Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I t was late afternoon when Finn turned his SUV onto the straight gravel drive of Briar House.
He climbed the few wide steps to the wraparound front porch and knocked on the large, faded maroon door. His last visit, he’d been turned away. That had been six years ago.
A young woman he didn’t recognize answered the door. Was it possible the battle-axe housekeeper had retired? With a soft Southern accent, she welcomed him in and then showed him to the morning room. The late afternoon sun came in through all five windows in the octagonal-shaped space.
Furniture seemed randomly placed, with chairs, small tables, and a strange yellow couch that reminded him of a kidney. He’d never sat in this room. He and Rose spent their time outdoors, in the kitchen, or in the house’s library.
He heard voices and turned back towards the door. Magnolia Everson-Brooks, matriarch of the Everson family and Rose’s grandmother, walked into the room with the help of a cane while the young woman stood watchful behind her before leaving them alone.
As a boy, he feared this woman. As an adult, she looked frailer and smaller than he remembered. She wore black slacks and a white silk shirt. Silver jewelry decorated her throat and wrists. Her hair still looked like that of a sorceress, dark like Rose’s, but with silver streaks throughout.
She paused in front of him. Her eyes, green like Rose’s, narrowed. “You.”
Her voice was exactly as he remembered—crisp, sharp, and a tad scary.
He nodded. “Good morning, Ms. Magnolia. How are you?”
She took a seat in a blue upholstered chair, both her hands on top of her cane as she looked him up and down. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, ma’am, it has.” He stood still, waiting for her to finish her appraisal. Her eyes had always been like a bird of prey’s. They missed nothing when he was a child playing with her granddaughter. He suspected that ability hadn’t gone away with age.
“How are your studies?”
The question shouldn’t surprise him. His recent trip into town had fed the gossip vine. “Going well. I’m in the middle of my residency.”
He’d avoided the town he’d grown up in. For some time now. Only his trips to visit Pa brought him close. Until recently, those visits had been rare. The retirement community Pa lived in sat on the southern outskirts of Evers Hollow, eleven miles from the town center.
With Pa’s sudden decision to sell the old house, they’d needed a real estate agent.
There was no better source of info than the small group of men and women known as The Elders.
Finn had driven in, stopped by their usual table at the Cracked Egg Cafe last week.
Although Ms. Magnolia was one of them, she’d been absent.
She laid her cane against her chair, one hand still on it. Her lips pursed as he shuffled his feet.
“You’re too tall.” She motioned towards the odd-shaped couch. “Be seated. Tell me what brings you to my door.”
He dropped himself onto the piece of furniture she indicated.
It felt like a brick. Her tone reminded him of long ago lectures on journeys into misconduct , as she’d termed his and Rose’s childhood adventures.
He still had the scars on his right hand from when they decided to capture a raven to train as their own. Not their smartest idea.
“Well,” she prodded.
“Ms. Magnolia?—”
“You’re an adult now. Call me Magnolia.”
He nodded and continued. “I’d like to get in touch with Rose.”
She turned her gaze towards the five windows.
“It’s important.” He caught the wince she gave as her head turned back. He pressed his hands to his knees to keep them still. What if she said no?
“I know you and she had a falling out of sorts a bit ago.” There was a hardness in her eyes when she looked at him, a biting edge to her tone.
“That’s true.” He had to be honest.
“Did you know, the summer I took her to England, after her high school graduation, Rose mailed you a postcard from every village and city we visited? She spent more money on postage for you than on souvenirs for herself.”
That was likely true as well. Every postcard and letter she’d sent still lay in a metal tin inside a drawer of his nightstand.
When she’d returned, she’d sent regular letters, along with cookies, throughout his military training, his first assignment, and his first deployment.
He had not been as good a correspondent.
He tightened his jaw and met the older woman’s gaze.
There was something unreadable in her expression. Her next words were softer. “You still have them.”
He didn’t look away. “Yes, ma’am.” The letters meant something to him. As did Rose. There was no point in denying it.
His answer seemed to satisfy her.
“Your mother was a wonderful woman. Cancer is an elusive evil. I imagine this is why you study medicine.”
“It is.”
“Clara did something significant for me once. I hoped I would have the opportunity to return the gesture.”
She stood. He did the same.
“Rose is more of a private person now.” She offered an apologetic smile before she moved toward the faceted array of windows. “I’ll take your information down. I’ll make sure she receives it.” She paused in front of a large writing desk.
His shoulders slumped. He knew this might happen. After all, Rose was married. Her husband wouldn’t like Finn reaching out. Especially after their last conversation.
“Take heart, young man. I’ve always liked you. Even that scandal causing father of yours. I’ll make sure she sees your details. I suggest patience. She hasn’t forgotten you, but contacting you will be up to her.”
He should have expected this. He took in the view, saw one of many paths that went into the woods along with the rose garden. How many times had he walked over while Rose worked amongst her namesake, a large straw hat shading her face?
The older woman rummaged through the shallow desk drawers, muttering. “Where’s my box of pens?”
Framed photographs sat on the corners of the desk. Wedding ones. He couldn’t help himself. He moved closer.
He recognized the family one from Broome and Simi’s wedding.
He’d attended that one, stood and waited for Rose while the family posed for a ridiculous number of photos.
Rose was beautiful in a pale pink dress, her happiness for her oldest brother and his new wife infectious.
They’d danced together more than once that night. He’d wanted to kiss her.
It hadn’t happened.
His gaze moved to the next frame. The bride had dark hair. He held his breath as he took in the image, then let it out.
It wasn’t Rose. Instead, her oldest sister Aspen stood in a frilly, fluffy, white dress, her hair swirled on top of her head, a bouquet of yellow and orange flowers in her hand.
The scent of floral perfume and cherry cough drops drifted towards him as Magnolia straightened. “Do you remember my oldest granddaughter? Aspen married the oldest Roche son, Gavin. Do you know the family?”
“I do.” He didn’t elaborate. His acquaintance with the Roche’s wasn’t a nice story. She looked at him as if she expected more.
He forced a nod. “Congratulations. I hope their day was a happy one.” He meant what he said, despite the fact that he’d never gotten along with Rose’s oldest sister. Of all the Finch kids, Aspen had always been the one to look down her nose at him.
The older woman touched the top of the frame. “They had a May wedding. They’re expecting their first child.”
She picked up another of the whole family and handed it to him.
It would be rude for him to refuse. He forced himself to take the frame.
Rose stood at one end in a dark yellow dress, her hair up.
He couldn’t hold back a slight smile at the memory of her hatred of yellow clothing.
She must have been furious, yet she still looked beautiful.
He could admit that to himself, even if it felt like a torn hamstring.
He realized Ms. Magnolia was talking, likely had been for the last minute.
“Simi is pregnant again. She told me last night. Hard to believe.” She took the frame from his hands and set it back in place. “Due in April.”
“Glad to hear it.” His eyes found Broome, Simi, and three children in another frame attached to the wall. Two girls and an infant boy, each a blend of their parent’s features. Simi’s straight black hair adorned their heads. He looked at the other pictures on the wall, but didn’t see?—
Ms. Magnolia gasped. He turned and narrowed his eyes. She stood unmoving in front of the windows. She’d been so animated a second ago.
“Ms. Magnolia?” Her face had paled. She didn’t respond. Her stillness, her lack of color, forced him closer to see what affected her so. Out the window, beyond the rose garden, a man moved along the edge of the surrounding woods. He had white hair. Finn didn’t recognize him.
He looked back at her. She hadn’t moved. He heard a rasp of words from her lips before she swayed.
“Ms. Magnolia!” He caught her as she slumped towards him and carried her towards the kidney-shaped couch. Her eyes fluttered as she looked up at him, tried to speak.
“The lights—in the woods.” Her voice strained with effort, more of a rattle, with a tone that made his skin crawl.
“What lights?” He set her down gently. His fingers moved to her wrist as he glanced at the second hand on his watch, counting. Her skin felt hot, feverish. “Ms. Magnolia—who was that man? Talk to me. Tell me about the lights.”
Her eyes drifted shut. He called her name again. She didn’t respond. He hollered for help. The young woman who’d shown him into the room rushed in.
“Call 9-1-1. I need an ambulance.”
She pulled out her cell phone.
Finn cursed under his breath.
“Ms. Magnolia!” Her eyes fluttered, came open again. Wheezing sounds came out of her as if each breath was a struggle.
“He’s back.” Her hand swung up, grabbed hold of his arm. Her eyes held a desperate look. “Promise me.”
Finn nodded.
She blinked and took a rattling breath. Her grip lessened. “You—have to—protect Rose.” Her head fell back as she lost consciousness.