Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
R ose hobbled out of Broome’s guest room around noon, wearing the blasted oversized leg brace the hospital had given her.
Her steps were slow and careful, a steadying hand on the hallway wall.
She didn’t remember undressing or climbing into bed, couldn’t remember what time she and Finn had been discharged from the hospital. Had it still been dark?
Exhaustion, trauma, and the pain injection the hospital gave her combined to send her into a deep sleep. She’d woke once, the brace around her leg tangled in the sheets. Finn helped her get settled, but sleep had been difficult after.
Images of their brush with death flickered against her closed eyes. Every synonym for fear tumbled through her mind while she lay in an unfamiliar bed. Anxiety, panic, terror…she felt them all as she drifted back to sleep.
She entered the kitchen in the borrowed clothes Simi had set out for her. Too short baggy pants and an oversized floral tee.
Finn sat in the kitchen nook, on a cushioned wraparound bench, a plate of untouched food on the table in front of him. She studied him. He looked worn, a little pale.
Her voice came out raspy when she asked, “How’s your head?”
He met her gaze with his own. “Heavy. You?”
“I’ve had better nights.” She moved closer and ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Is this okay?”
He bent his neck forward. “Please.”
She continued. A hum of content came from his throat. She stopped when Broome entered the kitchen.
“Afternoon, Rose.” He pulled a chair out for her. She took a seat, stretched her left leg out in front of her at an angle. He poured himself some coffee and brought the pot over, holding it up in question.
She nudged the stemmed coffee mug towards him. “Please.”
“Glad you’re awake.” He glanced at Finn, seemed to take in how full his plate was. “How do you feel about food, Rose?”
“I’ll try.” Eggs would work, but she wasn’t so sure about the chewy bacon she saw on Finn’s plate. Her throat felt raw, sore. The hospital ran bloodwork on her and Finn to make sure everything was okay. She hadn’t coughed up gray or black mucus, a sign she hadn’t swallowed soot.
Finn pushed his plate away and said, “Sorry, Broome—something about the eggs. Too yellow.”
Rose caught the amused uplift of her brother’s expression.
Concern lined his next words. “Toast? I also have crackers Simi uses for morning sickness.”
Finn grimaced. “A piece of toast should work.”
“Simi made you both honey tea for your throats. It’s strong, but it’s a miracle worker.”
He stood and grabbed a teapot from its warmer. Poured them both a mug. The tang of the honey was mixed with chamomile. It didn’t pair well with coffee, but she got it down.
Broome put a half-filled plate in front of Rose, made toast for Finn, then joined them.
He ate his own bacon, eggs, and fruit. “George Hindley is dead.”
Finn spoke first. “Good.”
Rose had no words. Not any that would be sympathetic. Even as she recognized he too had a mother and father that loved him. Tears gathered in her eyes. That monster had almost killed her, along with people she loved. Now he was gone.
Broome put a hand on her shoulder. “Rose, did you hear me?”
She looked at him. “I heard you. He’s dead. He can’t hurt anyone now.”
He studied her. Then squeezed her shoulder. “How’s the leg?”
“It hurts.” At least she’d been able to sleep some.
“We can pick up the pain prescription.”
“No, I’m fine with what I have.”
“Also,” Broome said. “Jeremy called this morning. It looks like Hindley slashed a few tires on his way to you. His truck, Sam’s sedan, and Hal’s pickup all had flats. Only Brigette’s SUV and the mayor’s vehicle lacked damage—both were garaged.”
Rose shook her head, “They helped Magnolia before, kept George from raping her. And he thought she was me.”
Broome ran a hand over his jaw. “Seems so.”
“What else?”
He continued. “Both the sheriff and Louise Winston are in custody. Turns out, Reggie’s been working with the Asheville Police Department to investigate some inconsistencies in George Hindley’s release and his recent bail hearing. They found enough to justify Hutchins’ detainment.”
Rose had a memory of Louise with a gun. Then something about her on the ground. “Did Louise try to shoot me?”
Broome nodded, his expression filled with torment. “Yes. Clare stopped her. Louise has been charged with attempted murder.”
Rose looked up. “Wow.”
Finn uttered one word. “Winston?”
“Devastated. Cooperating as best he can with the investigation.”
Rose ate her eggs and drank her tea.
Broome said, “I took the day off. Aspen and Willow will pick up Thorne once he’s discharged. That should be in the next few hours. I don’t want you seeing the house alone. We’ll face it together.”
She had no objection. Her mind felt fractured. Images, the fear of last night, the house in flames around them. Had any part of the house survived?
She turned to Finn. He’d finished his toast. “What about you? Your next shift.”
He gingerly threaded his fingers with hers. “I called last night while you were in the exam room. I’m here for you. Doc Walters said I’m out for a bit with this minor concussion. Driving not recommended.”
She used the slightest tease in her voice. “And you’re going to listen?”
“Funny.” He squeezed her hand.
Late afternoon, Rose stood beside her loved ones, all together in a jagged line on the gravel driveway.
Simi, Broome, Thorne, Aspen, and Willow, all beside her along with Finn, his arm around her waist. In one hand, she held the handle of a sturdy cane, one Simi kept for her dad when he visited.
Broome’s hand wrapped around Thorne’s upper arm as if to insure he remained upright. Thorne hadn’t complained yet.
Sunlight teased through wispy clouds overhead. Briar House stood before them, now a haphazard Victorian puzzle. Smoke clung to its remaining walls, and those that had fallen.
A single fire engine remained. Two men were assigned to make sure nothing would re-ignite. The fire investigator had been present when they arrived.
There was no question about the cause. The investigator pointed out the metal trashcan that had been used to start the blaze. Chills went through Rose. Years before, George Hindley was convicted for using a similar metal trashcan in the barn fire.
Tears ran rivulets down Willow and Simi’s faces. With his other arm, Broome pulled his wife closer, pressed his lips to her temple. His expression held strength and determination. As if he could fix this latest blow to their family.
Aspen stood alone, pale, one hand pressed to her stomach. Gavin hadn’t shown, not at the hospital last night or here today. Thorne’s jaw clenched as he stood beside Broome.
Rose’s sorrow echoed what she felt when they lost Magnolia. The house was an extension of her, its walls one more piece of what she’d given them years before. Her love, a safe place, a home.
Alongside a firefighter, Finn, and Broome, Rose picked her way to the threshold of the morning room with the help of the cane.
Finn remained close by to help her maneuver through the ruins.
Its walls looked like oversized splinters, as if an angry hand axed them to shreds.
All the room’s windows were gone, along with the ceiling.
The blue sky above them matched the original color of the room.
All that remained were the stones of the fireplace.
The mantel and the wall above it had burned, along with the spot Magnolia’s prized painting of Lady hung.
Thank goodness Willow had noticed the crack in its frame, had taken it with her to get it repaired. Such a small detail in the scheme of things, but Rose was thankful the painting still existed. She saw it in her mind—a new frame, above a rebuilt mantel on a sky blue wall.
Nothing remained of Magnolia’s bedroom that she could see. It had stood just over this spot, the wrap-around view, the best outside of the morning room.
The space where the ballroom once stood looked as if a giant excavator had scooped it right off the back of the house. Broome’s bedroom and a bathroom were also gone. Thankfully, his had been transformed into a guest room years ago. All his personal items went with him after he’d married.
The family regrouped in front of the house.
All looked at what remained. It reminded Rose of the first time she’d seen the house, when they’d come here to live.
At six years old, she’d been unable to look away as Broome kept hold of her hand while they approached the front door for the first time.
The many windowed house didn’t resemble the pictures in her book of fairytales.
There was no moat, no drawbridge, no stone wall around it.
It looked solid, honest. She reached out to hold on to the wooden rail above the front steps and gripped the front post. And felt connection, a whisper of undefined magic, a hug around her heart.
Rose couldn’t leave the house like this. She turned to those who stood beside her.
An array of emotions ran across their faces, but they weren’t looking at the house anymore. They were looking at her.
Thorne spoke first. “What do you want to do with the house, baby sis?”
As if there were ever a question whilst she walked amongst what remained and what was lost.
Briar House had its own story. As did every person who’d lived within its walls.
More chapters waited to be written.
“I’m going to rebuild her. We need her as much as she needs us.”
Broome gave a single nod. Approval shone in his tired eyes. “I’ll help you make the phone calls.”
Aspen nodded as well, her face still shiny with tears, but she sent Rose a glance. “I’ll help too. She was right to leave it to you.”