When the Black Roses Grow (12 page)

“I should travel home.”

“Why?”

“Because, I should not be here.”

“But, I wanted to bring you here. I wanted to introduce you to Willow and Logan, although I do not know why him, I should hath known his reaction.”

“He obviously has his reasons and they are not for me to know.” I shrugged my shoulders. One other thought burdened my mind. Words I did not wish to say, though I should. “James, you should spend thy time with Willow, not me.”

“Do you believe I hath neglected her?”

“No, no, ‘tis not what I desired to mean, I just—”

“Emmalynn, I love my sister, but I also know the tragedy we face. She doth not hath long on this earth.”

“No, she doth not, which is why thou should spend thy time with her now.”

His shoulders hunched with guilt. “I never thought I hath neglected her. While I hath spent a few days in the village without coming home, ‘twas not often. Perhaps, twice or thrice in all the time we hath lived here.”

“James, I did not mean to imply—”

“I only hath done what I thought best. Our ties to the outside world are vital. Although, I suppose my actions were erroneous, but knowing one day I would not hath a sister to protect . . . perhaps, I was selfish.”

“James, you are not—”

“I only desired existence outside of this house, and outside of the death haunting us. She is dying, and she will leave us on this earth without her.”

His guilt burdened him, but the reality of his sister’s fate nearly devastated him beyond rescue with an intense taxation that heaved through his chest.

“And, what are we to do then? Remain here? Live as we hath been, angry brothers fighting over something beyond our control? I thirst for a life I can look forward to living.” He exhaled a deep breath. His eyes burned with tears. “I cannot save her.”

“No, thou cannot.”

“I only meant to foretaste a life with you.”

His words punched my breath from my lungs. Surely, ones I desperately desired to hear, and yet, they traveled with the devastating notion that they were useless.

“What life?” I shook my head. “We cannot be together in Salem. Mary . . . Deacon Pruett . . . we cannot share a life outside the four walls of my home.”

“I spoke to Deacon Pruett and informed him my intentions do not lie with his daughter. Surely, she will find another and forget all about me.”

“Such will not matter. She could love a thousand men more than you, and marry one of them, but when she sees us together, she will know the truth and I will suffer at the hands of her wrath.”

He bowed his head. Before either of us could say another word, Logan appeared from upstairs. His thumping steps mimicked my heartbeat and his presence the distraction neither of us wanted, but needed.

“We should not argue in front of her.” Logan’s voice only deepened the mood of the room. “It saddens her too much.”

“Then, why did you further the argument?”

“Because, she should not be here.” Logan inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Perhaps, you should not, either.”

James shot his brother a glare. He opened his mouth to retort, but Logan silenced him before he could utter a word.

“You are far too occupied in the village enjoying the likes of Mary Pruett . . . or, I suppose, you hath found yourself another young lady to spend thy time with.”

Logan gestured toward me as he strode past James, then tugged the material of his gloves to remove them. Once off, he threw them on the table. They landed with a slap against the wood, mirroring the distain of his tone. He fetched a spoon from the chopping table and tasted the stew that bubbled on the fire. He blew on the hot, steaming liquid before he shoved the utensil in his mouth.

“Do not dare render me shameful for the choices I hath chose just because you feared choosing them for thyself.” James advanced toward his brother to exaggerate his point.

Logan closed his eyes and his jaw clenched. The words James chose rang with a truth that angered him, though he did not wish to face the reason why.

The war between the brothers began to wear on my nerves, weakening my reserves and suffocating me, in a slow and painful heartache. I desired nothing more than to hide in the corner away from the turmoil and frustration. Brother fought brother, chest to chest—equal in height and build, and neither of them surrendered to the other.

By their tone, they had shared this argument before.

Their anger with each other clawed at my skin, twisting in my stomach as I tried to focus on the wooden floor. Just as any other floor, I stared at each of the knots formed in some of the boards, studying the spiraled cracks filled with dirt.

Each of the four walls of the room closed in upon me as the heat began to consume me. At first, not more than an annoying tickle, it grew as it warmed through my chest and stole my ability to breathe.

“You know nothing about my life,” Logan sneered. “Or, how I hath suffered for you and thy sister. Hath you forgotten the sacrifice I made? What I renounced in order to leave when Mother and Father died?”

“Which is why I do not understand why you do not wish to hath that again? Why hath you never fought for thyself?”

“Thou believe I desire someone other than the woman I had?”

“Then, why did she not travel with us?”

“You know why she remained in Charles Towne. Not only could she not desert her dying Mother because of thy mistake, but she did not know of Willow’s existence.”

“You could hath told her. If she loved you as much as you believed, she would hath understood—just as Emmalynn doth.”

Logan spun on his heel and faced James. He opened his mouth and raised his hand in the air with one finger pointed directly at me.

“So, she loves you, doth she?” Logan squared his shoulders and glanced at me. “So you love him, do you?”

Before I could respond, his rant persisted. “Doth she know what you did, Brother? Doth she know of thy betrayal? Doth she know the truth? They are dead because you could not control thyself.” His voice rose as he pointed to his scarred face and then pointed at James. “You can never control thyself. It will happen again, and I will be damned if I lose Willow, too, because of what you are.”

James growled through gritted teeth, his hands tightened into fists, and a torrent of anger sparked from his heated gaze, suffocating any happiness that dwelled in the light of the deep blue.

Fire hot, my blood began to boil, seething though my veins.

What is happening to me?

I clutched my chest and set my gaze upon James. His sadness pierced me. Fury spread though my body. Hatred burned and flamed and blazed, deep inside my soul. My gasped breath was heavy with a wrath I had never felt before.

I wished for his pain to leave. Never mine my own. I wanted his pain to leave.

Light from the window dimmed. Once bright and sunny, the forest outside transformed into a dark, colorless version of what it had been. A breeze swirled through the leaves and blew them in all directions as they fluttered inside the cottage. Clouds arose in the sky. They boomed with a thunder that shuddered deep in my chest.

In my panic, I reached out for James and touched his arm. The anger and fire throughout my body vanished within seconds. My lungs heaved, although everything around me remained motionless and silent.

James shook his head as though lost in a sleeping daze, then suddenly wakened.

Our eyes locked. I clutched my throat.

Did he witness what I witnessed?

Sunlight filtered through the window once more, illuminating the room. The wind had died down and vanished, just as the dark clouds, leaving nothing but clear blue sky.

What was that?

Both men stared at one another in silence as I caught my breath.

“’Tis true, then, Brother.” Logan finally broke the unnatural hush. “You hath found her?”

“Found who?” I asked.

James eyed Logan. He inhaled a deep breath, exhaling slowly. A pained weight cloaked his shoulders, and yet, with a whisper of relief, as though he had waited for this moment his whole life. Waited for it, but also dreaded it for an unknown reason that plagued him deeply, like a forced honesty he did not wish to admit to himself, much less, anyone else.

He ran his hands through his hair and cleared his throat.

“Found who? And, what is true?” I asked.

Indecision and mistrust oozed through his gaze and he shook his head.

“What is true?” I pressed again.

“That we hath discussed my past.”

Liar’s guilt flickered in his blue eyes, but without complete certainty, I could only take him for his word. I gaped at him in silence. Unable to cope with the tension for another second, my nerves unraveled and I marched for the door.

“Emmalynn?” James called out as I left the cabin. “Emmalynn, why are you leaving?” He grabbed my arm as I crossed the porch and spun me around to face him. “Why are you leaving?”

“Are you being deceitful with me?” I reached for his hand and pried his fingers from around my arm.

“Perhaps . . . perhaps, just a little.”

“Why?”

“Because, I did not know how you will receive the truth.”

“The truth about?”

Reservation brewed in his eyes with a fear that raged in the deep blue. Would I flee from him if I knew? Would his past be too haunting for me to cope?

“A long time ago, when I was just a boy, my mother visited a Medicine woman. This woman spoke of a young girl in a distant town, a
rare
girl who would one day fall in love with and help her son.”

He chuckled a little under his breath as he paused. “She spoke of that visit often. It gave her peace from the lack of knowledge regarding our future, I suppose, although I do not know for certain.”

I caught my breath. Did he believe I was a witch? Did he believe I could heal Willow?

“James, I am not rare. I am a mere daughter of Eve, and a mere woman,” I paused as terrifying words lay on the tip of my tongue. “I am not a witch.”

“I know you are not.” His body stiffened defensively. “Never once did I believe that you were a witch—”

“You just spoke of a
rare
woman.”

He gaped at me for a second. “When I spoke of a rare woman, I only meant one who would not judge Willow for anything other than the beautiful, young girl that she is, and who would overlook . . .” He began to pace. “Logan never found such a woman.”

Logan’s words repeated in my head:
Doth she know what you did? Doth she know of thy betrayal? Doth she know the truth? They are dead because you could not control thyself. You can never control thyself. It will happen again, and I will be damned if I lose Willow, too, because of what you are.

You can never control thyself.

Because of what you are.

My eyes burned into his. “Thou are not being truthful with me.”

“Ye—”

I held up my hand to silence him. “Do not say that you are. For that will just be another untruth.” Tears misted my eyes.

He inhaled a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he shook his head and closed his eyes. He fought an internal battle with himself, a war each piece of him desperately desired to win.

“What I hath told you is all I can at the moment.”

“Why?”

“For thy protection. For Willow’s protection. And, for mine.”

I glanced over to the window where Logan watched us with his arms folded across his chest, glaring as though he could hear every word of our hushed exchange.

“Then I must leave,” I whispered.

“Please stay. Please. For me, for us. Forget about Logan and just stay.”

“I will only stay if you tell me the truth.”

His eyes locked onto mine.

TWELVE

“Is that all you need?” I asked Adalene as the milk poured from my pail to hers.

She studied me with piercing eyes that twitched a few times as though she sought to read my mind. Questions lurked and rested on the tip of her tongue, and yet, she did not ask them.

I ignored her gaze, unable to bear the silent concern. “Good day to thee, then,” I whispered, hoping the nod in her direction would hint my request for her to leave.

A hint she did not take.

Instead, she remained silent and motionless with her head cocked to the side and her eyes fiercely locked upon me, unrelenting through their blue shade.

I groaned under my breath and retreated out of the cow pen. The wooden gate squeaked behind me as I shut it.

“Sorrow hath replaced thy happiness.” Her words finally broke her silence as she called after me. “And, loneliness hath consumed thy heart.”

I halted in my footsteps and closed my eyes. A truth I did not wish to face today now nipped at my heels. I shrugged my shoulders and glanced up at the leaves of the trees fluttering in the wind.

“Such should be my choice, if I desire to be unbound by sin, and not shame my mother and father. This is the life you demanded of me, is it not?” I waited for an answer she did not bestow.

But, such did not matter.

“He took me to visit his home.” I spun on my heel to face her. “Did you know that? He desires to share his life with me, and . . . and . . .” A sudden thought silenced me. My choice to leave him yesterday and the pain of my heartbreak existed because of a secret. A secret that I could not divulge because it was kept from me.

But, even if he had revealed the truth, I still could not hath told her.

“And?” Adalene asked.

“I told him I wanted him to leave me alone.” My answer rang nothing more than an untruth by omission.

“Why?”

“Do you really ask why? After all thy concern and warned pleas? Thou should know why, and should be happy I chose to say the words I never desired to say.”

“If they are the words you should say, then why bite your tongue?” She stepped forward and clutched the gate in her hand.

“Because I love him,” I shouted.

Her eyes widened as she took a step backward and clutched at her throat. “His is not thine to love.”

I shook my head. “Yes, yes he was.”

Perhaps, I played the fool for loving him. Perhaps, I dwelled far too long in my dreams of him and the times that I forgot the turmoil we faced, when my mind drifted to a solace void of the strife that could tear us apart. Every facet of him, however much I knew, I loved, and yet, I loved the unknown parts of him, too. They made him, him.

Just as his secret did.

I am such a fool.

“And, you believe Deacon Pruett would bite his tongue and allow you two a lifetime of happiness?”

I closed my eyes, unable to look at her. “Why do you hold such concern over my actions? Why do you believe you hath the right to say anything to me about my life?”

“Because thy mother asked me to look after you. She knew the anger in thy soul and she did not want the same fate for you.”

My eyes opened and locked onto hers. “You believe I did not know her thoughts? I never prayed for the life given to me, and I certainly, did not pray to live in sin. But, such was what I was bestowed, and now, hath recklessly refused.”

“Choosing to accept what is doth not always follow the path of the desired, but it follows what is right.”

I thought of the times James and I shared, the stolen moments that no one could thieve from me, and yet, somehow it seemed as though everyone in town had done just that—stolen them and stolen him.

And, I not only allowed it, but I aided them.

“I do not wish to live my life according to opinions of others or because of the shame brought upon us for our sins.”

“Sin overwhelms joy and shame buries memories. Living with them will only cause pain and the desire to forget just to escape the guilt. You should want more for thy life than living with such evils.”

“Do you not think I know such?” Tears welled in my eyes.

“Then, accept it and be done. Rarely, in life, are we bestowed our true desires.”

Her bitter words stung. Blinded by the tears, her blurred silhouette moved toward me. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders and squeezed me tight as I sobbed. Once again, my heart shattered into pieces, so broken, I did not know if it would ever mend.

“You must forget thy love. Forget it ever existed.”

But, I do not want to.

Sudden shouts from the road echoed through the air and drew my attention from my sorrow. I wiped the tears from my cheeks as Adalene’s arms loosened, and we both faced the sound.

“I wonder what the commotion is about,” I said, trying to distract my thoughts.

“Perhaps they are hunting another witch.” Her hushed tone oozed fear, and her words punched a hole in my chest as she withdrew away from me.

“Miss McCa—” Before I could finish her name, she scurried from my sight. The milk in her pail splashed out each side of the bucket from her quick pace.

As I tiptoed around to the front of my house, outcries and bellows from a rowdy horde resounded against the walls. A mass of chaos and haste that screamed of both excitement and shock from everyone sprinting toward town.

A few young boys darted past my front fence gate. “Are they really going to do it?” one of them asked.

“Pa said they are.”

Do what?

As if to mirror my own confused curiosity, a couple walking in the opposite direction stopped one of the boys, who hesitated briefly to answer them. Their conversation nothing more than muted words I could not hear in the distance, but their body movements hinted the questions and confusion of the transpiring events in town.

The young boy pointed and waved his arms as he explained the commotion. The woman covered her mouth as her husband clutched her hand, and they followed quickly behind the young boys, who then continued in a steady pace down the road.

What in the world was happening?

I yanked the bonnet from my apron, slipped it over my head, and tied the cotton strings tight against my chin as I trotted down the street.

Fear pounded in my chest. Townsfolk only gathered when someone accused another person of witchcraft, or worse, when an accused faced their sentencing of a hanging for such a conviction.

Titana.

Surely, they had not sentenced her yet, unless of course Deacon Goodwin had demanded it, which would not surprise me.

My feet halted in my tracks. Could I bear to witness another hanging? Bear watching a woman stand in front of the crowd surrounding her as the deputies placed a noose over her head and tightened it around her neck?

A brace of men jogged past me, brushing my shoulders with the wind of their speed.

“They hath to build the box first,” one of them yelled to the other.

Build the box first?

Hesitantly, I followed. My hands clutched into fists as I drew deep breaths.

The assemblage collected in front of the courthouse. Anxiousness clouded the air. Husbands wrapped their arms around their trembling wives while the wives either buried their faces in their hands or folded them in prayer, mumbling silently. Children huddled next to their parents with confused expressions as they clung to their mother’s apron strings.

Surrounded by the town deacons, Sheriff Corwin, Deputies Cloyce and Thomas, and Deacon Goodwin spoke to one another on the steps of the courthouse. Lost in conversation, every few seconds one of them would point toward unorganized piles of wooden boards and heavy stones while the other two either nodded in agreement or shook their heads.

Other townsmen lingered next to the piles, apparently waiting for instructions. With their hands clasped behind their backs, they glanced at each other every so often. The tension in their shoulders obvious—forced to do a job they did not know if they desired to do.

After several minutes, Sheriff Corwin jutted his chin, ever so slightly, and the waiting men nodded, then began to organize the material. Boards crashed together, smacking against one another as the men collected them and threw them onto the ground.

Once separated, the men arranged them into a shape I could not, yet, distinguish, and withdrew hammers from a wooden box sitting next to the courthouse steps. In the heat of the afternoon, sweat soon dripped from their brows and stained their shirts. They did not stop once. Not even for a drink of water.

Pound . . . Pound . . . Pound . . .

My body flinched with every strike as they nailed the boards together to make a square with a large crisscross X in the middle. With the box secure, they then nailed wire across the boards in an intricate box pattern.

Pound . . . Pound . . . Pound . . .

Once they finished, the men stepped away to appraise their creation. While two of them shook hands and slapped each other on their back, one of them shied away from the box, unable to look upon what he had done. He threw his hammer into the dirt and stomped away from the crowd.

I glanced around and my eyes befell upon Reverend Perris. With his Bible in one hand, he strode through the townsfolk with a broad smile spread across his lips. His unusual glee twisted in my stomach. The sparkle in his eye one I hath seen before while my mother stood in chains with a noose around her neck.

I retreated from my watchful site and tiptoed around the crowd to the trees near the side of the courthouse where no one else stood . . . for a good reason.

Behind the courthouse, barely visible through the chaos, John Coleman knelt on his knees, his body bent over with his head and arms in a stock. Iron cuffs and chains shackled his wrists and ankles.

Motionless as a statue, he stared at the ground with a fierce determination not to look at anything, other than the dirt and rocks. I glanced from John to the box, then returned to John, and my heart skipped a beat.

Peine forte et dure.

Isabelle’s spine-tingling words rang through my memory. Because he hath remained silent regarding the accusations of witchcraft against him and Rebecca, his punishment was not that of a hanging. No, his punishment proved far more horrifying to face—set to be pressed by stones until the crushing weight forced him to confess, or killed him.

My hands trembled as I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked to see if anyone was watching me. I inched away from the assembly toward him.

Why had he not said a word? Why would he allow such a fate upon himself?

I retreated a few more steps, creeping around through the trees until I stood in the middle of the vast bushes just feet from John and out of eyesight.

My fingers fidgeted with the ties of my bonnet. My heart pounded. My pulse quickened.

No one will catch me. No one will catch me.

“Mr. Coleman?” My voice such a whisper, I did not know if he heard me. “’Tis Miss Hawthorne. I am . . . I am in the bushes.”

What am I doing?

He inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly blew out the breath. “Good day, Miss Hawthorne.”

“Good day, Mr. Coleman.” I slapped my hand to my forehead.

Why did I wish a man about to die a good day?

“Miss Hawthorne, you should not be here. You need to return to thy home. Close the door, close the windows, and enjoy a nice evening away from town. You do not want to bear witness to what I am about to face.”

“I know I should not be here, and I do not know why I am.”

“You . . . you should leave,” he paused for a moment and drew in another deep breath. “Wait, before . . . before you go, can you . . . can you do something for me?”

“Um, certainly you may ask Mr. Coleman, but I . . . I . . . you may ask. Yes, you may ask.”

“I do not know how you can manage safely, but please, please get word to Rebecca, and convey to her that I love her and I will see her in Heaven when our perils are over.”

By the time he finished speaking, tears dripped from his nose, and he hung his head and sobbed.

“I do not know if I can . . . if I can visit her without—”

“Without accusations, I know. Do not feel you hath to sacrifice thyself to tell her. She knows how I feel, I simply wished for her to hear the words one last time.”

Shoes crunched through the dirt and gravel from around the side of the courthouse. Sheriff Corwin, Reverend Perris, and the two deputies strolled along the bushes near the place where I hid. They halted next to John, and stood in silence for a moment.

“Mr. Coleman, are you prepared to say anything yet?” Sheriff Corwin finally asked.

John said nothing.

“Mr. Coleman, you do know if you do not speak, we will hath no choice but to sentence you and escort you to the box?”

John said nothing.

“You will then be pressed by heavy stones until you confess, or die. ‘Tis an excruciating pain that you do not want to endure, so you might as well just admit to Miss Junior’s witchcraft and we can release you.”

That’s why he remained silent.

Through the bush, I glanced toward the prison house where Rebecca mourned from one of the chambers. Heartache pierced my heart. He loved her enough to die to protect her.