Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The night air is heavier than usual, the sort of stillness that presses against your ribs, suffocating and thick with anticipation. With dread.
On tiptoe, I slip through the narrow hall toward the girls’ room, a gnawing panic in my throat. Foxglove is too quiet, even for this hour, and each step on the wood floor makes a soft thud, drawing an arrow right to me.
Every so often, the walls creak and groan under the pressure of the wind outside, but it’s not enough to mask the sounds of my movements.
The silence around me shreds my nerves. I listen for the intruder I saw coming up the road moments ago—horse beneath him, lantern in one hand. His arrival at such a late hour can only mean he’s come for me.
I reach the doorway and draw in a deep breath, holding it as I prepare myself. Moonlight filters through the window, casting harsh shadows and pale-blue light across the room.
My eyes fall to Millicent first, to the sight of her tiny body tangled in bedsheets.
Her face is sweet and peaceful, the sort of peace she doesn’t know when she’s awake.
Beside her, Katherine sleeps like a windstorm.
Her body is twisted, lying sideways, hair wild on her mattress, mouth dropped open.
My divergent daughters. Olive oil and river water.
I step forward, my heart breaking as I do. They should be safe in their beds, safe in their home. Just eight and four, they are still too young to understand what is happening tonight, why I must wake them.
I crouch down next to Katherine’s bed and place a careful hand over her mouth. Like she’s been struck, her eyes shoot open. She stares at me in the darkness, and for what feels like a lifetime, I freeze. I can’t summon a breath as I pray she won’t scream.
“Shhh…” I whisper, shaking my head urgently. The sound that escapes my lips is more air than voice. He could be anywhere now. At our windows, at the door. My eyes flick up to the window on the wall just briefly, looking for him as if he’s a ghost.
Her petrified breaths warm my palm, fast and worried, and I wish then I could take her fear away, let it seep into my skin and carry it with me. Feel it for the both of us.
Slowly, I lift a finger to my lips, nodding with hope she’ll understand what I’m asking. I need her to be silent. Quiet as the butterflies she loves so much.
When she nods back to me, I slowly pull my hand away from her mouth one finger at a time, the world standing still around us.
Her little eyes are wide with confusion, but when I lift a finger to my lips again, she nods, entirely trusting and obedient.
She waits to see what I will do next, to understand why I’ve woken her.
The blind trust our babies have in us is painful sometimes, the purest form of love that we have not earned.
I hold up a trembling finger, telling her to wait without saying a word, then move to Millicent’s bed. When I pull back her blanket, she stirs, and the smell of sweat and urine hits my nose. I scoop her up into my arms as a pang of guilt strikes me in the center of my chest.
She’s had another accident.
They happen more often now, since their father passed last spring. A bad cold took him from us in just a handful of days, and neither of the girls have been the same since.
Katherine has grieved in her own way, but it’s Millicent who has taken it the hardest. The grief and fear have piled up inside her in ways that devastate me. She is fearful of everything. Meek. She worries so much for such a little girl. Doesn’t run or play like she used to.
I wish my mother were around to advise me, to tell me what to do, but the only way I speak to her now is when I visit her grave. Mama would know how to fix this; she always did. Without her here to guide me, all I can do is keep my girls safe, and tonight, that is my only job.
I reach for Katherine’s hand, still waiting in her bed.
No. I freeze when I hear footsteps on the porch.
The next sound feels as if it’s right next to my ear.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Slow, like that. Drawn out, like he’s a wolf encircling us in the woods. The girls watch me with wild but tired eyes, trusting that I will make this all right. They know nothing yet of monsters or evils, but they know the fear in my breath.
Another knock comes quicker, then another—angrier—and I can’t help the way I quake at the sound, as if he’s knocking right on my flesh.
“Hannah!”
I wince. The devil knows my name, but I don’t yet know his. The knot of dread in my stomach twists deeper, warning me of what’s to come. Warning me we aren’t safe here. Not for a moment longer.
His voice seeps through the cracks of the door again, low and teasing, like smoke. “I know you’re in there, woman.” His words are jagged and slurred through the thin wood of the door, proof of the whiskey swimming in his veins like a current.
I swallow, steeling myself. I place a hand on Katherine’s back, nudging her from the bed and nodding toward the wall, mouthing the word “go.”
She just stares at me, not understanding.
I can’t blame her. She doesn’t know, and shouldn’t need to.
She’s too young.
She fears the monsters lurking in the shadows, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her about the monsters that will someday pass her in the village with a tip of a hat and a kind word, the monsters she won’t see coming.
How do I explain that they are so much worse than anything hiding under her bed?
She presses her little lips together with a look that says she’s ready, that she trusts me. Bravery fits my daughter, sits on her features well, and that breaks something deep within me.
She doesn’t make a sound as she tiptoes forward. Millicent wiggles in my arms, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand. She doesn’t speak, nor cry. She just watches. Just waits.
I desperately wish my George were here. He would protect us.
I am not ready for this. Not on my own.
Still, I move, my hands trembling fiercely as I nudge the head of Katherine’s bed aside just a finger’s length or so. The metal feet groan against the wood floor, and I wince, my mouth going dry.
I push against the boards and hear the familiar click.
The wall opens, revealing the narrow, hidden passageway.
When Mama showed me this place—and the others—she said it was put here long before I was born, before even she or my gran came along, which seems an awfully long time, if you ask me.
She said it was left by someone who knew there would be nights like this one.
Nights when the storms and wind raging outside were preferable to the monster awaiting us inside the walls of Foxglove.
They gave us hiding places and passages in which to move like shadows, to disappear whenever we might need to. Somehow, they predicted this night, and I’m eternally grateful for it.
I push Katherine forward into the passage, holding Millicent close to my chest, her tiny body limp and heavy in my arms. She’s nearly too big for me to carry her anymore, but I don’t dare ask her to walk.
Behind us, the door at the front of the house slams open.
“Hannah Wilde!” His voice roars like a beast, full of rage.
Katherine looks up at me, and I shake my head, nudging her again.
I push the hidden door closed behind us and take her hand.
The air in the passageway is thick with dust, and very narrow.
My skin scratches against the grooves of the cold stones as I straighten us on our path.
We move in silence, my focus only on getting away, on finding safety. The girls stay close to me, Katherine’s hand in mine, Millicent’s arms around my neck. They don’t speak or ask questions, their instincts warning them to keep silent. To trust me.
I hear him stumbling through the house, yelling my name and slamming doors. It sounds as if he’s breaking everything in his path. Knocking over my precious things, irreplaceable things, in his drunken rage.
Foxglove creaks under his weight, telling me where he is, keeping me alert to his movements. There are times when he feels very close to us, when his footsteps stop with just the thin wall between us, and—when we’re deeper into the passage—just above our heads.
He paces and curses, saying things not meant for little ears, but all his anger means is he hasn’t found us.
I move steadily, not rushing for fear I might trip and fall, but my breath is coming heavier.
My arm burns with Millicent’s weight, palm sweaty from Katherine’s tight grip.
My chest aches. Still, we move. I lead them through the winding path, connecting one to the next until the scent of fresh air meets my nose.
I see the old spiral staircase, and I know we’ve reached the oak tree. From above, a small crack of light can be seen, peeking around the iron door.
We could stay down here, I know, and I weigh the possibility heavily, but in the end, it feels as if it’s too much of a risk. He may never leave Foxglove, may wait for our return, and if that’s the case, we must run under the cover of night.
I set Millicent down finally, my arm screaming for relief from her weight, and sink to my knees so I’m nearer to them.
I pull them in close so they can hear me whisper.
“We’re going to climb these stairs, my darlings.
And when we get to the top, we’re going to run.
” I kiss their tiny hands. “I want you to promise me, no matter what happens, no matter if I fall or…no matter if I can’t come with you any longer, I want you to promise me that you will run into the woods and you will keep running until you reach the orchard.
And once you get there, you will hide, and you won’t come out.
” I squeeze my eyes closed, wondering to what fate I’m sentencing them.
If he catches me, if they run alone—hide alone—who might find them?
If they make it to the orchard safely and survive the night, who will come looking for them? Who will save them?
Their cousins might come someday, but how long will they last all on their own?
Will they die without me?
Will someone hurt them?
Tears sting my eyes, burning my throat, and I force the thought away. I won’t let that happen. I refuse.
“We promise,” Katherine whispers.
Millicent just nods.
Protect them, I beg Foxglove, rising to my feet. If anything my mother ever told me is true about you, protect them. Protect us.
At the top of the stairs, I push open the door and peek out at the night sky.
The moon shines bright, lighting our path. It’s the same moon that has looked down upon so many mothers, grandmothers, and sisters before me. The same moon that will shine on generations of daughters after me.
For their sake, we have to make it through this. With their strength, we will.
The wind cools my sweat-soaked skin as I slip out of our hiding place. A rock sits in my stomach as I look around, watching like a doe in a meadow.
When it feels safe to do so, I rush to close the door and cover it with stones and leaves once again, protecting our secret. Then, I wave for the girls to follow. Their faces are pale and streaked with tears I had not seen fall. I want to comfort them, but I can’t. Not yet.
We need to run, and now.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the cool night air. With a quick glance back at Foxglove, I pull them forward, my bare toes digging into the damp ground.
Without a word, we move, rushing forward just like we planned. We don’t stop when we hit the tree line, or when we pass the creek. We don’t stop at the fallen log or the rock that looks like a bear.
We run as hard and as fast as our legs will carry us.
And, in the end, Foxglove keeps her word. We arrive at the orchard safe and sound.