“This is wonderful,” Sophie said, her eyes filling with tears unbidden. She was overwhelmed. This room alone and the provisions made for Maya made her feel that she had done the right thing coming here and agreeing to be the wife of John Granger, as strange as the decision might have been to anyone else on the outside looking in.
“Isn’t it?” Carla asked, smiling. “Many babies in the household were raised here, and Maya can grow in this room for years. The crib can be moved out for a child’s bed. There is plenty of room.”
“Of course.” Sophie couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face at the thought of Maya’s future here. She would have everything she needed or wanted. It was a far cry from what Sophie could have provided for her back in Chicago as a single mother.
“Would you like me to take her for a while?” Carla reached out for the baby, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes, certainly. Her formula and everything is in this bag.” Sophie took the diaper bag from her shoulder and handed it over. “Her suitcase will be in my room, and I’ll bring it over.”
“Wonderful. And I made sure everything was stocked for her as well, so anything we need is here, or we can certainly get it,” Carla said, shifting slightly from side to side with the baby. “Has she been napping long?”
“Just for a bit. She will probably sleep for another hour or so.”
“I’ll just put her down, then. I’ll be right in here with her or right next door in my room. It adjoins the nursery.” Carla said, putting the baby gently in the crib and covering her with a warm blanket to her torso.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, feeling a bit awkward. She wasn’t used to having someone there whose sole job was to care for her child.
“If you need anything, you can pop in any time. I’ll take her off your hands as you want me to. I can also check on her and do feedings at night if and when you’d like,” Carla said as she began to put away the supplies in the diaper bag.
“Oh, yes. I’ll let you know about that,” Sophie said. “I’ll check on her later.”
“Your room is just on the other side of this one,” Carla said with a slight smile. She was like a Sphinx—pleasant, but unreadable.
Sophie wasn’t sure if she liked her or not. Carla Roche was lovely but cold somehow.
“Of course. I’ll head there now. Thank you.” Sophie left the nursery and walked tentatively to her bedroom. She opened the door and let out a tiny gasp. The room was painted in a blood red, dark maroon, and the cherry wood furniture only highlighted the hue. The carpet was a dark gray color, lending a somber tone to the room overall. But the most striking element of the furnishings were the roses everywhere in the room in vases of various sizes on every possible surface—all hues of them in white, crimson, yellow, peach, pink, and red tipped.
She wondered who had decorated the room. Could it have been John? Somehow, Sophie hoped not. It was somehow too much—strange, overdone, and disturbing. She determined to ask him later if he had ordered it to be decorated this way. This was obviously the room she would sleep in until they were married. Sophie hoped that the master bedroom was more to her liking. Even masculine colors and themes would be preferable to the blood red hue of this room.
Sophie took off her shoes with a sigh and turned down the bed. She was so tired, as if she had traveled for days and not just since this morning. She had been getting little sleep, though, in the past month and a half since she had made her decision to marry John Granger. Though she was certain it was the right one, such a momentous choice still made it hard to rest at night.
She quickly set a bedside alarm for an hour later, so she would have time to dress for dinner. The house ate formally in the dining room most nights unless it was decided otherwise, she had been told by John. The thought sent butterflies teeming through her stomach. Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was oblivious to the world.
The next thing she knew, the scent of roses pervaded the room, and someone was singing softly—a haunting ballad she didn’t recognize:
"O what is the matter?" Lord Lover, said he,
"O what is the matter?" said he.
"Lord, a lady is dead," an old lady said,
"And her name was Lady Nancy."
He ordered her grave to be opened wide,
Her shroud to be torn down,
And there he kissed her cold pale lips,
Till the tears came trinkling down.
Lady Nancy was buried in the cold church ground.
Lord Lover was buried close by her;
And out of her bosom there grew a rose,
And out of Lord Lover's a briar.
As the song went on, the woman’s voice young and tremulous, the scent of roses grew heavy and cloying, then rancid. A great feeling of sadness swept over Sophie—an overwhelming sense of loss.
The voice faded, along with the shadow of a woman, standing beyond her vision in the corner of the room. Sophie woke up with a start.
“It was just a dream,” she whispered. But how strange it had been! The scent of roses in her room was no longer sweet. It gagged her as a cloying odor. As for the woman, it was as if she had been in the room, but Sophie knew that was impossible. There was no one there with her, and no one had been. It was only a dream—or a nightmare.
She shrugged the dream off as the nerves
