Arthur sent one of the Rangers back to the barracks to inform Captain Lee.
“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked Beatrice.
She started to nod, only to notice her ankle no longer throbbed. She rubbed the shoulder that ached earlier but it felt normal. “I’m fine.”
“Good. But you can ride my horse on the walk back.”
Another Ranger gave up his horse to Emmerich, who smiled softly at the animal, patting it on the neck. Beatrice watched, her heart warming.
As they left, Beatrice finally noticed that the spire had been sheared in half. There was no sign of any ivy.
Emmerich rode his horse behind Beatrice. Arthur, who led her horse by the reins, glanced back at Emmerich more than once, as if making sure he was still there. Arthur had also given up his grey coat for Beatrice to wear over her nightgown. She held her shawl wadded in her hands.
The house felt cold and empty when they arrived. Emmerich opened his mouth, then stopped.
“No more magic,” he said, a rueful expression on his face.
Beatrice borrowed a lamp from a Ranger and slipped up to her room for a proper robe to pull on over her nightgown. Back downstairs, she watched with quiet delight at how Emmerich moved about the kitchen with ease. While the water boiled, he excused himself and then returned in a fresh shirt that smelled like a cedar chest.
They were sitting beside each other, drinking tea with Arthur and the other Rangers, when Captain Lee arrived. Emmerich and the Rangers stood.
“Well.” Lee removed his hat. “I’m very interested to hear what happened.”
The next morning, Beatrice woke to sunlight. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how everything had changed. She thought about how Lee hadn’t been altogether happy with the story, as if he didn’t fully believe it. How Arthur insisted on staying when she refused to leave. She thought about the awkward walk to her room, leaving Emmerich alone downstairs when she very much hadn’t wanted to. But Emmerich said she needed sleep and he needed to think.
Beatrice slid out of bed and went to the window. Below her was a tended garden with neat plots and orderly paths. The well house stood completely free of ivy, as if Abigail no longer needed to cling to Emmerich. Near the well was a little wood cross, standing defiant against the years.
After dressing, she went to leave her room, only to find the way blocked by a body in a grey coat. She nudged it with her foot. Arthur raised his head and blinked sleepily at her.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.
She fought back a smile, forcing a scowl. “Arthur, honestly. I’m eighteen.”
With a groan, Arthur stood. “Eighteen and unwed. It is my duty as your brother to chaperone.”
He had a point, so she chose not to argue. Brushing past him, she led the way downstairs.
To Beatrice’s surprise, there was still food in the pantry. She cooked breakfast while Arthur nursed a cup of coffee. When Emmerich did not make an appearance, she dared to go upstairs to the master bedroom, Arthur trailing behind at a polite distance. She knocked on the door.
“Emmerich?” she called. “There’s eggs and bacon downstairs.”
After a long pause, she heard the floorboards on the other side of the door creak.
“I’m not hungry.” Emmerich’s voice was muffled by the closed door.
Beatrice clasped her hands. “A lot happened last night. Surely—”
“I thank you for making breakfast. Perhaps, I will eat later.”
“Well, if you tell me what you would like for lunch—I will probably have to go to market but—”
“Go home, Beatrice. Your family is waiting for you.”
“But—”
The floorboards creaked as he moved away from the door. Beatrice lingered a moment longer. When he didn’t answer, she felt her heart break.
Did I do something wrong? she wondered.
Arthur helped Beatrice pack and return home where, indeed, Ma and Papa were waiting. They embraced her before she finished crossing the threshold. Even Father Kelly was there.
When her parents released her, Beatrice said, “Father, please go see Emmerich. I’m worried about him.”
“Of course,” Father Kelly replied.
“How can you think of that monster?” asked Ma.
“He’s not a monster,” Beatrice said. “Did Captain Lee tell you what happened?”
“He told us some.”
So, she told them everything. And when Papa took her to see the Council later that day, she repeated the story twice more. It was exhausting. And worry for Emmerich would not stop gnawing at her heart.
After the meeting, the Council decided to speak to Emmerich themselves–and they made it plain that Beatrice was not invited.
The next morning, Beatrice and Papa returned to Firestone House. She carried a basket containing biscuits and a jar of Master Kip’s honey. But no matter how many times she knocked on the front door, there was no answer. She left the basket on the porch.
The town buzzed with preparations for Michaelmas and Beatrice tried to be swept up in them. The day after her fruitless visit to Firestone House, she ran into Elder Sutter in her son’s general store.
“How is Emmerich?” she asked.
“For a man over a hundred years of age,” the old woman said, “he’s very well. But there’s much to discuss. A lot of hard feelings have built up in this town, believing he was the cause of everything.” She patted Beatrice on the arm. “Don’t worry, though.”
Beatrice’s friends wanted to hear the story over and over. She even told Father Kelly in the hopes of some light on what, exactly, happened.
Father Kelly said, “It sounds like Abigail needed to let go of her pain. You and Emmerich helped her.”
“But what about the Darkness in the Woods?”
“It was here before the wagon train ever came through. But it sounds as if she became part of it. I don’t know, Beatrice. Some mysteries remain mysteries.”
She nodded. “She also said—I think she said that Emmerich loves me, but he hasn’t been to see me. I tried to visit him but he-he wouldn’t come to the door.”
Father laughed. “Beatrice, the man has been through a lot. Give him time.”
Michaelmas came a mere week after the curse broke, unhindered by the events in the Woods. It seemed as if overnight the trees became tinged with gold-red glory.
Traders came into town the day before. All of them said that the journey was easy and not as fraught as years past. In fact, there had been no sign of the Haunted Ones at all. The traders, and anyone who had dared to venture into the Guardian Woods, all remarked on how the Woods felt different.
People gladly bought everything they needed to get through the winter. Some cowboys had even come with them, driving along two dozen head of cattle. Apparently, the Rangers had negotiated with a ranch outside Pewtertown to bring the livestock in. Farmers happily replaced what was lost.
On the festival day, Beatrice watched Mattie contemplate a selection of ribbon and lace at a booth.
“What do you think of this?” Mattie asked, holding up a length of intricately wrought lace. “I could use it to edge my Christmas gown.”
“It’s pretty,” Beatrice said.
She set it down with a sigh. “That’s what you’ve said about all of these.”
“They’re all pretty.”
“Beatrice O’Brien, how am I supposed to—” She stopped, staring beyond Beatrice. “Who is that?”
Beatrice turned around and felt her heart stumble.
Emmerich Firestone was walking toward them. He was dressed in more modern clothes. Gone was the frill at the throat, replaced by a more sensible collar. His coat and pants were black and he wore a black hat. His riding boots looked shiny and new. People stopped and stared at him, but no one made a move to stop him. Seeing him made Beatrice’s heart swell and her head go a little light.
“Is that him?” Mattie whispered.
“Um.”
Emmerich stopped and smiled. He bowed. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Mattie nudged Beatrice, who blinked and said, “Mattie, this Emmerich Firestone. Emmerich, this is Madeliene Sutter.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mattie said. “Oh! I think that’s my father over there calling for me. I better run over.”
Beatrice said, “What—”
But Mattie was gone, disappearing into the passing crowd that was trying not to stare at Emmerich.
An awkward beat of silence passed between them.
Finally, Emmerich said, “Walk with me, please?” He offered his arm.
After a moment of hesitation, she took his arm and let him lead her along the booths and games. They left the center of the town and walked into a quiet, green space between the church and the cemetery.
“I didn’t think you wanted to have anything to do with me,” Beatrice said.
Emmerich stopped. “What makes you say that?”
“You sent me out of the house. And you didn’t come to the door when I came to visit.”
His brow furrowed. “After a hundred years, I am a man again. I needed some time to adjust.”
Just as Father Kelly suggested. “You could have said as much.”
He stared down at her in silence. It seemed some things hadn’t changed. But now, it was easier to read his face. His brow cleared as understanding replaced confusion.
“You’re right,” Emmerich said. “I could have said something. I apologize.” He dropped her arm and clasped his hands behind his back.
She thought about holding it against him. She could stomp off in a huff. Instead, Beatrice said, “I forgive you.”
“You say that so readily.”
“It’s better that I do. If I think about it too much, I might not give it.”
He smiled. “I see.” He took a deep breath. “You look very well.”
“Thank you. So do you.”
“Thank you.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “About that night…” Emmerich stared up at the church steeple, lost in thought. Finally, he said, “I did Abigail and our son a grave injustice. I don’t deserve her forgiveness.”
“Father Kelly would say we never deserve forgiveness.”
“I know. He said as much to me. He is a wise man. And he said you asked him to visit me. Thank you for that.” He looked at her. “The curse was broken because of you. You gave me a reason to care again. And you gave me someone to-to care about.” He cleared his throat. “That someone being you, of course.”
Beatrice’s heart beat hard against her chest. He opened his mouth to say more, but she blurted, “They say the Woods are different. Did you kill the Darkness?”
He blinked. “Er. No. I fought it, I know, and there was… In some places, my memory is a little fuzzy.”
“Some mysteries remain mysteries.”
“I suppose so. I’m certain, though, that the Darkness is still in the Woods, but it’s been scattered by something more powerful than I was in that beast’s body.”
“Scattered by what?”
“Love? And perhaps some of God’s grace.” A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “I still can’t believe you threw a rock at that thing.”
She smiled. “It seemed like the thing to do.”
They didn’t say anything, gazing into each other’s eyes. His mouth opened again, only for something to catch his attention. He looked toward the festival, frowning slightly. She followed the line of his gaze. A man and a woman were openly watching.
“That’s Paul and Katie Matthews,” she said. “Billy’s parents.”
Mr. Matthews left his wife, who snatched at his arm. He shrugged her off and kept walking, his stride long. Emmerich stepped forward, moving to stand in front of Beatrice.
“Not again,” she said, stepping up beside him.
Before Emmerich could say anything, Paul Matthews reached them.
“I’m told,” Matthews started, and then stopped. The muscle in his jaw twitched. His hands were balled into fists. He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was raspy. “I’m told you’re not at fault for the Haunted Ones.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that, sir,” Emmerich replied. “My wife Abigail wouldn’t have gone looking for a way to bring our Henry back if…if I had done my duty as a father.”
Matthews jerked his head in a nod. “I understand that. My Billy—he shouldn’t have been by the creek by himself.”
A rustle of skirts announced the approach of Mrs. Matthews. She looked thinner and the skin under her eyes were bruised. She looked from her husband to Emmerich and back.
The silence strained, balancing on the moment. Mr. Matthews slowly stuck out his hand to Emmerich. Emmerich looked at it and then clasped it with his own. They shook and the moment broke. Taking his wife’s arm, Mr. Matthews walked away. Beatrice let out the breath she’d been holding.
“That’s a good start,” she said. “See, people—"
“Bea—” He huffed. Slowly, he took one of her hands in his, and even though he had no claws, he moved with care. He laid his other hand over hers. “Before anyone else can interrupt or you can change the subject— My dear Beatrice, I didn’t come out here to have a confrontation with the Matthews’ family or take in the festival or—” He swallowed. “I don’t know if I have any right to this, but I would be honored if I could court you. Please.”
Beatrice gaped at him and said the first thing that came to mind. “People will say you’re too old for me.”
He snorted and smiled. “I won’t mind it if you won’t.”
“What of Abigail?”
“She died long ago and her shade has gone to rest. And I do not intend to live in the past.”
She bit her bottom lip in brief thought. “I do strange things, sometimes. Such as walk on cursed land and cut roses that don’t belong to me.”
“There’s no cursed land here anymore, and you can have all my roses.” His smile wilted slightly. “Courtships can always be broken, you know.”
She looked up into his grey-green eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin and of the Michaelmas sun set against the cool of the breeze. A smile bloomed against her face. “I don’t think we need to worry about that.”
Emmerich laughed, booming and joyous, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the grin his painting in Founder’s Hall had promised.
Click here for Part Eight ** Click here for the navigation page
Author’s Note: I am so happy that you came on this journey with me. While I had made another attempt at a serial before, this was my “planned” serial, where I made a commitment to post weekly until completion. Thank you so much for reading. And if reading led to subscribing, then double thanks!
Under the Roses was written fully beforehand but each part was critiqued prior to posting by the members of the Thursday Critique Group at the Catholic Writers Guild. Thanks, guys! (But if anything slipped their notice, go ahead and blame me.)
Lastly (but not leastly), I would like to thank
for the prompt that started this whole adventure.
Hooray! What a satisfying, wholesome ending!! This is absolutely one of my favorite takes in Beauty and the Beast that I’ve ever read. Loved it!
She bit her bottom lip in brief thought. “I do strange things, sometimes. Such as walk on cursed land and cut roses that don’t belong to me.”
Just the things that brought her to him.
This was a beautiful story.