A shared rumor, long ago, from one of my mother’s acquaintance echoed in my memory. A foolish notion from a mindless wench, her callous words had drawn nothing but confusion and anger that day.
Beware of the white colorless people for they are the devil and will devour thy soul.
I remembered my laughter at her turned into disgust as she spewed story after story of people so cursed for their sins, they would wake from their nightly slumbers so pale they were colorless. Employees of the devil, they hunted and prayed on the living.
Her hatred toward someone who was different was as wrong as her claims were ridiculous. Obviously, tittle-tattle told to children who misbehave. Utter nonsense just as the thoughtless notions of witches roaming the earth.
The girl seemed nothing more than just a mere child, like me, in my youth, a child that fled from me as though she was scared for her life. Perhaps, she had simply been born without color in her skin or hair, not cursed by any unforeseen or unexplained power. Perhaps, anyone like her had.
Casting aside my reminiscence, along with my assumptions, my eyes focused upon the trees where the scarred man and girl vanished. Did he retreat to give her safe passage, planning to return in order to silence me from speaking about what I saw? Or, did the stranger escape with his secret, never to return?
My thoughts and the unanswered questions waged war on the sickness aching in my stomach. The weak often made weaker by their own accord unless they found the courage or desire to fight against themselves.
Surely, he would hath returned by now, and yet, he had not. Only the birds chirped around me, tweeting to one another as they flittered from tree branch to tree branch, while the occasional caw of a crow echoed. Nevertheless, I could not help, but cross to the other side of the road, placing distance between the line of trees and me.
Another mile down the road, near Log Bridge, the old peddler man sat among the grass that the cow next to him happily ripped from the ground.
“Mis’ress.” His greeting grunted rather than spoken, he smiled as I approached and bowed his head. Years of hard work in the sun had taken its toll on his weathered skin. His stained, torn clothing hung from his skeleton frame, and with a mouth that revealed several missing teeth, I wondered how he ate anything other than stew broth.
“Good day, Sir. I offer this herd just as promised.”
The old man looked at them through his one good eye while the other squinted so tight I doubted he could distinguish anything within a foot of his face. He spat on the ground and with a slight limp, shuffled around the herd, moaning and groaning with each step.
A few of the kids scattered as he passed them, but returned quickly to their mothers for protection. After circling the herd a couple more times, the man finally halted a few feet from where I stood and grunted one last time.
“They aren’t worth the cow,” he said flatly.
“I beg thy pardon?”
“They aren’t worth the cow, but I'll take them just the same.”
“I hath no intention of selling them. My intention is to trade them for the cow. Surely a herd of this size is well worth the price of the cow.”
“Oh, I won’t be payin’ for them.”
I drew away from the old man and tightened my grip on the ropes. The honest deception in his tone spoke of his hinted threat. Tumult oozed from his expression, the very furor I foolishly had not considered. Why, I did not know, the betrayal should hath been obvious.
“Sir, I will leave with either the cow or the goats. I will not leave with empty hands.”
The old man growled under his breath and spat on the ground once more. He wiped his chin with his dirt stained hand and then scratched the side of his face as his eyes darted from the cow, to the goats, to me, and then circled each of us again—planning his actions while carefully considering the consequence.
Fear bubbled in my chest with each flinch of his arm and every twitch of his hands as he inched himself forward, building up for an explosion of power.
Could I prevail over this man?
“I suppose I shall be on my way then if thee do not wish to trade, sir.” I drew away from him by a couple steps and he mirrored my movement, taking an extra step closer to me.
“I don’t think ya understand what I say, Mis’ress.” He spat on the ground a third time.
“And, I do not think you understand what I say.”
I braced my stance. My knuckles whitened as my grip around the ropes further tightened. Whether or not I could claim victory in the argument, I did not know, but desperation certainly played into my determination to leave with either my goats or the cow. My livelihood depended on it, and as much as I feared the events unfolding, I would dispute them.
His eye darted from my eyes to my hands and returned to my eyes as he inhaled a deep breath and lunged for me. He snatched at the ropes, twisting the hemp fibers around and intertwining them through his fingers, jerking on them with the force of man belying his paltry façade.
My muscles clenched as I dug my heels into the ground and braced my weight against his—the willpower in both of our bodies surged a power struggle both of us fought desperately to win.
“Let go of the ropes.” As I screamed, I caught sight of a horse trotting over the bridge several feet from where we stood.
“Is there a problem?” Another man’s deep voice called out.
A sudden fire tickled throughout my body, burning me as though flames burned through my bones. I gazed through a firestorm of color, yet no heat pricked my fingers—the expected burn of the ropes. Rather, the heat pricked my core; the fire sure and deep and pure.
What is wrong with me?
My vision remained obscured, but I released the ropes, sending the old man’s rump slamming into the ground from the sudden lack of force tugging against him.
Panicked, I brushed at my arms and legs as though they were on fire. With equal measure, the taunting flames flickered and died as my paltry sight returned.
“What the devil is wrong with ya?” the old man shouted, retreating away from me in fear. Each rope slipped through his fingers and the goats scattered a few feet before stopping to graze upon grass far too tempting.
I met his gaze, then traced my own body. Not a flicker of red or orange blazed forth and panic rose in my chest with my obvious hallucination.
James DeKane bounded off his horse and rushed to my side. He clutched my hand to help me stand, and his touch extinguished the burning bristle spread across my skin. The blaze vanished. My body was calm and cool.
I jerked my arm from his grasp.
What was that?
He gaped at me and blinked his eyes a few times as though the heat confused him, too. Fear pierced my soul, my heart raced, and my stomach twisted as my eyes danced from the dirt to the grass—anywhere, instead of meeting his gaze.
“Are thee art right?” James asked me.
I nodded.
James faced the old man, his hands rested on his hips as he nearly growled his words. “Care to explain?”
“Me and the lady were just makin’ a deal for a trade,” the old man defended, his voice cracked on the last word.
“Such is not what appears to me,” James replied, giving me a sideways glance as I brushed the dirt from my dress. “Care to convey the truth, sir?”
“Just a simple trade, yes, sir, ‘tis what is goin’ on. Just gettin’ the rope for the Mis’ress.”
The old man shuffled over to the cow, limping slightly on his leg. He untied the rope from around the tree and shuffled back toward me. After handing over the end of the rope, he smiled and nodded, his breaths heavy from our struggle.
“Just weaned the calf a few days ago, she’ll give ya plenty of milk until ya want her to raise another one. ‘Tis my pleasure, Mis’ress.”
&nb
sp; At my nod, he scooped up the ropes to the goats and scurried away, limping down the road. The nannies quickly followed, bleating for their kids.
“Are you sure thee art all right?” James asked me again as the old man disappeared in the distance.
The utter concern in his eyes caused a flutter in my pounding heart. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Quite brazen thoughts for an old man to act upon, trying to steal from another.” He chuckled at his own mock. “Especially, a lady. I am relieved I happened along to aid thee.”
“Thank you, Mr. DeKane.”
My cheeks burned and as I spun around to leave, my foot slipped and I tripped over a rock. With one swift movement, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, helping me regained my balance. His touch overwhelmed my already frenzied mind, and our eyes locked for a fleeting moment before we both looked away.
“My sincere apologies.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I only meant to keep you from falling again.”
I nodded, not meeting his gaze. “’Tis all right.”
“Are thee traveling home now?”
“Yes.”
“May . . . may, I walk with thee?”
I caught my breath. Although every ounce of my soul screamed yes, a part of my mind shouted no. Proper fought with improper. Surely, we were alone and far away from prying eyes, however, we did not hath a chaperon.
“I suppose . . . I suppose you may.”
We strolled in silence. The sun continued to rise; the pink and purple glow in the sky faded into a bright orange. Beating down with the heat rays, the early morning chill gave way to a warm spring morning.
One single awkward clank from the cracked and broken bell around the cow’s neck replaced the inharmonious chimes from goats, and her lumbering hooves clopped against the ground behind me as her over-sized body swayed back and forth. Bigger than I remembered, her pretty, light brown coat glistened, like that of the deer bouncing through the forest.
“’Tis a beautiful morning.” James crossed his hand behind his back and switched the reins from one hand to another. The beautiful gray horse with dark dappled spots and a black and white mane and tail obeyed his unspoken command, bestowing him liberty to walk next to me.
The hair on my neck stood and I shifted my shoulders closer to the cow.
“Yes, very beautiful.”
“I thought more townsfolk would be out enjoying the sunshine with a walk or a ride, but you are the first person I hath happened upon.” He paused for a moment and bit his lip. “Hath you seen anyone else?”
“No, but ‘tis early. Perhaps, after breakfast they will venture along the road.”
“Thou . . . thou hath not happened upon anyone, either?”
Cloaks and white blonde hair whispered through my memory—strangers, who were unknown to me, as much as the reason for their hasty retreat. Although reporting outlanders amongst the trees surrounding the village would prove, by far, the logical choice, the words did not want to roll across my tongue. Divulging the truth to James felt wrong.
“Not a soul,” I lied.
He glanced at me—his head jerked so quickly I flinched.
I should not hath lied. Why did I lie? He obviously knows I did not speak the truth.
I ignored him, along with the nagging voice inside my head. Giving in to the acknowledgment would only reinforce my indiscretion. My eyes locked on the rocks along the dirt road.
One, two, three . . .
I counted each one, a distraction I greatly needed from the man next to me.
“’Tis been awhile since I hath enjoyed a ride through the forest.” He breathed a casual sigh. “Quite relaxing, I must say, and I never realized how much I missed it. Although, having company is also quite nice.”
I caught his amused, yet with a whisper of seductive, glance out of the corner of my eye and my stomach flipped. My pulse quickened.
Four, five, six . . .
The hemp fibers stuck to the palms of my sweaty hands.
Seven, eight, nine . . .
Houses peeked through the trees in the distance as we drew nearer to town. James sighed, and his pace slowed a little as though he desired to prolong our conversation.
“Are you planning to visit thy mother’s grave today?”
“No, not today. I hath chores to finish before Sabbath, tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes, the Sabbath.” He sighed deeply and stroked his horse’s neck. “I suppose I forgot what day it was.”
“Thou sound as though you do not wish to attend service.”
He smirked and snorted an amused breath. “With service comes a certain expected inconvenience, although I suppose I hath such daily.”
“Prayer to God is an inconvenience?”
“’Twas not exactly what I meant.” The twinkle that once sparkled in his eyes grew black and cold. “With service comes the expectation from someone in particular.”
As we rounded the last bend in the road, just before reaching the first house, the tiny short-cut path appeared, barely visible in the tall grass.
“Thank you for the conversation, Mr. DeKane, and for thy assistance . . . with the peddler,” I whispered with my chin tucked.
“You are welcome. Are you sure you—”
“Good day to you.” Twisting the rope through my fingers, I tugged the cow to follow me down the path and trotted away from him.
THREE
We covenant with the Lord and one another, and do
by ourselves together in the presence of God, to walk to
together in all His ways. According as he is pleased to
reveal Himself unto us, in His blessed word of truth.
“Amen,” I whispered.
The affirmation echoed throughout the church after Reverend Perris’s prayer. Instead of lifting my head to meet the reverend’s gaze, my chin lingered, still bowed with my eyes closed as I continued with my own silent prayer to God.
The sight of the ring of black roses still sitting upon my mother’s headstone this morning before church brought me to my knees. Anxiety clawed at my nerves in an awkward dance that left me gasping for breath and my skin itchy.
I could not hath conjured them, could I?
With my chin to my chest, my eyes opened and focused on a faded, and yet, utterly visible stain on my white apron. I laid my sweaty, clammy palm upon the brown blemish.
And, I shall prove I am not a witch.
Chants repeated in my head, threatening the material should the blemish remain. Over and over cursing words uttered through my mind, until finally I stopped, and inhaled a sharp, self-protecting breath.
Relief spread through my veins as I removed my hand, and stared at the discolored spot remaining for all to see, if they looked hard enough. It had not vanished. It had not listened to command.
I adjusted my feet, lifting my toes in hope of reprieve from my confining shoes. My uneven foot stove shifted under my weight and a hot coal rapped against the side of the cast iron. The soft ping echoed through the silence of the church, and I closed my eyes, shutting out any looks of disapproval that might befall me.
My tiny Bible rested in my lap. Given to me, what felt like a thousand years ago, by my grandmother as she lay upon her deathbed. The worn pages and cover had seen many days of traveling in my arms, falling to the ground in the rain and snow, and lying on my dusty table and desktop. No matter its condition, I could not part with the last gift she gave me and my only link to her warmth and love.
The tithing man sauntered slowly up through the pews, clutching the plate filled with several coins, and tapping anyone who dared to move or, heaven forbid, doze during the sermon. The occasional crack of his cane always caused me to flinch.
The men and young boys sat on
the other side of the church, separated from the women and young girls. Deacons sat in the front church pews, with the young boys sitting behind them, close enough they could swat the boys with their own canes should any of the youth decide to act out.
“May you all hath a blessed Sabbath. Sin not, for thy Lord is watching.” With the last of his words, Reverend Perris folded his arms across his chest, ending another sermon akin to every other sermon on every other Sabbath. The familiar sense of arrogance stiffened in his shoulders as he excused everyone for the day.
One by one, the other women and young girls around me rose to their feet and began filing out of the pews just as the men and boys did. They smiled and either nodded to one another or clasped hands for a brief second with silent expressions of joy in the reverend’s words.
I groaned under my breath, scooped up my foot stove, and shuffled out into the aisle with the crowd of husbands waiting for their wives.
James waited for Mary and her family near the door of the church. Just as every other Sabbath, he smiled and nodded greetings to everyone who passed him as they left. Mary chatted as she ambled along several feet behind me, her attention far too enthralled in a conversation with her mother to notice the perfect man waiting for her.
As I approached James, our eyes met. He smiled, and with an ever-so-slight movement, nodded and winked. I fought my own smile and pinched my arm.
The closer I stepped toward him, the faster my heart beat.
Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump.
The pounding deafened me.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Just calm yourself, Emmalynn.
Just as handsome as ever in his black suit, he held his brimmed hat in his hand at his side. His blond, stick-straight hair framed his face with his perfect, strong jaw line that I imagined tracing with my fingertips.
When the Black Roses Grow Page 3
