Page 32 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
A quick check in the hallway mirror before she grabbed her house keys and headed out the door and into the snowy evening.
* * *
“Hello?”Violet called out into the frosty air. It was darker now, the only real light source was a dim yellow lantern glowing like a soft halo at the front door of Jasper’s home. The scene felt too quiet. Secluded, with no easily accessible neighbors in this more rural area of town. The vast apple orchard beside the estate, with its naked, crooked tree limbs motionless and stretching out into the night, did little to settle her nerves.
She’d knocked loudly three times with no response. It was cold and she was getting wet from the snow. She could feel the weight of it penetrating her curls.
“I’m sorry—I just need my charger.”
No response. No obvious movement in the house.
“What a pain…” Maybe Jasper left in the evenings? Maybe he had treatments at the local hospital? Or overnight visits where he needed special assistance.
Violet pulled her coat a little tighter. She had a late start for work tomorrow and needed to go into the city around noon, but with Jasper’s visiting hours being so strict, she’d miss his window, and she definitely wanted her charger now.
She exhaled and rolled her shoulders. She’d be in and out, quickly.No harm in that, right?With half a bottle of wine fueling her, it all made perfect sense.
Violet knew that the French doors off the kitchen were typically unlocked since they led into the back garden. There was the problem of the wooden door leading into the backyard, which might be bolted shut, but she figured she’d take a chance.
Following the perimeter of the house, the grass was wet and slippery underneath her feet as she turned a corner. She looked over her shoulder and at the silent rows of still apple trees. Unexpectedly, she sighed. Memories of spending long afternoons in the orchard with Jasper, his mother and father, sprung to the forefront of her mind.
The warm autumn sunlight, the distinctsnapof an apple being yanked from its stem as the branch and leaves rustle and recoil. Taking that first sweet and tangy bite. Running the narrow lanes and laughing until she was out of breath. Carrying heavy baskets and being rewarded the next day with a hot, buttery, freshly baked pie.
Some memories, when they were strong enough, were like an enchantment. She didn’t see the decrepit, ghostly orchard stretched out beside her. She saw beyond it, remembering what it was—what it could be if given some love.
The wooden door into the back garden stood taller than her five-foot-five frame. She wrapped her fingers around the icy iron handle and gave it a tug. There was a loudclinkin the silence, and the door instantly opened wider—its broken chain dangling and hitting against the weather-worn wood.
“Huh.” Violet blinked, surprised. She wondered if this was officially considered breaking and entering, but then decided she would tell Jasper about the broken lock the next time she visited (if she were allowed, anyway).
The garden path was laid with small square stones, one placed after another. It’d been perfect when they were little and pretending to be frogs jumping onto lily pads. It hadn’t been perfect when Violet had mis-stepped one summer and came down hard on her knees. But that was almost always the way in her adolescence—falling, breaking, bumping and scratching. It seemed unfair to blame the stones when she herself was the common denominator in a long series of unfortunate incidents.
Just like the front of the house, practically everything in the back garden was dried up and skeletal. In the past, the space had been filled with beautiful rose bushes, lavender and red poppies. A lively bird bath wrapped with ivy had sat in the center, welcoming all manner of feathery friends. As with the orchard, Violet could see past its current state and remember its former glory. However, that didn’t ease the low hum of melancholy in her heart—the loss of joy in a place where there had once been an abundance.
She stepped up to the French doors and tried pulling one open. It gave, creaking loudly in the silent, snowy night. She stuck her head through the crack. “Jasper? It’s Violet.”
Nothing. The wind whipped from behind, pushing frantic snowflakes into the kitchen as she stepped inside and pulled the door shut. “I just need my charger,” she called. It felt ridiculous to speak out loud like this, but just in case…
The house was dark and even colder than usual. She shivered, patting her coat and hair to rid herself of snow before walking toward the study. It was quiet as she moved. So much so that one would think the house was abandoned—that there hadn’t been any inhabitants for decades.
I guess he leaves at night…She turned the corner into the hallway and was surprised to see a soft orange glow radiating through the open doors of the study up ahead. She knew this was Jasper’s favorite room, or at least where he seemed to spend the most time. But it felt odd that he would leave the house with the fireplace burning.
“Jasper?”
She slowed her pace. No response. Anxiety stifled her chest and her throat was like cotton. Afraid of what she might find in the study, her imagination suddenly ran wild. But she shook her head and trudged forward. When she reached the door, she took a breath before peeking around the corner. No one. Jasper’s desk was empty save for the usual hoard of trail mix and abandoned strawberry tops on a napkin.
Stepping inside, the low-burning fire popped and cracked as she looked around. “Maybe he only ran out for a minute?” Shrugging, Violet walked over and swiftly pulled her charger out of the wall, then looped the cord around her palm in her usual way.
Just as she placed it within her large coat pocket, she heard a sound. Something faint within the room that made her freeze. If the house hadn’t been so quiet, so still, she probably wouldn’t have heard it. But she had, and now her heart was racing as she scanned the floor. The source had registered low, so she stepped forward and past the coffee table, cautious, as if moving in slow motion. When she reached the opposite side of the couch, she heard it again and stopped.
Violet took a few careful, silent steps back and swallowed. She crouched down, gradually lowering to her knees far enough away from the couch so that whatever lay in wait wouldn’t be able to assault her head-on. She bent, both palms on the floor, then lower, shifting to her elbows. A little lower and she saw it. And it saw her—staring back at her and frozen in place. Violet gasped in shock and the slight action made the little mouse spring into motion. Like a gunshot it darted from underneath the couch, the surprise making Violet pop upright with a yelp.
“Oh no oh no!” She took two long strides forward and quickly shut the double doors to trap it inside the study. Thwarted, the mouse raced toward Jasper’s desk for cover. Violet’s pulse pounded in her ears, but she needed to think fast. There was nowhere for it to run or hide now, so the task of capturing it should be easy enough.
Taking a breath, she scanned the room. “What can I use to—” She moved to the messy desk, but in doing so, the mouse retreated again, this time squeaking and running toward the open area behind the leather couch. She grabbed the wastepaper bin from beside the desk and chucked its contents onto the floor. Properly equipped, she turned and listened.
At first, stillness. But she waited, her eyes and ears alert until she received a clue. Soft squeaking sounds on the opposite side of the room near the bookshelves prompted Violet to walk forward. It was there, running along the bottom of the bookcases, frantically seeking an escape. But when it saw Violet, it backed itself into the corner of the shelves, almost cowering, as if understanding its inevitable defeat.
“I’m not going to hurt you, buddy, alright? Just don’t make any sudden movements…” She crept forward and it actually seemed to obey. When she was close enough, she flipped the garbage bin upside down and gently placed it onto the floor for a successful capture. With this much done, she stood straight and breathed.Of course this house has mice. Why wouldn’t it? Good grief…
