Page 124 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“Do you mind if I get something?” I asked, glancing toward the house. I’d glimpsed some of the late-blooming flowers while working on Miles’s pants.
“Sure,” Miles replied. “I’ll get Kathleen ready while you get the flowers.”
I’d already turned to leave but stopped mid step and looked at him.
“Well…” He was holding a lantern out toward me. His lips quirked, and he tilted his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isn’t that what you were going to do?”
My pulse quickened, and a warm feeling spread through my chest.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“You’re exactly what I expected,” Miles answered my unspoken question. “You’ve always been the tenderhearted one. Now get your flowers.”
My face heated and I shook my head before I took the lantern and stepped away. I held myself together until I’d crossed to the far side of the house—to where Miles could no longer see me—and leaned against the building.
I touched my hand over my racing heart. What was this feeling? He was wrong. I wasn’t tenderhearted at all. Otherwise, I’d be more sad than curious about this whole event.
There was no reason to be upset. After all, Kathleen did say I would see her again one day.
Miles POV
Even though it felt strange to be tasked with the burial of an Elder, I persevered. I’d wrapped Kathleen’s body in a white linen sheet she’d seemed to have readied especially for this and laid her covered form into the open grave by the time Bianca made her way back to me.
However, what she carried with her wasn’t expected.
“Goldenrod?” I asked, looking at the bundle of yellow flowers in Bianca’s arms. Her expression was carefully blank, which concerned me. She was usually so easy to read, which was partially why she was so terrifying. The way her features would twist and eyes gleam was something out of a nightmare.
But right now, it was impossible to make sense of her emotions.
As she walked toward my hastily put-together burial site, her attention was focused on the bouquet. There was something discombobulated about her, and her otherworldly mannerism made it seem like she’d disappear with the slightest breeze. As she drew near, the thick, grim air made my senses snap to full alert.
I was close to losing her. It was almost the same as before.
When I’d returned from Kathleen’s mission, Bianca had been huddled, dangerously still, in a corner. And I’d been worried—just for an instant—that she’d disconnected herself from the world again.
“I think it’s the only thing that fits,” Bianca answered, reaching the outside of the lights. The slight, steady tone of her voice chased away the shadows. “Do you think she’d like it?”
I studied the flowers, the meaning sinking in as my fears faded. Now, her selection seemed more than fitting.
Grief.
A sense of peace swelled in my chest, and I smiled and reached for her. I might not remember as well as the others, but this familiarity was impossible to deny. No matter what lifetime, she never failed to amaze me.
“I think it’s perfect,” I answered, taking the flowers from her. “You’ve always been the best at understanding others.”
Bianca’s mouth snapped closed, and even though she was already distancing herself, I still could hear the sharp intake of her breath.
At that moment, she looked so fragile that the need to step out of the circle—a space I’d already prepared and could not easily be broken—and reach for her was almost suffocating. However, Bianca had already sidestepped the conversation before the urge had more than a chance to pass through me.
“She has a ring around her neck,” Bianca said. “She told me to give it to Dr. Stephens.”
I glanced toward Kathleen, feeling disconnected as I knelt beside her small, prone form. I hadn’t seen the woman since childhood, but I remembered our conversations and her baked cookies. She’d always been brewing something and was something of a lecturer. To see her now, so still and quiet, was jarring.
I searched until I found the chain and removed it from Kathleen’s neck.
“Here,” I said, hoping she didn’t notice my shaking voice. I moved to the circle’s edge and held my arm above the flames as I dropped the jewelry into her outstretched hands. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked—that was all that mattered.
“It’s fine,” was her only reply as she remained unable to hold my gaze. It’d been long since apparent that her definition of ‘fine’ differed from most people. But before I could ask, she moved three steps backward, sat on her knees, and linked her fingers in her lap. “I’m ready,” she declared, bracing her shoulders.
