Page 23 of Song of the Dawn
Odd. Since Rachelle had never mentioned her. I settled back while the scent of tobacco wafted through the cottage. Taking another sip of the crisp wine that tasted rather like berries, I asked, “Why do you think she didn’t run away?”
“Something scared her,” Dusty spoke up. “In the days before she disappeared, she came here often, talking about shadows in the dark, someone stalking her in the inn, and…what was the other thing she always said?”
Giselle snapped her fingers, trying to recall. “Ah, it was the air. She was always cold.”
I swallowed hard. Shadows. Stalking. Cold. Pushing away uneasy thoughts, I pressed for more information. “Did you believe her? Did you ever see lurking shadows?”
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Giselle shook her head adamantly. “That’s what’s odd about it. We’ve been here for so long we’d know if something unusual was happening. I feel terrible we weren’t able to help her, and I still want to know what happened to her. There were no clues, and with the work here, we searched as long as we could without finding answers.”
A knowing gripped me. An unsolved mystery was here, and suddenly I wanted to find out what had happened to her, for I had similar inklings and I wanted to know why.
“I’d like to help, if I can,” I offered, aware the warmth of the wine in my belly made me brave.
Giselle waved her hand. “That’s kind of you, but there’s no need. It’s over now. Tell us more about Solynn, your mother and sister, and your love for music.”
And just like that, the threads of the unknown slipped away, and I spoke about my familiar past. Dusty filled our glasses with wine, and our conversation turned round and round, as if to avoid the solemnness of a missing woman.
Time slipped away, and as the scent of tobacco was faded, I realized the lateness of the hour. “I should get back.” I rose, although the wine had made me tipsy, and I wanted to curl up with a blanket and close my eyes.
“Goodness me, is that the time?” Giselle asked, peeking out the window.
“I’ll get the lantern,” Dusty offered.
The three of us stepped outside under the silvery glow of moonlight. It cascaded about us, white and radiant, as if I was in a fairytale.
“If you aren’t playing, come with us to the harvest festival,” Giselle said. “The dance takes place outside, under the moon.”
“I’d like that,” I said, although at that point, I would have agreed to anything.
As we crested the hill, the inn lay before us, a dark shape the moonlight was unable to penetrate. Dusty and Giselle took me right up to the door that led to the lounge, and I was grateful they’d walked me back. Crossing the meadow by the light of the moon sounded magical, but not alone. Unlocking the door, I turned back to them. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
“Our pleasure.” Giselle grinned.
“Come back anytime,” Dusty agreed, touching a hand to his cap.
I slipped inside, then peeked through the window as they walked off, hand in hand, across the moonlit field.
A sigh of contentment filled my heart as my feet carried me up to bed, and this time, there were no dreams to haunt my sleep.
Mila
Ididn’t realize how late I’d stayed up until Rachelle shook me awake. “Come on, sleepyhead. What were you doing last night?”
“Dinner with Dusty and Giselle,” I told her, yawning and stretching.
“You actually enjoy hanging out with them?” Rachelle asked skeptically.
“I do. They have marvelous stories to tell from before they came here, and legends from the countryside. Besides, they are creative and happy. I’ve never met a couple like them. Most people give in to arguing and complaining, but I haven’t heard them share an unkind word.”
Rachelle frowned. “After one night, I suppose not. They were probably on their best behavior for you. Everyone is good at pretending in front of others.”
“Is that what you think?” I asked calmly, combing my fingers through my tangled hair. “Everyone is pretending?”
“They do it for different reasons, to hide their vulnerabilities, to appear smarter, more confident, prettier, skillful. There are lots of reasons to pretend everything is good when it’s not.”
She scurried away to finish dressing. I pondered her words as I got ready for the day, noting the slump of her shoulders, the lethargic unease she moved with. Something was wrong, prompting her words. Perhaps she was the one who was only pretending today. A silent cry for help.
Once I was ready, I went to her door. “What’s wrong, Rachelle? Did someone make you unhappy?”
