When the Black Roses Grow (3 page)

“They aren’t worth the cow,” he said flatly.

“I beg thy pardon?”

“They aren’t worth the cow, but I'll take them just the same.”

“I hath no intention of selling them. My intention is to trade them for the cow. Surely a herd of this size is well worth the price of the cow.”

“Oh, I won’t be payin’ for them.”

I drew away from the old man and tightened my grip on the ropes. The honest deception in his tone spoke of his hinted threat. Tumult oozed from his expression, the very furor I foolishly had not considered. Why, I did not know, the betrayal should hath been obvious.

“Sir, I will leave with either the cow or the goats. I will not leave with empty hands.”

The old man growled under his breath and spat on the ground once more. He wiped his chin with his dirt stained hand and then scratched the side of his face as his eyes darted from the cow, to the goats, to me, and then circled each of us again—planning his actions while carefully considering the consequence.

Fear bubbled in my chest with each flinch of his arm and every twitch of his hands as he inched himself forward, building up for an explosion of power.

Could I prevail over this man?

“I suppose I shall be on my way then if thee do not wish to trade, sir.” I drew away from him by a couple steps and he mirrored my movement, taking an extra step closer to me.

“I don’t think ya understand what I say, Mis’ress.” He spat on the ground a third time.

“And, I do not think you understand what I say.”

I braced my stance. My knuckles whitened as my grip around the ropes further tightened. Whether or not I could claim victory in the argument, I did not know, but desperation certainly played into my determination to leave with either my goats or the cow. My livelihood depended on it, and as much as I feared the events unfolding, I would dispute them.

His eye darted from my eyes to my hands and returned to my eyes as he inhaled a deep breath and lunged for me. He snatched at the ropes, twisting the hemp fibers around and intertwining them through his fingers, jerking on them with the force of man belying his paltry façade.

My muscles clenched as I dug my heels into the ground and braced my weight against his—the willpower in both of our bodies surged a power struggle both of us fought desperately to win.

“Let go of the ropes.” As I screamed, I caught sight of a horse trotting over the bridge several feet from where we stood.

“Is there a problem?” Another man’s deep voice called out.

A sudden fire tickled throughout my body, burning me as though flames burned through my bones. I gazed through a firestorm of color, yet no heat pricked my fingers—the expected burn of the ropes. Rather, the heat pricked my core; the fire sure and deep and pure.

What is wrong with me?

My vision remained obscured, but I released the ropes, sending the old man’s rump slamming into the ground from the sudden lack of force tugging against him.

Panicked, I brushed at my arms and legs as though they were on fire. With equal measure, the taunting flames flickered and died as my paltry sight returned.

“What the devil is wrong with ya?” the old man shouted, retreating away from me in fear. Each rope slipped through his fingers and the goats scattered a few feet before stopping to graze upon grass far too tempting.

I met his gaze, then traced my own body. Not a flicker of red or orange blazed forth and panic rose in my chest with my obvious hallucination.

James DeKane bounded off his horse and rushed to my side. He clutched my hand to help me stand, and his touch extinguished the burning bristle spread across my skin. The blaze vanished. My body was calm and cool.

I jerked my arm from his grasp.

What was that?

He gaped at me and blinked his eyes a few times as though the heat confused him, too. Fear pierced my soul, my heart raced, and my stomach twisted as my eyes danced from the dirt to the grass—anywhere, instead of meeting his gaze.

“Are thee art right?” James asked me.

I nodded.

James faced the old man, his hands rested on his hips as he nearly growled his words. “Care to explain?”

“Me and the lady were just makin’ a deal for a trade,” the old man defended, his voice cracked on the last word.

“Such is not what appears to me,” James replied, giving me a sideways glance as I brushed the dirt from my dress. “Care to convey the truth, sir?”

“Just a simple trade, yes, sir, ‘tis what is goin’ on. Just gettin’ the rope for the Mis’ress.”

The old man shuffled over to the cow, limping slightly on his leg. He untied the rope from around the tree and shuffled back toward me. After handing over the end of the rope, he smiled and nodded, his breaths heavy from our struggle.

“Just weaned the calf a few days ago, she’ll give ya plenty of milk until ya want her to raise another one. ‘Tis my pleasure, Mis’ress.”

At my nod, he scooped up the ropes to the goats and scurried away, limping down the road. The nannies quickly followed, bleating for their kids.

“Are you sure thee art all right?” James asked me again as the old man disappeared in the distance.

The utter concern in his eyes caused a flutter in my pounding heart. “Yes,” I whispered.

“Quite brazen thoughts for an old man to act upon, trying to steal from another.” He chuckled at his own mock. “Especially, a lady. I am relieved I happened along to aid thee.”

“Thank you, Mr. DeKane.”

My cheeks burned and as I spun around to leave, my foot slipped and I tripped over a rock. With one swift movement, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, helping me regained my balance. His touch overwhelmed my already frenzied mind, and our eyes locked for a fleeting moment before we both looked away.

“My sincere apologies.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I only meant to keep you from falling again.”

I nodded, not meeting his gaze. “’Tis all right.”

“Are thee traveling home now?”

“Yes.”

“May . . . may, I walk with thee?”

I caught my breath. Although every ounce of my soul screamed yes, a part of my mind shouted no. Proper fought with improper. Surely, we were alone and far away from prying eyes, however, we did not hath a chaperon.

“I suppose . . . I suppose you may.”

We strolled in silence. The sun continued to rise; the pink and purple glow in the sky faded into a bright orange. Beating down with the heat rays, the early morning chill gave way to a warm spring morning.

One single awkward clank from the cracked and broken bell around the cow’s neck replaced the inharmonious chimes from goats, and her lumbering hooves clopped against the ground behind me as her over-sized body swayed back and forth. Bigger than I remembered, her pretty, light brown coat glistened, like that of the deer bouncing through the forest.

“’Tis a beautiful morning.” James crossed his hand behind his back and switched the reins from one hand to another. The beautiful gray horse with dark dappled spots and a black and white mane and tail obeyed his unspoken command, bestowing him liberty to walk next to me.

The hair on my neck stood and I shifted my shoulders closer to the cow.

“Yes, very beautiful.”

“I thought more townsfolk would be out enjoying the sunshine with a walk or a ride, but you are the first person I hath happened upon.” He paused for a moment and bit his lip. “Hath you seen anyone else?”

“No, but ‘tis early. Perhaps, after breakfast they will venture along the road.”

“Thou . . . thou hath not happened upon anyone, either?”

Cloaks and white blonde hair whispered through my memory—strangers, who were unknown to me, as much as the reason for their hasty retreat. Although reporting outlanders amongst the trees surrounding the village would prove, by far, the logical choice, the words did not want to roll across my tongue. Divulging the truth to James felt wrong.

“Not a soul,” I lied.

He glanced at me—his head jerked so quickly I flinched.

I should not hath lied. Why did I lie? He obviously knows I did not speak the truth.

I ignored him, along with the nagging voice inside my head. Giving in to the acknowledgment would only reinforce my indiscretion. My eyes locked on the rocks along the dirt road.

One, two, three . . .

I counted each one, a distraction I greatly needed from the man next to me.

“’Tis been awhile since I hath enjoyed a ride through the forest.” He breathed a casual sigh. “Quite relaxing, I must say, and I never realized how much I missed it. Although, having company is also quite nice.”

I caught his amused, yet with a whisper of seductive, glance out of the corner of my eye and my stomach flipped. My pulse quickened.

Four, five, six . . .

The hemp fibers stuck to the palms of my sweaty hands.

Seven, eight, nine . . .

Houses peeked through the trees in the distance as we drew nearer to town. James sighed, and his pace slowed a little as though he desired to prolong our conversation.

“Are you planning to visit thy mother’s grave today?”

“No, not today. I hath chores to finish before Sabbath, tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, the Sabbath.” He sighed deeply and stroked his horse’s neck. “I suppose I forgot what day it was.”

“Thou sound as though you do not wish to attend service.”

He smirked and snorted an amused breath. “With service comes a certain
expected
inconvenience, although I suppose I hath such daily.”

“Prayer to God is an inconvenience?”

“’Twas not exactly what I meant.” The twinkle that once sparkled in his eyes grew black and cold. “With service comes the expectation from someone in particular.”

As we rounded the last bend in the road, just before reaching the first house, the tiny short-cut path appeared, barely visible in the tall grass.

“Thank you for the conversation, Mr. DeKane, and for thy assistance . . . with the peddler,” I whispered with my chin tucked.

“You are welcome. Are you sure you—”

“Good day to you.” Twisting the rope through my fingers, I tugged the cow to follow me down the path and trotted away from him.

THREE

We covenant with the Lord and one another, and do

by ourselves together in the presence of God, to walk to

together in all His ways. According as he is pleased to

reveal Himself unto us, in His blessed word of truth.

“Amen,” I whispered.

The affirmation echoed throughout the church after Reverend Perris’s prayer. Instead of lifting my head to meet the reverend’s gaze, my chin lingered, still bowed with my eyes closed as I continued with my own silent prayer to God.

The sight of the ring of black roses still sitting upon my mother’s headstone this morning before church brought me to my knees. Anxiety clawed at my nerves in an awkward dance that left me gasping for breath and my skin itchy.

I could not hath conjured them, could I?

With my chin to my chest, my eyes opened and focused on a faded, and yet, utterly visible stain on my white apron. I laid my sweaty, clammy palm upon the brown blemish.

And, I shall prove I am not a witch.

Chants repeated in my head, threatening the material should the blemish remain. Over and over cursing words uttered through my mind, until finally I stopped, and inhaled a sharp, self-protecting breath.

Relief spread through my veins as I removed my hand, and stared at the discolored spot remaining for all to see, if they looked hard enough. It had not vanished. It had not listened to command.

I adjusted my feet, lifting my toes in hope of reprieve from my confining shoes. My uneven foot stove shifted under my weight and a hot coal rapped against the side of the cast iron. The soft ping echoed through the silence of the church, and I closed my eyes, shutting out any looks of disapproval that might befall me.

My tiny Bible rested in my lap. Given to me, what felt like a thousand years ago, by my grandmother as she lay upon her deathbed. The worn pages and cover had seen many days of traveling in my arms, falling to the ground in the rain and snow, and lying on my dusty table and desktop. No matter its condition, I could not part with the last gift she gave me and my only link to her warmth and love.

The tithing man sauntered slowly up through the pews, clutching the plate filled with several coins, and tapping anyone who dared to move or, heaven forbid, doze during the sermon. The occasional crack of his cane always caused me to flinch.

The men and young boys sat on the other side of the church, separated from the women and young girls. Deacons sat in the front church pews, with the young boys sitting behind them, close enough they could swat the boys with their own canes should any of the youth decide to act out.

“May you all hath a blessed Sabbath. Sin not, for thy Lord is watching.” With the last of his words, Reverend Perris folded his arms across his chest, ending another sermon akin to every other sermon on every other Sabbath. The familiar sense of arrogance stiffened in his shoulders as he excused everyone for the day.

One by one, the other women and young girls around me rose to their feet and began filing out of the pews just as the men and boys did. They smiled and either nodded to one another or clasped hands for a brief second with silent expressions of joy in the reverend’s words.

I groaned under my breath, scooped up my foot stove, and shuffled out into the aisle with the crowd of husbands waiting for their wives.

James waited for Mary and her family near the door of the church. Just as every other Sabbath, he smiled and nodded greetings to everyone who passed him as they left. Mary chatted as she ambled along several feet behind me, her attention far too enthralled in a conversation with her mother to notice the perfect man waiting for her.

As I approached James, our eyes met. He smiled, and with an ever-so-slight movement, nodded and winked. I fought my own smile and pinched my arm.

The closer I stepped toward him, the faster my heart beat.

Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump.

The pounding deafened me.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Just calm yourself, Emmalynn.

Just as handsome as ever in his black suit, he held his brimmed hat in his hand at his side. His blond, stick-straight hair framed his face with his perfect, strong jaw line that I imagined tracing with my fingertips.

Stop, Emmalynn, just stop and quit thy foolish thoughts.

He shook the hand of the man sauntering in front of me, and as I passed, he reached out too soon for the man behind me, brushing my arm with a soft touch. I caught my breath. A jolt pulsed through me. In my mind, everyone around us vanished, leaving us the only two people in the little white church.

Suddenly, the outside window shutters slammed shut throughout the building. Women screamed, men flinched, and everyone looked all around them in a flutter of panic.

I froze.

“’Tis just the wind, everyone.” Reverend Perris reassured. “’Tis just the wind.”

Please tell me he speaks the truth. Please.
I held my breath and closed my eyes.
Yes, ‘tis just the wind. That is all it could be. Just the wind.

The man behind me cleared his throat a few times. My eyes opened and focused upon James as he gestured toward my arm where he touched me.

“My apologies, Miss Hawthorne,” he said with a slight smirk across his lips, and he shook the hand of the man behind me.

His voice played a calmed whisper, the same deep soothing sound from the walk along the village road. A gentle reminder of how comfortable he seemed even though I felt awkward.

The sun blinded me as I made my way down the old wood church steps. The breeze blew a raven curl from under my bonnet, across my face, as I glanced at the shutters slapping against the outside walls of the church. My lungs exhaled my sighed relief.

Just the wind.

“Blessed morning to you, Miss Hawthorne.” Julia Clayton’s, high pitched voice beckoned my attention. “Join us for a moment, will you not?”

She stood next to John in the shade of the oak tree with her arm hooked around his. Her beaming smile nearly eclipsed his overt pained frown. A portrait of a couple who could not be less perfect for one another, and yet, only one of them knew, and his eyes danced from Julia to Rebecca, who watched the two of them from a distance.

“John and I were just speaking the other night about extending thee an invitation for evening supper. Were we not, Darling?” Expecting to find his agreement, her smile faded with his frown and furrowed brow. “Um, perhaps next week, maybe, if you would like.”

In her confusion, she gave me only a fleeting glance before she looked toward John once more. Unknowing of her gaze, he stared at Rebecca, mirroring the heartbreak in her expression.

Fire blazed in Julia’s eyes. Her shoulders straightened and she cleared her throat, to jerk his attention back toward her.

“I am not sure of my plans next week.” I said, hoping to distract her attention. “I shall need to see to my prior obligations first. Shall I send word later in the week?”

“Yes, please do so. I quite miss our evening suppers. We always had such a pleasant time with you . . . and Joseph.” She bit her lip as though she worried she had said something she should not.

I smiled to ease her comfort, though the mention of Joseph squirmed through my spine. “Yes, he always had such a delightful time, too. He often spoke of it.”

Her body shifted uncomfortably, and her eyes danced around, not meeting mine. “I am sure you miss him greatly. Losing a loved one is never easy, and I am sure thy grief brings great anguish to the heart.” With the last of her words, her arm tightened around John’s. Her eye twitched with her unspoken thoughts and her jaw line clenched.

John cleared his throat and dabbed his handkerchief against his forehead—the battle between them obvious, awkward, and none of my business.

“Yes, it is.” I bit my lip. “You two, hath a blessed day, and I shall send word in a few days about supper.”

With a quick nod of farewell, I scurried home with the ache of the exhausting afternoon pounding in my head.

Overgrown weeds obtruded through the hollow flaws of the broken boards along my fence line. While I desired to rip them from their roots, the chore would hath to wait until tomorrow. Chores were forbidden on the Sabbath, although, surely the cow would love them for supper.

The old wood porch boards creaked and moaned under my weight as I stepped across them. One of the loose ones shifted, tripping me with the lifted corner, and my hand slammed into the outside wall as I caught myself. A shard of bark left in the deep crack of the wood sliced my thumb.

Ouch.

“
Pssstt
,” a voice hissed from behind me.

I froze.

“Mis’res Hawthorne,” the voice whispered again.

I glanced slowly over my shoulder, exhaling my held breath as I spied Jeb, hiding amongst the bushes.

“What are you doing in the shrub?”

“She’s here,” he whispered. With widened eyes, he pointed around the corner of the house. “She’s waitin’ for ya near the cow pen.”

“Who awaits me?”

He brushed his finger against his lips, hinting me to soften my tone. My voice was obviously too boisterous for his taste.

“Who awaits me?” I asked again, mirroring his whisper.

“The ol’ crazy woman from ‘long Ipswich Road.”

“Adalene McCarven?”

“She don’t like bein’ told to get off the property, neither.”

I bit my lip, stifling and fighting my laughter at the imagined vision of Jeb trying to force the old woman off the property. Even with her age, Adalene McCarven was never one to listen to the likes of a slave hand.

“Thank you, Jeb. I suspect Deacon Goodwin shall arrive home from service before long. Thou should not be missing when he arrives.”

With a fleeting nod, and several strides of his lengthy gate, he vanished down the road.

Just as Jeb hinted, Adalene waited in the pen with my cow, stroking the brown coat as she muttered to herself. Her beaded necklaces clanked together with her movement, worn only in privacy, I remembered the first time I laid eyes upon them.

“Good day, Miss McCarven.”

She spun around to face me. Her body rocked off balance from her sudden movement. “Good day, Miss Hawthorne. Pleasant sermon this Sabbath, would thee not agree?”

My eyes locked onto hers—an ice blue shade set in her wrinkled face. They twinkled with her question for she already knew my answer. Almost like a game, she toyed with the amusement in causing me to look into the deepest thoughts on purpose, just as she did with my mother.

“No, I would not agree. ‘Twas just another sermon preached by a man who is far from the perfection he commands.” My tone rife, my words sharp, and my growl rumbled through my chest. “And, you knew what I would say, so why bother asking?”

“To prove my point.” Adalene frowned and clasped her hands together, rubbing them as they trembled. “My point, that you hold anger for our reverend.”

“And, why should I not? Why do you even mention his name to me?”

“For not his peace, but for thine. I saw the disdain in thy eyes at service. Saw the look of abhorrence and if I bore witness, surely others did as well.”

I groaned and folded my arms against my chest. The tension of my own body flickered in her eyes as though she sought to mirror it for me, so that I might change my thoughts and feelings.

“I only mean to caution thee, Miss Hawthorne, not oppose. Like you and thy parents, I despise the man, myself. Thy mother loathed him silently, but thy father did vociferously, which is a road you seem devoted to travel down when thou should not.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a woman, and women do not hath the authority of a man.”

My eyes met hers once more and I uncrossed my arms. The validity in her words twisted in my stomach.

Before my father succumbed to the fever, he was one of the first villagers to sign every petition that circulated the village ordering the Perris family from the town. I, too, desired to sign my name upon the lines of the parchment, however, my father refused.

‘Tis not a woman’s place, Emmalynn.
I could still remember the warning tone behind his words, the growl in his voice, though not in anger, but in fear.

“I know why you loathe him,” Adalene said.

“Please do not say any more.”

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

“I watched from afar that day he pounded on the door of thy home and barged in as thy mother cracked the door open. I watched him grab her as she clutched her throat and screamed.”

I closed my eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

“I heard the crowd as they chanted, heard as he shouted the accusations brought against her. I watched as they tied her arms and drug her down the road.”

“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop, please, just stop.” I held up my hand to her face to silence her.

“Thou hath to let the memories go, Miss Hawthorne.”

“Do you not understand that I cannot do that? Every second spent in his company, I relive that horrible day. His smile, the sound of his voice, the way he orders us to follow him and follow God churns in my stomach. I want him to know my sorrow, the agony he caused, and yet, I do not.”

“I sincerely believe he would not care.”

“No, he would not.”

“But, more importantly, Miss Hawthorne, if someone else were to hear or see you, then surely, you can see the danger you face.”

“Why should I hold concern for such when Reverend Perris remains in disfavor in Salem? Do you think I do not remember the outcry from all the townspeople regarding his removal from our church? His arrogance and materialistic behavior leaves a trail of disgust.”