When the Black Roses Grow

by Angela Christina Archer

  He cleared his throat. “I am sorry thou had to live through all of that.”

  I set two tea cups down on the table and shrugged my shoulders. I should not hath uttered a word of my bitter diatribe, and yet, knowing such did not change that I held no concern over my spiteful words. I spoke the truth, and I relished in it, relished in conveying to another person about the true evil in this town.

  “I am sorry for my outburst.”

  “No apologies necessary, I assure you. ‘Tis quite refreshing to hear, actually.” James chuckled under his breath and looked away—his attention bowed toward the corner of the house. “Was Jeb unable to remove the plant?”

  A lump in my throat choked me. I shook my head, and smiled in hope to mask my fear. “No, not yet.” My voice cracked on the last word.

  “’Tis grown since last night.” A whisper of pleasure and amusement sparkled in his eyes.

  “I had not noticed,” I lied.

  He gaped at the plant, then at me, and then returned to the plant, whispering under his breath. “After all this time.”

  “What after all this time?”

  “I was merely speaking to myself.” He gave me a fleeting glance and cleared his throat as though I should not hath overheard him. “How could thy not take notice to the size, though? ‘Tis quite larger . . ., and . . .are those flower buds emerging all around on it?”

  My fingers trembled as I scratched my forehead. “Yes, I suppose. I will hath it removed tomorrow.” Anxiety surged through my blood, and I reached for the kettle to pour the tea into the two cups. My hands quavered so bad tea spilled all over both of the saucers.

  “Emmalynn?”

  “Yes.” Not paying attention, I set the kettle down on the edge of one of the saucers. The tiny plate, teetered from the weight, and then shifted and the cup knocked over. “Aaahhh. I cannot believe I did that.” I untied my apron and mopped up the pool of liquid.

  James strode toward me. His fingers gently touched and lifted my chin to draw my eyes up to his. His breaths were heavy, like an uncontrolled emotion dwelled deep inside him and threatened to burst through at any moment—not of love, but of lust—a sinful, pure lust that should shame us both, even though it did not.

  His hand hesitated as it rested on my chin before it slid over my cheek toward my ear and around to the back of my neck. I wanted to hold my breath, but the delicious natural scent of his skin, like the forest behind my home, drew me into him.

  His lips suddenly pressed against mine with a passionate force that left my mind spinning out of control.

  No, you cannot do this. You cannot do this now.

  I withdrew from him and retreated a few steps until my back touched the wall behind me.

  “My apologies, Emmalynn,” He stirred toward me with his arms outstretched. Pain stabbed through the remorse in his eyes. “Please forgive me. I should not hath . . . please, forgive me.”

  Reason fought with desire, in a bitter war of sin and righteousness. He should not be here and should not kiss me, but such was all I wanted.

  No, do not allow yourself. Do not allow yourself.

  We were not in love, and I barely knew the man standing in front of me. Surely, the one night and only night spent in his company pleased me with wonderful happiness that tickled my senses, but it was still only one night.

  One amazing night that I did not want to end.

  I grasped his cotton shirt, and drew him into me as I kissed him. My fingers toyed with the short strands of his blond hair and brushed along the skin of his neck.

  Along with my aloneness, the lack of man’s passionate touch troubled me.

  I missed the longing caress, whether soft and gentle or firm with a bold roughness that quivered with heated desire.

  His eagerness matched mine, a deepened, raw desire that nearly set my flesh on fire. His fingers twisted through my curls, clutching on to chunks of the strands. He pulled ever-so-slightly, as his lips traced the skin of my neck.

  A voice deep down inside me screamed that I should stop, that my actions were so very wrong, but no matter how loud the voice screamed, every fiber in my body ignored it.

  Our heavy breaths unified as our foreheads touched before he kissed me again.

  Flip.

  My fingers trembled as I unfastened one of the buttons on the front of his shirt.

  Flip, flip, flip.

  With the last button freed, I spread the material apart, exposing his chest. Mesmerized by the lines of perfect muscles, my eyes and fingertips traced his skin.

  His hands clasped mine and he froze.

  Our eyes locked.

  “I . . . am sorry, Emmalynn, but we . . . we cannot . . . we cannot do this.”

  His words focused my attention toward the truth behind his refusal, and the admission to myself deepened the tension in the room. Our bodies pressed together, our lungs heaved, and the realization of sin and consequence flushed in both our cheeks.

  He stepped away and buttoned his shirt. “I am sorry. I should not hath done that. Please forgive me.”

  My cheeks burned, flushed with a fire of confusion, desire, and embarrassment.

  “Do not apologize. You are not to blame for my actions.” I cleared my throat. “Actually, I should be the one to apologize.”

  He flipped the last button closed on his shirt, and as he stepped closer to me once more, his hand slid up my neck to caress my cheek.

  “Thou could do nothing to warrant an apology, ever.” His eyebrows furrowed as he touched my lips with his fingers. “’Twas my fault, not thine. I cannot ask you to sin no more than I hath already done.”

  I nodded as my eyes danced around the room at everything but him. “Would you care for some tea?” I finally asked with a whisper.

  “I would love some.” He grabbed my shoulders before I could move an inch. “No, please, allow me.”

  SEVEN

  I huddled in the rear corner of the courthouse with my shoulders wedged in between the ramparts. A young couple stood in front of Reverend Perris, and as half the town watched, they gazed into each other’s eyes, hand in hand, as they joined as husband and wife.

  Another town marriage ceremony, another event that brought rushes of excitement to all the unmarried young girls, heartbreak to all the widows, and callous feelings from divorced women wounded by men who now loved another.

  Vases filled with spring flowers decorated several tables throughout the room, the flora sprays obviously meant to brighten the old structure in the middle of town.

  They failed.

  No matter how beautiful anyone adorned the building, the haunted walls would never reign pretty in my eyes. The last place my mother was alive, outside of her jail chamber, this place was full of nothing but heartache and painful memories. I loathed it almost as much as I loathed Reverend Perris.

  I suppose such proved an immature notion—foolish to harbor ill-will toward wood and nails. The past was not the building’s fault. Not to mention, the light of utter contentment with James had diminished, once the dark clouds resumed over my head.

  Thoughts of his touch and kiss sent my heart pounding. I smiled with the memories, and covered my mouth to hide my soft giggle.

  Distract yourself, Emmalynn. Distract yourself.

  I focused on a knot in the one of the boards of the wood floor. Dirt filled the cracks and grooves of the peculiar looking twisted circle in the middle of the board. Several of the other planks of the floor had similar knots. All filled with dirt or scuffed from shoes constantly beating down upon the weakened chunks of the wood.

  “Do thou accept this woman as thy legal wife? Forsaking all others in thy civil union, before these witnesses? What saith you?” Reverend Perris’s voice echoed through the room.

  “I do,” Martin Haro
ld answered. He smiled at his bride, Olivia, as he released one of her hands to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “And, do thou accept this man as thy legal husband? Forsaking all others in thy civil union, before these witnesses? What saith you?”

  “I do,” Olivia replied, looking happy, but terrified.

  “Both of you sign, please.” Reverend Perris gestured toward a piece of parchment lying on his desk. The bride and groom both quickly etched their names, before clutching each other’s hand once more. “I pronounce thee husband and wife.”

  As the young couple kissed to their union, my gaze met a pair of familiar deep blue eyes, and my heart fluttered as James watched me.

  His arm, regrettably, hooked with Mary’s, who had demanded his attention the moment he strolled into the courthouse before the ceremony began. Her usual beckon followed with a childish foot stomp to emphasize her command, then with an evil kindness as if to hoodwink herself into thinking that the one she ordered around did so because they desired to and not because she instructed them.

  James’s eyes held onto mine.

  Excitement tickled through my skin, and I gave a fleeting glance to the ground before returning to his face.

  Unfortunately, I did not meet the face I desired.

  Mary’s glaring judgment replaced his warmness with a harsh fierceness in her eyes. Her lips pursed in disgust. Her jaw clenched, and she cocked her head to the side in an unspoken warning.

  My excitement died, vanishing in the midst of darkness as I shied away from her, fleeing in the distraction of the ceremony guests.

  “Miss Hawthorne, would thee care to join us?” a familiar voice rose above the exuberant chatter.

  My attention fell upon Adalene and two other widowed women sitting at a table in the corner—an odd sight in these times considering groups of older women were often targets for witch accusations.

  Witches hunted in packs, according to Reverend Perris. His words, along with whispered rumors, struck fear into the souls of Salem, breaking friendships as if they were thin twigs. Afternoon invitations for lunch or tea ceased and acquaintances that would stroll together to church now sauntered alone.

  Isabelle Brown smiled at me as I approached the table, while Matilda Brown, her sister-in-law ignored me. With her hands in her lap, she fixed her eyes upon the table top and sneered with a curled lip in my direction, her opinion toward the young woman strolling toward them, obvious.

  I hath dealt with such strife before, a trouble of my life since the Goodwin sisters accused my mother, with tittle-tattle behind my back and warning glares. Do not converse with the daughter of Satan’s chosen.

  My rump slid into the open chair, and I scooted the wooden legs closer toward the table as I greeted each of the wrinkled faces with a kind smile.

  “And, how are you this fine day?” Isabelle’s hands quivered as she spoke.

  “I am well. How are all of you?”

  All of them nodded, but not one uttered another word. Adalene cleared her throat, and as I caught her glance, her eyes danced from me to James. I ignored her knowing glare and the awareness I believed none had seen.

  The last of the widows in the village, the four of us lingered in silence, watching the bride and groom parade their newly married union around the room to their celebration guests.

  “’Twas a lovely ceremony,” Adalene finally spoke. As Isabelle and Matilda nodded in agreement, she continued. “I believe John and Julia are next to marry. Is it not set for the week after next?”

  “No, ‘twas called off,” Isabelle answered.

  “Why?”

  “Did you not hear the news?”

  “What news?”

  Isabelle’s eyes widened, and she leaned in to whisper as though she was about to tell a tale no one should hear. “Julia’s father, Mr. Clayton, had to call upon Doctor Griggs during the wee hours of yesterday morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Julia has been cursed by the Devil. When they were able to get a word out of her, she claimed Rebecca Junior was the one who haunted her thoughts. Mr. Clayton then called upon Sheriff Corwin, and when they found Rebecca in her home, John was with her . . . alone.”

  “Without a chaperone?” Matilda gasped and clutched her hands over her throat.

  My stomach twisted and my palms began to sweat as Adalene locked her eyes onto mine.

  “Sheriff Corwin and Deputy Cloyce arrested them both. John refused to speak to the sheriff and the magistrates, and has refused a trial. I heard his punishment might be peine forte et dure,” Isabelle continued.

  “What sort punishment is that?” I blinked, twice, but held Adalene’s gaze as my breath vibrated with nervous energy.

  “Death by stones.” Adalene lowered her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “They lay the prisoner upon the ground and pile stones upon him, or her, until they speak for their crime, or are crushed to death.”

  My shoulders hunched then cringed with the rest of my body at the notion of a person crushed to death under the weight of stones. The appalling death no one should face.

  “Why would anyone willingly face such a horrific way to perish? Why doth he not just bestow them the truth, bestow them what thy wish to know?” Matilda asked Isabelle.

  “Who knows why the Devil acts as he doth in people.”

  “Such a shame.” Matilda clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Nonetheless, at least Julia received the truth before she married such a beast.”

  Far too occupied with gossip, the two women reveled in their malicious blather and utter obliviousness to the noticeable turn of events. If John found love in the arms of another, Julia had a motive for her accusation—a motive that clearly no one realized, but me.

  “It seems rather convenient,” I said before I bridled control over my tongue.

  Isabella gaped at me, her eyes widened, while her sister-in-law gasped, covered her mouth with one hand, and fanned her face with the other.

  Adalene’s eyes twitched. If one’s stare could set something or someone ablaze, my clothes would cook a roast in this very moment. She exhaled a deep breath, her slight growl rumbled through her chest.

  “What are thou implying, Miss Hawthorne?” Isabelle’s hushed tone and scrunched brows regarded me as though she feared my answer.

  “Scorned and left undesired, what better way to seek thy revenge?”

  “I do not believe I understand.” Although, Isabelle said she did not, the sparkle in her eyes told a different truth. She knew the exact words sitting on the tip of my tongue.

  “If Julia desires John for her husband, but he desires Rebecca for his wife, then it would be prudent for Julia to accuse Rebecca. An accusation, an arrest, and a trial would, surely, get her away from John.”

  Matilda rose from her chair and stomped away from the table, clearly disgusted with my claim.

  “’Tis quite the accusation.” Isabelle leaned away from the table against the back of her chair as if to lean far from me.

  “And, so is accusing the suspected love of thy life of witchcraft, employed by the Devil to do his work.”

  “Apparently, such is a sensitive matter to you, to speak with such strong regards. Perhaps, we ought to discuss a more comfortable topic.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but gazing upon her expression decided to bite my tongue. No words would change her opinion, she did not believe in innocence. No matter the reasons of the accuser, in her eyes, just as the rest of the townsfolk, all that were accused were guilty.

  Anger bubbled with anxiety as my sweaty fingers entwined and fidgeted with one another. “Good day, Ladies. I hope you hath a pleasant and blessed evening.” I scooted the chair away from the table and trudged through the chaos of the room.

  Tables all around the room filled with acquai
ntanceships—each displayed the distinct caste system of the village. Deacons rejoiced with other deacons, the wealthy reveled with wealthy, and the poor farmers gathered with the other poor farmers.

  No one mingled with one not their own.

  Upon my exit, Matilda returned to the table of widowed women. The only table I belonged at and I did not even belong to it any longer. I did not belong anywhere, but inside the four walls of my home.

  I supposed I should not care for such a truth. Why care for acceptance in this town when I loathed it so much? What did any of them matter to me? Nothing. Isabelle, Matilda, the deacons, the reverend, none of them held importance.

  None of them matter.

  As I reached for the doorknob to leave, fingers wrapped around my arm. “Are you leaving?”

  The familiar deep voice sent my thoughts reeling. A spark flickered through my skin, weakening my knees, and yet, the rush vanished within seconds.

  He should not hath touched me.

  I twisted around to face James and jerked my arm from his grasp. “Do not touch me in front of everyone.”

  “What is wrong?”

  “Thou cannot touch me in front of people.”

  “No one saw me.”

  “That you know of.”

  My eyes darted from face to face. Although, none of them noticed, my heart skipped a beat with each one. Had anyone noticed, or was anyone watching our conversation?

  “Are you leaving?” he asked.

  Before I could answer him, I caught sight of Mary over his shoulder. Her lips curled into a sneer and the fire hot anger seething in her glare forced my eyes to the hardwood floor.