Chapter 14: Dreaming

She runs through the garden, vines tangling in the hem of her dress, tugging against her, the sighing branches reaching out to pull her back. On and on she runs, heartpounding, needing to escape, but the garden is an endless path of oppressive foliage pressing down on her, pushing her while it tries equally to take hold and stop her, driving her panicked feet faster.

The smooth soles of her shoes slide on the damp grass, whispering echoes in her ears, the scent of crushed greenery so strong it chokes her.

She swerves from the path, arms raised to protect her face, stumbling through the grasping green and out into the open. The bare earth lies beneath her patent leather shoes, the white shine gone, stained green and brown, bow missing from her right toe. She gathers handfuls of her skirt and pulls it up, away from the bubbling earth, gagging on the stench of death, decay. She tries to back step, to return to the path, but her feet are locked in place, sinking, the black sucking her down. She chokes on a scream, falling to the ground, pulling against the devouring mud.

When the fingers rise from the soil, twisted and stained as dark as the ground, she does scream, a thin, painful whine escaping her compressed throat. The skeletal hands wrap around her ankles, the chill of the grave penetrating her skin as they pull her down, downÑ

***

Alice jerked awake, bathed in a cold sweat, whimpering out loud. Just a dream, that's all. And yet, it felt so real...she shook herself, climbing out of bed to peek out the window at the back yard. Triggered by her experience earlier, most likely.

Still awful. Alice yawned and relaxed, glancing over her shoulder at the doll. It lay on her pillow, arms wide open, as though asking her to come back, to lie down again, to embrace it and never leave.

Alice shuddered just a little, the calm she felt retreating as she remembered her most unfortunate morning. The clock on her desk told her she'd slept through lunch, something her stomach reinforced. Alice grimaced, rubbing her belly. She wished she could be one of those girls who didn't have to eat, the ones who talked in the bathroom about how strong their willpower was. How if they ignored their hunger long enough it just went away. All the while showing off their size zero jeans.

But Alice just didn't have what it took to be skinny. Or popular. The extra thirty pounds she carried stayed hidden under her sweatshirt, the soft pouf of fat between herfingers on the backs of her hands hidden inside the sleeves. It almost made her strong enough not to eat.

Almost.

Alice left the doll, wrapped her arms around herself, and slowly trudged down the stairs to the kitchen. The house felt quiet, too quiet. Was she alone? The thought froze her steps at the bottom as she listened carefully. Not that it was a problem to be home alone. She loved the old house. And yet, the idea of hers being the only soul in the entire giant space felt overwhelming. Like she really was as small and unimportant as everyone told her she was.

Alice almost turned around and went back upstairs, but the soft sound of someone moving in the kitchen sent a tingle of relief through her, drove her forward without thinking, until she stopped in the doorway to the kitchen.

Not her mother or her brother. Rose stood at the sink, wiping a dish, humming ever so softly to herself. As she looked up and met Alice's eyes, the stunning woman smiled and beckoned with one long-fingered hand.

"Your mother wanted to wake you for lunch," Rose said, setting the plate aside, "but I promised her I'd make you something when you were up from your nap."

Alice smiled back, shy and awkward, but really wanting Rose to like her. "Where did she go?" Alice drifted into the room, watching as Rose opened the

refrigerator door and began to gather ingredients, some of them already prepared in small plastic containers.

"I'm not sure," Rose said. "But I sent her with a grocery list." She beamed another brilliant white smile at Alice as she hooked the bottom of the door with her foot, sending it back to its place with a solid thunk and a rattle of jars. "From what she said, y'all have been eating far too much take out. Time for some real southern cooking."

Alice perched on a stool, feeling herself relax, enjoying the lilting way Rose spoke and her open, genuine energy. No one had ever smiled at Alice so much, or treated her with such welcome and respect. It felt good and Alice soaked up every second.

A large cast-iron fry pan appeared from under a cupboard and landed on the gas stove, sizzling within moments. Delicious smells wafted toward Alice, her mouth watering immediately. "It's cool your family used to work here," she said, hoping it didn't come out too pathetic.

Rose nodded as she stirred her concoction with a large wooden spoon, steam rising from the pan, the scent of cooking meat filling the kitchen. "My Greatmama served your family for over fifty years." A small twitch shook her shoulders before she turned to point the wooden spoon at Alice. "I'm happy to pick up where she left off."

"Why did she leave?" It wasn't like the house changed hands.

Rose didn't answer, instead dumping some pre-cooked rice into the fry pan and stirring vigorously, another dish of something thick and colorful following it. The scent smelled unusual to Alice's nose, but appealing.

"Now then, Miss Alice," Rose said, dumping a large serving onto a plate, turning to place it in front of Alice, "you tell me what you think of my cooking."

A fork appeared, a folded napkin, and, as Alice prodded the mish-mash of food with the silver tines, a brimming glass of water. She looked up through the rising steam and met Rose's eyes. While the food didn't look all that appetizing, its smell and Rose's watchful stare wiped away Alice's hesitation.

The first bite was heaven. Peppers and pork mixed with spices and rice filled her mouth with happiness. Alice perked immediately, grinning around the food. Rose laughed, a deep, warm sound, arms uncrossing as she nodded.

"Good then?"

Alice gave her a thumbs-up before swallowing. "Awesome. What is it?"

"My family's secret recipe for what can only be the finest of Cajun cuisine." Rose winked slowly before serving herself a small dish and sitting across from Alice. "Pork rib jambalaya."

They ate in contented silence. Alice devoured her portion, glancing at the pan, longing for more. Rose didn't hesitate, ladling out another serving. "Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite," she said, dark eyes sparkling with good humor as Alice hesitated.

She was right, wasn't she? Alice dove in, this time savoring every bite.

Rose finished long before Alice, rising to clean up again, the remains of the jambalaya going into more plastic dishes, returned to the fridge. Alice rose to take herplate to the sink, only to have Rose sweep it out from under her and, within a flash, wash and dry it in the time it took for Alice to finish drinking her water.

All finished, Alice felt suddenly awkward again. Her heart swelled open toward the kindly housekeeper and, after all her loneliness, she struggled with the compulsion to stay in the woman's company.

Rose patted Alice's hand before leaving her alone in the kitchen and, knowing it was weird and creepy but unable to stop herself, Alice followed.

Hovering at the edges of doors, Alice tracked Rose's movements for the next hour as she went about cleaning and straightening things in various rooms. The sound of her humming a melancholy and oddly familiar tune lulled Alice into a quiet state. So quiet, when Rose stopped at the old fireplace and slipped something from her pocket, Alice almost missed it. The housekeeper's strong hands crushed something between them as she whispered, words too low for Alice to hear, scattering the bits of whatever she held over the inside of the fireplace.

Alice almost asked. Didn't have to. "For protection of the house," Rose said, turning to gesture for Alice to join her. Bits of some dried herb had settled on the blackened bricks. "And the hearth. The center of the home." She handed Alice a little bundle of withered greens, tied with a thin, red thread. "Sage leaves, bound with the sacred shade of blood." She gestured for Alice to do as she had done.

Hands trembling, Alice rubbed the dry leaves between her hands, feeling the tiny stems bite into her palms as the powder she created drifted down over the bricks to join Rose's. Again she heard the woman whispering, but this time the words were undeniably French.

Alice released the last of the sage leaves, feeling oddly clean and refreshed, even as she wondered suddenly if Rose would be able to read the words in the wardrobe.

"Can you look at something for me?" Impulse drove Alice out of the room and upstairs, excitement rising, not waiting for Rose to answer. Alice retrieved her netbook and ran back down to her mother's office. Rose waited patiently at the door as Alice plugged into the printer and ran off the carefully-copied words she'd typed out from the picture she'd taken in the wardrobe. The printer, an old ink-jet, chugged out the page so slowly Alice felt agony with each clunky run of ink. When it finally finished, she wasalready pulling it free from the grip of the rollers, turning to slip it into Rose's waiting hands.

The woman's smile of curiosity faded instantly as she frowned down over the words. "Where did you find this?" Her accent thickened, more French, harsher.

Alice's hopes sagged as Rose met her eyes, the housekeeper's dark and troubled. "Upstairs," Alice said, now wishing she hadn't trusted the woman.

Rose looked back down at the sheet. "Where upstairs?"

Alice didn't answer, folding in on herself, miserable. Just like her to make a huge mistake. The wardrobe, the secret inside, it was hers. What was she thinking, sharing it with a stranger?

"Alice," Rose said, crumpling the paper in her fist. "Some things are best left alone,

cher."

A sharp jab behind her right eye signaled a connection in Alice's brain. "Does it have something to do with why your family stopped working here?"

Rose's dark face flinched, eyes widening before she turned and deposited the ball of paper in the trash, lifting the red plastic bin and hugging it to her.

"I'm afraid I have work to do," she said, a fraction of a smile returning. "Your mother will be disappointed if things aren't done today."

Alice stood there in Betty's office, a dull and painful regret killing her connection with Rose. For a moment, she was tempted to bring the doll downstairs, to make Rose tell her, to see her reaction.

But no. She'd just throw it away, too.

That was one secret she wouldn't share with anyone.

***