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“It isn’t necessary to worry, Mother.” I lied. “The window blew open this morning and struck me.”
“I just want to make sure that you know the sort of thing that comes from–”
“Mother,” I interrupted her cooly, “William and I love each other. He is more than happy about the news of a child, so all is right in the world.”
“Is he?”
“Yes,” I said confidently.
“Well then, may we thank God for that. But you are not yet out of the woods, my daughter. You are not married.” Mother finished adjusting me, powdering the red mark so as to better conceal it. When she left the room to check on William, I released the breath I’d been holding, dabbing at the nearly dried blood pooled in my hairline with my fingertips.
It was all building rapidly. I wondered if this would be the tipping point.
Mother led William and I to the ruined guest room. There by the bed, stood my father, pipe in his hand, his brows furrowed as he studied the scene. It was obvious to me once more just how sickly he truly was. The newly missing patches of hair from his head only exacerbated it.
“What has happened?” William asked, playing his part perfectly as he approached my father. When I came into the room, I choked on my own vomit.
Fat, heavy drops of blood were splattered along the wall, smears on the rug from where I had crawled away. There was a fallen chair, a crooked desk where everything on top had toppled over. Color drained from my face, the room began to swirl with the bright red blood in some sickening whirlwind.
“It is a terrible thing. You don't believe it could have been Rebecca and Michael, do you?” Mother inquired, her fingers worrying her handkerchief. Panic was rising in my chest, surely they would not punish Michael for what William had done.
“I cannot tell who this blood belongs to, but I do know it is fresh. Within the last twenty minutes?” Father assessed. “Call for Michael, Mrs. Abbott.” Mother hurried from the room, Father’s pipe smoking fiercely as he moved about, inspecting.
William asked all the right questions, expressed his disturbance in a most natural way. I could feel my skin crawling by the time Mother returned with Michael. When he came into the room, he stared wide eyed at the mess on the floor.
“Good God!”
“Save it, Michael. Where is Rebecca? Have you hurt her horribly?” my father asked, inches from Michael. His rage was tangible, and I grew more and more uncomfortable with the interrogation.
“I do not know what you are talking about, Mr. Abbott!” Michael's face was a mask of innocence, and it pained me to see the truth. I looked toward William, who was trailing his finger through a splatter on the wall. His head snapped in my direction, giving me a warning look.
“If you lie once more, you are fired! Turned out of my home!”
My stomach rolled, pushing its contents up my throat in a burning acidic wave.
“I am going to be sick!” I cried, hand clamping over my mouth. I ran out of the room, making my way to the spinning stairs. The world was whirling too fast as I took two steps at a time, rounding the corner and down the hall into the kitchen.
As soon as the smell of the cooking pig engulfed me, I vomited onto the stone floor, heaving everything out of me. William’s hand gripped my shoulders.
“Are you alright, darling?” he breathed in my ear. Father’s voice carried from upstairs, shouting. Sobs worked their way out of my chest, and I collapsed onto my knees in my vomit.
“Oh, William! How can we just let Michael take the blame for us? He is innocent!” William pulled me onto my feet, embracing me as he crooned, stroking my hair.
“Rose, darling.” His voice was pained. “If you are to be with me, you must come to terms with deceit in some manner.” My gaze found his, my face tear streaked. Inside his dark green eyes was ancient grief.
“Why?” I croaked.
“This way I live, it is not a choice, but I make the best of it. Were people to know what I did... were they to find out what I am or that there are others like me, it would be the end of my kind. I detest it, but I must lie; I must cover up things like what's upstairs, so no one need know or trouble their heads.”
“I cannot lie to my parents, William.”
“I understand how difficult it is!” He cupped my cheeks. “Rose, I know. I had to so long ago, and it was the hardest and most painful thing I had ever gone through. Please, for us, Rose. You must not tell them what really happened in that room.” His eyes were emeralds, hard and serious. Something awful twisted in my heart, guilt and fear. Fear of what lie beneath his surface. Fear of what he would not trust me to know.
“I won’t.”
“Good, come you should lie down.” William slowly escorted me to the parlor, where he placed me on the settee in front of the fireplace. “I’ll be back with tea, rest for a moment.”
As I sat there watching the flames lick the brick of the fireplace, I could hear the stomping of heavy feet. Having woken so early this morning, despite the misery of it all, I fell asleep before William could bring the tea.
