“F-f-everfew tea and white . . . w-willow bark. In the p-pantry.” A wave of nausea hits me, and I lean over to retch between my knees. Nothing but bile comes up. I didn’t eat dinner last night. The thought of food brings on another spasm, and I gag.
Abby and Ebba come rushing out. Ebba offers me a mug of something tepid, herbal, and bitter. Feverfew. She places a cold washrag on my neck. “It’s like an oven in the house. Best to keep her outside, until the fever breaks. Val was here, Gracie. Looking for you. She took Caro with her.”
Bellflower’s threats ring in my head. Caro . . . I should have never left her alone. “We have to . . . we have to find her. He’ll take her. He will.”
“Darlin’， you can’t go anywhere right now,” Abby says, smoothing my hair. “You’ve got to rest. You ain’t makin’ any sense.”
I raise my head, look out over the ridge. My vision blurs and comes into focus, then blurs again. A serpentlike line of yellow light crawls up the mountainside. “Is that f-fire?”
It sure looks like fire. But in my feverish state, I can’t be sure of anything.
“No. That ain’t fire, Gracie,” Abby says. “It’s headlights.”
TWENTY-SIX
DEIRDRE
1881
Deirdre focused on the unlit candle, stilling her breath. Light. Flame suddenly flared, igniting the wick. She closed her eyes. Dark. The candle extinguished, just as if she’d blown it out with her breath. She smiled. It was getting easier every time.
“You’re getting good at that,” Esme said. “I’m a little jealous.” Moonlight streamed through the cupola windows, cloaking her in silver.
“It’s easy.”
“Because you’re talented, if a bit cocky. But I love you all the same.”
“Then come here and kiss me,” Deirdre teased, biting her lip.
“Oh. I’ll do much more than that.” Esme stepped over the chalk circle and knelt, gently wrestling Deirdre to the floor. They tangled together, giggling.
Life had taken on a languid rhythm. It was easy to forget about the promise she’d made to Gentry. His shadowy specter no longer menaced from the corners or haunted her dreams. Almost every night, she and Esme stole up to the cupola. By candlelight, they’d study the grimoire and practice its spells. Then, as the tides rolled and whispered in the distance, they’d make love and nap, until the silent, blue hours gave way to morning.
After their first flush of shared passion, Esme lay next to Deirdre and coaxed a dark strand of hair from beneath Deirdre’s shoulder. She wound it lazily around her finger. “Lionel Faulkner is coming to call again next Friday. He wants to take me to Folly Beach. Will you come along as chaperone?”
“Of course. I’ll pack us a picnic. Do you think he’ll propose?”
Esme’s cheeks dimpled. “What makes you think he’ll propose?”
Deirdre sighed and rolled her eyes toward the window. A thin ribbon of pink light shone on the horizon. “Don’t you see how he looks at you?”
“Like I look at you?” Esme nuzzled Deirdre’s cheek with her nose. “Why do I have to get married, when life is so perfect already? We could choose to be spinsters, you know. Living alone. Working our magic. We could even open an apothecary.”
“With what money, Esme? Do you think your daddy would hand over your inheritance if you were living with a woman? We have to marry. Besides, I want to marry Robbie.” After she’d sent Robbie a letter with the photograph from the ball, he’d finally responded. In his long-awaited letter, he’d confessed his longing for her and ended the letter with heady promises and a lock of his hair. All Deirdre’s worries had flown away, and she was eager to return to Tin Mountain at summer’s end.
“Oh, Robbie. Always coming between us.” Esme wrapped a leg over Deirdre’s hips and straddled her possessively. She took the ribbon from her hair and loosely bound Deirdre’s wrists with it. “There. Now you’re my prisoner. I’ll keep you in this tower forever. That way, you’ll never leave me.”
“You’re silly,” Deirdre said, laughing lightly.
“Am I?” Esme gave a wicked grin and nipped at Deirdre’s earlobe. “More greedy than silly. I don’t want to give you up.”
As Esme moved down her body and resumed the tender onslaught Deirdre had come to crave like butter on warm toast, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to her lover’s touch once more. Within moments, she fell apart like a row of knitting dropped from a needle.
Deirdre and Esme stumbled up the stairs of the schoolhouse, sun drunk and eager to shake the sand from their clothes after their Friday at the beach with Esme’s beau. They had picnicked on cucumber sandwiches and seltzer, then walked the strand arm-in-arm, as the surf pooled around their bare feet. Esme had marveled at the creatures in the tidepools, and lifted out starfish and sea urchins, offering them to Deirdre and Lionel to examine before gently setting them back down for the tide to reclaim. It had been the kind of lovely day that felt like a dream.
Charleston had broadened her world and made her see that life outside of Tin Mountain was rich and full of possibilities, though the draw of home was nearly as sweet now that Gentry had gone and Robbie had renewed his promises.
Later that day, as Deirdre sat on her bed crafting a letter to Robbie while Esme napped, clouds gathered outside the window and a fickle wind tossed the palms to and fro. It was nearly September, and Esme had warned her about the massive storms that roared through Charleston with the fall. As rain began to spit at the windowpanes, a knock came at their door. Deirdre rose from her bed and went to answer it.
Phoebe Darrow stood in the doorway, raised from the dead with a demon’s kiss and hearty as ever. Deirdre’s stomach lurched. What did she want now? “Good afternoon, Miss Darrow.”
Phoebe gave a contemptuous sniff and produced an envelope from her pocket. “Telegram, Miss Werner. It arrived this morning, while you were away.”
Deirdre took the envelope from Phoebe, who quickly went on her way. A twist of dread snaked through Deirdre. Good news hardly ever came by wire. She sat on the edge of the bed and held the envelope gingerly. She could sense the wretchedness of what lay inside through the thin paper.
Esme stirred and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She came to Deirdre’s side and looked over her shoulder. “What is it, my love? Why don’t you open it?”
Deirdre drew in a quick breath and tore the envelope open. There were only two lines on the paper:
Your mother is dying （stop）
Please come home （stop） Pa
“It’s Mama.” The solidness of Deirdre’s world dissolved. Gentry’s healing powers had been false. Mama’s recovery from the consumption had been a ruse. And now, she was dying, with so much left unsaid between them. She and Mama had too many wounds to heal. Things to mend before she passed.
She had to get home.
Esme climbed onto the mattress and wrapped her arms around Deirdre from behind, resting her pointed chin on Deirdre’s head. “I’m so sorry, my darling.”
“I have to leave,” Deirdre said quietly. “Tonight.”
“Of course you do. Especially with this storm coming.” Esme glanced toward the window. The sky had taken on a greenish hue. “It looks to be a bad one. Do you have enough money?”