by Drea Damara
FRANCI GATHERED her dress to avoid tripping while she carried a bag of tea in one hand and her purse in the other. No one knew Sarah better than Franci, and she hadn’t taken much convincing to believe Ricky’s opinion. Aunt Sarah had always been in excellent health, and as unpredictable as illness could be, it was too ironic that she appeared to be in a coma-like state, knowing what he did now about the weeping books. He wasn’t sure what worried him more: if she had an actual illness that made her look this bad or if she really had been pulled back into the book.
Ricky was grateful to see Mary walking up the stairwell as Shelby let him and Franci into the shop. Shelby stayed behind and relocked the door, having gracefully dismissed any remaining customers. Franci hurried behind him up the stairs, and they walked into the kitchen to find Mary clasping a reassuring hand over Henry’s.
“Do you have her medicine?” Henry looked to Franci.
“Right here!” Franci patted her purse and panted from her rushed jaunt up the stairs. She followed Ricky into the bedroom, and he waited to close the door behind her, but Henry stood under the frame.
“Henry, dear. Won’t you give us some privacy and wait in the kitchen?” Mary asked, gently urging him back as she stepped around him. “Go on, dear. We just need a little privacy for…the medicine,” Mary said, going along with Ricky’s lie.
When she shuffled him out the door, she turned around and finally looked at Sarah. “My word! Look at her coloring.”
“Shh! You want Henry to hear?” Ricky scolded her.
“I think it’s exactly as you thought, Ricky.” Franci grimaced, looking down at Sarah’s lifeless body. “I mean, thank goodness that’s all it is.”
“Thank goodness? Do you know what it’s like in there now? Farwin Wood isn’t the same wonderland she used to play in as a kid. And how the hell am I supposed to find what she lost? That place is huge,” he whispered forcefully.
“You’re going back in then?” Mary queried.
“I have to. What if she needs help? It’s not safe for her to wander around there by herself now. There’s a war between Ranthrop and Vasimus. The whole land is divided in a feud because of her and my father. Vasimus wasn’t very pleasant to be around, and it didn’t seem like he was any more graceful to my aunt when she saw him, and he was her only real ally there.”
“Hmm,” Franci said in disappointment, “and she made him sound so dreamy when she first told me about him.”
“Francis, pull yourself together!” Mary scolded. Franci cleared her throat and adjusted her spectacles. “Ricky, your aunt didn’t seem to think it was very safe for you to go to Farwin Wood the last time,” Mary said.
“I know, but I’m the only one of us who’s been there. She wouldn’t want any of you to go. There are no able-bodied men on Blinney Lane except for—”
“No,” Mary said, interrupting him with a firm word.
“No. Absolutely not,” he agreed, thinking of Reggie Nurscher’s unpredictable comments. “If I could just go and search our house there with her, maybe we could find whatever it is she lost and get home.”
“Ricky,” Franci said, sitting on the bed next to Sarah, “you said so yourself. Farwin Wood is a big place. You might want to have a strategy before you go back there. What if what Sarah lost isn’t in the house? Where else did she go when she was there?”
Ricky paled at the thought and recalled how secretive his aunt had been about sneaking into the swamplands. Shelby had told him how gruff and gnarly Ranthrop’s men had been, and he couldn’t imagine scouring the woods with wickrits running wild.
“Well, I’m not leaving her there alone, but she certainly needs some help.”
“What kind of help, Ricky?” Mary grew impatient.
“A small army,” Ricky said in his bitter despair. “Or at least a bodyguard that no one would think of messing with.” As he stared at his aunt’s face thinking of how she should be protected by people at least as large as Vasimus, he shifted his gaze upward to Franci and then at the locked door.
He heard Mary exclaim, “An outsider? No! It’s unheard of.”
“Oh! I think it’s grand,” Franci exclaimed, followed by some silent excited clapping.
“Shelby was an outsider and she’s fine,” he pointed out.
“Are we to give away our secrets to all of Salem?” Mary scoffed.
“Henry’s not really an outsider, Mary,” Franci said, soothingly. “He’s here all the time, and—if you ask me, I think he’s had eyes for our Sarah for quite some time. No one would be better suited to watch over her than Henry.”
Mary grumbled unintelligibly. Ricky didn’t have time for this. He stood up from the bed.
“That settles it. Henry’s going in with me.”
“But how? We don’t have time to explain the workings of a two-hundred-year-old curse to him or know if he’d even believe it without having us all committed.” Mary held her palms out.
“Tea, anyone?” Franci smiled and held up the bag she’d brought with her.
Ricky started for the door but stopped when he noticed he was wearing blue jeans. “We’re going to need to get Henry some clothes.” He spun back around to look at the two women. He glanced down at himself again and added, “Some bigger clothes than I have.”
“And some of those tight pants,” Franci murmured as she stared off at the wall.
“Ew,” he said and pointed at her, “but yes.”
“Well, run down to the dressmaker’s, and I’ll stay here and try to occupy him,” Mary said, finally giving up her disapproval.
“Wait, I have a better idea!” Ricky snapped his fingers. Before he went out the door, he looked at them and added, “You know, I was supposed to come here to get reformed for the summer, but instead it’s turned me into a professional liar.”
Ricky went into the kitchen and assured Henry that Sarah was coming around. Henry looked nearly as pale as his aunt, having worried himself into a tizzy. Ricky coolly changed the subject and unfurled an intricate lie of what they could do to surprise Sarah once she was feeling better. It was much easier than he had thought it would be, or at least easier than it would have been to convince him of the charade.
He elaborated about a medieval festival that the shop owners on Blinney Lane were going to have and how excited Sarah was about it. He invited Henry to attend, pleading for him to come so he wouldn’t feel so silly looking like Robin Hood alone. He even went as far as to tell Henry how Sarah never thought a man so confident as when he could let loose and dress up in costume without feeling ashamed. After about twenty minutes, Ricky had convinced Henry to go to the dressmakers with him to select outfits together. He bragged that they could show them off to Sarah and give her a good laugh, assuring him that was all the time it would take for her “medicine” to kick in.
HENRY CALLED his company and told them about the emergency that had come up. He left out the part about costume shopping, so he wouldn’t lose his job. He wanted to wait around until he saw that Sarah was okay. If satisfying Ricky’s anxiousness by playing dress up helped the boy cope with the situation by keeping him preoccupied, he’d do it. If it did end up impressing Sarah, that would be an added bonus. Deep down, he had a feeling it was an asinine idea that he would regret.
On the way to Mathers’s, Ricky asked him to wait while he ran over and spoke to Alexander. Ricky returned only a minute later, and they continued on to the dressmaker, which was good because the farther he went from Sarah’s apartment, the more he wanted to change his mind.
Thirty minutes later, Henry hesitated to walk out of Mathers’s store as he stood with his delivery uniform folded under his arm. He shifted his hips one way and then the other, but the fabric still clung to his legs. He looked at the wide-sleeved gray shirt and the dark gray leather vest over top of it that clung to his chest. Genie Mathers had cinched a wide leather holster belt tightly around his waist, making him feel like the entire getup fit like a leotard. Below that were formfitting pants that inappropriat
ely accentuated his thighs above the laced up knee-high leather boots that had been difficult to find in his size. Had he looked this silly in his football uniform? He certainly hadn’t felt this silly.
He sighed wondering how distraught he had been to let Ricky talk him into thinking this was a good idea. She’ll never go to dinner with you now, idiot, he thought. He turned to look at Ricky who waltzed up proudly beside him.
Ricky wore the same style and color of everything that he did. Henry eyed him up and down, unable to discard the thought that he looked like a mini version of his own ludicrous self. The only difference in their appearance was that Ricky looked way too happy, where as he was sure he looked miserable.
“Well, what do you think?” Ricky asked, beaming from ear to ear.
“I think we look ridiculous.”
Ricky waved him off with a hand and yanked the door open. “Ah. That’s just because you don’t have your sword yet. You’ll get used to it,” Ricky said as he strode out the door, but stopped for a second to yank his tight pants out from his butt.
Henry closed his eyes and shook his head as he followed his misguided little friend. “Yeah, nothing says confidence like pulling tights out of your ass.”
WHEN THEY walked into the kitchen, Franci was stirring a pot on the stove. She smiled at them and giggled when Henry’s sword clanked against the doorway.
“How is Sarah?” Henry inquired, looking embarrassed as Franci openly gawked at him.
“She’s doing much better. Why don’t you sit down and have some tea while we wait? She’ll be out in a little while.” Franci pulled a chair out at the kitchen table for him.
Henry complied, and Franci set a steaming cup down in front of him. Ricky eased around behind Henry’s chair, peering over him at the cup. It was the sleeping tea, all right.
“This stuff is great. Franci’s grandmother came up with the recipe,” Ricky said, fibbing and remembering how awful the stuff tasted. Maybe if he gave it a sentimental connection, Henry would feel more compelled to drink it with Franci looking on at him. Ricky took a cup of the brew from Franci and then took a seat in the chair opposite Henry. He was happy to see the book was sitting open in the center of the table. Shelby had worked fast.
Bringing the cup to his mouth, Ricky tried to hide his grimace. He took a sip and smiled at Henry who had his own cup up to his mouth. Henry took a sip and then he stared at the tea for a moment. Come on. Drink up, big boy. What the heck was he supposed to do if Henry didn’t like it? Just then, Henry took another much longer drink.
“Mmm, tastes like licorice,” Henry said, looking at Franci.
Ricky beamed at her while Henry’s head was turned but quashed his excitement before Henry could see him. “Told you,” he said and took another sip, wanting to choke as the strong liquid ran down his throat.
He made idle chitchat with Henry, answering his questions about Sarah’s supposed “condition.” Luckily, Franci chimed in, her knowledge of medical terms broader than his lies. He would say something, and she would elaborate, somehow making it seem credible as Henry listened intently. At one point, she nonchalantly refilled Henry’s cup.
As the conversation died down and yawning ensued, Ricky tried to stay conscious long enough to make sure Henry fell asleep before he did. He was happy to see Henry rest his chin on his hand as he had done. Henry queried after Sarah a few more times, and Franci, in her nervousness, left the room to go join Mary in Sarah’s bedroom. Ricky was grateful for it because the less talking, the less alert Henry might become. Henry’s head bobbed a few times, and he shook it to revive himself.
“Boy, I’m sorry. I’m getting sleepy sitting here,” Henry said with a yawn.
“Ah, take a nap. They’ll wake us up when they come in.” Ricky tried to sound as coherent as he possibly could. “I’m beat myself.”
Henry leaned back in his chair and sighed. After a few minutes his eyes began to droop, and he lowered his head ever so slowly until his chin touched his chest. Ricky blinked under heavy lids to see if Henry’s head would rise again or if his eyes would reopen. When they didn’t, he murmured, “Thank God.” Ricky rested his head on the table and closed his eyes. Don’t worry, Aunt Sarah, he thought. Lord Ricky to the rescue.
FARWIN WOOD
SARAH GROANED and felt something nudge her arm.
“Ricky,” shesaid, grumbling, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
She breathed in the fresh air, and her senses came into focus. The air flowed into her lungs with ease, her congestion having cleared, and she sighed at the warmth she felt after shivering for that last few days. Her fever had finally broken.
She heard a man’s voice saying, “Madam?” over and over.
She blinked at the sound and opened her eyes to see if she had fallen out of bed onto the floor. Her cheek was pressed against something cool and hard where she lay on her stomach. She lifted her head and when her eyes finally focused, she made out cut gray stone slabs.
Sarah jerked her head up and spied a pair of boots in front of her. She pushed up onto her elbows and followed the boots up to see a man in Farwin Wood apparel crouching down beside her in the darkness. “Madam, are you all right?” he asked.
Flailing back away from him, she turned over to her backside and scooted across the rough stone patio. She whipped her head around, still groggy from her sleep, and saw a stone building in front of her that towered over where she sat on the ground. “Wh—where am I?” she asked, gasping.
“Miss, you are at Daundecort Hall of Farwin Wood,” the man said slowly.
“What? How—how is that possible?” She looked around, horrified to see that the surroundings were familiar to her. She was on the patio behind Vasimus’s home where they’d walked the night of the dance when his family had welcomed her and Richard back to Farwin Wood. Sarah started to bring her feet underneath her to stand, but the man extended his arm.
“Madam, perhaps you should wait to rise. I think you may be unwell.”
Sarah quit moving when she heard footsteps approach. She went rigid when she saw Vasimus walking toward her, his expression confused and concerned.
“Sarah?” He rushed over and knelt at her side. “Are you all right? Has something happened?”
It was surreal to see him so concerned after that last encounter. “No, I’m fine.”
“But I thought you were leaving?”
“I was. I did,” she added and put a hand to her head, “but I—came back.”
Vasimus’s face lit up and he murmured, “You have come back to me.”
He looked like she’d just given him a much-desired Christmas present. Before she could say anything, he hoisted her up, cradling her in his arm.
Still in awe over her return to Farwin Wood, she could only gawk at Vasimus and her surroundings. She didn’t understand if she had sunk into a dream in her fevered delirium or if she truly was back in Farwin Wood. She certainly felt like she was back but didn’t want to believe it. Each reverberation of Vasimus’s footsteps pounding against the ground as he carried her into Daundecort Hall led her farther away from the belief that what was happening wasn’t real.
Vasimus carried her through the great room and up the familiar stairs to the hallway of the living quarters. It had been eighteen years since she’d seen it, but his great room looked less awe-inspiring than the last time she was there. She wouldn’t have imagined these changes.
“I knew you would come back to me,” Vasimus whispered when they reached the top of the stairs.
Sarah shifted her eyes to Vasimus’s face. He looked at her with a humbled smile, so much more tender looking than when they’d parted. God, was she really here again?
He continued when she did not reply. “Sarah, why were you out there on the ground? Did you fall?”
“I—I don’t know. I’ve,” she tried to think of an explanation, but she didn’t know the answer to his question, “been a little ill.”
“You should not have come in search of this girl by y
ourself,” he said and quickly strode down the hallway. “You should rest. Now that I have found you again, I do not want to lose you.”
Vasimus opened the door to the room across from his. He carried her inside and set her down on the bed. He eyed the lettering on her sweatshirt.
“Is this your mode of dress in Blinney?” he asked curiously, looking at her sweatshirt. “I will have some clothing brought for you,” he said before she could respond. He stared at her a few moments more, but she still could not find any words to fill the silence. Finally, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “We will speak in the morning. I am glad you have found your way back.”
When he left the room, Sarah let out a breath. She wanted to scream, “But I didn’t mean to find my way back!” She got out of bed and began to pace, accepting that she was back inside the book.
Was the book open? She knew Ricky wouldn’t mess around with it after what had happened. There was no way he had taken it out of the case. She’d seen it closed and in its place with her own eyes. A knock at the door nearly caused her to jump out of her skin.
Sarah opened the door to a maid carrying a stack of ladies’ clothing. The woman came in and deposited several dresses on top of the wardrobe, and Sarah tried to hide her sweat suited self behind the open door until the woman left. She knew the woman had brought her options only to be kind, but the sight of multiple outfits left her anxious. She didn’t want to think about the possibility of being in Farwin Wood for any longer than the evening.
Against her wishes, Sarah found a chemise to change into. She didn’t know how or when it would be appropriate for her to get back home, but she knew traipsing around Daundecort Hall in her New York Giants sweatshirt would make her the recipient of unwanted attention. As she folded up her pajamas and searched for a suitable place to put them, she knew she would have to take care not to lose them.
