The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage
Chapter Fourteen

Thoughts of Rick ran through my mind as I peered through the tiny bulbous kitchen window with Seth, Ingrid, and Asa, at the unruly mob outside. I knew it wasn’t just show with them. I had seen what the mob could do—if they wanted blood, they would take that blood and more if they desired. Morgan’s family should fear for their lives. I felt genuine sorrow at Morgan Bloom’s death, and her father’s attitude towards her both confused and astounded me. Did she know her father had felt this way about her? Did she know the agreed with the mob that she was a witch and should die? Sorrow—I felt such genuine sorrow for poor Seth and Ingrid who mourned her so.

A strong fear overcame me as I wondered what would happen if they set the house on fire. Would I die too? Would I perish in the fire and never see Rick again? Hot tears threatened at the back of my eyes and I wanted to flee, but where would I go? Was it best that I stay right here in the kitchen and burn with the house, or run into the garden straight into the evil arms of the mob? I suspected they would put me on top of the remains of the pear tree as their very own Guy Fawkes. I remembered what I’d read about the deaths of the Bloom family and that, after Morgan was drowned as a witch, the rest of the family died in the fire. But had they? No bodies had ever been found. Was I just about to find out what really happened?”

“Quickly, Seth,” instructed Asa. “Arm yourself.” He threw him a dangerous looking catapult and Seth put his homemade bow and arrow in a quiver on his back, and I saw him hurriedly place a sharp knife in the pocket of his jerkin. They packed hunks of bread and cheese and a flagon of wine into Ingrid’s bag. All three of them donned heavy cloaks buttoned to the neck, Ingrid looking tiny and defenseless next to the height and breadth of the two men. Although Asa, an old man, looked less fit and agile than Seth.

“We will fight with hands and fists if we need to,” said Seth. “But not you, Ma. Stay close to me and Pa. We will protect you.” I saw worry etched on their faces as, sweeping through a doorway in what appeared to be a tiny scullery, we lifted the latch on the old wooden back door and left the house.

There was no backyard with its high wall and bins lined up, green brown, and blue, but just a narrow rutted track leading to fields and woods that lay black as a silhouette against the navy of the sky. The moon, seemingly huge enough to step onto, hung before us and stars shone like chips of ice. The air was cold and I shivered in my simple black dress and apron for I hadn’t the warmth of a cloak as they had. An owl hooted and gulls chattered like old men and the sea still shushed white tipped up onto the shore.

“Where is the mob then?” asked Ingrid with a quiver in her voice. “They may be in the woods, waiting to spring at us!”

Seth gave a short laugh. “They may be, Ma, but at the moment they’re all at the front of the house. They are such fools. Come, let us make our escape.”

“We must make haste,” said Asa as he took his wife’s arm with a strong grip, hurrying her along. I held back, feeling that I must stay at the house if I was to see Rick again. I watched them go, three black shapes blending into the dark woods, running fast along the stony path, so close together they seemed as one like a three headed lumbering monster. The rabble continued to chant their terrible words at the front of the house.

Ingrid looked around at the last moment, for I saw her face, a pale oval in the darkness. She raised a hand and I glanced around, panicked that somebody was behind me, but there was no one there. Could she see me? Raising my hand in a final farewell, my heart hammering right up into my throat, I went back into the house.

There were sudden bangs and crashes, pops and explosions as the mob, even angrier now at the non-appearance of Seth, Ingrid, and Asa, threw bottles and lighted tapers at the tiny windows that erupted in a burst of glass, tiny sharp chips that pierced my skin, drawing blood. The old thatched roof began to smolder, tiny little tongues of heat moving amongst the straw until, with a harsh roar, bright flames of orange and gold spread rapidly and the house began to burn, shifting and sagging at an alarming rate.

Their relentless chanting carried on and on—“Kill them, kill them, kill them—as I cowered in the tiny old kitchen of Pear Tree Cottage, smoke and ash swirling around white and airy as so many ghosts. Pulling my apron up, I held it over my mouth and nose, my breath rasping against the thin material. The metallic taste of blood lay in my mouth. And then everything began to fade, in and out, in and out and, as weak and helpless as a newborn baby, my legs slowly buckling beneath me, I began to fall.

***

“Chrissie, Chrissie.” I felt strong, warm hands on my shoulders. “Chrissie, Chrissie, please wake up!” I felt tiny caring taps of a finger on my cheeks.

Groggily I opened my eyes. A familiar face loomed above me, shrouded in mist, which slowly, so slowly began to clear, like the sun burning away clouds on a hot summer day. I was met with a pair of piercing grass green eyes, sexy stubble that coated cheeks and chin, and a lock of blond hair that fell enticingly onto what was, at the moment, a worried, creased forehead. Smiling, I put out my fingers and pushed the hair back into place.

“Rick? Is it really you?”

He nodded and said, “It sure is. What happened, Chrissie? Morgan Bloom? Similar to what you saw on the beach?”

I nodded and buried my head in his shoulder to hide the tears that threatened to flow at any moment. Gently picking up my hand with his, he spread it wide and slowly, seductively kissed the palm. “Oh, how I’ve longed for this day. I came back early. Emma has made a good recovery and I just couldn’t wait another week, I swooned beneath his touch. But then, memories came crashing back and, with some sort of common-sense taking hold, I asked him, “Did they get away?”

“Who?” he asked, his expression bewildered.

“Seth, Ingrid, and Asa Bloom—Morgan’s family.”

He shook his head regretfully. “I don’t know, Chrissie, but don’t forget what happened to them took place hundreds of years ago. All I know for sure is that I knocked and knocked on your door. I could hear you screaming and saying something about a fire. I sure was worried. I tried the door and it opened, no problem, and I came straight in here and found you out cold.”

“They must have gotten away,” I murmured almost to myself. “I saw them flee into the woods—and their bodies were never found amongst the remains of the house.”

“We can only hope and pray that they did eventually get to a safe place.” Gently Rick squeezed my hand, and then said, “Just one thing. You need to get the branches cut back on that tree of yours—it’s leaning right over the garden path.”

“The pear tree? Oh my God, it was a blackened stump last time I saw it!”

“Well, not anymore,” he said with a grin. “It’s absolutely flourishing!”

Stumbling to my feet and glancing around, I could see that there had obviously not been a fire. The house was intact and everything as it was before I went back in time and got caught up with the angry mob and the burning of Pear Tree Cottage. Rick helped me to the settee as if I was an old arthritic woman like Ingrid Bloom, and then, fumbling around in the kitchen, made me coffee, black and thick, just as I liked it.

Rick stoked up the fire and, wrapped in a warm embrace, we sat watching the bright flames as they twisted and turned in the grate. We talked and talked until everything, all the worries about Lisa and Chase, his daughters and Stuart, were in the open and there were no words left to say except “I love you,” “I love you,” over and over again.

“Did you speak with your brother?” I asked him.

“No, not yet. I can’t—” He hesitated for a moment and said, “The time will come when I will be able to. But,” And here he shook his head sadly, “That time isn’t here yet. It cut me to the quick, Chrissie. That’s why I couldn’t talk about what they both did to me, even to you.”

“One step at a time,” I told him, in between kisses that made my lips as numb and swollen as if they’d been stung by bees. “One teeny weeny step at a time.” It seemed that the fuller lip look with absolutely no surgery of any kind was mine for the taking. “Kiss me again,” I demanded, and snaking my arms tighter around his neck, said, “And then again and again.”

He laughed loudly, throwing back his head and showing off his neck, long and brown, a tiny pulse at the Adam’s apple. His open necked shirt revealed a thick mat of curly chest hair, and this time I didn’t even attempt to avert my gaze, but just kept right on looking.

***

The shop was busy, very busy, but it was a Saturday in Whitby, and the weather was good, warm and sunny with a blue sky and a yellow sun that pulsed out heat like a living breathing thing, just as depicted on a picture drawn by a child and attached to the fridge with a magnet. The shop was a jewelers called Magpie Inc. Silver & Gold Jewelry, a high class well to do shop hidden down a windy cobbled street that simply reeked of prestige and money. Its exterior was bold and brash, the shop front windows painted deep purple and black in swirls and curls.

Necklaces, earrings, and rings winked and glittered on sumptuous crimson, sky blue, and jade green cushions, and sparkled inside tall glass cabinets just like the Crown Jewels. The floor was covered in a soft deep carpet that covered your shoes as you sank into it.

“This place looks a bit expensive to me,” I whispered to Rick, as we stood patiently waiting to be served amongst all the people crowded around the counter. It seemed that everybody in Whitby was buying jewelry here today, or in the best imitation of Pete Horner I could think of, “Tom foolery—jewelry!”

“Only the best for you, Chrissie,” he replied, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me close to his warm body. “I want you to have the most beautiful engagement ring money can buy!” He stood out like a sore thumb, albeit an extremely good-looking sore thumb, his Stetson Hat perched on his silky blond head, making him appear even taller than he actually was—and, boy, was that tall!

“Blue sapphire,” he said to me, leaning forward and kissing the very tip of my nose. “I can see you wearing a beautiful blue sapphire ring to match your bonnie blue eyes.”

“Rhett Butler?” I asked him, and he gave me a wry smile.

Mum came into my mind and how ecstatic she’d been when I told her Rick had asked me to marry him. On bended knee and all, I’d told her. “Gawd, blimey, Chrissie, it’s about time. What a hunk of a husband you’ve managed to get yourself. If I were twenty years younger—” Followed by the loud braying laugh. Everybody in the office—Millie, Layla, Pat, and Lily—was all over the moon, asking, “When’s the wedding? Where’s my invitation?” Mabel invited me around for pear wine and cake in celebration. “Trouble and strife—wife,” exclaimed Pete Horner with a grin. “Yeah, I knew you’d do it one day, Chrissie Lewis, proud of you.”

Gazing around, wondering how much longer we would have to wait, my heart missed a beat as a girl appeared behind the counter. She had her back to me so I couldn’t see her face. She was tall and willowy, and wore a black dress cinched in with a thin belt, her waist a tiny span, and her hair rippled past her shoulders, glossy and black.

She carried a tray of rings, their stones glittering in a pool of warm sunshine. Time seemed to slow down, become languid and still, the air heavy and choking as if I were wading through syrup. A cloying sickly syrup just like Mum’s idea of a sweet black coffee. I glanced at the big round clock on the wall, its long black hands still and silent against its white face.

I reached for Rick’s hand and grabbed it like a life line. It felt warm in mine, and reassuring. He smiled down at me, sexy wrinkles appearing around his eyes, his mouth a red ripe strawberry waiting to be kissed. Slowly, slowly she began to turn, my heartbeat like a drum as I watched her. My hand in Rick’s felt clammy and slippery against his skin.

“Lizzie, get a move on,” said one of the other women behind the counter, nudging at the girl. “Sorry,” said the woman, nodding her head towards me and Rick. “Lizzie’s new here—started today.” And then to the girl she said, “Show the lady the tray of rings, why don’t you, Lizzie? Yeah that’s right, the sapphire ones.”

She turned fully then, and with a deep sighing breath I could see it wasn’t her—it wasn’t Morgan Bloom as I’d feared it would be. I almost gave a short laugh of relief. This girl had brown eyes and a sallow complexion, and her nose was flat to her face and not tip tilted as Morgan’s had been. She definitely wasn’t Morgan—everything about her was wrong. Why couldn’t I just accept the fact that Morgan was dead and had been for centuries, as was Seth, Ingrid, and Asa? They were all gone. It was over. All over.

My heart slowed down to its normal regular beat as we gazed at the rings, Rick picking them up and carefully placing them on my finger one after the other. Some had tiny stones set along a thin gold band, others with a larger stone, oval, round, or square, mounted on a thick band, all of a beautiful bright blue, perfectly matching my eyes. Spreading out my hand, we admired them carefully, looking at each one this way and that, to be sure of our final choice.

We’d been there for a while, as the sun had moved in the sky and no longer fell hot and heavy across the top of the wooden counter, yet the shop was still busy and a hubbub of voices rose all around. The clock’s hands moved again, tick tock, tick tock, around its white face. I peered around cautiously for a glimpse of the girl, Lizzie, but I couldn’t see her.

“What do you think, Rick?” I asked him. “Which one do you like?”

He pointed to large oval stone of a particularly lustrous blue on a thick gold band. “This one,” he replied.

“Yes,” I agreed with him. “That’s my favorite too.” I glanced up at him, suddenly shy, suddenly realizing that this was it—we were going to be engaged, and were committing to each other with this beautiful ring. I glanced back to the ring, smiling, pleased with our choice, and then, frowning, returned my gaze to Rick.

“I’ve never noticed that before,” I said, pointing to a mole, a dark mole that grew on the soft skin just below his left eye.

He shrugged and said in his smooth Texan drawl, “It’s always been there, Chrissie.” And then leaning closer to me, sexily narrowing his eyes, he said, “You’ve just never noticed it before.”

A sudden ray of sunshine fell across his face, turning his eyes from green to yellow, a strange yellow flecked with black, like pieces of charcoal on onyx. Putting my hands to my mouth, my heart pumping hard, I gave a heartfelt gasp.

“What’s wrong?” asked Rick, a small smile playing around his lips, and when I didn’t reply but still stared wide eyed, said with a frown, “Chrissie?”

Avidly searching his face, with a feeling of relief I saw Rick, my Rick, and only my Rick, green eyes sparkling, sexy stubble coating his chin and his cheeks, his lips red and kissable. There was nobody else. What a fool I was. “Nothing,” I replied with a smile, slowly shaking my head. “Nothing at all.”

Even though we weren’t alone but surrounded by chattering crowds, Rick took my hand, his warm fingers curling possessively around mine. Instinctively I inched nearer to him, trembling as his mouth came closer and closer still until, with an electrifying jolt, his lips met mine.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath soft in my ear.

“And you, Mr. Tex,” I said, putting a hand to his notorious Stetson hat. “I love you too.”

THE END

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