“You know,” May murmured as a smile returned to her face and she wiped away her tears, “I think I believe you.”
CHAPTER 36
An Opened Cage
Emerges when dreams are about to take f light.
By the time the lingering notes of rosemary and chrysanthemums had faded from the kitchen, the Quigleys were settled in the family parlor enjoying the peaceful glow of the candlelight. The moment that a spark struck in the grate, cedar and citrus had infused the room, kindling a sense of warmth that went beyond toasty fingers and toes. As the house watched the sisters tuck themselves beneath quilts softened by slumber and took in the sight of their hands wrapped around hot porcelain, it breathed out a longheld sigh of satisfaction and drifted into the delights of an evening undisturbed by the clicking of a clock.
For what felt like the first time since they’d all returned home, the silence that enveloped the room wasn’t teeming with unspoken worries. The sense that something had been left behind or forgotten was gone now, snapped away the instant that Vincent had slipped on the ring, leaving behind only thecrackle of the logs and the gentle sound of the wind brushing against the windows.
It wasn’t until Violet’s foot began to tap against the rug, the steadythump-thump-thumpeclipsing the gentler noises in the room, that the house remembered some things were still waiting to be put to rights.
“Do you think that they are truly gone?” Violet asked suddenly, breaking the easy quiet that her sisters had fallen into.
Though she kept her eyes fixed on the flames in the grate, Violet could feel Anne and Beatrix’s gazes shift toward her.
“Philip and Mr. Crowley?” Anne asked.
Violet nodded then, still turned away from her sisters.
“Yes,” Anne replied, sounding surprised by the question. “They have well and truly passed on.”
“What’s wrong, Vi?” Beatrix asked, leaning toward her sister to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Aren’t you pleased?”
“Of course I am,” Violet said.
“Then what’s troubling you?” Anne asked.
The texture of the room shifted, as if a space in the comfortable silence was starting to open to make room for another revelation.
“I think he was trying to show me something,” Violet whispered.
“Mr. Crowley?” Beatrix asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“No,” Violet answered. “Philip. The scent of rosemary started to slip into my dreams, pulling me away from the worst of possibilities and toward something else. But now that he’s gone, I’m afraid I’ll never quite know what he was trying to show me.”
“What kind of dreams were these?” Anne asked, her question slow and steady, as if she knew the answer would finally reveal what had brought her sister back to the Crescent Moon.
“Nightmares,” Violet said, the word rough and breathless. “Of a mistake that I made.”
“What kind of mistake?” Beatrix asked.
Violet paused then, worried that sharing the memory would give it even more life than it already had.
But then she smelled peppermint and sandalwood, the familiar notes drawing her away from the worst of possibilities and toward the present moment.
“I made Emil leap into an act we weren’t ready for,” Violet finally confessed. “And when the time came for me to catch him . . . I couldn’t.”
Anne and Beatrix leaned forward then and grasped Violet’s hands in their own, surprise and sympathy etched into every gesture.
“He’s fine,” Violet continued, wanting to reassure her sisters. “He’s recovering and eager to perform together again in the spring.”
“But you aren’t so certain,” Beatrix said, her thoughts obviously trailing back to the way Violet’s feet had grown unnaturally still against the floorboards when she’d first returned to the shop, as if she had commanded them to conceal her desire for movement.
“How can I be when I keep reliving the moment his hand slipped farther and farther away from mine?” Violet replied. “It’s all I’ve dreamed of for months.”
Distracted by Violet’s confession, the house loosened its hold on the windowpane, letting in an icy breeze that instantly sank into the sisters’ skin and caused them to shiver.
