Where the Briars Sleep by Emma Beaven

Author:Emma Beaven
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781922359506
Publisher: Tangled Tree Publishing

Thirty-Four

In the morning, in the dim light, Maggie was hanging over her, her fingers moving down toward Rose’s face. Rose woke immediately, a strangled cry escaping her throat.

Maggie snatched her fingers back and frowned. “What?”

“What are you doing?” Rose gasped.

“Just brushing your hair off your face. You forgot to put it up last night, and it’s all tangled.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, did I?” Rose snapped, slapping at her face to brush the hair back. “I can take care of my hair.”

“Are you feeling well, Rose?” Maggie asked softly.

“I’m wonderful, thank you.” Rose sat up fast, causing her head to throb. “I need to get ready.”

“Calm down, Rose. You don’t have to rush.”

Rose frowned angrily at her sister. Maggie was speaking to her like she was a child—again.

“Just let me be a moment.”

“Fine. It’s raining, though, so don’t expect a visitor.”

Rose suddenly became aware of a rushing sound and realized Maggie was right. It was raining hard, the water racing like a river down the windows, blurring the world outside. “At least it’s cooler out.”

Maggie nodded. “Try to compose yourself, at least, before you come down. You don’t want to upset Daddy.”

Rose sniffed and pointedly rubbed her head. Before thinking, she asked, “Maybe you could get me a dress?”

Maggie shook her head sadly but went to pick something out, nonetheless. “What do you want to wear?”

“I don’t care,” Rose said softly, rubbing her head more fiercely, trying not to let on how much it hurt.

“There’s a dress over there.” Maggie pointed toward the heap on the dresser.

“It’s from yesterday.” Rose pulled herself up. “I can just get one myself.”

Rose waited, but Maggie stood watching with that infuriating expression and made no move to help.

Rose slowly shuffled to the bureau. Rose pushed the door a moment, hoping Maggie would rush over. Her sister, however, stood perfectly still, her hands clutched at her waist.

“Well?” Maggie called as Rose continued to procrastinate.

“I told you my head hurts,” Rose said.

“I’m going downstairs, then,” Maggie said, a thinly veiled challenge in her tone.

“Go ahead.” Rose slammed her bedroom door shut after Maggie’s retreat.

Rose hated that Maggie thought she could do this to her, but what could Rose tell her? That she was being stalked by something that didn’t—couldn’t—exist? That she had been afraid something would reach its hands out from the depths of the wardrobe and yank her inside?

She tried slowing her breathing to regain calm and control. She selected a long, embroidered fichu, and dressed carefully, then yanked her tangled hair up on the top of her head. Gazing at herself in the mirror, examining her disheveled image, she whispered, “No,” to her reflection.

She pulled her hair down and began brushing as she stared at her forlorn, tight-lipped countenance. Once her hair was sufficiently straight, Rose carefully began winding up again.

A quarter of an hour later, she appeared in the parlor, her fichu discarded for a long pink shawl, and her hair carefully pinned. The rain continued to beat against the tall

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