Evergreen

by Marissa Doyle

  They didn’t ask her why she’d capitulated so readily after refusing to go in July, so she didn’t have to tell them about the note that she’d found by the front door that morning, written in a precise hand on thick and expensive but unmarked paper. There had been no return address on it and no signature, but it hadn’t needed them:

  My dear Miss Boisvert,

  It never occurred to me that you would try to stop me completing my commission, but I can see now that it was the logical outgrowth of your feelings. I blame myself for forgetting that some, especially the young, do indeed see in black and white. Be assured that my offer still stands, on whatever terms you wish, when you begin to see the world’s grays more clearly. Please come to see me when you do.

  Grace had thrown it and the business card enclosed with it (Isham and Rookwood, Inc., Consultants with an address on the Upper East Side of New York) into the fire without telling her parents. It would have upset them unnecessarily and anyway, it was her problem to deal with…

  Except that the business card would not burn.

  Grace gingerly picked it out of the ashes of Mr. Rookwood’s note and frowned at it, then tried to tear it in half. It would not rip. Nor would it turn to pulp in water, or allow itself to be cut up with scissors. She finally hid it at the bottom of her trunk under some tissue paper, where no one would be likely to run across it, and tried not to think about it.

  * * *

  It was decided that Grace and Grand-mère would leave in a few weeks’ time on the steamship Rousillon, bound for Le Havre. Mum and Papa would stay at home, as Mum would not leave her trees until they were in their winter sleep, then bring Dorothy and Sandy to meet her and Grand-mère in Paris at Christmas, after which they would sail home together. A new flurry of packing and shopping commenced, though not quite as much shopping as had taken place before she left for Newport. Mostly it was for clothing to wear on the voyage itself. Grand-mère had plans for a great many trips to the fashion houses of Paris once they arrived, establishments whose clothes would make their Boston-made fashions look quite inferior.

  Paris! She’d packed her French books and would practice her conversational skills as much as she could on the boat so that she didn’t embarrass herself too badly when they arrived. It wouldn’t be the height of the social season, though society never truly slumbered there. There would be plenty of opportunity for them to see the sights and meet Grand-mère’s old acquaintances…though she had made Grand-mère promise that she wouldn’t try to marry her off to anyone while she was there. Boys were not anything she could face just now.

  The prospect of a week on the ocean, however, almost made Grace change her mind about going.

  “Pfft,” Grand-mère said when she told her about her experience on the Livingstons’ boat. “Of course you felt very bad. Dryads do not like to lose contact with the soil.”

  It might have been nice if Grand-mère had told her that back in July before she’d left for the yachting capital of the country. “But what will we do? We can’t spend a week or ten days feeling so wretched.”

  “We will not feel wretched. Leave that to me.”

  “What will you do?”

  But Grand-mère only pursed her lips and looked mysterious. Grace tried hard to not want to growl at her.

  Mum kept her outside among her trees as much as possible. “I get the feeling you suffered for their company in Newport,” she said one sunny afternoon a couple of weeks after her return as they reviewed Grace’s packing list on a bench under her favorite oak.

  “I didn’t realize how much until we got to the Adirondacks. When we stepped out onto the platform, it felt like I hadn’t breathed for weeks.” She tried to ignore a stab of longing for the trees of Tahawus. “Even Alice noticed.”

  “That’s not too surprising. You two know each other so well.” A pause. “Have you heard from her since you got home? I don’t recall having seen a letter.”

  “No.” Grace stared down at the list in her lap without really seeing it. She’d written Alice twice—short notes to let her know she was home and to ask how her family was—but there had been no response. “I… We… I don’t know if she… Oh, Mum, she hates me now!” She collapsed against Mum’s shoulder.

  “I wondered if something had happened between you.” Mum sighed. “Regrettably, this is something that can occur when childhood friends grow up. Their worlds broaden and they move onto other interests, and former bonds can weaken, even among dryads. Or new friendships eclipse old ones. Especially male ones.” There was a faint questioning edge to her voice.

  Trust Mum to have picked up on that. Grace had told Papa that Kit had intentionally pursued Alice at his father’s command, but nothing further. And certainly nothing about him and her. “She was pretty badly hurt by Kit,” she said. “I can’t blame her. I would have been hurt too. I just wish…”

  “That he hadn’t come between the two of you?”

  “Mum! How did you—”

  Mum actually smiled. “Because I can’t think of any other reason why she would have come to learn he didn’t really care for her unless he realized he could no longer pretend he did. And the most likely reason for that is that he’d come to truly care for someone else.”

  “But what if his father had told him to pretend to care for someone else instead of Alice?” she whispered, because her throat was suddenly too hot and tight to speak normally.

  “Do you think he did?”

  “I don’t know! He told me that…that he loved me but that other people—I assume he meant his uncle—would tell lies about him, and… I don’t know what to think!”

  Mum held her tightly. “Do you care for him?”

  “I don’t know. When we first met, before he knew who I was, we—” She brought her hands together, fingers entwined. “He felt like that. But what if it wasn’t real?” Her dreams every night had been haunted by his smile, his eyes, his hands. She wondered if, wherever he was, he was dreaming of her as well…or if he had already forgotten her.

  Mum was silent for some time. Then she sighed. “I am so glad that you decided to go to France. Getting away for a few months will give you some perspective, I hope.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  But she had been trying hard to gain some perspective now. Alone in her room, she’d thought about Mr. Rookwood and what he’d offered her. If she’d said yes, he would probably be arranging her life for her now—college, she expected, to get to know now the people who would become Isham and Rookwood’s clients in the future. Kit would be waiting for her when she graduated, and then—

  Oh, Kit. Questions tormented her. What had happened to him after he’d left her that night by the lake? Had he been up there on Mount Marcy, helping his father and uncle to try to kill Colonel Roosevelt? And if he had been helping them, then what should she feel about him?

  The problem was that she didn’t know if France would be enough to push him from her thoughts…or if she even wanted to push him out. Her time with him had been left unfinished, unresolved, a melody with the final, completing chord yet unplayed. She had been left waiting to hear what those notes would be…and yet, in a way, she didn’t want to. Kit was a Rookwood and a human; she was a Boisvert and a dryad. Between those two extremes was a divide that any final, closing chord would surely get lost in.

  * * *

  Indian summer had settled over New England, and even the nights were so unseasonably warm that Grace left her windows open to the soft air. On this night two days before their departure she lay in bed watching the sheer curtains wave in the gentle night breeze, thinking about what was left to pack. Until, that is, something large landed with a thud on the sill of one of her open windows.

  She sat up. There was a scratching noise, as of claws gaining purchase on wood. Then a large, dark something leapt from the sill and into her room. It sat for a second, then shook itself and took a step or two. It was a large black bird.

  Grace fumbled for the matches on her bedside table and lit the
candle there. The bird stood still and looked at her, head to one side.

  “C-Crow?” she whispered.

  The bird leaned forward and extended its wings as if it were about to take off…and then it was gone. In its place stood Kit Rookwood.

  Grace cried out then—a high, breathy gasp. Kit did not move but watched her from where he stood by the window. “Grace,” he said quietly, questioningly.

  “K-Kit—wh-what—” It was a good thing she’d left the candle on the bedside table. She was shaking so hard that she might have dropped it.

  “It’s not something I do in front of just anyone,” he said. “And no, it’s not a crow. It’s a raven. There are differences, though I can understand that some people don’t know what they are.” He looked at her, and his old lopsided smile spread across his face, though his eyes held a different expression. “Alice said once that you had your underclothes made in France and the thought has haunted me ever since—with good reason, I see.”

  Grace hastily retreated back under the bedclothes…and realized that Kit wasn’t wearing anything at all. Of course not, said one part of her mind. How could he go from a raven’s form to a man’s wearing a stitch of anything? A slightly less rational part wanted to spend the next half hour drinking the sight of him in, for he was beautiful—broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long, straight limbs, and…

  The rest of her, however, panicked. “You can’t stand there naked in my room!” she whispered frantically.

  His smile widened. “Um…I am.”

  Grace closed her eyes, reached for the quilt folded at the foot of her bed, and threw it toward him. “If you don’t wrap yourself in that now, I’ll scream.”

  “It used to take a lot more than that to make the Grace I know scream,” he said, a little reproachfully, but she heard him move and then the soft susurrus of fabric. “There. I look like an early American Roman senator. Happy?”

  Grace opened one eye a crack. He was standing over her, the quilt draped around him toga fashion. “Not too close!” she squealed and huddled back against the headboard.

  He sat down on the edge of her bed. “Now you’re being silly. I’m not going to bite you, though I can’t promise I won’t do anything else.”

  “Kit!”

  He laughed softly. “Tell me something. Who are you more afraid of—me or yourself?”

  She sat up straighter. “I’m not afraid.”

  “That’s the Grace I know,” he said and then fell silent, looking at her. “I’ve missed you so badly,” he finally said.

  A dozen things that all wanted to be said swirled in her mind. One floated to the top. “Where is your father?” she whispered.

  “At home in New York with my mother,” he said. “My uncle’s there, too, as far as I know. No one is going to hunt you down. Father still has high hopes for you, and he won’t let Uncle John trouble you.”

  Grace closed her eyes. His words were both a relief and frightening. “Isn’t he afraid I’ll…tell?”

  Kit smiled. “Who would believe you?” His smile faded. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No—I mean, are you all right since you got home? Since Mount Marcy.”

  Grace gripped the blankets hard for a moment. The mere mention of Mount Marcy could make her feel dizzy sometimes. “You know what happened there.”

  “I was there.”

  She frowned. “You were? But I never saw you!”

  “Grace.” He was shaking his head. “I was right when I said that some people don’t know the difference between ravens and crows. Who do you think let you out of the cabin at Lake Colden?”

  The events of that day began to rearrange themselves in her mind. “But I thought it was Crow!”

  “I doubt your Changer friend could have undone the spell my father put on that door. And if I could have become a mountain goat and carried you the rest of the way, I would have,” he added with another crooked smile. “But raven is the only shape I can take.”

  Grace remembered her joking complaint. So it was he who’d led her up the mountain. No wonder “Crow” wouldn’t talk to her. She took a deep breath. “Why did you help me and not your father? They were looking for you—you were supposed to be on watch for them.”

  “I know. They can’t shift—I get it from my mother’s side, though she herself doesn’t have any magic—so being able to turn into a raven made me useful to them for this job. For a few other jobs too. Like looking for hats that get lost overboard in Newport.”

  Grace remembered the unsigned parcel containing her hat. That had been him too…

  “Only I’m still not sure I want to help my father and uncle.” He leaned toward her. “I told you before that I’m not happy about joining my family’s firm.”

  She nodded. Now she understood why.

  “They’ve been grooming me for this all my life. And…” He looked down at his hands. “I love my father, no matter what he’s done. He was the best father I could imagine having, and I don’t want to disappoint him. But I love you too. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Grace swallowed. “You know what your father said—what he offered me.”

  “He knows a good thing when he sees it. Whatever you did to Uncle John up there left Father nearly speechless with excitement and twice as determined to have you work for him. And I know what he said about you and me.” He looked a little sheepish. “I think he figured out how I feel about you, even though I tried not to let him see it.”

  “How…” Grace hesitated, then steeled herself. “How do you feel about me?”

  “Give me two seconds and I’ll show you.” He started to slide forward on the bed but stopped when she cowered back from him. “What is it?”

  “How do I know you love me? Your uncle—”

  “You’re going to believe anything he said?”

  “He said…when your father told him I wouldn’t join them, he said that you’d botched the job and he should have been the one to…to recruit me. How do I know you weren’t doing to me just what you’d done to Alice?”

  He sat back and closed his eyes for a minute as if composing himself, then looked at her. “Grace, what did I tell you that night by the lake? I asked you not to believe anything you might hear about me, because it was likely to be a lie. Or at least not the whole truth.”

  “Did your father tell you to try to make me love you?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Except that he didn’t know that I was already in love with you. When he told me, it was…it was like he was giving me permission to do what I’d already wanted to do anyway, you know?” The smile that had touched the corners of his mouth vanished when she remained silent. “You still don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. There was so much between them—Alice and Newport, secrets and lies. She wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out to him and feel his arms around her and his mouth on hers. But she couldn’t. Not until she was sure that it was right.

  And there was something else too. Mum’s warnings about human-dryad unions had all made perfect sense back in July. But only now did she understand with her heart as well as her mind what they meant. Could she love Kit, knowing how transient their life together would be for her? Would she be brave enough to?

  “Um…so, how is Alice, anyway?” he asked a little uncomfortably.

  Grace felt uncomfortable too. “Oh, she’s… You know Alice, she’s always…” She took a breath. “I don’t know how she is. She won’t respond to my letters. She saw you kiss me that night, and…well, you can imagine what she said to me. She’s glad her father is safe, but…but I don’t think we’ll ever be able to be friends the way we were before. If at all.”

  Kit leaned forward and held his hand out to her. She hesitated, then leaned forward, too, and took it. “I’m sorry that you and she…that your friendship had to be one of the casualties of all this,” he said. “I was afraid of it as soon as I realized you
weren’t Alice, that morning at the Casino.”

  Grace hunched her shoulders. “I’ve been thinking…maybe it would have happened anyway. She would have gone to Washington no matter what, and we would have moved into different worlds.”

  “Grace.” He squeezed her hand. She looked up and saw that he was looking at her intently.

  “You may have lost Alice, but you gained me. I love you,” he said. “Whether you believe it or not, I do. I debated asking you to run away with me tonight, but I realize now that I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. I want you to know that you love me, and not have doubts. Go to Europe—yes, I know that you’re going. The trunks are a bit of a giveaway, and I’ve been hanging out in trees eavesdropping. Go to Europe so that you can see what you could have there and if it’s what you want…or if maybe it’s me you love after all.” He shook his head and laughed softly. “No one ever told me that being noble would be so damned hard. Two-thirds of me still wants to carry you off with me someplace where no one will find us.”

  “Kit…” Once again the image of the two of them living in the depths of the Adirondacks, just them and thousands of acres of trees, filled her with longing.

  “Grace.” He held his arms out to her. She hesitated—then wiggled out from under the covers and into his embrace. He held her close, stroking her bare shoulder, but did not attempt any further intimacy. They sat just so for a long time, and she breathed in the scent of his skin and the beat of his heart, and felt—not only in her fingers or toes, but through all of her—that sense of rooting, of thirsting, of filling and being filled that she held felt among the trees in Tahawus. Only this time it was not a tree or a forest that she was settling into, but Kit.

  And then her breath caught as a flood of the same feeling filled her. This time, she was being settled into as well.

  She closed her eyes and let it—him—wash over and through her till it was hard to know where she left off and he began. They didn’t speak, because words weren’t necessary between them. Not anymore.