Chapter 15 Chloe
CHLOE
The bell above Freya's door had been chiming all morning.
Word had spread. The sickness wasn't just affecting Corin's orchard and Freya's herb garden anymore.
Three other households had reported failing plants overnight.
A vegetable patch on Elm Street. The flower boxes outside the Tansley brothers' Mercantile.
Even the small herb garden behind the Griddle & Grind that Twyla had been nurturing for years.
Hollow Oak was scared. And scared people needed someone to blame.
Chloe was restocking the dried chamomile when the door chimed again. She looked up, expecting another worried customer, and found Paul Whitmore standing in the entrance.
He was a familiar face around town. Mid-forties, sandy hair going gray at the temples, the kind of weathered handsomeness that came from outdoor work.
He ran deliveries for several of the local farms, drove supplies between Hollow Oak and the outside world.
Pleasant enough when she'd crossed paths with him before, always quick with a smile and a comment about the weather.
Today, he wasn't smiling.
"Freya around?" His voice was casual, but his eyes kept drifting to Chloe in a way that made her skin prickle.
"In the back. I can get her."
"That's alright. Actually, maybe it's better if I talk to you."
Chloe set down the chamomile jar. "About what?"
Paul moved further into the shop, his boots tracking mud across the clean floor. He stopped a few feet from her, hands in his jacket pockets, his expression shifting to something that looked almost like concern.
"People are talking," he said. "About the plants dying. About where it started."
"I've heard."
"They're saying it's connected to you. To your blood."
Chloe's spine stiffened. "People say a lot of things."
"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything." Paul held up his hands, placating. "I'm just worried. You've been working with the soil here, at Corin's place, touching everything with those hands of yours. And wherever you've been, things seem to be dying."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" His voice stayed gentle, reasonable. That was almost worse than if he'd been hostile. "You've got druid blood, Chloe. Everyone knows that. And druids have a connection to the land that most people don't understand."
"I don't understand it either."
"That's what concerns people." Paul took a step closer, and she resisted the urge to back away. "If you don't know what your abilities do, how can you control them? How can any of us trust that you're not affecting the soil every time you put your hands in it, on purpose or not?"
"Because I'm not."
"You can't know that for certain."
"I can."
"How?" His eyes held hers, challenging. "You've admitted yourself that you don't know how your gift works. That you can feel things but can't explain them. Some folks think you're pretending. That you know exactly what you're doing and you're playing innocent."
Chloe's hands curled into fists at her sides. "That's ridiculous."
"And other folks think that's even more dangerous." Paul's voice dropped, almost sympathetic. "A druid who doesn't know her own power? Who can't control what she's putting into the earth? That's a threat whether you mean it to be or not."
"I'm not a threat."
"Then prove it." He spread his hands. "Stop working with the plants. Stop touching the soil. Let us see if things get better when you're not involved."
Chloe stood frozen, her throat tight, her mind scrambling for a response that wouldn't come.
She'd heard whispers before. Had dealt with suspicion and sidelong glances in every place she'd ever lived. But this was different. This was someone standing in front of her, voice calm and reasonable, telling her that her very existence might be poisoning the town she'd tried so hard to belong to.
"That's enough."
Freya's voice cut through the shop with a sharp snap. She stood in the doorway to the back room, her green eyes blazing, her small frame vibrating with barely contained fury.
"Freya." Paul's tone shifted, conciliatory. "I'm just voicing what everyone's thinking."
"You're voicing ignorance and fear, and you're doing it in my shop.
" Freya moved to stand beside Chloe, her shoulder brushing hers in silent support.
"Chloe has been working with me for a year.
I've watched her with plants, with soil, with everything green and growing. Her touch doesn't poison. It nurtures."
"Then why are things dying?"
"I don't know yet. But I know it's not her."
Paul's expression flickered, almost unseen. "I hope you're right. For everyone's sake."
He turned and walked out, the bell chiming cheerfully behind him. Through the window, Chloe watched him cross the square toward the Mercantile.
Going to spread more rumors she assumed as she forced herself to at least look unbothered.
"Chloe." Freya's hand closed around her arm. "Don't listen to him."
"He's not wrong about what people think."
"He's wrong about you. That's what matters."
Chloe shook her head. "If everyone believes I'm doing this, what difference does the truth make?"
The door chimed again. Chloe looked up, bracing for another accusation, and found Corin filling the doorway instead.
He looked tired. Dark circles under his hazelnut eyes, tension in the set of his broad shoulders. His gaze found hers immediately.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." Chloe turned away, busying herself with the chamomile jars she'd abandoned. "Just a difficult customer."
"Paul Whitmore was here," Freya said flatly. "He accused Chloe of poisoning the land with her druid blood. Told her to stop touching the soil so everyone could see if things got better."
Chloe winced. "Freya."
She just gave her a look as if saying, “Well, what did you expect me to say?”
Corin had gone very still. When Chloe glanced back at him, his jaw was tight and his hands had curled into fists at his sides.
"Where is he now?"
"Corin, it's fine. People talk. I'm used to it."
"Where?"
Freya pointed toward the window. "He was heading for the Mercantile."
Chloe watched Corin's gaze track across the square, finding Paul's retreating figure as he climbed the steps to the Tansley brothers' shop.
"Corin." She stepped toward him, her hand raised but not quite touching. "Don't. It'll only make things worse."
"He doesn't get to say those things about you."
"People have been saying those things about me my whole life. Making a scene won't change that."
"Maybe not." His voice was low, rough. "But I'm not going to stand by while he spreads lies."
He was already moving toward the door. Chloe grabbed his arm, and he stopped, looking down at her hand on his sleeve.
"Please. Just leave it."
For a moment, she thought he might listen. His expression softened when he looked at her, that strange attentiveness she'd noticed over the past few days surfacing again. Like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
Then his jaw hardened.
"I found the source," he said quietly. "The old well. Someone broke the seal deliberately. This has nothing to do with you, Chloe. Nothing. And I'm not going to let him convince people otherwise."
He pulled gently free of her grip and walked out.
Chloe stood in the middle of the shop, her heart pounding, watching through the window as Corin crossed the square with long, purposeful strides. He climbed the Mercantile steps and disappeared inside.
"Well," Freya said softly. "That was interesting."
"He's going to make things worse."
"Or better." Freya's voice held something knowing. "Bears don't defend people they don't care about, Chloe."
Chloe didn't answer. She watched the Mercantile door as her stomach twisted with nerves.
Paul's words echoed in her head. Prove it. Stop touching the soil. Let us see if things get better when you're not involved.
She'd spent her entire life trying to prove she belonged.
Trying to earn acceptance through careful work and quiet competence.
And it was never enough. There was always someone ready to blame her for things she couldn't control, especially when they found out about her.
And by being a druid who knows nothing of her powers, it even meant being that way to others just like her.
But Corin had walked out that door without hesitation. Had gone to defend her even when she'd asked him not to.