couldn’t understand, and he led her silently from the chapel. The light tone of the morning was gone, and her happiness had vanished along with it.
Chapter Six
Later that afternoon, Sophie stood in front of her full length bedroom mirror at Haven House, a length of silk tacked around her.
“I think the lace long sleeves will do nicely for the cold and the long, lace veil is a must, of course. And you’ll want a cape, too, dear?” The seamstress asked, smiling as she made some adjustments and inserted safety pins where she would need to add seams.
“I think so.”
“That would be best with the cold. I’ll make it gauzy with hand muffs on the ends.” The woman put her pins in the pin cushion and gathered her materials back up.
Sophie had chosen an ivory silk for the dress with beads and pearls to accent. The arms would be made of lace. “Thank you. I think it will be lovely.”
“You’ve chosen well, and you’ll be a gorgeous bride.” Mrs. Bechdol snapped her measuring tape up and put it in her bag. “I’ll have this ready as soon as I can. It’s my first priority. It’s my understanding you won’t be having any bridesmaids.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Heat rose in Sophie’s cheeks. She wondered if everyone in town knew that this was a hasty marriage—a marriage designed so John Granger could receive his inheritance.
“That’s fine, dear. Call me if you have any changes you want to make as I get started in the next few days. I can make slight alterations here and there. When I’m finished, I’ll call and we’ll make sure everything fits you like a glove.”
“Thank you so much.” Sophie clasped her hands together, excited in spite of her trepidation. The dress was a vision, so unlike her wedding gown when she had married David—a plain thing she had sewn herself due to lack of money. She had done the best she could, but she was no master seamstress like Mrs. Bechdol.
“You’re welcome, dear. It’s always wonderful to work with a happy bride-to-be.” The woman walked out of Sophie’s bedroom, leaving her pondering the words. Was she happy? She didn’t know, but she fervently wanted to be.
* * * *
It was only four o’clock when the seamstress left, so Sophie decided to lie down for a nap before dinner. She had checked on Maya an hour or so earlier, and she was napping. Carla was going to see to her through dinner time anyway, so Sophie was relishing the break.
She stretched out on the bed, sighing. After the dress fitting, she could almost imagine that she was marrying for the first time and wildly in love. Sophie laughed softly. How far that was from the truth! She set her alarm clock in time for dinner and snuggled under the covers. It was frigid inside in spite of the heat running and a low fire burning in the bedroom fireplace. The temperature had dropped to nearly five degrees this afternoon, and the forecast was for zero by evening.
Sophie drifted into sleep. She became aware of the cloying scent of roses all around her. In the dream, she was in her bedroom, and a woman stood before her—a gorgeous woman with flowing dark hair and compelling brown eyes. She wore a long black dress as if she were in mourning, and her expression was sad. “Go. Save yourself,” she whispered.
Sophie fought to wake up. The perfume of the roses was now a stench—the smell of putrid decay and death. “Who are you?” She asked the woman.
“You know. The woman of the roses. Save yourself as I could not do.” The woman faded before her eyes.
Sophie struggled into wakefulness and sat up on the bed. Tears wet her cheeks. “What happened to you, Mona Granger? What are you trying to tell me?” She wiped her face with a tissue from the nightstand and tried to gather her wits.
It was only a dream after all—the product of an overactive imagination and seeing the woman’s grave earlier in the day, hearing of her tragic death. But Sophie remembered Thaddeus Granger’s words about seeing “her.” Was the her he referred to his dead wife?
She shuddered, hugging herself tightly. Was coming here a mistake? Why would a ghost warn her away?
“There are no ghosts. This is just the result of stress and an overly active imagination. Pull yourself together,” Sophie whispered to herself, feeling foolish.
Trying to forget the woman in black in her nightmare, Sophie looked in the wardrobe where she had hung her few pitiful dresses. She brightened, remembering that the seamstress had fitted her for a few pre-made dresses she had thought would be close to her size. Two of them had fit nearly perfectly, so she had left them there for Sophie. It had been a nice touch from John who had asked that Mrs. Bechdol look through the stock in her dress shop for dresses Sophie might like.
Sophie ran her fingers over the two dresses and chose a gold one that brought out the highlights in her red hair. It was long sleeved and fell to mid-calf length. She put it on, smiling at her reflection as she looked through her paltry jewelry stash and chose a pair of large copper studs and a chain bracelet to match. “There. That’s perfect.” She wanted to look nice as a thank you to John. Her spirits lifted a bit as she studied her reflection. Her skin was glowing, and she was looking healthier—not so gaunt as she had when she’d arrived. That could be credited to a better diet—more food in general and a better selection of it.
“I did the right thing for Maya and me.” Sophie nodded at herself in the mirror. Then, she moved to the makeup table and put on a light coat of peach lip gloss, brown mascara, and some blush. She was ready to face dinner, come what may.
She had her hand on the door to leave her room when she heard angry whispers.
“I don’t understand.” That was Carla’s voice.
“I’ve told you before. You just don’t want to understand, Carla.”
Sophie recognized Evan’s voice and felt some relief. Perhaps Evan and Carla had been the ones she’d heard quarreling the night before and not Carla and John.
“I think I do,” she said, laughing lightly.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, a threatening note in his voice.
“I guess we will,” she said.
Their voices faded as they moved down the hall toward the stairs.
“Darn it!” Sophie said, wishing she could have heard the whole conversation. What had they been arguing about? Were they lovers? It wouldn’t surprise her. Carla was undeniably attractive.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. John skipped dinner due to a migraine headache, which Sophie found extremely disappointing. She wondered if it was true or a ruse. It was the first time they would have all been together at the dinner table.
Carla and Evan were quiet but shooting glances toward each other throughout the meal. Overall, the environment was uncomfortable. Sophie felt overdressed and silly.
“So, when is the big day?” Carla asked as they reached the dessert course—a delectable key lime pie.
“I’m not sure yet. We’re still...waiting on some details.” She wondered if they all knew about those details.
Evan laughed shortly. “Don’t wait too long. Dear old dad isn’t getting
any better.” He popped a bite of pie in his mouth.
She shot him a look of venom. “Why are you determined to hate me?”
His eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t read. “I don’t hate you. I pity you. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Perhaps you could tell me, then.” Sophie said, refusing to back down. Her pulse hammered in her temple.
“You’ll figure it out soon enough, I suppose,” Evan said. “I just hope the family fortune is all worth it.”
She stood up and threw her napkin to the table, her appetite ruined. “I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut, to stay civil, but it’s impossible. I won’t be maligned like this any longer.”
Carla looked on, wide eyed, but Sophie sensed she was enjoying the scene.
“I’m not maligning you. Why else would you be marrying my poor, crippled brother, if not for money?” Evan leaned back, crossing his arms.
“He’s not poor and crippled,” Sophie said, her voice shaking. “And you know nothing about me.”
But his words stung, nonetheless. She was marrying John Granger for money and security. She didn’t love him, or at least she couldn’t honestly say she did yet. Love could come one day, but she hardly knew him. Evan was right.
“I think I know enough. Single mother with a baby trying to fend for herself and all. It’s an old story, really.” Evan smiled and put his fork down.
“And that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not single by choice,” Sophie said, mortified that tears were slipping down her cheeks. She had always had an embarrassing habit of crying when she was enraged, and she was beyond angry right now.
“Oh?” Even looked confused. So, he didn’t know.
“No. My lout of a husband left me with a three week old baby and a letter. No money or support. He was controlling and abusive. Don’t feel sorry for me, because I don’t want your pity. I just want you to treat me like I might be a human being and not a terrible person. You see, this marriage will benefit me, yes, but it will also benefit your brother, as you know. I just wanted to set the record straight about who I am. Have a nice evening.” Sophie tossed her head and turned away, enjoying the look of shock on Evan’s face.
So, he and his brother obviously communicated very little. John hadn’t even told him about her background. She was a bit confused and hurt. By not telling Evan anything about her past, he had allowed his spiteful brother to draw all the wrong conclusions and cause more drama than necessary.
She expected him to defend her in the future.
“Sophie, wait!” Evan called after her as she bolted up the stairs.
She ignored him, hot tears stinging her cheeks.
* * * *
Sophie headed straight to the nursery to cuddle Maya. The baby was in her playpen on her stomach. Carla had approved this for short periods of time with Sophie—as long as Mrs. Garson looked in every ten minutes if Carla was otherwise engaged with dinner or another task.
“Oh, my dear love,” she said, scooping her daughter up. “Will we survive this terrible place?” She kissed the baby on her head, and Maya cooed.
“I think we will, too,” she whispered. “But that nasty old Evan is a piece of work.” She rocked her daughter in silence for a few minutes.
The house was quiet, eerily so. Evan hadn’t tried to follow her upstairs, and that was for the best. Sophie thought she would have punched him out if he’d tried to apologize at the moment. Only the rich and privileged could judge people as swiftly and harshly as he had judged her.
Maya began to fuss. She was hungry. Sophie got up and made her a warm bottle. The act of feeding the baby was soothing, and she hated when Maya fell asleep in her arms, milk trickling out of the corner of her mouth. She had enjoyed looking into those trusting eyes that didn’t judge her for the screw up she had made of her life. The baby was too young to understand.
“Goodnight, sweet angel,” she said, kissing the baby and putting her in her crib. She turned the lamps off in the room and made sure the night light was working before she left.
It was too early for bed or retreating to her room, though she desperately wanted to. Sophie refused to be a prisoner to Evan’s terrible manners and mean imaginings about her. She had accidentally left A Tale of Two Cities in the library downstairs the other night, so she decided to go fetch it. It would give her an excuse to get out of her room while also nearly insuring she would avoid most of the household.
She changed into a warm, teal green sweater and comfortable cotton pants and tennis shoes and removed her jewelry before she went downstairs. No reason to be uncomfortable if John wasn’t going to see her anyway.
As she started down the hall, she broke out into a sudden sweat. She was hot—for no reason. It was cold outside and rather chilly in the house, so she shouldn’t be burning up like she was on fire from within. A sudden pain in her stomach made her double over and groan. Sophie stopped right where she was in the hall, near the head of the staircase, crouched in pain. She wasn’t sure she could keep walking. Panting, she clutched her stomach in pain, wondering if she should call for help.
A shadow behind her warned her of danger, but it was too late. A strong kick sent her halfway down the steps. By the time she quit tumbling down the steps, stopping herself with her arm by grasping onto a spindle, there was no one at the top of the staircase. She panted, afraid and in pain for a moment.
“Sophie! My God! I heard a commotion and came running. Are you alright?” A voice broke through her pain a few seconds later. John stood at the top of the staircase but was moving toward her. Could he have pushed her down? But why, and why was she suddenly so ill?
“I might be hurt, and I think I’m sick,” she gasped. Everything went dark.
Chapter Seven
“I’m not sure why you had the sudden sweating and stomach pain. It sounds like you ate something that didn’t agree with you.” The doctor frowned.
“Is anyone else sick?” Sophie asked, wincing. She was bruised all over her body from the tumble down half the flight of stairs.
“Not so far,” he said, “but they’ve been told you are and are continuing to watch for it.”
“Right.” Just me, she thought. How convenient. And anyone could have slipped something into her drink or food before she came downstairs or in the kitchen.
“You rest tonight and tomorrow. Have the nanny look after the baby. Nothing is broken from what I can tell, but you had quite a fall. You must be more careful in the future,” he said.
“I told you. Someone pushed me when I was down. I don’t make a habit of tumbling carelessly down steps. It happened because someone kicked me when I had knelt in pain.” She gripped the sheets tightly, frustrated.
“I can’t imagine why someone would push you. Perhaps it was an affect of the food poisoning, and you lost your balance,” the man said.
He would obviously hear no wrong against the Grangers or anyone in the household. Sophie held her tongue.
“Now, take it easy. If you need anything or have new or worse pain, have someone call me, and I’ll come right out.” He patted her arm.
“Thank you. I will,” she said dryly.
The doctor left, and Sophie settled back in bed, closing her eyes. It was about 10:00 p.m., and she was exhausted. Her stomach had settled down, thanks to medicine, and pain medicine was helping with the bumps and bruises. She had been lucky in the fall not to have broken something—or worse. She had sent John to check on the baby, but she knew he would be back any moment.
“Sophie?” John said softly.
“Yes, I’m awake.” She sat up, grimacing with pain.
“Maya’s fine—sleeping like an angel.” He sat in a chair by her bed. “How are you? What happened? You said someone pushed you before I called the doctor and during the chaos.” A frown drew his thick eyebrows together.
“Yes, someone did, and I think someone put something in my food, too, to make sure I’d be an easy target for...whatever. My being at the
stairs was just dumb luck for him or her.”
“Are you sure you weren’t just dizzy?” John asked, studying her with concern.
“I’m sure, John. I’m not crazy.” She glowered at him, tired of explaining herself at every turn to the members of this household.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I doubted you. I believe you.” He looked haunted and distant.
“That’s good to know since we’re getting married. The question is, who wants to hurt me, and why?” Sophie bit her lip, not liking any of the possible answers.
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions.” John avoided her gaze.
Anger rose inside of her. “You don’t believe me!”
“I didn’t say that.” He shook his head, but something was holding him back from showing that he truly did.
“You don’t have to. It’s just like with your brother. Why didn’t you tell him about me—about my background? He said terrible things to me earlier! He thought I was some single mother with a baby out of wedlock—as if that wouldn’t be pitiable enough if I had chosen it and I were—a fortune hunter.” Her breath came in quick gasps.
“Please, try to calm down. You don’t look well,” John said, putting his hand on hers.
“I don’t feel well. Someone tried to kill me, and everyone here seems to hate me or have ulterior motives I don’t understand.” Sophie clenched her fists.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell him about your background. We don’t talk much. I didn’t think he would raise the topic with you. It just goes to show you never know what Evan is capable of.” John’s gaze darkened, his eyes like stormy orbs.
“Funny. He’s said much the same about you,” Sophie said, laughing softly.
“I’m sure he has.” John closed his eyes, looking drawn and exhausted. “We’ve never been close. That’s the truth.”
“I can see that. Maybe he wants to kill me off,” Sophie said, knowing her comment was flippant and ill advised.
