Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

‘Here she is, just in time for supper.'

Catherine was sitting at the dining room table when I waltzed through the door and floated down the hallway, barely registering the ground beneath my feet as I followed her voice. She looked so elegant, I felt as though I'd walked in wearing a garbage bag.

‘Are you going out?' I asked, my magical time with Wyn melting away and memories of the night before rushing back to take his place.

There was no evidence of our epic battle anywhere on my grandmother. I could hardly believe this was the same woman I'd stood beside less than twenty-four hours ago, fighting for our lives. Her glossy hair was pulled back from her face in an elaborate knot and she wore huge emeralds in her ears, almost as big and bright as her eyes, and the exact same colour as her fancy silk dress. I couldn't see a scratch on her. To her left, Ashley looked neat and tidy in a not quite so fancy but still very pretty blue dress. Her long chestnut braid fell down her back and she wore a typically uninterested expression on her face.

Catherine shook her head and smiled. ‘I like to dress for supper. It's an old-fashioned idea, I know, but why not bring a sense of occasion to the everyday and mundane?'

I checked my watch, shocked to see it was already six p.m., Wyn and I had whiled away seven hours together. Across the table, I saw Ashley attempting to hide a smirk.

‘I'll go change,' I said, one hand already on the door handle, even though I had no idea what I was planning to change into. All I'd brought with me were blue jeans, black T-shirts, a couple of my dad's old white button-ups, a handful of useless, warm wool sweaters and one plain black dress I'd worn once and once only. I had no desire even to see that dress again.

‘I think we can make an exception for tonight.'

Catherine fussed with my hair as I sat, attempting to straighten the one weirdly wavy bit at the front that required far more than sheer force of will to tame. ‘You and I should plan a little shopping trip. There's a boutique down on Barnard that has the cutest little sundress in the window. It would look just heavenly on you.'

This time, Ashley didn't even try to disguise her amusement.

‘Yeah, they have this cool new concept there,' she added, saccharine sweet. ‘It's called "colour". Have you heard of it?'

‘Ashley, darling, would you be an angel and go check on the soup?' Catherine said lightly. ‘It might need a scooch more seasoning.'

Ashley gave her a thunderous look.

‘It was perfect when I tried it five minutes ago.'

‘How strange,' her mother replied as she fanned out her napkin with a flourish. ‘I found it to be a little tasteless.'

Pushing back her chair, the legs screeching along the wooden floor, Ashley stalked through the door that led to the kitchen, muttering something ugly under her breath.

‘Catherine?' I said hesitantly, waiting until the swinging door came to a complete stop.

‘I need to talk to you about last night.'

My voice dropped to an urgent whisper even though there was far too much banging around in the kitchen for anyone else to overhear. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Perfectly fine,' she replied. ‘And so, it would seem, are you, so there's no need to discuss any further.'

‘But the way we were fighting, I should have more cuts and bruises.' I pulled up the arms of my long-sleeved T-shirt to reveal the suggestion of a scar that marred my forearm. ‘And look how fast this healed. There was so much blood, it can't have all come from … it.'

I didn't need to say the word, she knew what I meant.

‘Emily, honey, if you must dwell on it, and I really would rather you didn't,' Catherine said, her words hushed, sharp and straight to the point, ‘please remember what happened. That thing was going to kill us both. You saved my life. You are the hero of this story.'

‘But what if there's another?' I pressed. ‘Are you sure we shouldn't tell anyone?'

‘Trust me.'

She raised a glass of white wine in my direction. ‘Anyone who needs to know, knows.'

And I knew when I was beaten. Catherine didn't want to talk about it and who could blame her? I sat back in my seat as the sound of breaking dishes and curse words coming from the kitchen filled the air.

‘Now, I would just love to hear about your day,' she said as her daughter pushed through the door, silver serving tray in hand. ‘Ashley says you took yourself on a tour of the town? Tell me everything. Even after all these years, I believe there is always something new to discover in Savannah.'

‘Sure.' Ashley grunted as she dumped a bowl of soup in front of me. ‘Like tourists and overflowing trashcans.'

‘And daughters who don't sass their mothers at mealtimes,' Catherine added sharply.

‘This is the best soup,' I said, caught off guard by an unexpected pang of sympathy for my scowling aunt as I took my first taste. ‘Is it homemade?'

‘It is,' she muttered, refusing to meet my eye and accept the compliment.

‘Speaking of homemade, I thought perhaps I could tell you a little more about your ancestors tonight.' Catherine picked up her spoon and skimmed the surface of the thick orange liquid for the tiniest possible mouthful. ‘We could start with our namesake, the first Emma Catherine Bell.'

‘I'd love that,' I replied as I shovelled the soup into my mouth. Everything that came out of Ashley's kitchen was delicious. So good, my worries about the wolf were forced to the back of my mind again and all I felt was a safe, cosy buzz as the warm liquid settled in my stomach.

‘It only makes sense to begin at the beginning,' Catherine said, resting her spoon on the plate next to her barely touched bowl. ‘Emma Catherine Bell was born in England in 1715. Her husband, John Stevens, decided the newly married couple would brave the perilous eight-week voyage across the Atlantic Ocean rather than pay off his debts and made that decision without asking his wife, but Emma Catherine quickly warmed to the idea and they boarded the good ship Anne in 1732. The British wanted to establish colonies in the American south to fend off the Spanish who had settled in Florida, and a great many promises were made to those who agreed to travel to the New World. Sadly, promises were not enough to ensure everyone survived the two months they spent on board the Anne and John Stevens was one of many who didn't live to see Savannah. By the time Emma Catherine set foot on American soil, she was a widow at the age of eighteen.'

‘That's only just older than I am now,' I replied with wonder as my spoon scraped the bottom of my soup bowl.

Catherine nodded.

‘And I for one am very relieved your voyage across the ocean was far less treacherous, and that you came to us without a husband. Dead or alive,' she said with a wink. ‘Emma Catherine wasn't the only one to lose her husband in such a way and many women, too many, disappeared from the history books once they arrived in the New World without a man to keep them safe. But our Emma Catherine was resourceful. She made herself useful, helping to take care of the children and tending to the sick as they travelled to the settlement that would become Savannah. By the time the group arrived here, she was considered invaluable and even though she was already with child from her first husband, another man quickly made her his wife.'

‘What do you mean, "made her"?' I asked. ‘She didn't have a choice?'

‘When it comes to marriage, choice is a relatively new idea. This man was a general in the army and he was powerful. Perhaps not the man she would have selected for herself, but he did afford a certain protection and status, meaning she could help even more people as the city grew around them.'

Ashley's head popped up, suddenly interested in the conversation. ‘Help them how?'

‘She was an experienced herbalist and a dedicated student of nature,' Catherine replied. ‘There were very few doctors back then and fewer still who would help those who had little to offer in return. Emma Catherine was able to provide assistance to those in need. People who were sick and couldn't afford a doctor, people suffering from new diseases they could not yet treat. Most commonly, she helped women who wished to control the size of their families.'

‘Ohhh,' I replied slowly as I realized what she meant.

‘There have always been women who will help other women in that regard, and there always will be,' she added. ‘No matter how hard men might try to take away their power.'

‘What happened next?' My gaze caught on a painting of Bell House's back garden behind her. It was so verdant and blooming, so perfectly captured by the artist, it was as though I could see the flower petals being ruffled by the wind. Catherine's voice drifted away and I pictured myself standing in that garden, watching her tell the story through a window.

‘Emma's second husband was not a kind or a good man,' she said with disappointment in her voice and on her face. ‘In the early days, Savannah was a very different place to the city you see today. It was decreed there would be no rum, no lawyers, no Catholics, in order to lessen the threat of the Spanish settlement to the south, and no enslaved people, but as we all know, when you tell someone they cannot have something, it only makes them want it more. It is rightly impossible to tell someone how to worship so the no Catholics law fell quickly. In a feat of great irony, a lawyer sued to reverse the no lawyer ruling and won, and the rum flowed into town even more quickly than the lawyers. Sadly, it did not take long for the dark and greedy hearts to change their mind about enslaved people also, and according to surviving records, Emma Catherine's second husband had one of the darkest and greediest hearts of them all.'

The warmth of the dining room disappeared and I felt a chill on my skin. When I looked down at the floor, I saw flowers sprouting up between the cracks in the floorboards and brushing against my legs. On the walls, painted vines twisted into life, curling around painted trees while tiny living illustrations of birds hopped from branch to branch, singing silently above us.

‘But Emma Catherine had not survived all she endured only to be brought down by a man,' Catherine said in a faraway voice. ‘She waited and she planned and before too long, she was a widow again.'

I watched, wide-eyed and wordless, as a roughly sketched woman appeared among the trees, followed by a tall and menacing man. They circled the room until she stopped to pick a flower and pressed it into his hand. The moment he raised it to his face, a single blood-red tear slid down his cheek, followed by another then another, until a river of scarlet flowed over his face. The woman, with her long red hair, stood by motionless as he fell to his knees, convulsing with terrifying violence. When he was finally still, the vines rose up around him and dragged his body deep into the earth, every trace of his existence extinguished.

‘Emma Catherine Bell protected the city,' Catherine said. ‘And in return, the city protected her.'

The sound of Ashley's spoon clattering against the table broke the spell and when I turned away from the deathly scene, I was back in the dining room. No flowers coming through the floorboards, no ancestors strolling through the wallpaper. I stared hard at the painting and heard myself gasp. There was a red-headed woman in the corner who I was sure had not been there before.

‘The Bell name still commands a certain respect in Savannah but what she and the rest of our ancestors did for this city has been long forgotten.' My grandmother shook her head bitterly. I held on to the edge of the wooden dining table with white knuckles, fighting off what felt like a landlocked case of sea-sickness. ‘Still, we remain and continue her work. We don't make demands, we have no expectations. Emma Catherine Bell gave everything and asked for nothing in return.'

She reached across the table to pull sticky strands of hair away from my damp forehead and pressed her cool palm on my hot cheek. I didn't realize I was crying until she wiped away my tears.

‘And now we do the same.'