Chapter 7
7
F lora walked a long way home and a long way back the next day.
She was so tired, even getting out of bed had been a chore, especially knowing that Sylvia probably didn’t care one way or another if she showed up, didn’t show up, or got hit by a bus.
But she did get up, got dressed, and walked, trudging miles to the rocky, cliffside estate. It was a dark, windy day, and Flora hugged her faded windbreaker to her body as she marched to work. It was only the beginning of the day and her feet already ached in her tight, cheap riding boots.
She let the horses out, but they barely seemed to want to leave the warm calm of their stable for the drizzle and bluster of the grazing paddock. They went, with some encouragement, and Flora got to work.
She spent almost an hour unpacking tack, organizing it, and polishing and conditioning leather bridles that were showing slight signs of cracking. Her hands froze as she handled the cold brass in the unheated barn, but most of the tack seemed in excellent condition and very expensive.
Sylvia, Flora realized, was probably born into wealth—it certainly didn’t seem like she worked, and it gave Flora a jolt to imagine someone like Sylvia, who seemed so mean and ungrateful, getting exactly what Flora had wanted. She imagined a real estate broker dropping the keys to Rainshadow into Sylvia’s outstretched hand. It reminded her of her mother, who had had one moment of good luck and never worked again, but still expected everyone else to.
It was as she was sitting, polishing, and thinking, that she heard a car coming up the long, winding driveway, a yellow VW Bug with a whining motor. It trundled up and parked in front of the barn. Flora instantly recognized it, and was unsurprised when Blythe stepped out, her silver hair whipping in the high wind.
“Blythe, hey!” Flora shouted, and it felt like the wind snatched her words as she jogged down to where the Bug was parked.
“Flora, what are you doing here?” Blythe asked, looking startled to see her.
“Oh, I got my old job back,” Flora said, catching her breath.
“What? What are you doing?”
“Groundskeeping and horse care, exactly like before.” Flora smiled, but Blythe’s face betrayed a confusing concern.
“Well,” Blythe said, pulling her hand-knitted forest green sweater tight, “you remember I used to come gather yarrow and lavender?”
“I remember.” Flora did indeed remember the sunny, pleasant days when Blythe would come and work in the gardens with Lisa, leaving with a bundle of stalks for whatever secret purposes she had.
“I guess I was hoping the new owners would let me continue.” Blythe was looking around uncertainly, and her voice was uneasy.
“You can go ask. I honestly don’t think they’ll care,” Flora said. “I’d go with you but I’m kind of afraid of the new owner. Her name is Sylvia.”
Blythe locked eyes with her. “Afraid why?” The question sounded more pointed than curious.
“Oh, uh, not really afraid,” Flora corrected. “She’s just kind of mean.”
Blythe studied her for a moment. “You should quit.”
“Quit?” Flora was shocked, especially since Blythe had very specifically not hired her recently when she had the opportunity. Who was she to tell Flora to quit a good job?
“Quit, and get away from this place,” Blythe said. “There is something dark here, something evil.”
“Evil?” Flora scoffed.
Sylvia was very unpleasant, but was she evil?
“I can’t…” Blythe took a deep breath.” I can’t tell you what I know—I’m not sure I know anything, but I am certain that there is something here, Flora. Someone who is very dangerous. You must get away from it.”
Flora laughed uncomfortably. “You’re scaring me, Blythe.”
“You should be scared. This is a house where something old and evil resides.” Her voice was rising, and Flora began to feel a shiver of fear.
“What are you doing here? You need to leave.”
Flora and Blythe both gasped as Sylvia appeared, her sallow face and sharp eyes startling them both. “Get out of here, and take the girl with you if you insist.”
Blythe met Sylvia’s eyes defiantly, steady and sure. “What are you doing on this island?”
“I go where I must, witch,” Sylvia growled. “It is not for me to explain myself to you. What are you doing here at my home?”
Flora could not believe Sylvia had called Blythe a witch, and Blythe had not batted an eyelash. The whole exchange was freaking her out.
“I came for herbs, but I want nothing from this tainted land.” Blythe’s voice sounded strange, deep and commanding. Flora had never heard her speak like that before.
Sylvia’s face burned with something. Fury? Shame? Flora couldn’t tell.
What in the world was going on?
“Come, Flora,” Blythe said. “Let’s go.” She started toward her car.
Sylvia looked at her, and Flora could read nothing in the woman’s cold stare. “Go with her,” Sylvia finally said.
“No,” Flora said. Her heart was thumping.
Blythe stopped, turned, looked at her.
Flora gathered her strength.
She wouldn’t let Blythe order her around the way her mother always did. She looked right into Blythe’s eyes. “I love it here. I begged for this job. I can’t leave just because you say you feel something evil.”
Blythe gave her a long, appraising look, like she was weighing whether to argue with Flora or not.
“It’s not too late for you, Flora,” Blythe said. “But by the time you fully understand, it may be.”
Flora felt a flush of anger. If Blythe really thought it was dangerous for her to stay at Rainshadow, wouldn’t she just tell her why? Blythe was no better than her mother, or Sylvia, bitter about her own life, and taking it out on Flora.
“I’ll be fine,” Flora said, and turned, brushing past Sylvia, stalking toward the barn as both of the older women watched her go.
Sylvia stayed inside the house for the rest of the day, and Flora worked in the barn. She cleaned every inch of the tack room and the hayloft, put out rodent traps, and brushed each of the horses. Through all of it, she felt a burning anger that felt like a hot coal in her heart. Anger and embarrassment. Blythe had embarrassed her, and Sylvia had made it even worse. Blythe was a batty old witch. Witch, though, seemed like such an old-fashioned and strange term for Sylvia to use. Hearing Blythe called that was unsettling.
Flora worked so long and so hard she didn’t notice it had gone from regular, rainy-day dark to after sunset dark. She felt her heart quicken when she realized that the lights were coming on. She had disobeyed Sylvia, and on such a bad day for it. She packed quickly, and hoped Sylvia wouldn’t notice her sneaking out.
As she tried to slip out, though, there was a figure on the gravel path, blocking her way.
“Flora.” A voice, deep and resonant, saturated the dark, coiling warmly, invitingly, around her.
“Ethan?” she asked, stepping forward, putting her hand over her eyes.
“Flora,” he said. “You’re still here. Sylvia works you much too hard. Or did she forget to relieve you? I think she fell asleep.”
“She might have just forgotten,” Flora said, knowing full well that Sylvia had given her clear instructions about when to leave.
“She can be… inconsiderate.” He said the last word as though it were an understatement, a little joke.
“It’s fine,” Flora said, chuckling a little, quietly. “Heading out now.”
“On foot?”
“Yes.”
Ethan made a sympathetic face, a pout on his lips, that made him look boyish, playful. “I would be honored to give you a ride. Nothing would please me more. Really. You must accept.”
He had drawn closer to her in the dark, and she could see his eyes, luminous and beseeching. He was, she realized, lonely out here with Sylvia. She felt his loneliness, like a scent coming off of him. She imagined what it would be like to live with someone like Sylvia, and she felt a surge of sympathy. Flora had been so, so lonely, and for the first time, she imagined someone might know exactly what that was like.
“If I must,” she said, smiling.
He offered her his arm. He was wearing a soft, wool sport jacket, and he felt solid and strong though the velvety fabric. She let him lead her, strolling, to the black Corvette, and let him open the passenger side door for her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, sliding into the buttery tan leather seats.
“Of course, mademoiselle,” he said, affecting a French accent.
He started the powerful car with a deft flip of his wrist, a slight smile settling easily on his mouth as he began to drive. Flora watched him, feeling a strange, bubbly thrill. He was just as excited as her to get away from Rainshadow.
“Have you enjoyed your work so far?” he asked her, not glancing over as he drove down the winding driveway.
“I love the horses,” Flora said, trying to be diplomatic. “I could work the lavender all day, too, but that season is coming to an end.”
“My mother was a gardener,” he said. “She would have loved this place.” Flora connected some dots.
“Was her name… Agatha?”
He looked at her then, his mouth downturned, like he was caught off guard.
“Sorry,” Flora said. “I found this old apron with the name Agatha embroidered on it. It made Sylvia really upset to see me wearing it. I figured it was someone from her past.”
“Oh,” Ethan said, laughing. “I thought you were psychic. Yes, Agatha. She and Sylvia didn’t get along.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Now I look back and wonder how I could have let Sylvia become so important to me that I cut out so many important people. I didn’t realize it was happening, of course. Sylvia can be… beguiling.”
“She made you cut Agatha out of her life?”
“I didn’t realize that was happening at first. I think Sylvia thought I was very rich, and when she realized that Agatha was a kind, simple woman from the country she was… upset by that. I think she expected something much different.”
“That must have been hard for you.”
“It was,” Ethan said. “And then Agatha died, and that was it.”
“How long have you been with Sylvia?”
“About fifteen years,” he said with a sigh. “Many of them wonderful. I know Sylvia is difficult to get along with, but she’s also smart, can be funny and charming, achingly sophisticated, considering where she came from, and… passionate.”
“I want her to like me,” Flora said.
Ethan chuckled, as if that was a hopeless wish to express. “Have you eaten?”
“Eaten?” Flora hadn’t expected the change of topic.
“Yes, eaten. You worked all day.”
“No,” Flora said. “I had a peanut butter sandwich at noon.”
“Peanut butter sandwich,” said Ethan contemplatively. “I’ve never had one.”
“What?” Flora giggled. “That’s ridiculous. Who hasn’t eaten a peanut butter sandwich!?”
Ethan shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like enough food for a girl who’s worked all day the way you have. I’m going to take you to dinner.”
“Dinner?” Flora scoffed. “There are only two restaurants on the entire island!”
“Then it should be easy to choose,” he said and, turning to her, smiled conspiratorially. “But you can’t tell Sylvia.”
Flora felt instantly hot, a blush spreading to her neck, her cheeks. “Oh, I?—”
“Not for any nefarious reason,” he interrupted her, reassuring. “Just… she’s so jealous, and gets so angry. It’s hard to live with someone like that, but sometimes it’s easier to just… not tell her everything.”
“Yeah,” Flora said. She could imagine how hard it would be to live with Sylvia and felt, once again, a surge of sympathy for Ethan. She felt a surge of giddiness, too. “Dinner. Sounds… great.”