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At last, I flipped a page and found no more drawings of flowers, only a single word.
CALLUM
There was a rustling over my left shoulder, a movement through the dried-up memories of a once-vibrant life, and I sucked in a breath and whirled around, expecting to find Ms. Dillard. There was already a hot flush running up the back of my neck. But there was no one. The rustling rose again, disturbing the brown leaves of a banana palm a few steps away, and a crow burst forth, wings flapping wildly. It darted past me, so close I felt the flutter of its feathers, and then dove through a copse of potted fern. Its quick exit was followed by a short squeak of hinges. Purposefully giving very little thought to my next action, I tucked the botany journal quickly into my pocket. It was, after all, filled with academic notes. Certainly safe to borrow. I would replace it once I’d made an examination and perhaps learned a thing or two about flowers. I followed the crow’s path back into the garden and away from the greenhouse, leaving it to mourn its mistress in peace.
As I emerged out of the garden proper, movement from the house drew my eye up and I looked toward the tower, where one of the curtains had been raised. There was a shape there, a person. I couldn’t make them out. Ms. Dillard or Felicity checking on me, maybe. Though why they’d be on the forbidden third floor was a mystery. I waved, hoping whoever it was would find the gesture friendly, and become aware that I knew they were watching.
The figure moved away quickly, the curtain dropping back into place.
Maybe it was an attempt to disband my growing discomfort, or perhaps it was just the absurdity of my entire situation, but no matter the reason, I found myself laughing.
“Having a good morning, miss?” a bright voice inquired.
My laugh turned into a choked squeak, and I flinched, turning to find Rodney standing a respectable distance away, a warm smile on his tanned face. His golden hair was unstyled, hidden beneath a cap, the same beige of the flannel button-up that was tucked neatly into brown corduroy trousers, the knees dark with earth and garden labor. He leaned on his shovel, observing me with some amusement.
“Rodney! Oh, you frightened me! People here seem to enjoy doing that.”
He chuckled. “I know the house is spooky, Miss Foxboro, but don’t cling to your superstitions out here. These gardens are the most peaceful place in the world. Not even the heaviness of Willowfield can touch them.”
I begged to differ but smiled anyway.
“Itislovely even though nothing’s growing.”
“Oh, on the contrary,” he said. “There’s plenty growing, just very little we can see yet. In a few weeks, I’d guess this whole place will be hazy with green. It’s a sight.”
“I’m sure it is,” I replied, now grinning with sincerity. My first impressions of Rodney in the formal hall hadn’t been too off. He was extremely handsome, golden in the way all the girls I’ve ever known would go for. He was comfortable, easygoing, with no intensity about him at all. I didn’t feel out of sorts standing there with him in this empty space. Instead, I felt happy to have some company that didn’t unsettle me.
Rodney looked up at the house again and sighed, forlorn.
“It’s such a shame Willowfield is going to rot. It’s always been a real magical place. I predict the professor will wash his hands of it in the near future. He’s hardly ever here as it is anymore, and with only three people to keep the old girl from falling down to its foundations…well, there’s not much hope for it.”
“You sound fond of Willowfield. Have you worked here long?”
“A few years, right before Mrs. Hughes…well…before everyone left. But way before that, back when I was a kid, my parents worked here. Lived in that same cottage.” He nodded his head in the general direction of the little stone house. “My old man passed shortly after Callum’s mom did. We moved down to the village, but missed the place. So Felicity and I came back on and took our parents’ old posts.”
“Felicity is your sister?”
“Since the day she was born.” He winked at me.
“She’s very sweet,” I said, thrown by his open playfulness.
We stood in companionable silence, enjoying the wind and looking around the grounds, likely both of us imagining what this world would look like in a few more weeks.
“She’s sensitive, Felicity is,” Rodney said, suddenly earnest. “Been having nightmares since the whole tragedy with the professor’s wife. She thinks there’s something wrong with the house.”
My skin crawled.
Rodney scoffed in a way that only brothers can.
“I told her that’s a bunch of nonsense,” he said, “but she’s believed Willowfield is haunted since she was a kid. If she goes talking about anything strange, just let me know. Anyway, I’ve kept you long enough. Thank you for passing some time with me, miss. It was pleasant.”
He flashed me a smile that I couldn’t help but return. I thought he truly might be flirting, and despite the chill he’d just given me, I rather liked it.
“It was,” I responded. “Have a good day, Rodney.”
He nodded, then headed away with the shovel over his shoulder, whistling to himself, carefree.
I turned back to the house, not ready to go inside, but feeling like I likely should, at least to see if Ms. Dillard needed any help with lunch. I was about to be on my way when Rodney called out, “Oh, Miss Foxboro.”
