Chapter 41 #2
They look up at me—first Violet, then Nancy—and I see it for the first time.
Their resemblance. It’s in the eyes.
“You have to know… I didn’t, um, I mean, I had no idea he was… Charles…”
“Lied,” Nancy fills in. “Yeah, I’d expect nothing less.” She kisses her daughter’s head. “So what are you going to do about it?”
My voice quivers. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I’m not going back home. It’s not safe. He’ll kill me. I have to take my boys, and we have to run.” She licks her lips, squares her shoulders. “I’m asking if you’ll let me take her, too. If you’ll give me my daughter back.”
Her words slam into my sternum, stealing my breath, and tears instantly line my eyes as I look down at my baby. The little girl I thought I’d get to keep. The one who calls me Mama.
“Nancy, I…” I can’t. It would be like handing her my heart. Like tearing off an arm and waving goodbye as she walked away with it. “I can’t.”
“She’s my daughter,” Nancy says, her voice raspy. Angry. “She was never yours.”
“She doesn’t know that,” I argue. “She is my daughter in every way that matters. In every way that counts. I have raised her. I have loved her.”
“Because he stole that from me,” she shouts, slapping her fist against the floor.
Neither girl seems concerned by the outburst. The cabin grows silent, and for a long while, we just stare at each other.
“He stole her from me, Hazel. Your husband stole my daughter, and he put her in your arms, and you are the only one who can do anything about it.”
“I can’t…” I can hardly breathe.
“You have to.” She stands, steps forward, and takes my hands. “You have to.”
I shake my head. I’m not strong enough. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t…I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her green eyes line with tears, then they overflow, cascading one by one down her cheeks.
She’s the one who did something wrong.
She slept with a married man.
My married man. She…
My eyes scan her bruises and scars. Up close, I can see even more.
The sound of tires on the gravel draws me out of my thoughts, and Nancy’s hands tighten on mine. He’s home.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears, chills lining my arms. I look at her directly, urgently, trying to keep her calm. “Where are your boys?”
“School.” She’s shaking in my hands, trembling so much I feel sick.
“I can’t get you out of here without him seeing.” I don’t have time. I don’t know what to do. “Maybe we could tell him. Talk to him.” But even as I say it, I know we can’t.
Thoughts twist violently in my mind.
Silent tears paint Nancy’s cheeks as she crosses the room and bends down to hug her daughter one last time. “He’s going to kill me. Do you understand that? He’s going to kill me, and…and you’re going to let him. Promise me you will take care of her. Promise me—”
“Shut up!” I cry, crossing the room and grabbing her arm. When she winces, I release it, feeling as if I might pass out. “We are not going to let that happen. Do you trust me?”
“Why would I?” She scowls, rubbing her arm.
“Come with me.”
In my bedroom, I shove aside the cedar trunk filled with blankets and lift the door to the cellar. I know the rules here, of course I do. She is not supposed to know Foxglove’s secrets, but what choice do I have? Leave her to Charles? I can’t stomach the thought.
Please don’t punish her, I beg.
“Go down through here. There are tunnels. You can escape. Go to the back wall, the far corner, and push in. It will give. Follow the corridor and take the stairs. Just please, please don’t ever tell anyone about this.”
“Wait. What?”
“There’s no time. Go. Or else wait in the cellar until I can get rid of him. Either way, you’ll be okay. I promise, it’ll be okay. Just stay quiet.”
“What? No.” She looks terrified. Perhaps of the dark. Perhaps of what I might do, that I might change my mind. “Please don’t leave me down here alone.”
I glare at her. “It’s the only way. Do you want to see your daughter grow up? Conrad and Cory, too? They’ll be home from school soon. Do you want to make it back to them?”
Her chin quivers as she nods.
“Then get down there and be quiet.”
I’m sliding the chest back into place when the front door opens a few minutes later. She’ll be okay. It’s dark down there, but it’s safe. As long as she is quiet, she’ll be okay.
I rush back into the living room, lightning flowing through my veins.
I have to stay calm if I’m going to survive this. I have to be smart.
The girls have stopped painting when Charles finds them. He bends down, looking over their artwork. “Well, aren’t these pretty?” He winks at me, then stands and kisses my cheek. “Just like your mama.”
I lean into his kiss.
It could be this easy. I could choose him. Choose this. I could tell him where Nancy is and let him handle it. I could choose this family and get everything I want.
I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining it. The girls could be mine. Even if I don’t tell him about Nancy, I could keep her down there until he leaves again and send her away. She isn’t strong enough to fight me. I don’t owe her anything.
“Mommy? Who was that lady?”
Billie’s tiny voice rips my eyes open.
“What lady?” Charles asks, frozen. Defensive already.
“The lady Mommy was talking to.”
My breathing grows shallow. Think. Think. Think. “Oh. She’s talking about earlier. A woman came by; she was trying to sell makeup. I sent her away. Told her we’re not interested.” I reach out and brush a bit of Billie’s hair from her face. “It’s all okay, honey.”
She draws out a long pause, eyes searching mine, and I pray with everything in me she’ll let it go. To my great relief, she just sticks her tongue between the corner of her lips and goes back to painting.
Charles watches me. I force a smile, willing it to reach my eyes as I try to mask the doubt clawing at my throat.
“Supper isn’t on the table?”
“Just about. I didn’t expect you home for another hour.”
“Finished early.” He kisses my cheek again, patting my bottom. “Billie, get this all cleaned up and help your mother set the table while Daddy hops in the shower.”
When the bathroom door closes moments later, tears line my eyes.
I know, no matter how much I’d like to lie to myself, no matter what happens next, this is the last time it will ever be like this.
After the girls go to bed, I ask him. I need to know the truth. I need to either hear him say it or watch him lie to me.
“Have you heard from Nancy lately?”
He doesn’t look up from his seat next to the fireplace, still flipping through his newspaper. “Nancy?”
Is he honestly pretending not to know which Nancy I mean?
“I used to see her around town. You know, before. I just…I can’t believe she doesn’t ever want to see Violet.”
He’s still for a moment, then slowly closes the paper and turns his head to look at me. “Where is this coming from?”
“It’s just a question.” I cross the room and crouch down, gathering the girls’ toys from the floor.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” He opens the paper again, sleepy gaze returning to its pages. “Motherhood doesn’t come naturally to every woman.”
I feel the sting of his words, even for a woman I don’t particularly care about. A debt to the sisterhood wells in me. I drop the toys into a basket in the corner, out of the way. “She always seemed to be a good mother to Conrad and Cory. They’re good boys.”
He stands up then, and takes a step toward me. I’ve crossed a line. I’ve pushed too hard.
“Where is this coming from? Do you not want Violet anymore?” His voice is too loud, and I worry the girls might not be fully asleep. What if Violet overheard him ask that terrible question? If I don’t want her—as if she’s a mutt we can take back to the pound.
“How can you ask me that?”
“If you want me to take her back to her mother, just say the word.”
I blink, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. My gaze flicks between his eyes, searching for the man I thought I knew, not this stranger in front of me. “Would you do that?”
His brows draw down, a muscle tensing in his jaw. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You been drinking?”
“You know I don’t drink.”
He scowls, voice like gravel as he turns away from me. “Well, maybe you should.”
“I think you do enough of that for the both of us.”
He whips back around, staring at me as if I’ve started speaking another language.
I shake my head, disgust bubbling in my core like I’ve just downed a glass of rotten milk. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking whiskey again. I smell it on you. Just like before.”
“You’re insane.” He waves a hand at me. “Delusional, just like your damn mother was.”
Delusional. Mad. Insane. Crazy. All the insults they’ve thrown at my mother and her mother and many, many mothers before them.
The Wilde family—disappearing through walls, appearing out of thin air and shadows. I’ve heard the rumors. I know what people say about us, what they’ve always said. Just like I know at least one of my ancestors fell victim to the witch trials.
When they can’t understand us, they hurt us.
But I don’t need magic to do the right thing. “I want you to leave.”
He scoffs, looks at me as if I’m dirt, one brow rising. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“I want you to leave, Charles.”
“You leave.” He steps closer to me. “This is my house, woman.”
“Foxglove has never belonged to a man. It will never belong to a man.” I square my shoulders. “It will never belong to you.”
He grabs hold of my arm. “You belong to me.”
“Let me go.” I fight the words out between gritted teeth.
“Damn you.” His face is so close to mine, a bit of spittle hits my cheek.
Maybe this is what I needed to see. Him this angry. Him ready to hurt me. Maybe I needed to know the monster was always there lurking.
I shove him away, trying to storm out of the room, but he grabs my wrist.
His grip is too tight. “Where do you think you’re going?”