Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Will answered the knock at his door, he found Angelika holding up the specimen beaker. His expression slackened with dismay. Before he could say a word, she took some flowers from behind her back, and turned it into a vase. After blowing out a long exhalation, he said, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry he even asked you.” She dithered awkwardly. Was he still unhappy with her, after their altercation in the driveway?

“Are you sorry? I thought you would have supported it,” Will said, turning back into his cottage. From the doorway she saw him add water to his flowers. “Don’t stand out there. Come in.”

She came in, relieved by his easy aura, and stared around at his décor. There were not many more objects than last time, but somehow it was perfectly snug and comfortable. By the fire, she noticed a flat basket padded with a folded blanket, and an empty dish.

“Do you have a cat?”

“Not exactly.”

“I do not mean to intrude. But if I may offer a suggestion? One tall oriental vase in that corner, filled with peacock feathers, would make this space perfect.”

“How could you intrude into a place that is yours?” He positioned the flowers on his mantel, looking as content as she’d ever seen him. “It’s perfect now. A beaker full of larkspurs was all it wanted.”

“This cottage isn’t mine, and I will never enter without your invitation. This place is yours, for a lifetime if you want it. I have to tell people exactly what they are entitled to.”

He noticed her grimace. “What happened?”

“I accidentally dismissed Mary, instead of telling her she is a valued family member who is to live out her days with us. Typical Angelika.”

“I’m sure you will come up with an ingenious solution. That is also typical Angelika.” His bed had a compression mark on the blanket, and his cheek was creased.

“Were you lying down?”

“I am tired in the afternoons.”

“The sleepwalking?” He nodded. “I was going to see if you wanted to come for a walk with me. I have a project to assess, up on the hill. We are thinking of marrying the duchess and the bear at home. But I can go alone if you’re tired.”

“Walking alone in the forest doesn’t go very well for you.” He sat down to pull on his boots, and Angelika roamed around, admiring his belongings. The leather-bound book Institutiones Rei Herbariae was still in pride of place beside his bed. She flipped it open to reread her inscription. To my love: One day I will write your true name here. With all that I am, I am always, your Angelika.

“I really can’t wait,” she said to him. He didn’t understand. “To write your name in this book.”

“It would be sacrilege to write my name in such a special book. So, where are we going?”

It was another love declaration gone unnoticed by a man she blindly adored; there was a trail of similar gestures throughout the years. This was the first that was permanently inked. Imagine his gentle pity when he noticed it. Perhaps he would have to hide the book from his wife, or tear out the page.

Angelika tried to sound cheerful, even as her cheeks warmed and her throat tightened.

“We always went to church in town, but the estate originally had a chapel. I haven’t seen it since I was a child.”

Will looked up, startled. “I know where it is.”

“Does it still have four walls and a roof?”

“I’ve never seen it in daylight, but I’ve woken up there three times now. We should make sure to get back before nightfall.”

Angelika nodded. “Yes, I have something I need to do before it gets dark.” She’d asked Mrs. Rumsfield to make some small vegetable pies; it would be nice for Victor’s man to find them still warm. Like Will, he would not touch meat, and the sausages she had left in his baskets were tossed into the leaves. “Did you make any progress on your mystery when you rode to the village?”

“Christopher’s information on the travelers’ inn was useful. I went there and met with the landlady but found it too difficult to explain myself. The story of my twin brother is increasingly unbelievable.” He put his hands on his knees and stood with a groan. “I have walked around Salisbury long enough to believe I am a stranger to the village. But sometimes I see a maid look at me a second time, and I begin to doubt again.”

Angelika’s eyebrows lowered. “That is because you are terribly handsome. I will come with you next time.”

“Jealous,” he chided, but his eyes glowed with pleasure for several minutes as they began their walk. “I think I might have to expand my search for myself to London. I don’t suppose you feel like accompanying me on my trip?”

“I would follow you anywhere,” Angelika replied, and she did, into the darkening forest.

The path up the hill was roughly laid with crumbling stone stairs in some places, and in others it was nothing more than deer tracks traced into the fallen leaves. They fell into a companionable silence as they walked, and it was a good thing, too, because Angelika soon found her fitness was not up to this incline. “I’m hoping—it’s in a reasonable state—Victor and Lizzie—” She bent over, hands on knees, and huffed unintelligibly about marriage.

“I know how Victor feels about churches. I suppose he wants to hide away up here to wed her.” Will was unaffected by the terrain and stood patiently until she regained her breath. “Take my arm.”

She gladly obliged, pressing her cheek to his biceps as they pressed onward and upward. A noise caught her attention; she looked back and saw a solitary piglet trailing them. “Is that Belladonna’s runt?”

Will was sheepish. “It’s terribly friendly.”

“This is exactly how it starts. A basket. A water dish. An apple core, here and there.” To distract herself from the incline, Angelika said, “Tell me what trees and plants I have here on this hill.”

He began to name them. “These are blackthorn shrubs, but don’t even try to taste those berries. They’re only good for gin, but I have made a syrup to treat rheumatism. I’m not sure how I knew to do it, but I did.” He patted her hand. “When Mary returns home, I think it will help her immensely.”

“I’m sure it will make her feel better.” The rabbit holes and slippery leaves were easy to traverse when she had both of her arms wrapped around his. “Maybe you are a doctor, my love. They have to know a lot about herbs. You certainly have the calm disposition, and you cared for me perfectly when I hit my head.”

“It is a possibility.” Will pointed out more trees. “You have hazel trees up here on the ridge, and walnut down in the grove. These huge, twisted trees are called yew, but I think you knew that.”

She did. “I just like hearing you talk about what you love.”

He patted her hand and continued the lesson. “Yew trees represent immortality, but also death. I rather relate to them.” He put his hand on one as they stepped under its low branch.

“Perhaps you are a teacher. A botany professor.”

“One could go mad wondering.” It was a quiet warning to drop it.

On the steep slope, these mossy yews hugged the incline, casting their branches in fairy-tale shapes. In several places on the estate they formed tunnels. They were horrifically beautiful. Angelika asked, “Why do they mean immortality?”

“They’re ancient. These would be hundreds of years old, and I could show you some that look like they could be a thousand. They regenerate themselves. Inside the old hollow trunk, a new one will grow. Then the old trunk will fall away. Your grandchildren will have reborn yews to walk beneath. That is the nature of their immortality.”

He did not say our grandchildren, and the pang was acute. “And why do they represent death?”

“Many folktales exist, but mainly because they are poisonous. The Romans believed yew trees grew in hell.”

Angelika was despondent. “Guess what type of wood my bed is made from. I suppose my nature makes sense now.”

Will tried to jolly her. “Must be why I woke up that first morning after we met feeling regenerated.”

“You couldn’t wait to escape my hellish, poisonous bed. I need to rethink my boudoir. Rosewood sounds more feminine.”

What kind of tree would Christopher be? A solid, uncomplicated oak that shed its leaves in one pile and acorns in another. Why did he have to sprout in her thoughts so often?

“That brings us to these elder trees; these ones that look like cork.” Will paused at a different trunk, pressing the springy bark to show her. “Elder supposedly keeps the devil away. Perhaps they balance each other out up here.” He looked back for the piglet, and they waited for it to catch up. In the distance, they could hear distant hoofbeats.

She sighed. “That will be Victor riding out. He’s so tired. I think we should plant a ring of elder trees around the house. And the laboratory. Maybe one in my bedroom.” She was gratified by his smile. “But of course, I forgot. We do not believe in the devil, or in hell.”

“I believe.” He helped her over a log.

This time, she noticed that his hand was very, very cold. Had it ever been warm, as long as she’d known him? She brushed the thought away. “Did I tell you that the apples Victor eats are his own invention? He grafted two varieties together when he was ten. They are his exact preference.”

“I’ll have to ask him how he did that. What does he call them? I’m sure his invention has a name.”

“Conqueror apples.”

Will was quick. “Ah. Because he’s the victor. Did you make your own tree?”

“As usual, I just helped him.” She took a deep breath. “I thought about what you said to me, some time ago. That without Victor I would achieve my full potential. I think you are right. It is time for me to leave this place. But I don’t know what my potential is.”

“Your potential can be found in the places where you can make a difference in this world. It is your duty and your privilege. I would like to suggest that you think about the apple harvest. You still have time to plan it ahead of the season. Mary told me that it all goes to waste, but I think you know now that it’s not too late to start again.”

Angelika was tired of talking about the future and trees now. “Apples are not my forte. It’s more Victor’s area of expertise, but he is riding out so often to search. Could you sort it?” Immediately she winced, and amended, “But you are not my groundskeeper, so I shall sort it myself. And don’t make some allusion to the fact you may be long gone by the time the first apple falls to the ground. I cannot bear it.”

They walked in silence until Will pointed. “There.”

Angelika was both overjoyed and dismayed when they walked to the front of the Frankenstein family chapel. “The forest has tried to eat it.” It was impossible to see if it remained intact. The ancient stones were barely visible underneath the ivy. Angelika tried to imagine a wedding party making the hike up this hill to find this structure. “I don’t think this will work.”

“The fairy queen, able to grant resurrections, is ready to quit before she even steps foot inside?” He had a point. She kept any further opinions to herself as they trod through red-spotted toadstools to the door. It was painted the same maroon as Mary’s door, and it screeched as she pushed it open.

Once inside, she turned, taking everything in. “I remember it being so huge inside, but it’s tiny, isn’t it?”

The beamed roof was as sturdy as the day it was built. At the far end, stained glass was darkened by the ivy outside. Above the altar hung a porcelain cross, still as white as bone. “It’s really not as bad as I thought it would be. Have you cleaned up in here?”

“Perhaps when I was asleep. But I don’t think so.” Will sat on the narrow pew and watched her investigate. “When we cut the ivy back, the sun will shine through that window at sunrise. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Angelika snorted. “You know that Victor barely makes it to the breakfast table.”

Will gave her a faint smile. “For Lizzie, he will do anything. Even wake up early.”

She stood at the altar and tried to picture how a ceremony might look, minus the piglet.

“Lizzie will stand here, and Victor here . . .” She turned to the blank space where the obligatory officiant would be lurking. “I suppose the church will charge us triple to send someone up here. How I wish I were qualified. Let’s try.” She took the priest’s place and made a book shape with her hands. “You do? You do? Grand. Now kiss.”

She waited for Will’s grin, but he looked away with a tight jaw. “It’s only a joke. So, how would I look if I stood here in a white dress?” She changed her hands to hold an imagined bouquet.

“You deserve to be wed in a cathedral, not this.” He gestured up at the cobwebs. “You limit what you want for yourself, because of your brother.”

She couldn’t face what he kept trying to show her. “But how would I look?”

With his eyes full of affection and patience he replied, “Like the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Don’t I tell you enough?”

Angelika beamed. “No.”

“You’re energy.” He pressed that compliment deep into her heart. “You’re warmth, and youth, and so very clever. And yes,” he amended when he could see she was not satisfied, “you have the prettiest, most unforgettable face. It has been a privilege to stare at you so much. I wish I could, until the very day I die.”

“I’d marry you right now, right here. You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” he returned solemnly. “Your heart is sewn on your sleeve. I know everything you want, beautiful girl.”

Angelika sat down beside Will and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, letting herself imagine for a moment that they were an old married pair. “I need to apologize to you.”

He covered her knuckles with his wintery palm. “No, you don’t.”

“I sat alone with Christopher, knowing he would lay out his offer. And he did, most comprehensively.” She tipped her head sideways to look at him, but he kept his eyeline on the white cross.

“I forgive you.” A scowl formed, before he blinked it away. “You should hear all of the options available to you. You still have a choice, and you always will.”

“I always thought romance would be something like two men fighting in the dirt for me. But I realize now that being trusted, the way you trust me, feels a lot more romantic. Thank you for teaching me that lesson, and I’m sorry.”

“Are we confessing to each other?” Will waited until she nodded. “You will not like what I will tell you now. I am religious.”

Her heart sank, but she was not surprised. “How do you know? Do you remember something?”

“I feel angry when you and Victor make your little remarks about God, and those who believe. Like just before, you told me you do not believe in hell or the devil. Or now.” He nodded toward the altar. “I don’t like jokes like that.”

“We don’t mean it,” Angelika protested. “We don’t really care who thinks what.”

“I think I wake up here so often because it is a repressed urge that I cannot express in your home.”

“There’s a church in the village. You can go there.”

“A stranger suddenly appearing will only fuel gossip. They will all want to know who I am.”

Angelika could imagine the stir he would make amongst the young unmarried ladies, and their mothers. She very nearly offered to accompany him—it would be an occasion to wear extravagant outfits and hats, and to hold his muscled arm—but the offer died in her throat when she imagined her brother’s mocking. “They can mind their own business.”

“That’s not how it works in small villages. I thought you would be furious about this. We cannot tell Victor.”

“Mary is a Christian, and she lives with us. Lived,” Angelika corrected awkwardly. “She lived with us for so many years, and we let her keep her beliefs.”

“You let her. Because she emptied your chamber pots and you did not wish to do it yourself. And she was like family. I am neither family nor servant. You surprised yourself earlier, tasking me with the apple harvest. I do not blame you. I feel like I live in a crack between worlds, and sometimes I feel like I might die inside it.” He sighed, and added softly, “But when you are with me, I go quiet inside.”

“You’re family. I promise you.” She flexed her fingers on his arm. “I was telling Christopher how I feel about you. I feel like you and I are connected. Do you agree?”

The sun was setting behind them, and shadows were sliding in like the tide. With his devout eyes trained on the cross, he replied, “Yes.”

“When I made you, I imparted a lifetime of wishes into the very fibers of your being.” Angelika picked up his hand and entwined their fingers. “Your emotions pluck at a violin string inside me, and it vibrates and resonates until I feel what you feel, too. We are connected at a blood level.”

“It feels the same to me. And it scares me sometimes.” Will continued to stare up at the cross. “Because what would I do without you?”

“You won’t be without me.”

He paused, then asked haltingly, “And what would you do without me?”

“I’m a Frankenstein. I’d most likely die. Now we know what book you were searching for. I will give you my mother’s Bible.”

“That is most generous. I’d like to pray now. Would that be all right?”

“Of course.”

Angelika knew she should be looking straight ahead, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Will as he leaned, clasped his hands together, and exhaled like he was falling asleep. His lashes on his cheek pierced her heart. What sort of things did he wish for right now? If they were this connected, surely she could feel what he wanted so badly that his knuckles were white?

Angelika closed her eyes, too. On her lap, she held her own hand.

At first there was nothing; just the sound of leaves outside, a creak of wood, and an uncomfortable strain in her hip joint. There was the piglet’s faint snuffling. But when she concentrated harder, on the sound of her companion’s breathing, her own voice rang in her head.

Dear God.

The unfamiliar words startled her. Her eyes flew open, and then she tried to resettle. Will’s steady presence gave her the courage to try again.

Dear God. Please put warmth into Will’s hands and warmth into Sarah’s bedroom. Help everyone who lives here. Give the apples sweetness. Give my nature some sweetness. I know I have done such terrible things, and I should pay for them.

She had tears on her cheeks.

Help Will back to himself. I love him enough to let him go, back to his old life, if it would mean he is free of suffering.

And dear God, most of all, please bring Mary back to me safely. I need to look after her as she grows feeble, just as she did for me, when I was a spoiled little girl.

I’m trying to grow up.

Amen.

When she opened her eyes, Will was looking at her. “We are connected, because I could feel the goodness in your heart. I’m proud of you.”

He put his arm around her, and before she could ask if kissing was allowed in a chapel, it was happening. His hand was on her jaw, she smelled the woodsy musk of his skin, and now they were tasting each other.

Was this the kind of kiss he would give her at the altar, after the forever words were said? She could only dream. He was reading her mind, because his mouth smiled on hers, and she felt the soft touch of his tongue. He was safety and kindness; like a husband.

A husband who knew how to deepen a kiss, demanding more of her attention and heartbeat, reminding what he could do for her later.

He increased the intensity, until she only thought of what she would do for him.

A dark shadow fell across them, but when she lifted her lashes, the only thing she saw was gold light. She sighed, closed her eyes, and sank back into languid fantasies. In the simplicity of his cottage, she would strip down to her skin, and he could kiss her just like this, all over her body. The lick of his tongue now caused a powerful squeeze, deep between her thighs.

It happened again: everything dimmed, then turned back to gold. Maybe it was the price she would always pay for being with him, and she should take these golden moments when she could. She savored him until he shivered, and she was ready to leave the world behind for him.

The pew gave a passionate groan when they turned toward each other a little more, making them both laugh.

He said, “I think we should go home, before I do something sinful. Would you like to have dinner with me, in my cottage?”

“I would love to. I’ve been waiting for my invitation.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You’ve been waiting? Poor girl.” He saw how she searched his expression now. “What is it?”

“I’m just waiting for the little bit of pain that always follows a kiss.” She closed her eyes when he put his palm to her cheek. “You’re not about to tell me that you’ve made a mistake, or that you will never be mine, or that you’re quite sure you have a family of ten children to return to?”

“No, my love.”

“Just tell me that we shall never go to Larkspur, and I can complete my scheduled wince.”

“I have been inconsiderate so many times. Forgive me.” He smiled when she rubbed her cheek further into his hand. “What would you like for dinner?”

“The cook is making vegetable pies. I’ll bring some up once I—” She stumbled on her words now. She didn’t know if she would receive scolding or praise for the deliveries she was making to Victor’s friend. The atmosphere was too delicate for her to risk, and she loved his smiling eyes so much. “Once I go home to change.”

“Oh, please, yes. I will expect a fine gown for dinner in my cottage. You recall I do not have a table? We’ll be sitting on stools at the windowsill.” He stood and offered her his hand. “You’re tired. I’ll carry you home for a while. Unless you would like to unfold your wings.”

“Lizzie’s so silly.” Angelika couldn’t hold back her smile. “But I love being her fairy queen.”

“I hope you are also mine. Here, climb on.”

She balked when he stopped at the bottom stair. “I think it would use your energy. Your life force,” she amended softly when he looked over his shoulder at her. “I would like you to explain it to me, so I won’t have this dark pit in my stomach.”

Here came that feeling that could only be delayed for so long.

He turned, composed himself, and looked at her with utter regret. “I don’t know how I can explain it, in a way that won’t make you panic.”