Origins (2 page)

Rosalyn Salvatore,
I thought to myself the next day, tasting the words as I walked out the door, ready to fulfill my duty by paying a second call on my soon-to-be-betrothed. I imagined living with Rosalyn in the carriage house—or perhaps some smaller mansion my father would build as our wedding present—me working all day, poring through ledgers with my father in his stuffy study, while she took care of our children. I tried to feel excitement. But all I felt was cold dread seeping through my veins.

I walked around the grand path of Veritas and gazed wistfully up at the carriage house. I hadn’t seen Katherine since she arrived yesterday afternoon. Father had dispatched Alfred to invite her to supper, but she’d declined. I’d spent the evening looking out the window toward the house, but I couldn’t see any flicker of candlelight. If I hadn’t known she and Emily had moved in, I’d have assumed the house had remained unoccupied. Finally, I went to sleep, wondering the whole time what Katherine was doing and whether she needed comforting.

I tore my eyes away from the drawn upstairs shades and trudged down the driveway. The dirt road under my feet
was hard and cracked; we needed a good rainstorm. There was no breeze, and the air felt dead. There wasn’t another person outside as far as the eye could see, yet as I walked, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I got the uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone. Unbidden, Robert’s warnings about walking off on my own floated through my mind.

“Hello?” I called out as I turned around.

I started. Standing just a few feet behind me, leaning against one of the angel statues that flanked the drive, was Katherine. She wore a white sunbonnet that protected her ivory skin and a white dress dotted with tiny rosebuds. Despite the heat, her fair skin looked as cool as the pond on a December morning.

She smiled at me, displaying perfectly straight, white teeth. “I had hoped for a tour of the grounds, but it seems you are otherwise engaged.”

My heart pounded at the word “engaged,” the ring box in my back pocket as heavy as a branding iron. “I’m not … no. I mean,” I stammered, “I could stay.”

“Nonsense.” Katherine shook her head. “I already am taking lodging from you and your father. I will not take your time as well.” She raised a dark eyebrow at me.

Never before had I spoken with a girl who seemed so at ease and sure of herself. I felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to whip the ring from my pocket and offer it to
Katherine on one knee. But then I thought of Father and forced my hand to stay put.

“May I at least walk with you for a bit?” Katherine asked, swinging her sun umbrella back and forth.

Companionably, we walked down the road. I kept glancing to my left and right, wondering why she didn’t seem nervous to walk, unaccompanied, with a man. Perhaps it was because she was an orphan and so utterly alone in the world. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for it.

A light wind blew around us, and I inhaled her lemony ginger scent, feeling as though I could die of happiness, right there, next to Katherine. Simply being near her was a reminder that beauty and love did exist in the world, even if I couldn’t have them.

“I think I shall call you Silent Stefan,” Katherine said as we walked through the cluster of oaks that marked the line between the village of Mystic Falls and the outlying plantations and estates.

“I’m sorry …,” I started, fearing that I was as dull to her as Rosalyn was to me. “It’s simply that we don’t get very many strangers in Mystic Falls. It’s difficult to speak to someone who doesn’t know my whole history. I suppose I don’t want to bore you. After Atlanta, I’m sure you find Mystic Falls a bit quiet.” I felt mortified as soon as the sentence left my lips. Her parents had
died
in Atlanta, and here I was, making it sound like she’d left some exciting
life to live here. I cleared my throat. “I mean, not that you had found Atlanta exciting, or that you wouldn’t enjoy getting away from everything.”

Katherine smiled. “Thank you, Stefan. That’s sweet.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t want to delve into the topic any further.

We walked in silence for a few long moments. I kept my stride deliberately short so Katherine could keep up. Then, whether by accident or by design I’m not sure, Katherine’s fingers brushed against my arm. They were cold as ice, even in the humid air. “Just so you know,” she said, “I don’t find
anything
about you boring.”

My entire body flamed hot as a conflagration. I glanced up the road, as if trying to ascertain the best route for us to follow, though really I was hiding my blush from Katherine. I felt the weight of the ring in my pocket again, heavier than ever.

I turned to face Katherine, to say what, I’m not even sure. But she was no longer by my side.

“Katherine?” I called, shielding my eyes against the sun, waiting for her lilting laugh to rise up in the underbrush along the road. But all I heard was the echo of my own voice. She had vanished.

I
didn’t call on the Cartwrights that day. Instead, after searching the path, I sprinted the two miles back to the estate, terrified that Katherine had somehow been dragged into the forest by some unseen hand—perhaps by the very creature that had been terrorizing the nearby plantations.

When I arrived home, though, I found her on the porch swing, chatting with her maid, a sweating glass of lemonade beside her. Her skin was pale, her eyes languorous, as if she’d never run a day in her life. How had she gotten back to the carriage house so quickly? I wanted to stride up and ask, but I stopped myself. I’d sound like a madman, recounting the whirling thoughts in my head.

At that moment, Katherine glanced up and shielded her eyes. “Back so soon?” she called, as if surprised to see
me. I nodded dumbly as she slid off the porch swing and glided into the carriage house.

The image of her smiling face kept floating back to me the next day, when I forced myself to make the call on Rosalyn. It was even worse than the first call. Mrs. Cartwright sat right beside me on the couch, and every time I shifted, her eyes gleamed, as if she was expecting me to take out the ring at any second. I’d choked out some questions about Penny, about the puppies she’d had last June, and about the progress Honoria Fells, the town dressmaker, had made on Rosalyn’s pink gown. But no matter how much I tried, all I wanted was an excuse to leave so I could visit with Katherine.

Finally, I muttered something about not wanting to be out past dark. According to Robert, there had been three more animal killings, including George Brower’s horse right outside the apothecary. I almost felt guilty as Mrs. Cartwright ushered me out of the house and into my carriage, as if I were going off to battle rather than a two-mile ride home.

When I got to the estate, my heart fell when I saw no sign of Katherine. I was about to double back to the stable to brush Mezzanotte when I heard angry voices emanating from the open windows of the kitchen of the main house.

“No son of mine will
ever
disobey me! You need to go back and take your place in the world.” It was Father’s
voice, tinged with the heavy Italian accent that became apparent only when he was extremely upset.

“My
place
is here. The army is not for me. What is so wrong about following my own mind?” another voice yelled, confident, proud, and angry all at once.

Damon.

My heart quickened as I stepped into the kitchen and saw my brother. Damon was my closest friend, the person I looked up to most in the world—even more than Father, though I’d never admitted it out loud. I hadn’t seen him since last year, when he joined General Groom’s army. He looked taller, his hair somehow seemed darker, and the skin on his neck was sun-darkened and freckled.

I threw my arms around him, thankful I had arrived home when I did. He and Father had never gotten along, and their fights occasionally escalated to blows.

“Brother!” He slapped my back as he pulled out of the embrace.

“We’re not finished, Damon,” my father warned as he retreated to his study.

Damon turned to me. “I see Father’s the same as always.”

“He’s not so bad.” I always felt awkward speaking badly of Father, even as I chafed against my forced engagement to Rosalyn. “Did you just get back?” I asked, changing the subject. Damon smiled. There were slight lines around his
eyes that no one would notice unless they knew him well.

“An hour ago. I couldn’t miss my younger brother’s engagement announcement, could I?” he asked, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Father told me all about it. Seems that he’s depending on you to carry on the Salvatore name. And just think, by the time of the Founders Ball, you’ll be a husband!”

I stiffened. I’d forgotten about the ball. It was the event of the year, and Father, Sheriff Forbes, and Mayor Lockwood had been planning it for months. Partly a war benefit, partly an opportunity for the town to enjoy the last gasp of summer, and mostly a chance for the town leaders to pat themselves on the backs, the Founders Ball had always been one of my favorite Mystic Falls traditions. Now I dreaded it.

Damon must have sensed my discomfort, because he started digging through his canvas rucksack. It was filthy and had what looked like a bloodstain on the corner. Finally, he pulled out a large, misshapen leather ball, much larger and more oblong than a baseball. “Want to play?” he asked, palming the ball from hand to hand.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A football. Me and the boys play when we’ve got time away from the field. It’ll be good for you. Get some color in your cheeks. We don’t want you getting soft,” he said, imitating my father’s voice so perfectly that I had to laugh.

Damon walked out the door, and I followed, shrugging off my linen jacket. Suddenly the sunshine felt warmer, the grass felt softer, everything felt
better
than it had just minutes before.

“Catch!” Damon yelled, finding me off guard. I lifted up my arms and caught the ball against my chest.

“Can I play?” a female voice asked, breaking the moment.

Katherine.
She was wearing a simple, lilac summer shift dress, and her hair was pulled into a bun at the base of her neck. I noticed that her dark eyes perfectly complemented the brilliant blue cameo necklace that rested in the hollow of her throat. I imagined lacing my fingers through her delicate hands, then kissing her white neck.

I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her. “Katherine, this is my brother, Damon. Damon, this is Katherine Pierce. She is staying with us,” I said stiffly, glancing back and forth between them to gauge Damon’s reaction. Katherine’s eyes danced, as if she found my formality incredibly amusing. So did Damon’s.

“Damon, I can tell you’re just as sweet as your brother,” she said in an exaggerated Southern accent. Even though it was a phrase any of the girls in the county would use when talking to a man, it sounded vaguely mocking coming from her lips.

“We’ll see about that.” Damon smiled. “So, brother, shall we let Katherine play?”

“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly hesitant. “What are the rules?”

“Who needs rules?” Katherine asked, flashing a grin that revealed her perfectly straight, white teeth.

I turned the ball in my hand. “My brother plays rough,” I warned.

“Somehow I think I play rougher.” In one swoop, Katherine grabbed the ball from my grasp. As they had been the previous day, her hands were cold, like ice, despite the heat of the afternoon. Her touch sent a jolt of energy through my body and up to my brain. “Loser has to groom my horses!” she called as the wind whipped her hair behind her.

Damon watched her run, then arched an eyebrow toward me. “That is a girl who wants to be chased.” With that, Damon dug his heels into the earth and ran, his powerful body hurtling down the hill toward the pond.

After a second, I ran, too. I felt the wind whip around my ears. “I’ll get you!” I yelled. It was a phrase I’d have yelled when I was eight and playing games with the girls my age, but I felt that the stakes of this game were higher than anything I’d ever played in my life.

T
he next morning, I awoke to breathless news from Rosalyn’s servants that her prized dog, Penny, had been attacked. Mrs. Cartwright summoned me to her daughter’s chambers, saying nothing had stopped Rosalyn from crying. I tried to comfort her, but her wracking sobs never abated.

The whole time, Mrs. Cartwright kept giving me disapproving glances, as if I should be doing a better job calming Rosalyn.

“You have me,” I’d said at one point, if only to appease her. At that, Rosalyn had flung her arms around me, crying so hard into my shoulder that her tears left a wet mark on my waistcoat. I tried to be sympathetic, but I felt a stab of annoyance at the way she was carrying on. After all, I’d never carried on like that when my
mother had died. Father hadn’t let me.

You have to be strong, a fighter,
he’d said at the funeral. And so I was. I didn’t cry when, just a week after Mother’s death, our nanny, Cordelia, began absentmindedly humming the French lullaby Mother had always sung. Not when Father took down the portrait of Mother that had hung in the front room. Not even when Artemis, Mother’s favorite horse, had to be put down.

“Did you see the dog?” Damon asked, as we walked into town together that night to get a drink at the tavern. Now that the dinner where I was to publicly propose to Rosalyn was just days away, we were heading out for a whiskey to celebrate my impending nuptials. At least, that’s what Damon called it, elongating his accent to a flat Charlestonian drawl and wiggling his eyebrows as he said it. I tried to smile as if I thought it was a great joke, but if I began talking, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back my dismay about marrying Rosalyn. And there wasn’t anything wrong with her. It was just … it was just that she wasn’t Katherine.

I turned my thoughts back to Penny. “Yes. Its throat had a gash in it, but whatever the animal was didn’t go for her innards. Strange, right?” I said as I rushed to keep up with him. The army had made him stronger and faster. “It’s a strange time, brother,” Damon said. “Maybe it’s the Yankees,” he teased with a smirk.

As we walked down the cobblestone streets, I noticed signs affixed to most doorways: A reward of one hundred dollars was being offered to anyone who found the wild animal responsible for the attacks. I stared at the sign. Maybe
I
could find it, then take the money and buy a train ticket to Boston, or New York, or some city where no one could find me and no one had ever heard of Rosalyn Cartwright. I smiled to myself; that would be something Damon might actually do—he never worried about consequences or other people’s feelings. I was about to point out the sign and ask what he’d do with one hundred dollars when I saw someone frantically waving at us in front of the apothecary.

“Are those the Salvatore brothers?” a voice called from up the street. I squinted across the twilight and saw Pearl, the apothecary, standing outside her shop with her daughter, Anna. Pearl and Anna were two more victims of the war. Pearl’s husband had died at the Vicksburg siege just last spring. After that, Pearl had found a home in Mystic Falls, and she ran an apothecary that was always busy. Jonathan Gilbert, in particular, was almost always there when I walked by, complaining about some ailment or purchasing some remedy or another. Town gossip was that he fancied her.

“Pearl, you remember my brother, Damon?” I called as we walked over the square to greet them.

Pearl smiled and nodded. Her face was unlined, and
a game among the girls was trying to determine how old she was. She had a daughter who was only a few years younger than me, so she couldn’t be that young. “You two certainly look handsome,” she said fondly. Anna was the spitting image of her mother, and when they stood side by side, the two looked as if they could be sisters.

“Anna, you look more beautiful each year. Are you old enough to be going to dances yet?” Damon asked, a twinkle in his eyes. I smiled despite myself. Of course Damon would be able to charm both a mother and a daughter.

“Almost,” Anna said, her eyes sparkling in anticipation. Fifteen was the age when girls were old enough to stay through dinner and hear the band strike up a waltz.

Pearl used a wrought-iron key to lock the apothecary, then turned to face us. “Damon, can you do me a favor? Can you make sure Katherine gets on tomorrow night? She’s a lovely girl, and, well, you know how people talk about strangers. I knew her in Atlanta.”

“I promise,” Damon said solemnly.

I stiffened. Was Damon escorting Katherine tomorrow night? I hadn’t thought she’d come to the party, and I couldn’t imagine proposing in front of her. But what choice did I have? Tell Father that Katherine wasn’t invited? Not propose to Rosalyn?

“Have fun tonight, boys,” Pearl said, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Wait!” I called, the dinner momentarily forgotten.

Pearl turned around, a quizzical expression on her face.

“It’s dark, and there have been more attacks. Would you like us to escort you ladies home?” I asked.

Pearl shook her head. “Anna and I are strong women. We’ll be fine. Besides …” She blushed and glanced around, as if afraid to be overheard. “I believe Jonathan Gilbert wants to do that for us. But I do thank you for your concern.”

Damon wiggled his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. “You know how I feel about strong women,” he whispered.

“Damon. Be appropriate,” I said, slugging him on the shoulder. After all, he wasn’t on the battlefields anymore. He was in Mystic Falls, a town where people liked to eavesdrop and loved to talk. Had he forgotten so quickly?

“Okay, Auntie Stefan!” Damon teased, raising his voice in a high lisp. I laughed despite myself and slugged him again on the arm for good measure. The punch was light, but felt good—a way to unleash some of my annoyance that he was able to escort Katherine to the dinner.

He good-naturedly slugged me back, and we would have broken out into an all-out brotherly brawl if Damon hadn’t pushed open the wooden door to the Mystic Falls Tavern. We were immediately greeted by an enthusiastic smile from the voluptuous, red-haired barmaid behind the counter. It was clear that Damon had made himself at home here on several occasions.

We elbowed our way to the back of the tavern. The room smelled of sawdust and sweat, and men in uniform were everywhere. Some had bandages on their heads, others wore slings, and some hobbled to the counter on crutches. I recognized Henry, a dark-skinned soldier who practically lived at the tavern, drinking whiskey alone in a corner. Robert had told me stories about him: He never socialized with anyone, and no one ever saw him in the light of day. There was talk that maybe he was associated with the attacks, but how could he be, if he was always at the tavern?

I peeled my eyes away to take in the rest of the scene. There were older men tightly grouped in a corner, playing cards and drinking whiskey and, in the opposite corner, a few women. I could tell from the rouge on their cheeks and their painted fingernails that they weren’t the types to spend time with our childhood playmates, Clementine Haverford or Amelia Hawke. As we walked past, one of them brushed my arm with her painted fingernails.

“You like it here?” Damon pulled out a wooden table from the wall, an amused smile on his face.

“I suppose I do.” I plunked down on the hard wooden bench and surveyed my surroundings once again. Being in the tavern, I felt I’d stumbled into a secret society of men, just one more thing I knew I’d have little chance to discover before I was a married man and expected to be at
home every evening.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Damon said, making his way to the bar. I watched as he rested his elbows on the counter and easily talked to the barmaid, who tilted her head back and laughed as if he’d said something hilarious. Which he probably had. That’s why all women fell in love with him.

“So, how does it feel to be a married man?”

I turned around to see Dr. Janes behind me. Well into his seventies, Dr. Janes was slightly senile and often loudly proclaimed to anyone who’d listen that his longevity was due exclusively to his prodigious indulgence in whiskey.

“Not married yet, Doctor.” I smiled tightly, wishing Damon would come back with our drinks.

“Ah, my boy, but you will be. Mr. Cartwright at the bank has been discussing it for weeks. The fair young Rosalyn. Quite a catch!” Dr. Janes continued loudly. I glanced around, hoping no one had heard.

At that moment, Damon appeared and gently set our whiskeys on the table. “Thank you,” I said, drinking mine down in one gulp. Dr. Janes hobbled away.

“That thirsty, huh?” Damon asked, taking a small sip of his own drink.

I shrugged. In the past, I’d never kept secrets from my brother. But talking about Rosalyn felt dangerous. Somehow, no matter what I said or felt, I still had to marry her. If anyone heard even an inkling of regret from me,
there’d be no end to the talk.

Suddenly, a new whiskey appeared in front of me. I glanced up to see the pretty bartender Damon had been talking to standing over our table.

“You look like you need this. Seems you’ve had a rough day.” The barmaid winked one of her green eyes and set the sweating tumbler on the rough-hewn wooden table in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said as I took a small, grateful sip.

“Anytime,” the barmaid said, her crinoline skirts swishing over her hips. I watched her retreating back. All the women in the tavern, even those with loose reputations, were more interesting than Rosalyn. But no matter who I glanced at, the only image that filled my mind was Katherine’s face.

“Alice likes you,” Damon observed.

I shook my head. “You know I can’t look. By the end of summer, I’ll be a married man. You, meanwhile, are free to do as you please.” I’d meant it to be an observation, but the words came out as a judgment.

“That’s true,” Damon said. “But you do know you don’t
have
to do something just because Father says so, right?”

“It’s not that simple.” I clenched my jaw. Damon couldn’t understand because he was wild and untamable—so much so that Father had entrusted me, the younger brother, with the future of Veritas, a role I now found stifling.

A sliver of betrayal shot through me at this thought—that it was Damon’s fault I had to shoulder so much responsibility. I shook my head, as if trying to remove the idea from it, and took another drink of whiskey.

“It’s very simple,” Damon said, oblivious to my momentary annoyance. “Just tell him you are not in love with Rosalyn. That you need to find your own place in the world and can’t just follow someone’s orders blindly. That’s what I learned in the army: You have to believe in what you do. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

I shook my head. “I’m not like you. I trust Father. And I know he only wants the best. It’s just that I wish … I wish I had more time,” I said finally. It was true. Maybe I could grow to love Rosalyn, but the thought that I could be married and have a child in just one short year filled me with dread. “But it’ll be fine,” I said with finality. It
had
to be.

“What do you think of our new houseguest?” I said, changing the subject.

Damon smiled. “Katherine,” he said, drawing the name into the full three syllables, as if he could taste it on his tongue. “Now, she’s a girl who’s difficult to figure out, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose,” I said, glad that Damon didn’t know that I was dreaming of Katherine at night, and by day pausing at the door to the carriage house to see if I could hear her laughing with her maid; once I even stopped by the stable
to smell the broad back of her horse, Clover, just to see if her lemon and ginger scent had lingered. It hadn’t, and at that moment, in the barn surrounded by the horses, I’d realized how unbalanced I was becoming.

“They don’t make girls like her in Mystic Falls. Do you think she has a soldier somewhere?” Damon asked.

“No!” I said, annoyed once again. “She’s in
mourning
for her
parents
. I hardly think she’s looking for a beau.”

“Of course.” Damon knit his eyebrows together contritely. “And I wasn’t presuming anything. But if she needs a shoulder to cry on, I’d be happy to lend it to her.”

I shrugged. Even though I’d brought up the subject, I was no longer sure I wanted to hear what Damon thought of her. In fact, as beautiful as she was, I almost wished that some far-flung relatives from Charleston or Richmond or Atlanta would step forward to invite her to live with them. If she were out of sight, then maybe I could somehow force myself to love Rosalyn.

Damon stared at me, and I knew in that moment how miserable I must have looked. “Cheer up, brother,” he said. “The night is young, and the whiskey’s on me.”

But there wasn’t enough whiskey in all of Virginia to make me love Rosalyn … or forget about Katherine.