Mr. Clemens stares at me a long while, the deep wrinkles in his face folding, shadows darkening like bruises. “We’ll take it to the court then, see what Judge Roberts has to say about it.”
I can’t deny the fear that flicks through me, but I don’t let him see it. “You do that.” Without daring to turn my back on them, I step up onto the porch. “I do hope you brought your lanterns tonight, sirs. It will be night soon, after all, and these woods aren’t safe after dark. Even for men.”
They all stand still and steady for several moments, like they don’t know what to do. I can almost hear their thoughts, see them sagging like rocks in the pockets of their usually thoughtless minds.
The wind picks up as if she’s trying to carry them away as quickly as she brought them, and their horses begin to stir, whinnying nervously. The animals can sense the incoming storm. Same way I can.
The men take the nervous air as their cue to leave. They turn, backs stiff as boards with pride and discomfort, as they mutter to each other and mount their horses. The last of the men to leaveis the boy, who looks over his shoulder just once at me, his face ashen.
I don’t leave the porch until the final image of them vanishes through the trees. I whisper my thanks to Foxglove for keeping me safe, and my hopes that they’ll stay gone. Funny things happen when you speak your hopes out loud, my gran used to say.
Inside Foxglove’s walls, the girls rush to my side. I draw them close to comfort them, their small, frightened faces shattering my calm. Rose is barely twelve, Lyddie not even nine. They do not yet know the dangers this world holds, but they will all too soon.
Their small fingers cling to my skirts like roots, so tight I fear they may never let go.
“What did those men want, Mama?” Rose whispers. “Will they make us leave Foxglove?”
I kneel down next to her, taking both cheeks in my hands. “My darling, Foxglove has stood too long under the feet of Wilde women to ever fall to man’s paper. They will try, as others have, but do not fear. They shall not succeed.”
Lyddie squeezes against me, her voice trembling. “What will happen if they come back?”
I lift my arms and drag the girls in closer to me, holding them tight and wishing I could make everything right again. Wishing it were as simple as it was when they were very young and a kiss could mend all wounds.
I glance out the window, at the trees and shadows surrounding our land, dark and buzzing with ancient secrets we may never understand.
“This land knows our name, my darlings. It knows our blood and our intentions. It was never theirs to claim nor covet. Foxglove is ours, and she will protect us. We are safe here, do you understand?”
They nod against my skin, and I kiss their heads.
That night, as they sleep beside the hearth and the storm rages on outside, I rise and make my way to the kitchen, retrieving a knife from its box. The handle is made of a beautiful blue stone, and it fits perfectly in my palm. It was a gift from James during our last Christmas together, meant for cutting and preparing the herbs I collect.
Until this moment, I haven’t found the strength to use it, but now, rage bubbles over like a pot of boiling water as I carry it back to the fire, to the hearth that has warmed this house and fed this blood for centuries.
I run my hand across the stone mantel, knowing the work this will take, knowing it might break the blade, but I have to do it.
I whisper apologies to Foxglove as I begin to carve each letter, taking my time. It will take weeks—months, perhaps—but I will make it happen.
Each night, after the girls are asleep, I set to work again. Just me, the knife, and the stone.
And in the end, when I am finished and the knife’s blade is dull, I step back to admire my work. In the stone mantel, the very heart of our dear Foxglove, I have carved one word.
I run my finger across each letter.
W-I-L-D-E.
WILDE.
For she is ours, and we will always be hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY
I shove past him into Taylor’s room. “What do you mean she’s gone? I just heard you talking.” But even as I say it, I know I’m wrong. I heardhimtalking. I heardhimcalling her name, telling her dinner was ready. Asking if she was ready to eat. I never heard her answer.
…did I?
I shove the covers back on her bed. Her phone is missing, too. Her purse.
