Page 54 of Gilded Locks

“Yes,” Grace agreed.

“Fine, but one more word, and I’ll tell Uncle Gustav to send you packing if you come within a yard of my house.”

Grace nodded and lifted her scythe, swinging it with all the power of her simmering anger.

She had a few hours of work, and then she’d have a chance to see what James had done. If Willa wasn’t exaggerating, then Grace was going to convince her parents to scour the entire town until they found that rascal of a Rogue, tied him up, and removed the verdure cloak and anything else that belonged to the Protectors. He didn’t deserve to wear them.

The chill of dusk stung Grace’s cheeks, and she hugged her arms tight around herself as she followed Willa to her manor. How, Grace wondered, could it be so hard to keep up with Willa Leroux? The young woman was shorter than Grace by several inches, and she didn’t look rushed. Yet, somehow, she moved with a rapid stride that Grace’s longer legs couldn’t keep up with. And Grace was a trained Protector.

Did the girl not ache at all from the unfamiliar work of harvesting corn?

As they entered the town square and veered toward the path leading to the Ferrer manor, Grace felt herself mentally retreat further into herself, though in keeping with her outward attitude, she held her back and shoulders taut.

She was approaching Jonathan’s home. Only now, minutes from a place she’d visited countless times growing up, did Grace realize she hadn’t been there since the day she'd entered the breakfast room at home to find Father and Mother holding hands, their heads downturned over a letter.

When they’d told her the Ferrers had left in the middle of the night, Grace had run out the door, straight to the Ferrer estate, and burst through the door. It had been empty and cold. Standing on the creaking boards, staring at the peeling wallpaper and sun-faded wood shelves empty of the sentimental baubles they’d once held, the reality of her future had hit her with painful clarity.

Alone. She was alone.

It had taken searching the forest fortress and attempting to keep the sheriff and mayor from claiming the property as their own, when no one, not even her parents, would stand with her, for Grace to accept the finality of that truth.

Now, yards from the home, that same twist of her gut assailed her, bringing with it the revolting sensation of the sheriff’s putrid breath against her neck, but she found that her concern about James and his misguided ways eclipsed all else.

Her attention sharpened as they started down the cobbled path to the manor, searching for evidence of the Rogue. The door to the manor was propped open, and stuck between two boards of the front porch, the national flag that had once fluttered from a pole lay limp. A large slash marred the growling bear. Willa led Grace in.

Grace stopped suddenly, fighting back bile as she stared in horror at the destruction before her.

“Mom. Dad!” Willa called, but no one responded. Willa sighed. “They’re probably at Uncle Gustav’s.”

Grace tried not to show the relief she felt, realizing she’d narrowly escaped being in a closed space with that vile man. It wasn’t too hard, since her horror was etched into every line of her expression and every tense muscle.

Willa led Grace through the home with a detached apathy, but a few times, Grace thought she noticed a shudder or wince that suggested Willa wasn’t as unaffected as she tried to seem. With a weighty sadness constricting her chest, Grace scanned broken pieces of trinkets and pottery, carefully and respectfully shifting large fragments in case something hid beneath. She found only more destruction. Even their food had been chucked onto the floor. Shoe prints tracked through tomato splatters and jelly smears.

While the vandal had broken some of the furniture, Grace was minorly relieved to see that much remained in tact. A small consolation, but Grace couldn’t help grasping at any positive after seeing what the Lerouxs were faced with.

“I’m so sorry, Willa,” Grace said.

The young woman shrugged. “It’s nothing I haven’t survived before.” But Willa kept her face turned away, and Grace heard the wisp of a hitch in her voice. Was that true? Or was it Willa’s way of downplaying her emotions? Could it be that Willa, too, hid behind a mask of sorts? Some sensitivity hid behind that tough exterior.

This made it, somehow, all that much worse.

How could someone who claimed to seek safety for the town do something like this?

When Grace exited the home, her emotions were in a jumble. Compassion toward Willa dominated, but she also felt sick at the thought that James had done this. Yet, doubts were resurfacing. Wasn’t she jumping to conclusions? She hadn’t seen any obviousindications that it was the Rogue who’d broken in and destroyed everything.

Someone else might have done this, right? She couldn’t imagine the man who’d gazed at her the night before, and brushed at her hair so gently doing something so horrific.

Against her own experience, her reasoning to suspect him felt flimsy. Could she trust her heart? She wanted to.

Grace stood on the porch, staring into the front room. The open air provided a sense of relief from the stifling heaviness of the mess.

She made a decision. “I’ll talk with my parents, and we will gather a group to come help with the clean-up tomorrow. Our crop can last a little longer.”

Willa narrowed her eyes. “And bring the culprit in to see their handiwork?”

“I really don’t think this was a farmer, Willa. This is horrible.”

“Right, and only people you don’t care about would be capable of that.”

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