But though the Crescent Moon was doing everything it could to convince the sisters that there was no need to leave home again, Beatrix could tell its thoughts were drifting from the parlor.
The embers needed to be stoked, and the curtains that usually covered the windows this time of the night were still tied back oneither side of the pane, letting the light from the gas lamps that lined the sidewalk shine freely into the room.
The house wouldn’t sit back and enjoy the comfort of the evening, it seemed, until Anne returned to her place in the worn wingback chair and made the parlor feel whole again.
“When do you think she’ll join us?” Beatrix asked as she gazed toward the door.
“It’s difficult to say,” Violet sighed. “Especially since we don’t know what these types of meetings entail.”
She started to tap her feet against the floorboards but shifted abruptly so that they were trapped beneath her on the settee. Beatrix noticed the odd movement, wondering why Violet seemed to be trying to make herself sit still.
“It’s strange knowing she has secrets that we can’t share in, isn’t it?” Beatrix asked as she turned a careful eye toward her sister. “After all we’ve been through, it would be nice not to have to worry about which questions to stray away from.”
At that, Violet moved again, tucking her legs to her chest so that she could rest her cheek against her knees. The gesture made her look fragile, as if she needed to protect herself against questions that could break her, and Beatrix remembered that Anne wasn’t the only one who seemed to be hiding parts of herself from view.
Beatrix set her cup on the side table and placed a hand against Violet’s cheek, silently urging her to turn her striking eyes upward.
“Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?” Beatrix asked. “I feel the weight you’re carrying as if it were settled across my own shoulders.”
“You have enough to worry about while writing your next book,” Violet replied with a shake of her head, though Beatrix could sense that her resolve was wavering.
“My sisters will never be a burden,” Beatrix said as she brushed Violet’s fringe to the side so she couldn’t hide beneath the short curls. “Please tell me what you’re running from.”
“Something that I can’t escape, it seems,” Violet whispered. “No matter how far I go.”
Beatrix parted her lips to utter the words that would push Violet forward, but before she could sayLet me help you, the floorboards in the hallway began to creak, announcing that Anne was about to walk through the door.
As soon as the footsteps neared the threshold, Beatrix felt Violet pull away and knew that the moment where she might have confided in her had passed as abruptly as a coal cracking in the stove.
Turning toward Anne in the hopes that her sister might be able to put everything back on course, Beatrix was startled to find that she looked like someone who’d wandered down the whole of State Street only to learn that the shop they were searching for was on the opposite end of the city. Her cheeks were stained a deep shade of red, and her lips were pinched so tightly together that Beatrix felt an ache beginning to radiate from her own jaw. It was an expression that always appeared on Anne’s face just before she displayed a rare show of frustration, and Beatrix instantly wondered what had rattled her eternally composed sister.
“What’s happened?” Violet asked as they both watched Anne start to pace in front of the hearth, one hand tucked tightly around her rib cage and the other held up to her lips, as if the movement might help her conjure the words that remained out of grasp.
Anne turned to them then, opening her mouth for just an instant before closing it again.
“She can’t tell us,” Beatrix whispered, laying a hand on Violet’s shoulder in a gentle reminder.
But a sense of fear was starting to flitter across Anne’s face, so strange and unfamiliar that it caused a shiver to rake down Beatrix’s back. It seemed like the worries brewing within her had grown so strong that they were starting to crack through her calm exterior, working their way into her trembling hands and tired eyes.
“I’ve overlooked something,” Anne finally confessed, turning away from her sisters so that she was staring at their reflections in the gilded mirror above the mantle, as if the distance might help her remember how much she could reveal. “And now I don’t know how to put it to rights.”
“You can’t expect to foresee every problem in time to stop it,” Beatrix sighed.
Forgiving others came as easily to Anne as picking up the shards of a saucer that had fallen to the floor. But when judging her own faults, she was as meticulous and unrelenting as a parlor maid scrubbing every last smudge from a silver tea set.
“But I wasn’t even keeping my eyes open for the possibility,” Anne said. “And now, what hope do I have of fixing it?”
As her voice broke, Anne looked down at the mantle so that her face was hidden beneath her shaking fingers.
But Beatrix and Violet didn’t need to see Anne’s reflection to know that her thoughts had taken a dark turn. Her shoulders were shuddering in the way they only did when she was trying to hold back some deep emotion that would draw out her vulnerability for all to see, and the sight made them leap from the settee and wrap their arms around her, hoping that the strength of their embrace might give her the foundation she needed to let go.
And, as Anne leaned into the steady rhythm of her sisters’ comforting words and finally let the warmth of their bodies chase away the icy fear that had so obviously chilled her to the core, the texture of the parlor began to slowly change.
The scent of peppermint, black tea, and early morning dew infused the room, and the house knew that Anne was drifting away from the present and fading somewhere beyond time.
Her magic vibrated outward as the fragrance grew stronger, causing the delicate hairs along Beatrix and Violet’s arms to stand on end while they watched her eyes flitter beneath her closed lids, fixed on impressions that they couldn’t fathom.
And gradually, the heady scent of Anne’s power was consumed by an even more potent aroma that managed to seep out of her vision and into the parlor: chrysanthemums, rosemary, and the distinct essence of aged paper.
