by Drea Damara
Deronda laughed at their bantering. “You two have always made me laugh! It’s been so good to see you. Will you come to the hall and join us tomorrow? I’ll tell my father you are here. He’ll be so happy to see you again. He’s a bit gloomier since mother is gone now.”
“We’d love to,” Richard said instantly.
Sarah didn’t like his eagerness. She hadn’t missed all the long glances he’d given Deronda over the last hour. Apparently, he approved of what a beauty she’d become.
“Wonderful.” Deronda smiled as Richard helped her up.
Sarah wanted to roll her eyes when he even dusted some leaves from the skirt of Deronda’s dress. Since when was he so thoughtful?
“Until then, Allisters,” Deronda said with a curtsey. “We’ll have a feast in honor of your return to Farwin Wood!”
A feast? She’d never gone to a feast in Farwin Wood without her parents.
The next day, Sarah stepped out of the doors of Allister Hall feeling regal in a fine golden gown that Netta had laid out for her. It was the first time she felt like a woman and not a girl. How many hours had the old woman spent sewing the hundreds of tiny pearls to the skirt of the dress? After she’d donned it, Netta had fixed her hair into a loose coiffure at the back of her head. She hadn’t gone to her prom. No one had asked her. She was one of the “weird Blinney Lane kids.” If there was a replacement to whatever that magical night offered teens across America, she assumed this feast in this gown would be it for her.
Her bubble burst, however, when she saw Richard was already saddled and waiting with another stroomphblutel next to him. He was never early and rarely on time.
He tossed her the reins, which hit her in the face. “Jesus, it’s not your wedding. What took you so long?”
“Richard Allister, I can smell you from here! Don’t think I don’t know you were upstairs dousing yourself in lampy root oil. And what’s with your hair?”
She grabbed the horn of her saddle and Dergus helped hoist her up. Richard grazed his palm across his slicked back hair.
“What?” he asked.
She waited until Dergus was out of earshot and rolled her eyes. “You look like Reggie Nurscher. It’s creepy.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Richard flicked his reins and she nudged her stroomphblutel to follow his out the villa gate. “Who are you trying to impress?”
“No one apparently, if I look like Reggie Nurscher!”
Maybe that was a low blow. Reggie Nurscher was their socially awkward neighbor and distant cousin back home. He was always trying to put the moves on her and for that she loathed him. She loathed him for many other reasons, but that was number one.
They passed the Wortwart brothers on the road out of Oedher Village. Richard exchanged a few digs with them. The goofy redheaded twins gawked at her as they passed. They’d seen her on other visits and hadn’t paid her much mind. Why were they staring now? The sight of Richard smiling from his banter with them aggravated her. She still had a bone to pick with him.
After they were out of earshot from the twins, she continued, “You know good and well what I mean. I saw how you were looking at Deronda yesterday. She’s not some frat girl, Richard. College is over, remember?”
“What’s your problem? This is supposed to be a vacation for us. When has anything we’ve ever done here caused an issue?”
“It’s a vacation for us, not them. We’ve never had more than friendships with anyone here. Aren’t you worried about what could happen?”
Richard raised an eyebrow and turned up the corner of his mouth. “Define friendship.”
She let out a gasp. “What! Who? When?”
“Lorney Wortwart,” he said with a laugh. “Last time I was here.”
“Ew! She looks just like her brothers.”
Richard shrugged. “It was dark. We were in the barn.”
“Well, that’s what you get when you play too much Knick Knack at the pub.”
“Oh, come on! No one died. No one from here mysteriously emerged back on Blinney Lane with us. A dark cloud didn’t descend over the bookstore.” Richard flailed his arms this way and that while she did her best to ignore him. “You’re the one always telling me these are real people. Not that this is the kind of thing I feel like talking about with my little sister, but haven’t you ever seen anyone here that you might have thought about…you know.”
She whipped her head around so fast pain shot up her neck. “Not the way you imply!”
“Pfft, fine. Stay up there on your high stroomphblutel.”
She rolled her eyes at his play on words. “You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe you’re the idiot for not realizing we’ve grown up.”
They rode in silence for the rest of the trip. She wondered about his tryst with the Wortwart’s sister for about two minutes; it was too revolting to spare it a second longer. She was shocked he’d done “the deed”! And with a fictional character! She was also curious, but it sure as hell wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with her brother or knew how. She never took risks. She didn’t like being serious all the time, but she felt she had to be since Richard wasn’t.
She decided to stop worrying about his stupidity and looked around at the splendor of the scenery. She wasn’t sure how big the world of Farwin Wood was, but the giant leaves of every type of foliage made her imagine it had to be vast.
The road eventually came to a clearing, and she could see Daundecort Hall atop a hill just beyond the winding road ahead. They ascended through the curves until they finally reached the hill’s apex. Richard led the way as they passed under the wide stone archway to Daundecort Town. Two valets dressed in chausses and knee-length tunics came running over. Each man wore a blue sash across his chest that had a white wavy pattern and an image of a purple daphne flower on it, the mark of the Daundecort family. The men took hold of their reins and guided their stroomphblutels farther into the Daundecorts’s fortress town.
Many of the passersby were well-dressed by Farwin Wood standards, certainly more elegant than the people in the outlying villages like Oedher. She was grateful that Durley Allister hadn’t built the family’s “vacation home” in Daundecort Town. It would have been presumptuous to immerse them in such a high-ranking setting as this. There were also far more residents here than in Oedher. Perhaps that was why he’d chosen the more rural setting to build Allister Hall—fewer people to ask them questions.
They approached an archway in an interior wall that encircled Daundecort Hall. A burly man stood guard outside two high doors that blocked entrance onto the Daundecorts’s grounds.
Sarah heard Richard’s valet announce them to the man. “Lord Richard Allister and Lady Sarah Allister of Blinney and Oedher Village.”
The guard at the door rapped on it, and a few seconds later, its hinges squeaked as it was opened from the inside. Heat crept into Sarah’s cheeks as she noticed a small crowd of town residents who had gathered to watch their admittance to the hall. She nodded and then turned her attention back to the gate. She could see an enormous, pure-white stroomphblutel ahead of Richard inside the courtyard, its rider already dismounted.
She remembered now that it was tradition for a family member to greet their distinguished guests personally. Had Lord Clennon come out to greet them like he used to for their parents? It seemed to be a lot of fuss for nothing. Hopefully, he was in better health than her father. She’d hate for him to go to the trouble, if he wasn’t.
“Richard! Welcome, welcome! So good to see you again,” said a husky voice.
Sarah craned her neck, but she couldn’t see who was speaking. Move your fat head, Richard! Finally, he slipped off his stroomphblutel and she was able to see their host. No. It couldn’t be—Vasimus Daundecort.
The shadow of whiskers on Vasimus’s face made his teeth appear radiantly white as he gave Richard a wide grin. His black hair was wavy and stopped just above his shoulders. He had to look down at her brother, and she could see strength
in his hands when he clasped Richard’s shoulders in a brotherly greeting.
The gesture caused the thin, smoky blue fabric of his loose shirt to hug against his biceps, revealing a solid mound of muscles. There were even cords in his neck. They bulged when he smiled, making her imagine that strength ran through him from head to toe. She swallowed at the sight of him; he was still intimidating but somehow in a different way. His long, blue cloak attached to his wide shoulders with two silver daphne flower medallions. It made him look like a superhero, billowing behind his towering height in the breeze.
“You remember my sister, Sarah, don’t you?” She vaguely heard someone say as Vasimus turned and looked at her.
She watched the smile on his strong, square jaw morph into a blank expression. His lips parted, and his eyes seemed to pierce her. She caught her breath as the blue orbs stared at her. Why couldn’t she feel the many pins Netta had pushed against her scalp to keep her long hair pinned at the back of her head? They had bothered her all morning. Her stroomphblutel’s fur had tickled her hands the entire ride, but now she no longer noticed. All she noticed was a tingling sensation like her entire body was a foot that had fallen asleep. God, was she having a stroke?
“Sarah.” Vasimus said her name like it was a new word he wanted to learn correctly.
Had he looked like this the last time she was here? She couldn’t remember. One thing was for certain: no one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now. It was a look of discovery, and she couldn’t understand what it meant, but she felt it too.
Something hit her leg, jolting her from gawking at the giant man before her. She found Richard, looking up at her.
He whispered, “Looks like someone just got knocked off her stroomphblutel.”
ALLISTER’S BOOKS—PRESENT DAY
SARAH MOANED and drew her heavy eyelids open. She shivered, a light layer of sweat covering her body. Why had she been dreaming of that summer in Farwin Wood? The memories still resonated in her mind. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she looked at the clock on the nightstand. 10:00 a.m. She never slept this late!
Hurrying through her shower, she scrubbed voraciously under the hot steam. She thought of stroomphblutels and staring down at Vasimus the day of their welcome feast. Dang it, Ricky! Why did he have to mention stroomphblutels? She hadn’t dreamt about the people and the creatures in The Lands of Farwin Wood this vividly in a long time. With another Allister on the premises, the pull on her mind into that mythical world must be stronger than usual. The weeping books were something of a temptress.
Agatha Blinney’s curse allowed them to beckon those they wished to come visit them. It was the reason why they wept—they longed for the return of the Allisters. If this continued, she would have to get something from Franci to keep her mind clear.
“Ricky! Are you up yet?” Sarah hopped as she shoved a leg into her pants. She called again down the hallway. “Ricky! Get up! We overslept!” Still no answer. She yanked the zipper up, hurrying to his door.
“Ricky?” Still nothing. She opened the door, but there was no one in the mussed-up bed covers, so she raced to the bathroom. Empty. She ran to the kitchen. No one.
“Oh, my God! Where did he go?”
Sarah dashed to the door and hurried down the stairs in her bare feet. She heard the zip and ding of the cash register and finally exhaled when she saw Ricky manning it. All the lights in the store were on. He handed an old woman some change and then looked up at her.
“Slept in, huh?”
Sarah closed her eyes and put her hand to her heart. Her wet hair dripped down her back. “God, Ricky. I thought you were gone.”
“Jesus, I’m not going to ditch you. Don’t worry. I got it covered.”
She turned and stomped back up the stairs before she said something about his attitude. It was the closest she’d ever come to having a heart attack.
AUNT SARAH had been on edge ever since she’d seen that Ricky had opened the store by himself. She and Dad wanted him to be responsible. Wasn’t that responsible of him? She’s the one who overslept. When she wasn’t acting mute, she snapped at him. Finally, he quit speaking to her. Shelby came in a little after lunch. Ricky got the impression that even she thought Sarah didn’t seem herself.
He walked around the store, trying to remember where certain books went as he stocked shelves. It was nice to get his butt out of the chair behind the counter after Sarah finally took over. Now she sat in her stool like a dictator.
She would call out, “Over there, remember?” in a stern tone. Or, “by the poetry.”
He felt dumber every time she did. It made it even worse when he’d catch Shelby watching his humiliation.
Arms full with another stack of books, he walked along one wall of the store, scouring titles. He heard a sickening thump as the top of his pelvic bone jammed into the sharp corner of one of the island displays beside him. The books went tumbling from his arms as he doubled over. “Ah! Damn it! Son of a bitch!” he hollered and grabbed his hip.
“Ricky!” Sarah scolded him with a pissy look on her face.
He pursed his lips against the breath of air he held in against the pain. When he let it out, he threw his hands up. “That’s it! I’ve gotta get out of here!”
He tried to hobble to the door with dignity, but at this point he didn’t care what Shelby thought. He had to get away from Aunt Stalin.
“Wait! Where are you going?” she called.
“For a walk!”
He let the door slam shut behind him and bounded down to the sidewalk. A sweet smell from the Blinney Lane Bakery next door caught his attention. It was as good a place as any to hide from Aunt Sarah. He went inside and joined the line of customers.
Through the glass display, he perused rows of intricately decorated sweets and pastries. Everything looked inviting, but he wasn’t very hungry. Was he eating again because he was bored? He’d do anything to get back to his old life, his old routine. Is that why Dad sent him here? Did he think he was going to return as a “Mr. Please and Thank You” kind of kid, grateful to get out of Mayberry? Ha! He was in for a rude awakening.
Ricky paid the fat, bald old baker, Mr. Freedhof. He took the sandwich and soft drink he’d ordered, happy the man didn’t know who he was. He didn’t want to hear Aunt Sarah’s name right now or be told by another person how “lovely” it was that he was there helping her for the summer. He shoved the door open with his knee and walked back out to the cobblestone street.
Sipping on his soda, he scanned the storefronts across the street. He could see that weird old Mary Millville in her big puffy dress at the soap store. A flash of color appeared by the window. His soda went down the wrong pipe when he saw the ginormous boobs of Valerie Millville as she bent over forward.
“Helloooo,” he cooed, although he knew she couldn’t hear him.
Valerie stood up and looked across the street through the glass at him. She smiled knowingly and waved with just her fingertips. He’d been caught. All he could do was give an impish grin and wave, owning up to his ogling.
He moved on to the next shop window, Spices and Stems. Just as he was reading the store sign he saw a beanpole of a woman, all in black, waving excitedly to him from inside. He forced himself to smile at Franci and then turned to continue down the street, but not before he muttered, “Freak.”
He passed an old-fashioned blacksmith shop next to the bakery. A man even larger than Henry, wearing a leather apron, sweated as he hammered a glowing piece of metal for onlooking tourists. Alexander Rainsford, if he remembered correctly. Alexander looked up at him with eyes squinted and Ricky didn’t know if it was his life or the heat that made him appear so miserable.
Passing an empty public house next to the smithy shop, Ricky bit into his sandwich. Nothing had changed since he was last here. There were still two vacant shops across from the public house. Up ahead, the last shop on his side of the street was Mathers’s dress shop. He stopped and looked at the bronze stat
ue in front of the fence that marked Blinney Lane’s end. It had a fountain pool around it, edged with flowers, and mist sprayed up every few seconds. He noticed a bench underneath one of the potted trees in front of it, and decided it was a good place to sit in silence and enjoy his meal.
The statue was of a thin young woman, her arms outstretched to her sides. Each wrist had a strand of rope around it, but the ends that hung down ceased abruptly, likely left to the imagination by the artist who made the cast. The woman’s glazed bronze eyes weren’t the only eerie things about her. Her lips were parted as she gazed upward in what seemed to be an appeal to someone or something. There was another strand of rope around her neck and behind her back was a bronze cast of what looked like a twisted tree trunk, but the tree statue ended just above her head. Her long hair flowed around her and out to the sides as though she were crying into the wind.
“Creepy,” he commented through his mouthful of sandwich.
This had to be that chick the place was named after. He hadn’t paid much attention to it on his previous visits. He glanced around for some type of marker and found a plaque at the base of the statue. He leaned forward and read the words.
The people of this quarter hereby decree this statue and surrounding properties in memory of Agatha Blinney, who unjustly met her death on the 23rd day of May in the year 1694, by the hands of her own neighbors.
Ricky looked back up at the statue. “Geesh. I know how you feel.” He swallowed his bite of sandwich and stared at the bronze woman’s gaping mouth. “So, you’re the reason this place is so freaking weird.”
