Chapter Six: Magic in the Soil
After I quickly dressed in Christopher's old clothes, I returned to him in the garden. I had to tie a rope around my waist to keep the trousers up. He wasn't exaggerating when he said that he was big for his age. He must not have grown at all when he became a beast. He just got hairier. It seemed strange, when I first put the male clothes on, but once I realized how light and free I was without all those useless petticoats and skirts weighing me down, I came to think I may never wear a skirt again.
I ran from the mansion door, all the way back to Christopher, simply because I could.
As I came, bounding up to him, Christopher quirked an eyebrow at me and laughed. "It must be nice to get out of those ridiculous frockes, hm?"
"Who ever invinted dresses must have been an evil person." I said, my breath heavy from my sprint across the garden. "It's not fair. How come only men get to wear pants whenever they want?" I bounced on my my feet, loving the feeling of having no restraints. Like Christopher, I'd opted to forget my shoes. The grass felt cool and soothing against my feet. I wiggled my toes in delight.
"I'm sure that one day, you will, but I think the old bitties of high society would drop dead from shock if it happenened any time soon." He got up from where he knelt, weeding a patch of ground behind one of the oak trees. "Come with me. I could use some help, carrying the new roses to their bed."
I followed him to the shed. Inside was mostly gardening and repair tools. On the floor of the shed, were six small rose bushes, their living roots incased in old seed bags. I squinted through the gloom of the dark shed, not quite believing what I was seeing. I had seen roses of every variety of color and form since I had arrived at Christopher's manscion, but I never would have dreamed that black roses were even possible.
"Black roses?" I asked aloud. I crept closer and reached out to touch a small black bud.
Christopher seized my wrist at once, stopping my hand before even a finger could graze a single petal. "Don't. These roses are cursed." He warned. "They're the black magician's specialty. If you so much as touch them with your bare hands, bad luck will follow you for the rest of your life." He took the gloves off of his own hands and gave them to me. "Here, take my gloves. I'm already cursed, so I am immune to their venomous powers."
"Christopher…why are you planting cursed roses for her? You know you're only helping her hurt others, don't you?" I asked as I slipped on the much too large gloves.
"I'm all too aware of that." He said sadly. He lifted up two of the six plants and handed me a third, warning me to hold the plant out and away from my body. "I have little choice in the matter." He said as we carried the roses to their new flower bed. "If I am to live, I must tend to her roses, all of them, even the cursed ones."
I silently went about my work. While Christopher dug the holes for the black roses to rest in, I went back and forth from the shed, carrying the black devils precariously across the garden. Once that was finished, I went to work, keeping Foxy at bay, so that the roses would not harm her. "You needn't worry about her. The spells only work on humans." Christopher reassured me as he finished planting the last of the black roses. He climbed back to his feet with a grunt. "So long as you don't touch them, they can do no harm." He handed me his shovel. "Would you please take this back to the shed?" I'm going to get some water for them."
With my hands over the top of the shovel's handle and my chin resting against it, I asked him the question that had been gnawing at my mind before he had time to get out of ear shot. "If these roses are cursed, then what about the rest of them? She put you to work caring for them all, so they must all be important."
Christopher sighed heavily. His eyes scanned the ground and the roses that surrounded us, never meeting my eyes. "They're all enchanted, in some way or another. This is how she discreetly peddles her spells without drawing unwanted attention to herself. Who would suspect a gardener of witchcraft? Most of the roses are benign. She keeps her most dangerous curses at her new home back in London, the others she has me tend to. The black ones are the only ones here that can hurt you. Most of the roses here carry blessings. The yellow roses bring courage, the bright red, love, sometimes lust, the white brings good luck and enlightenment. The dark crimson brings peace. Their magic is carried on the wind with their scent and courses through their roots, petals and stems. Magic is soaked into the very ground they're planted in, they can't help but be different from their cousins outside the gate." He bent down and took some of the soil into his hand, letting it slip through his fingers and be carried away by the breeze. "It is because of this magical earth that these roses still bloom in the heart of winter, when the ground is covered in snow and all else around them is dead."
"You sound like you almost admire her magic." I muttered unhappily. Uneasiness swelling up in my gut once more.
"The black magician is capable of just as much good as she is evil, mind you, she only uses the good spells for her own selfish gain. I don't like magic. I don't like what it can do or where it came from, but I can't deny the beauty it can produce. When I was first cursed, I thought of these roses as just a chore with which to spend my long days of solitude, but I grew to…understand them…to love them almost like family." He looked down bashfully and ran a clawed hand through his mane. "I don't admire the black magician. In fact, she's one of several people in this world that I truly hate…but I love the roses, so I tend to them happily."
We kept our hands busy, working diligently in each our own rights. I kept my back to him as I pruned a bush of white roses and he snipped red roses from their nests of dark green leaves and protective thorns behind me. I tried to keep my mind clear and focus only on what my shiers were doing. Thinking very much was a bad thing, for I almost always thought of the suspicions that still filled the gap between Christopher and I.
I liked Christopher, but I didn't like that he still held back some of the truth from me. My gut told me that he was hiding something and giving me only lies and half-truthes. Perhaps, intwined in the lies was the truth I needed to know, but it was hard to tell which was which with him. I had so many questions, questions I needed answered in order for me to fully trust him. For one, was he really being forced to grow the cursed roses for the witch or was he a willing helper? Secondly, and probably the most frightening, was whether or not he truly intended on setting me free once this year was up.
I scolded myself inwardly, shaking my head slightly to clear it of my troubling thoughts. I took a deep breath. My nose catching the scent of both the red and the white. I shouldn't jump to conclusions again. I reminded myself of how cruely I had treated Christopher before. I remembered the hurt I'd see in his face. Even with it so contorted, I knew that what I'd seen was genuine. I never wanted to cause such pain in him again. Whatever suspisions I had, I pushed into the back of my mind. I was enjoying spending time with Christopher and helping him take care of his beloved roses. It helped to keep my mind off the loss of my father, if only for a little while.
Christopher was singing again by mid day and before I knew it, I was humming along, even singing the song quietly to myself. As I did so, my troubles were completely forgotten, enraptured by the good fillings that filled me thanks to the thickening perfume of the magical roses being taken from their enriching soil.
"Rose, rose, rose red shall I ever see thee wed?" I sang, much louder than before.
Christopher chuckled, but then added, "Aye marry that thou will, if thou but stay." He sang in his baritone voice, looking back at me with glistening silver eyes and a crooked smirk.
"Ah poor bird, take thy flight. Fly above the sorrows of this sad night." Christopher and the final line together, soprano and baritone commingling.
"Seems my singing has rubbed off on you." Christopher smiled brightly. He snapped his shiers closed and slipped them into one of the loops on the belt of his trousers.
"I suppose so." I laughed, hoping that I wasn't blushing as badly as I thought I was. "I'm sorry. I know my singing's terrible. I'm surprised your ears aren't bleeding."
"Nonscense." Said Christopher. He took a cherry red rose from his basket and handed it to me. "You have a lovely singing voice." He snickered at me as I sniffed at the rose's core of tightly coiled petals. "Even if it wasn't, I still would have been happy to hear it. I've spent too many long years listening to my own singing, I've almost forgotten how beautiful a girl's voice can be, with their bird-like vocal cords."
"You like to sing, I've gathered. You sing all the time while you work in the garden." I stated. He was always singing in the garden, but I had yet to hear him sing while inside the house. "Why do you only sing when you're working?" I asked, my fingers twirling the stem of the rose between them.
"Well," He began, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning slightly against a statue of a gargoyle, its dark stone body twisted into a hunched form, its mouth open wide in a snarl, and fleshy wings unfurled. "I've found that singing, helps the work get done quicker." He explained. "I'm not sure why I only sing when I'm working in the garden. I just don't feel like singing when I'm in that old mansion. Perhaps its because I have the roses and the birds and things to keep me company, while inside I'm left alone with the shadows. I'm happier out here and a sad heart has little love for singing."
"I think I know what you mean." I began, thinking back on the first few days after my father's passing. "After I heard that my father was gone, I was so sad…I didn't say a word to anyone or anything, not Foxy or even myself. I couldn't conjure up the spirit to do anything but sit and stare out the window, watching the driveway for him, hoping to see him striding up to the house, smiling like nothing was wrong." I sighed and swallowed hard, fighting back the feelings of sorrow that built up in me the moment I thought of my father's smiling face. "I still find myself hoping that he may return, but with each passing day, that becomes less and less likely. I'm slowly coming to terms with that and waking from my stupor. I think today is the first time I've sung in weeks."
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Mused Christopher. "To sing after such a long silence. You may not feel much like singing, but once you do, you feel much better."
"You're right. I do feel much better." I said and smiled graciously. Singing had a way of taking you far away from the troubles that plagued you. It had been so long since I had aloud myself this simple pleasure, that I'd almost forgotten its powers. "And thank you." I added, my voice a quiet whisper.
"You're welcome, Miss Craft." He answered, looking at me with thoughtful eyes as he took up his shiers once more.
I wore my new black dress again for dinner, since it hadn't gotten much use the night before. Christopher and I sat down eagerly to enjoy our meal. All the work we'd done in the garden had left us famished. I started eating right away, but Christopher again chose to watch me enjoying my feast while he sipped at a glass of wine.
"Eat, Christopher. I know you must be starving. We worked straight through lunch." I encouraged him. I was a little surprised and put off by the commanding tone of my voice, but he didn't seem to mind it much. In fact, he found it amusing.
He grinned at me and laughed. "Yes, my queen." He bowed his head in concedence. "I'll eat, but I warn you now, it isn't a pretty sight."
"I promise you, I won't mind in the slightest. I'm tired of having you staring at me while I stuff myself like a pig." I said, taking another large bite of the smoked ham. "I swear, you're almost as bad as the shadows."
He picked up a large piece of ham from his plate and tried to take a small bite from it. However, it seemed that his teeth were giving him trouble. Since they were a mix of human and feline teeth, he couldn't take a bite without ripping at the meat like the carnivorous beast he resembled so much. When he was able to get the last of the meat down, he noticed that I was gawking and instantly his rounded lion's ears flattened against his skull. "I-I tried to warn you." He stuttered sheepishly and deflated in his chair.
"You really weren't exaggerating." I muttered in amazement. Suddenly, I broke into a fit of laughter. I didn't want to make Christopher angry, but try as I may, I couldn't stop.
Offended and humiliated, Christopher got up from the table. "I've made a beast out of myself again." He grumbled.
"No, no, don't." I pleaded, reaching over the table and grabbing the sleeve of his hunter's green suade jacket. "I'm sorry." I swallowed the last of the giggles. "I shouldn't have laughed, it's just that I never thought it was quite so bad. Sit and finish you're meal."
"I'll disgust you." He huffed, miserably.
"No you won't." I assured him. "The only thing you risk is making me die of laughter." I smirked devilishly at him. "I don't mind it at all. I tend to eat sweets like that when no one's around."
He smiled slighty at that and his ears un-flattened from his head. "Very well. Prepare to be traumatized." He said, half-jokingly, as he returned to his seat and tore into the rest of his meal with his jumble of teeth.
"See, that wasn't so bad." I said, as we finished up our dinner.
"For you, perhaps." He sighed, glaring glumly at the scraps still left on his plate. "My eating like a monster may not bother you, but it bothers me. I'm embarrassed to eat when it's only me."
"You worry over the silliest of things." I said, leaning forward in my chair to prop up my chin. "Do you realize that? You fret over whether the roses have enough water when you should be worrying about what the black magician is using them for. And you get embarrassed about how you eat like a beast when I know good and well that the only really beastly thing about you is your looks."
"That isn't how you felt just a few days ago." He replied, his lips curving slightly.
"Remember when I said that it is taking me a very long time to accept that my father is dead? Getting to know you has been much the same way. I'm learning your good and your bad traits little by little. When I first came here, I really didn't like you at all, but that is changing quickly. I think of you as more of a friend now."
"Really?" He grinned, his face lighting up. "I'm your friend?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Thorn. You're not quite there, but you're on your way. There's still much about you I have yet to figure out. I haven't made up my mind about you yet, but I do trust you more than I did."
His smile weakened slightly, but there was a brightness in his eyes. Joy twinkled there in their silver pools. "It's a start." He said. As he rose from the dining table, he offered me his arm. "May I escort my soon-to-be friend to her room?" He asked charmingly.
"You certainly may." I answered. I looped my arm through his and we walked together back to my room on the second floor.
We stopped outside the door. Christopher unlocked his arm from mine and once again became a shy little boy. "Uh…there's something I've been meaning to ask you…feel free to say no." He stuttered, looking at the floor and rubbing his hands together.
"You've already asked me to marry you every night since I've been here. There's no need to be shy about this. You're worrying over nothing again." I shook my head at him, wondering what in the world he could ask me that was more terrifying for him than a proposal. Then again, he'd never proposed himself. It was always written in a note, much like in the one that was awaiting just at my toes that very moment.
"This, by far is more troublesome than that." He said, worry obvious in his tone. "I know what the answer to my proposals will be, but with this I have no idea."
"You won't know until you ask." I said softly, reaching up and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It saddened me that he wrote the proposal letters, knowing that I'd refuse him, but it left we wondering why.
He took a deep breath and blurted out his question. "May I call you by your first name?"
I couldn't help but let out a little laugh. "That's what you were worrying so about? Of course you may call me Isabel."
He smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling merrily. "No one's ever let me before."
"No one?"
"Not a soul." He shook his head, making his thick mane dance. "I was told it was disrespectful not to call others by some sort of title. For me, being able to say someone's first name is…very important. It means that you have deemed me your equal…" His blue eyes lingered on my own. "Something I never thought I was worthy of being."
My face dropped, sadness and pity ripping through me, strait to the core of my being. "Christopher…" I breathed his name, my voice barely a whisper. "I've never thought of you as inferior in any way, shape or form. You're no one's inferior, no one's."
"It's hard to believe that." He said, his voice even weaker than mine. It was little more than an escape of breath. "Especially for one such as me."
"You're a great man, Christopher. Better than most. I hope that one day you can believe that as much as I do." I said.
Christopher laid his hand over mine on his shoulder. His hand was so much larger than mine that it covered it completely. "You don't know how much that means to me." His eyes began to glitter, with unshed tears of happiness and relief. "In all my life, no one's ever been as kind to me as you have been. I don't think I deserve it, after how I treated you on your first night here, but hopefully, someday I will. I want to be the kind of man that deserves to be at your side, even if we can never be what I hope for."
"What do you hope for?" I asked.
He retreated from me and motioned towards the note at my feet. "I think my latest ill-fated proposal will make that painfully obvious." He smirked at me, but there was no good spirit in his eyes, only a look of disapointment as he gazed upon the note. "I'd better leave, before you laugh at me again." He bowed slightly and spun on his heel to quickly bound up the remaining flight of stairs to the mysterious third floor.
"Good, night Christopher!" I called after him. He looked back and I sent a comforting smile his way.
"Good night, Isabel." He replied softly, a small glint of happiness passing over his features as my name passed his lips. With that he bounded up the stairs and disappeared.
Opening the new proposal letter, I saw that there was more written than usual.
Miss Craft,
I know that I am no prince. I'm not all that charming or smart. I've never been handsome, even before the curse. I am not rich, either and probably never will be. No, I'm not an enchanted prince or king, such as you deserve. I'm just an unfortunate gardener. No amount of potions, wishes, or true love's kisses will ever change that. Yet, I still hold on to the small glimmer of hope that one day you might come to see past all that and love this beast hair and all. If not as a husband, then at least as a friend.
I already know your answer, but I will ask all the same. I'll ask you every day until you either say yes or I run out of time. Persistent devil, aren't I?
Will you marry me?
-Christopher Thorn
"Persistent devil, indeed." I muttered and felt my lips spread into a broad smile. After scrawling my answer at the bottom of the note, I left it right where I found it, sitting outside my door in a dark, lonely hallway, hoping that my answer would bring Christopher a little happiness.
Christopher,
I cannot say if I can come to love you in the way you really desire. I can't predict what path my heart will choose for me, but I do want to become your friend. I want that more than anything and hope that it will someday come to pass.
For now, my answer is still no.
-Isabel Craft
