The clock struck one as Christabel and Geraldine exited the house, arm in arm.
The day was bright around them, and Geraldine kept her gaze trained on the ground, avoiding looking up at the sky. Before they reached the gate, a growling met their ears.
“Oh Camilla!” Christabel cried. A hand covered her mouth as she looked up Camilla, who was on a long chain attached to the wall of the manor. The mastiff was staring at Geraldine, eyes wild, teeth gnashing, with a low continuous growl frothing in her throat.
“I don’t know what has her so riled,” Christabel said, moving to stand between Camilla and Geraldine as she fumbled through her dress pocket for the gate key.
“Camilla! Hush! This strange girl before you is friend not foe!”
“Will she bite? I care not for biting things,” Geraldine said, gripping Christabel’s shoulders and peering past her at the mad dog.
“I do not know what she is wont to do. I’ve never known her to express such ire,” Christabel said, plunging the key in the lock and hauling open the gate. “Come, let us go and in this moment not discover if her anger spreads to the tips of her fangs.”
Christabel grabbed Geraldine’s hand and pulled her forward, past the threshold of the gate and into the freedom of the lawn. Geraldine stood a little behind Christabel, glaring towards the wall and the snarling Camilla which it contained while Christabel reclosed and locked the gate. Geraldine’s face softened into a mask of neutrality before Christabel could turn back around and take Geraldine’s arm once more.
“If you are to remain with us for a little while, I hope Camilla learns to be calm around you. It would be distressing if she keeps up this current mood,” Christabel said. Her brow wrinkled and a small frown appeared on her lips.
“I, too, hope she warms to me, but as I said this morning at the dining table, I do not fault her for this. I quite admire her spirit, and I wish I had had an advocate such as her on that evening all those nights ago,” Geraldine said. She looked forward along the tree-lined path, yet her eyes, dull and unfocused, showed her mind drifted elsewhere.
“I wish you had as well. She would have undoubtedly saved you from the hurts and horrors you endured.”
“Thank, you, dear Christabel. While I am glad to have met you, I wish I could rewrite the hell which hath brought me here.”
Christabel simply nodded. She had no words to say, and the air between the two women hung heavy. They walked on in a silence only broken by the crunch of footfalls, the sporadic music of bird song, and the whispered rustle of wind rushing through leaves.
Before long the grand oak appeared before them, though in the daylight it seemed less deserving of this title. It was simply an oak, boughs laden with acorns and leaves beginning to yellow. Its wide trunk was, at its base, surrounded by leaf litter and gnarled roots jutting through packed earth and mosses. On top of the leaf litter, where it had fallen from Christabel’s hands the night before, sat the rosary, coiled and glittering in the sunlight.
“There is the foul demon,” Christabel said, curling closer to Geraldine and pointing at the rosary. Tears were gathering in her eyes. “To think that until that letter
that gleaming thing meant so much for me, meant so much that I risked the night to come to it. Its utter madness.”
“Love is a form of madness, one we willingly submit to,” Geraldine said. “You cannot blame yourself for holding this object dear when it held such a significance in your love.”
“I suppose so, but I still feel rather silly and stupid,” Christabel said, face now buried in Geraldine’s shoulder.
“My dear, I understand how you must feel, but I assure you it’s not so,” Geraldine said, stroking Christabel’s hair. “Now, let’s hurry to our task of disposal so you need not think of it any longer.”
Christabel nodded and drew back with a sniffle. She crouched in front of the oak, eyeing the rosary as though it were a venomous snake poised to strike.
“I don’t want to touch the damned thing,” Christabel said. She rummaged through the grass and leaves and produced a small stick. She hooked it under the chain of the rosary and managed to lift it a few inches off the ground before it slipped off and fell back to the leaves.
“I’m not sure your method is working, my friend,” Geraldine said. She had placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward.
“Oh hush. I can see I’m failing,” Christabel said, trying, and failing, once more at the task of lifting the rosary with the stick. “Geraldine, could you be a true dear and pick it up for me?”
“As much as I would love to, I simply cannot.”
Christabel twisted to look back at Geraldine.
“Why ever not?”
“For the sake of your emotions and your mind, I feel as though you must conquer this yourself. If I take this chain of beads and do away with it, your mind may fester, lingering on the object and on your old lover. However, if you can find the courage to pick up this symbol of your former love and do away with it yourself, your mind will be fortified and more fit to let go of the man who gifted it.”
“That does make an extraordinary amount of sense,” Christabel said. She tossed the stick back to the Earth and held her face in her hands. “All the same, I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can, Christabel. Think on it: Reginald, who once swore himself to you, has left you for strange arms in a strange country. Do you wish to wither and weep at the altar of his memory, or do you wish to prove that you can live beyond him?”
“I wish to live beyond that bastard.”
“Then lift the rosary and let us toss it in the river. Let’s not let it bury it where you may be tempted to retrieve it. Let’s give it to mother nature to carry away in her swift hands.”
Christabel grit her teeth and thrust her hand forward. She closed her fist around the beads and lifted them. Holding the rosary at arm’s length, she stood and faced Geraldine.
“To the river we shall go.”
7. As the two women walked, Christabel held the rosary in front of her and Geraldine trailed behind slightly behind her. Around them, as they marched on, the landscape quickly turned from woods to a wildflower meadow. The river became visible, its gentle rushing becoming more and more audible, as they crossed over a wide gravel path. Geraldine looked at the path as it crunched under her feet and shuddered.
“I do believe this is the path I came here on.”
“Undoubtedly it was. It is the only path which leads here. It connects to a path to mine and my father’s gate and manor.”
“After we finish the present task at hand, can we return to this path and walk along it a little ways? I want to see if I can determine anything about the route I was taken upon.”
“Of course we may!” Christabel said.
There was now some distance between Christabel and Geraldine, for Christabel had hurried ahead while Geraldine had slowed to look upon the path. Christabel had made it to the river’s shore and was navigating the stones at its bank. She found a particularly large, flat stone and sat upon it, lifting her skirts and tucking them under herself so that they did not drag in the water. She lifted the rosary and held it aloft over the ever-shifting mirror of the of river’s surface. It swung like a pendulum, its reflection refracting and reforming, refracting and reforming.
A few moments passed before Geraldine joined Christabel, sitting on a rock near hers. She, too, lifted and tucked her skirts to avoid wetting their hems.
“Shall I drop it on the count of three?”
“If that shall help you drop it and be gone with it, then yes, of course we can count down its demise.”
Christabel nodded, and, in unison, the women began to count. On three, Christabel opened her hand and the rosary dropped, shattering the surface with a splash. In its wake, Christabel and Geraldine watched their reflections waver until they coalesced into a singular image.
Christabel found herself drawn to the reflection of Geraldine. She admired the shape of her face, the wave of her hair, the composition of her face.
“You are the most beautiful creature,” Christabel said.
“How can I be when you exist?” Geraldine asked. She reached forward and took Christabel’s chin in her hand. She lifted her face and gazed into her eyes. “Christabel, your beauty far surpasses my own, and it reaches a deeper place within you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Christabel said. Her eyes darted to the side. She was unable to maintain eye contact with Geraldine, for doing so sent her thoughts scattering like doves in the afternoon.
“I’m sure you shall know what I mean in due time. For now, satisfy yourself with knowing you are something more whole, more genuine, more than I shall be,” Geraldine said. She let go of Christabel’s chin and stood, extending her hand. “Now come, let us go walk this path and see what I can glean from seeing it in the light.”
Christabel took Geraldine’s hand and allowed her to haul her to her feet.
“Did you see any of the road which you travelled?”
“No, but when you are moved in a carriage without seeing the world around you, you can, at times, feel the direction of the path you travel. If the carriage turns, you can feel the turn. While those are ominous because you know not where you are turning
towards, the long stretches with no turns are the worse for those feel as though you are being carried into a hellish infinity,” Geraldine said. Her face was scrunched in concentration, for the two had once again come to the road. She looked left and right upon it before following the path westward. “I believe I came from this way.”
Christabel hiked her skirt and hurried after Geraldine, who was walking quite swiftly down the path.
“Do slow down, my friend! You are walking as though the devil is at your heels,” Christabel said beneath harsh breaths.
“In many ways that old fool is at my heels,” Geraldine said, but she stopped and waited for Christabel.
“Is walking this path already bringing back dark memories? Oh, we should have waited a day or so before attempting this trek! I can only imagine how your mind and body must feel walking along this path so soon!”
“My body is sounder than you fear it to be. Though the memories are, for now, a constant, and my mind is plagued, the longer we wait, the more dire the situation may be for others,” Geraldine said. She was walking a bit slower now with Christabel by her side.
“Did those bastards capture, or attempt to capture, others while they had you in their clutches?”
“They killed others while I was with them, but capture they did not. I am afraid that now they are rid of me they shall want to capture again, and they will, without a doubt, kill again.”
“Killed? In front of you?” Christabel asked. Her eyes widened, her pale face further draining of color. Geraldine simply looked at Christabel, her face void of any
strong emotion. “I already thought them to be the vilest of villains, but to know they are so varied in their sins… I am truly aghast. We must do all we can to help my father dispatch them at once.”
“Which is why, though the wounds are still fresh, we must walk,” Geraldine said. “This morning, I was convinced, as you were, that rest would do me well, but as soon as we stepped beyond the gate I had a gnawing feeling that this must be done today,” Geraldine said.
The two had reached the spot in the path where they were surrounded by trees and the oak was visible, albeit a ways away.
“Did they drop you off here?”
“Indeed. They dumped me here, thinking the trees would cover me and make it so I would not be found quickly. I had lain in a dazed heap for a few moments before finding the strength to sit. I heard your voice and stumbled to where I thought you may be. I couldn’t make it all the way, though, and collapsed against the base of the oak.”
“It’s a wonder I never heard or saw the carriage,” Christabel said. She was chewing on the nails of her right hand, her face contorted in worry. “If I had, I might have been able to do something about those men.”
“Do something? Most likely, those men would have raped and killed you before my eyes if they had seen you. I’m not sure what forces were working to shield you from the knowledge of them last night, but I praise it.”
Christabel’s face blanched once more. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself as she walked. Geraldine stopped and grabbed Christabel’s shoulder. The latter stopped walked and allowed herself to be enveloped in Geraldine’s arms.
“I did not mean to frighten you or imbue your mind with such distressing images. I simply wanted you to know that the events as they happened, were, given everything, the best-case scenario.”
Christabel buried her face in the crook of Geraldine’s neck and wrapped her arms around her waist. A bird suddenly calling overhead make the two jump and break apart. They looked around and saw nothing except the trees and a lone bird on a branch above them.
“It was just the bird. Our conversation has made nervous creatures out of us,” Geraldine said. Christabel laugh, a singular, wobbling thing.
“I suppose it has! And I suppose, also, that you would like to keep moving forward down this path?”
“Indeed I would. I would like to reach a bend or perhaps a fork in this road. I know we turned not long before we reaching here. And I know there was a long stretch of several days of carrying on down a straight path.”
In reply, Christabel held out an arm. Geraldine gladly took it, and they continued to walk, arm in arm.
The trees around the path grew thicker as they walked, the trees more gnarled and vine choked. The path become more treacherous beneath their feet as the trees became more abundant for they littered the path with acorns and hickory nuts.
Christabel unknowingly stepped on one of the latter and stumbled. If it had not be for Geraldine’s arm linked in hers, she would have fallen to the ground. Geraldine stifled a giggle at this stumble for Christabel shot her a glare which would have turned even Medusa to stone.
It was not long after this when Geraldine stopped. Before them the path carried onwards, but connecting to it was a thin path. It was overgrown with age, less gravel and dirt path than a swath of weeds.
“Geraldine, there is a larger turn in the path up ahead. I doubt that ancient thing was used in bringing you here,” Christabel said.
“I think it was used, though. I remember at times the sounds of brush and branches scraping the walls of the carriage. And look,” Geraldine said, crouching and pointing to the path, “if it wasn’t used by those bastards, it was certainly used by someone recently.”
Christabel crouched next to Geraldine and squinted at the ground. Sure enough, Geraldine was correct. The weeds had been crushed, some of their stems broken and limp.
“My god,” Christabel whispered. “Perhaps this was a part of the plot to spirit you away from your home.”
“May we walk down this path and see if there are any more clues to prove the theory?”
“Of course we may!” Christabel cried, springing to her feet and starting down the path. She kept to the very edge to preserve the destruction and stared intensely at the round as she walked, surveying for more evidence. Geraldine started down the opposite shoulder of path, her eyes scanning the trees which lined its edges.