Chapter 1 #5
Elana made the boys a snack and sent them to bed, and when she was sure they were asleep despite the raging storm, she wearily removed her gown and slipped into a night dress.
She looked longingly at the yellow fabric draped across the chair beside her bed, sad that its debut at festival had been cut short.
She had tried, or longed to try, to be the daughter her parents wanted.
She wanted to give Josephine the nieces and nephews she craved.
Or at least, that’s what she said out loud.
But in the depths of her heart, it didn’t matter.
She’d really only wanted to show off her sewing skills, to have others look at her craft with wonder.
She didn’t care if some man saw the woman inside the dress and desired her.
Oh well. There would be plenty of time to show off her talent next year.
With one last look in at the boys, whose mouths hung open in the soft, careless sleep of the young, she headed to her own bed.
Being the responsible oldest daughter meant that even without her family there to ensure she was bound to the bed, she did it herself, winding the rope through the rings on her ankle cuffs and tying the familiar knots securely.
She thumbed at the roughness of the rope and wondered when this would change. When it would get better.
Josephine would argue that when she had a husband in her bed, she’d have a reason to stay. Elana curled her lip at the thought of sharing her bed with anyone, never mind a smelly, snoring man.
With the ropes tied tightly, comforted by the thought that the middle of the room was the farthest she could make it from her bed while she slept, Elana curled into herself and let her eyes fall closed to the sound of thunder.
While she slept, she dreamed.
In her dream, she walked the meadow, brilliant flowers trampled beneath her bare feet in the moonlight.
Her breath wreathed her face, her skin prickled with gooseflesh.
The grass and plants below were cold and damp against her feet and legs, and the hem of her nightgown caught the dew of the night, the wet fabric clinging to her calves.
But how did she get here? How did her binds come undone?
She glanced back at the house, and it already seemed so far away.
She looked back in the direction she was pulled, back toward the well, which seemed to loom before her.
In a flash, Elana was transported there, to the edge of the well.
Her cold hands slammed against the colder stone, but her body was pulled until she was pressed up against the well.
Something was different. This night, there was no cover on the well, no boulder to hold it in place. Elana’s heart slammed against the cage of her ribs, her breath coming in shallow sips as she leaned over the well. In the bottom, she thought she saw water.
Thought she saw her own reflection.
She lifted her hand to tuck her hair away from her face, but her reflection did not do the same.
She reached for the stone rim of the well with shaking hands, running her fingertips around the hard, cold edge, collecting dampness in the whorls of her fingerprints.
When she lifted them, they were wet, and she rubbed her thumb against her fingers, the slip of the water somehow smoother than she’d expected.
She lifted them to her lips, eager to taste the sweet, cool moisture.
From inside the well, a sound came. Deep at first, drawing closer and closer, clearer and louder, until all that sound burst from the well, and Elana’s heart felt it would burst along with it.
BOOM!
Elana screamed awake with the thunder, only to find herself damp with sweat and shaking on her bedroom floor, the rope between her ankle cuff and her bedpost pulled as tight as it could go.
Her foot tingled, nearly numb with the tension, and with a shuddering sob Elana eased herself across the rug, closer to her bed, to release some of the tautness.
A yellow glow rounded her bedroom door and Mama was there, lantern in hand, hushing her. “You’ve had a nightmare, love, no doubt because of the storm. I haven’t heard its like in years, light bless us all. Come now, back into bed with you, and no more screaming before you wake the boys.”
Questions bubbled in Elana’s throat, failing to make the journey across her tongue and lips. Had she screamed words? When did Mama and Papa get home? Was everyone else okay? Was the house okay? Why was the storm so loud?
But Mama put a cool hand on her forehead, pressing her back against her pillows and pulling the quilt up around her chin. “Hush, Lana. It was only a nightmare. This old house is sturdy as a rock; try to get some sleep, and let’s hope the storm lets up by morning.”
Elana licked her lips, trying to remember if she’d drank from the well in her dream. She was parched, so thirsty she felt she could drink for an hour and not be sated. She reached a shaky hand for the glass on her side table and took a sip, but found the water almost warm, tasting faintly of mud.
Not at all satisfying.
As the storm rumbled itself around the valley in circles, Elana’s sleep seemed to follow it, racing forever just out of her grasp, until at last some time just before dawn, she finally drifted into a dreamless and fitful slumber.
***
The morning rose, wet and cool and sweet as the well water Elana had dreamed of.
And something inside of her rose as well.
As she unthreaded the rope from around her ankle, a restless anxiousness bloomed in her chest, stronger than anything she’d experienced before, and it screamed in every cell of her blood.
The desire to go to the well.
Elana drifted through her morning chores, trying to ignore the clamor of alarm that sang through her body at how far she was from the well. There was no other way to explain it; she felt a deep, unnerving sense of panic because she wasn’t close enough to the well.
She mechanically moved through her day, not speaking to any of her family because she feared that if she opened her mouth she would scream. She couldn’t eat, because her stomach was full of the longing to sit by the well.
“Are you all right?” Josephine asked, when she at last cornered Elana near the chicken coop. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all day. Are you avoiding me?”
Elana mutely shook her head, afraid to open her mouth.
“Are you angry with me?”
Elana pressed her lips together, but this needed to be addressed with words. She inhaled sharply, closed her eyes, and spoke. “My darling sister, why would I be angry with you?”
“Oh my shadows, you cannot even look at me. You are angry!”
Elana’s eyes flew open. “What? No! I—”
“It’s fine,” said Josephine stiffly. “I just didn’t think you’d let jealousy come between us.”
“Jealousy?” Elana blinked, not understanding. “Jealousy because of what?”
Josephine stepped closer to Elana, close enough to whisper. “Because of what you saw at the festival. Because of… my kiss.”
Elana very nearly, but not quite, laughed.
The joy of speaking with her sister eased the pain of being far from the well, if only a little.
“Oh my dear. Shadows, no. I am thrilled for you! You’ve wanted that for as long as you’ve known it was something you could want.
No, I’m not jealous. I’m just…” Elana struggled to put into words the magnetic force that drew all her attention to the east, toward the well.
“Distracted,” she settled on at last, her gaze drawn across the meadow despite her attempts to focus on her sister in front of her.
Josephine turned her head to look where Elana was looking, and then turned back to her sister. She nodded her head, the very image of matronly wisdom. “Mama said you had a nightmare last night. Did you want to talk about it?”
Elana rubbed her fingers on her forehead, just above her brow. She was so tired after her sleepless night and drawn so thin that the very act of having this conversation was taking every ounce of self control she could muster. Her every cell, the very core of her being, seemed bent to the east.
“Did you hear the thunder?” She settled on a question, a deflection, a redirection of her sister’s scrutiny.
“Last night? Somewhat. I was very tired,” Josephine admitted.
“I could have sworn it struck right here in the valley, just there.” Elana’s fingers rose and pointed east. She felt like if she squinted her eyes just right, she could see a tiny patch of black in the far distance, some scorched earth, the result of a bolt of lightning.
But that was nonsense. It was far too wet last night for the lightning to scorch the grass. It was some trick of the sun, of the distance.
“Was it that close? It didn’t wake me much at all, I’m surprised.” Josephine reached out and squeezed Elana’s arm reassuringly. “I’m certain that after a decent night’s sleep, you’ll feel right as rain once more. I’m glad you aren’t angry with me.”
Elana assured her sister once more that there was no animosity between them because of Josie’s indiscretion, and with that Elana chastised herself to get to work and get her chores finished before she ran out of daylight.
With every bit of attention she could, she focused, and soon she was done what needed to be done.
And then, she felt, at last, she could scratch the itch she’d awakened with. She let her mother know she was done for the day and was going for a walk, and she gave in to the eastward pull on her bones, and Elana walked.
She walked until she came to the well, and dropped to her knees before it at the sight.
The patch of black she was sure she could see in the distance must have been this, the well, scorched black by lightning, its now-ragged top bare and open to the elements.
No wooden cover. No boulder upon it.
It was open, and whatever was inside of it was free.
***
Elana sprinted home as fast as her feet could carry her. “Father!” she screamed. “Marcus!”