Page 67 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells
My eyes trail down to his leg, now bound in plaster. I shudder again, picturing how it was when I found him. “You’re safe, that’s all that matters.” I burrow my face back into his shoulder, breathing in his scent, the evergreens and fir and midnights enveloping my senses. Then I move away, wiping my face, and smile at him. “Have they told you how long you’ll be in for?”
“They’ve not been specific... it depends on the leg. I picked up an infection—that’s why I’m attached to this bag and all these tubes.” He shrugs, and my heart lifts at the corners. “It is what it is.”
“I can visit you every day. Bring you whatever you want, or—or need.” I sniff, grabbing for his hand. “It doesn’t matter if it takes time. I’m here.”
Matthieu’s eyes crinkle, then he carefully pulls his hand away. “Listen, Carrie... we need to talk about what happened. How it happened. You coming after me like that... I’ve never been so scared in my life. You could have died, Carrie.”
“Youcould have died—”
“That was my risk. My stupidity.” He takes a breath, glancing around us. “Pass me my wallet? It’s right there, yes, that’s it.”
I scoop up the old leather wallet that I’ve seen before, sitting on the bedside table next to a water jug. He opens it, pulling out an old, battered Polaroid, and hands it to me.
I gasp.
“This... this is Henri?”
“Yes.”
I trace the shape of his features, the haunting eyes. They’re so much like Matthieu’s, but different. More pronounced. “Did he sit for a photographer when you visited Woodsmoke?”
Matthieu’s forehead creases into a frown. “He did, on a family visit in the autumn before he disappeared in the mountains. A local reporter was writing a story about the hiking trails andthought a photo of Henri would be a good lead image for a short interview. Why?”
“Cora... my great-aunt? She collects things. Photos, memorabilia, anything she’s worried will get lost and forgotten in Woodsmoke.” I pass the Polaroid back to Matthieu. “Henri is in a photograph in her hallway.”
“We gave the reporter a photo of Henri taken at a fair,” Matthieu says, replacing the picture in his wallet. “You know, one of those touring ones with the old-fashioned sweets stalls and merry-go-rounds? I was forever taking Polaroids with a camera I got for my birthday from my parents the year before. So I took this one of him while he sat there, posing, and I kept it. They used the photo in the newspaper article,” Matthieu says with a sigh. “And I’ve seen it in Cora’s collection. I know she’s got it. I told her to keep it when I went to ask her if she could bring him back last winter.”
All the air leaves my lungs at once. “What?”
He looks at me then, sadness straining his features. “This was when my brother disappeared, when no one could find him and all I had was that Polaroid photo to show around. All the folks here told me to go and see Cora Morgan. They avoided my gaze themselves. They were sympathetic, but wary. The police searched, but it’s a vast range and they never found a body. My family... we didn’t believe what we were hearing from folks here, the whispers about missing people and bargains. It sounded like superstition. Folktales. But after Mum died, I couldn’t shake it off. I had to know. I had to return and put that ghost to rest in my mind. So I found Cora last winter and went to see her. Went to ask her if Henri could still somehow just be lost... and still alive... all these years later. If she could find him.”
I press my lips together, reaching again for his hand. “So you came back... for answers?”
“Yes. And this is the part you’re not going to like,” he says, moving his hand away, just an inch.
I draw back my hand, closing it into a fist. Waiting. “Go on.”
“Cora refused. She told me not to go looking for those who are lost to the mountains. She told me to leave and not return. So I asked around and learned that there was another Morgan woman living here, her sister. I offered to help Ivy with the cottage, and I was hoping she’d know, that she’d have some answers that Cora wouldn’t give me. And she did, in a way. She told me some more about the old tales, the old ways. At first, I couldn’t believe her. But after a while, I began to see that Henri’s disappearance couldn’t be explained in the usual way. That there might be some explanation that wouldn’t seem reasonable or logical anywhere but in Woodsmoke.”
“So you started searching the mountain,” I say. “For evidence. For signs. Checking the trails, marking your routes...”
“I came back for a second winter, hoping Ivy would be able to give me more clues. That finally I could at least find his body. I figured, if I scoured every trail, every path, I’d findsomething. I even searched along the ones we hadn’t walked together, just to see if somehow he had disappeared somewhere I’d never seen.
“Henri left in the night. We were staying at a guesthouse, had a whole route planned for the next day, and he wasn’t there when I woke up.” Matthieu shakes his head. “It was the worst moment of my life. I was so scared. I felt so powerless and young and utterly alone. That was... thirteen years ago.”
“Oh, Matthieu.”
“So I came back. But then, when you told me that Ivy had passed, I didn’t bother going to Cora again to ask for her help. I knew she would be as tight-lipped with an outsider as she’d been the last time, not telling me anything about the old tales or suggesting why he could have gone missing. I figured, since youwere Ivy’s granddaughter, a Morgan, I might learn something from you...”
He shakes his head again. “It felt deceitful at first, offering to help with the renovation. Staying close to you, earning your trust. But I felt like it was all right, because I was doing it for Henri. I was doing it to find closure. And I didn’t hide the fact from you that he had gone missing. I was just selective about how much I shared with you. But then, of course, I didn’t expect you to be, well,you. Carrie Morgan. The woman you are.”
I frown, looking down at the cast on his leg. At the hospital blanket, then at my own hands. “I don’t know what to make of all this.”
“There’s nothing to make of it. I should never have returned to Woodsmoke. There aren’t any answers here. And if I hadn’t met you, maybe I would have given up and moved on by now.”
I sniff, finally looking up and search his eyes for the man I’ve been falling for this winter. “Was it real between us?”
“Yes,” he breathes, at last reaching for my hands. “Yes, Carrie. And that made it so much more complicated. How could I leave when you were here? And yet... how can I stay when all I feel around me is Henri’s ghost?” He shakes his head. “I can’t stay in Woodsmoke. I want to, for you. But I feel like I failed him.”
