Page 121 of The Dravenhearst Brides
I received your letter postmarked on the 22nd—a baby! Such incredible news. I dropped the note in shock as I read. Happy shock of course, but oh, I can’t tell you what this means to me.
I must confess myself confused though, as you said you intended to visit? I did wait several days before writing, but perhaps you’ve been delayed. Please write back.
I would simply love to see you.
Forever yours,
Pa
Theonlythingthatgot her out of bed was when her wedding gown started to appear in the morning again. It was a hideously familiar game.
Draped over the chaise.
At the foot of her bed.
Trussed up on thevanity mirror.
Suspended above the French doors by the noose.
Margot tore it down every morning, bundled it beneath her mattress. Locked it away in her trunk. Ripped it to shreds with her bare hands. Even went so far as to emerge from the safety of her bedroom, carry the cursed gown to the sinkhole, and heave it inside. She weighed it down with a crumbling brick from Rickhouse One, and she stayed, watching until it vanished. Until she was certain it was gone. Swallowed by the earth.
And yet…
And yet.
The gown was there again the next morning. Strung up in her bedroom. Pristine and unharmed.
Distantly, Margot knew this wasn’t right.Shewasn’t right, not in her right mind. When she looked in the mirror, a strange woman with hollow cheeks and frazzled red hair stared back. A woman who wasn’t,couldn’t beher. This was all happening to someone else.
Not to her.
She awoke as she did every night, to the cold.
Margot stirred, raising her boozy laudanum-drunk head. The room spun. She looked around, shadows shifting and curling in every corner. Undulating like living breathing demons, waltzing on air.
Margot slipped out of bed. The floor moved underfoot. Her steps were lilting. Tilting. A little bit jilting. She raised her arms and spun. She, too, could waltz like the phantoms in the manor at midnight. She, too, could hide in the walls, coming out to play in the dark. Dark like her soul. Dark like her heart. Dark like her grief.
She tiptoed down the hall, just three steps. She cracked open the door.
They hadn’t made plans yet—it had been far too early. But this was where Margot had imagined her baby would go. Right here. Only one door away.
In the corner by the window, an empty rocking chair lurched. Back and forth, back and forth.
This is where the baby goes,Margot thought.
Should have gone. Would have.
The rocking chair halted.
Something frigid brushed Margot’s fingers.
Eleanor materialized, a hairsbreadth away. She shook her head. “That’s not where the baby goes, silly.”
The bride tugged her arm, leading her through the house, humming and towing Margot along like a stumbling, sleep-drunk child. The tune on Eleanor’s lips was familiar. Margot’s own voice thrummed, joining in.
The front door opened. They went outside. Eleanor led her straight to the nearest magnolia. She pointed to the ground.
“That’swhere the baby goes.”
