The Witch Of Willow Hall. Hester Fox
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that threaten to crack in the heavy rain. Joe may be back with the carriage soon, but he won’t know where we’ve gone.
“There!” Catherine points to a little footpath that cuts through the trees and brush. I can just make out a shingled roof through the clearing.
“Emmy!” I call out after Emeline, who has lost some of her stamina and is suddenly looking overwhelmed in the unfamiliar surroundings. “Leave him for now.”
Reluctantly, she follows as we run toward the building, some kind of old factory or mill. Overgrown with ivy and weeds, the mortar is crumbling around the foundation and the door lintel sags with rotting wood. At the very least it doesn’t look as though we’ll be bothering anyone.
My feet are cold and slippery inside my shoes and my dress is completely plastered to my body. Catherine and Emeline haven’t fared much better, their hair undone and straggling down their necks. So much for our diverting trip to town.
We huddle under a little overhang on the side of the building, empty barrels and upturned crates with old straw the only furniture. Outside the rain comes down in sheets.
“Poor Snip,” Emeline says. “He’s probably so frightened. And how will he find his way home? We’ve only been here a day. He doesn’t know the way back.”
Seeing the way Snip was enjoying himself, I doubt he is afraid and tell Emeline as much. “He has a keen nose, I’m sure he can sniff his way back.”
“The rain will have washed all the scents away though,” Catherine unhelpfully volunteers, and I give her a sharp look over the top of Emeline’s head.
We watch in silence as the trees thrash and bow, and jump when a particularly large branch snaps to the ground. The thunder eventually rolls off into the distance, the lightning following in its wake.
“Look!”
Emeline jumps off her seat and points out into the woods, where I can just make out the outline of Snip before he disappears into the trees. “We have to go get him!”
“I’m done chasing that stupid dog. My feet are wet and blistering, and there’s no telling how much farther he’ll go.” Catherine looks to me for agreement. “Let’s wait for the rain to stop and then try to find Joe.”
The lightning and thunder might have moved off, but the rain is still drumming down fast and steady. I look between Emeline’s expectant face and Catherine, already steeling myself for what I know I have to do. “You stay here. I’ll go follow him, but if I can’t catch him right away then I’m coming back.”
Emeline pipes up to say something, but I stop her with a stern look. “Mother won’t be happy if you come back even dirtier and with a cold. Catherine, stay with her, and give me your shawl.”
WHY COULDN’T MOTHER have gotten her a cat, I think as I set off into the thicket behind the old building, wiping rain from my eyes. Cats don’t go romping about in downpours. Cats stay warm and dry in front of a fire, just like I wish I was right now.
Plunging farther into the woods, I give a half-hearted yell for Snip, followed by an indelicate word as my shoe catches against a slick root. There’s no time to stop myself as I go sprawling headfirst into the wet leaves and mud. A rock breaks my fall. My hand smarts, and when I struggle to my knees to inspect the damage, there’s an angry cut running down my palm. It’s no use trying to wipe the dirt from it on my soaking dress, so I gingerly heave myself up the rest of the way, only to step on my hem in the process. There’s a loud tearing noise. Just my luck. I curse again as I stumble forward, reaching for tree trunks to steady myself as I go.
The rain isn’t as heavy here under the thick canopy of trees, but each severe plop still snakes its way down my clothes, vanquishing the last few dry spots on my body.
More than once I stop in my tracks, frozen by the snap of a branch or a clump of leaves falling to the ground. My neck prickles, just like last night when we arrived to an audience of fireflies and forest creatures. I’m a city girl, an intruder, unused to the thousand little sounds of a close woods.
“You’re lucky you have such a sweet little master,” I grumble to Snip, wherever he is. If it weren’t for the fact that Emeline will be heartbroken if I come back empty-handed, I’d be tempted to leave Snip out here to fend for himself.
Something white flashes in the corner of my eye, but when I turn and look closer it’s gone. A shudder runs through my body. “Snip?”
A moment later there’s a rustle behind me and I close my eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe the end of this unpleasant day is finally in sight. “Well, you certainly took your sweet time. I hope you’re happy with your—”
I freeze at the sound of a heavier tread, my words dying in my throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s not Snip behind me.
Do they have bears out here? Or maybe it’s a moose. I once saw a picture of a moose in a book. They’re taller than a man and they can toss you up into the air with their great antlers. But even as I curl my fingers into my skirts, preparing to turn around, I know that it’s not an animal.
I take a deep breath and spin around.
It doesn’t matter that I knew there would be someone there when I looked, I still almost jump out of my skin when my eyes land on the young man that has seemingly appeared out of thin air behind me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, taking a tentative step forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He must see my heart pounding in my throat, because he stops, and his lips twitch up at the corner. “I think I failed on that account.”
My breath comes out in a hiss. “Yes, well, in the state I was in I think anything would have startled me.” I lean back against the wet bark of a tree and close my eyes, waiting for my heart to slow.
I open my eyes. He doesn’t look dangerous. Despite the rain having its way with him, his clothes are fine, and there’s something warm and familiar about his face. I probably look a good deal more suspicious in my torn and muddy dress and bedraggled hair.
He takes his hat off and rakes his fingers through his wet hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Are you all right, miss? Are you lost?”
“Quite all right,” I lie. I’m not used to anyone—let alone a handsome young man—talking to me as if I weren’t part of the most reviled family in Boston, or an unchaperoned woman wandering the woods in a torn and muddy dress for that matter. “And it’s my dog—or rather my sister’s dog—who is lost. I’m trying to find him.”
“Ah.” He rocks back on his heels, hands in pockets. “A noble reason to be out in such conditions. Mine are much more foolish.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to ask what his reasons might be, and he doesn’t elaborate before asking, “Perhaps I could be some assistance in your search? I’m quite familiar with these woods.”
I should thank him and tell him that it’s not necessary. I should say good-day, turn around, and go find Catherine and Emeline. There is no good and proper reason for me to accept the company of a strange man I found wandering in the woods, even if the man in question looks like he just stumbled out of one of my novels with his fair good looks, a Lancelot. Yet when I open my mouth, the only words that come out are, “I think he went up that way.”
I gesture up the bank and the man’s gaze fixes on my hand. “You’re hurt.”
It isn’t a question so much as an accusation, as if I should have told this stranger the moment I set eyes on him that I had a small scrape on my palm. I open my mouth to protest, but he closes the small distance between us in three long strides.
“May I?” Before I know what’s happening, he’s taking my hand in his