Chapter 2
It is Tuesday evening and Melody is more than eager to return to Rebecca tomorrow – against doctor’s orders. She has sorely missed teaching her and grown close to her. After seeing Rob and Tam conspiring last Saturday and all she has learned about the Deacon men surrounding her, she feels a responsibility to protect her from whatever evil lurks around her.
Ironically, it was Melody who needed saving in the forest when the storm nearly blacked her and Rebecca out that one afternoon. The water rushed in like a flood, destroying trees in its path and even the ground gave in to its bellowing growls. Melody had never laid sight on a terror like that – literal holes in the ground appearing out of nowhere. The earth was swallowed up and it would not return. She was frightened, terrified to bits, but she could not show her fear to Rebecca.
When Will risked his life to swoop her out of that hole which in moments would cave into the abysmal darkness below, and carried her and Rebecca out of the belly of the forest, Melody vowed in her trembling heart to not return to that forest again.
Knowing that Rebecca was safe, was what really calmed her heart. I just don’t know what I would do if she got hurt, even Melody is surprised to see just how fond of little Rebecca she has gotten.
With a shuffle of the leg and a labored grunt from deep in her belly, she unsticks her foot from the confinement of the bed that she has been a prisoner to for much of the last three nights. Melody is determined to test drive her ankle and ensure a successful first day back at work.
She leaves behind a groove, a perfectly chiseled indentation of where she lay. The cozy bed that she longed to lie in just days ago, after her fall, has quickly metamorphosed into the bane of her existence. I’m an archeologist. I live for the outdoors and exploration, not this. Without as much as a glance back, she limps her way to the door and shuts away the memory of what she longs to not become.
Melody can almost smell her freedom again as she already hears the rowdy laughs and shouts of the barflies below, but she has one more challenge to overcome: the stairs.
“It’s minor,” she tells herself. While Melody’s recovery has been rapid and she was walking back and forth in her room and on the creaky wooden floors at the end of day one, she has left the stairs until last. “I can’t escape them. Deacon House is full of stairs and if I can conquer these, I’ll be ready to go back.” To help give her courage, she has asked Morrison to not deliver her food tonight so she has to go down the stairs to get it. And she’s famished.
“Need a hand there, hen?” A guest also going to the bar offers.
“No, I’m alright, thanks.”
“Aye, suit yerself,” he can see she needs the help, but respects her independence and skips past her. Melody hears a thunderous roar as the man reaches the bar and his friends cheer him on.
“Right. Where was I?” She wraps her arm around the railing for a good grip, knowing if she muscles her way through it, her ankle will swell up again. That was the mistake she made on Sunday and she is not repeating it again. One step.
Her movements are lighter and gentler than she first suspected. Next step. Melody is doing good so far. She focuses and takes each step at a time only feeling a little discomfort.
“It’s Miss America, here to join us for a drink finally.” Rob jokes.
Another man sitting near the bar whose flushed cheeks suggest he’s had a little too much to drink tonight starts humming a song to announce her arrival. He is trying to mimic the Miss America crowning song, but not quite hitting the notes right. Still, his cheek is understood by the crowd which looks twice as large as on a typical night. A rowdy uproar of laughter breaks forth, it’s as rich as it is unconstrained.
Sensing the light humor in the room, Melody leans forward, extends her free arm and takes a bow. The crowd now cheers her on as she gently steps over to the bar. She takes in the cheers, and hardly notices that she is now able to put more weight on her ankle when walking.
The crowd continues cheering and laughing for some time. Then, “Alright you lot. Get on with it.” Morrison settles the bar down, knocking his glass on the bar counter. More quietly, he leans in and asks, “Whit are ye having tonight, Melody?”
“Just some tea tonight.”
“Aye. Glad you made it doon in one piece,” he jokes. Now he shouts in the back, “Bruce! Bring Miss Winter her dish will ye?”
Melody is not sure she’ll eat very much. Her triumph over the stairs has only fueled the excited butterflies in her stomach. Now, she is sure she will return to Deacon House tomorrow. As she rests her foot on the bar footstool, Morrison delivers her hot cup of tea with two sugars – a ritual he has quickly grown accustomed to these past few days.
She holds her cup between her fingers. The sweet aroma of Twinings Earl Grey tea is robust yet wholesome. She takes a sip. Her tea is piping hot, just the way Melody likes it. And for a moment, her world is at peace, quiet and serene as though whispering to her. Everything will be alright, Melody.
“And here I thought you were learning to drink like the Scots.” Rob breaks her silence with a jab, his voice slurred and a little more carefree than
