possible.
The front door opened without warning, and out came a woman dressed in a gown the color of lavender sprigs, her dark hair pinned in a perfect bun on her head. Behind her, his face turned up to her as if she were the very sun, was a small boy. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven, but one glance told me who he was. I held my breath.
It was Lord Grey. That boy was the man with whom I’d just been sitting.
“Come, August,” the woman said. Her eyes passed over me as she looked down the long carriageway. “Your father is almost here.” She stretched out a hand and the boy took it, the smile on his face so bright it seemed to radiate outward. “Let’s see what he’s brought you for your birthday, my darling.”
The boy looked out as well, his eyes resting on me for just an instant, his brow furrowing with curiosity. But the unmistakable sound of a carriage pulled his eyes away.
“He’s here!” August cried, leaping into the air in excitement. The air around him shivered with his energy, with his absolute glee.
That was when it happened: the roses, all of them, all the ones I’d seen since the moment I had arrived at Rosewood, appeared. They rose up from the bare ground, from the many planted bushes, from in between the stone steps leading to the door.
The woman gasped, but August’s eyes never wavered from where his father’s carriage would be appearing.
“August,” she said. “Oh, my darling.” She brought a hand to her mouth and knelt down beside him. Her skin blushed in pale imitation of the flowers all around her, and her laugh wove itself around me much like the roses’ scent.
The horses’ hooves drew nearer and nearer, until we could all see the carriage and the two men who rode it—the coachman, a large man with drooping skin, and a man who could not have been anyone but August’s father. His face was harsher, his eyes dark as oak, but I could see the resemblance in the way he moved as he opened the carriage door.
His smile dimmed, then disappeared.
“Jane, what in God’s name?”
“He made them grow, William!”
“Who did? What are you talking about?”
“Our son did this!” She laughed. “He’s our little wonder!”
August’s father shook his head, fear etched clearly on his face.
There was a sudden soft peal, almost like Lady Caldwell’s bell, and the scene around me froze. The day’s light started to ebb, quickly contracting into a small circle on which only I stood. Then, even that vanished.
I reached a hand out to steady myself and felt fine linen against my palm. I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed and looked about.
There were young men all around, fourteen or fifteen years old, their tailored suits belying their uncombed hair and rumpled shirts.
It was a large space, with two rows of beds spanning the room’s length. A boy’s dormitory, I realized. My cheeks warmed as that knowledge reached my head. What would Father say if he saw me here, surrounded by young men in various stages of undress?
Like before, no one seemed to see me as I edged around one of the beds, passing two young men washing their faces at the numerous white basins left between the rows of beds for just such a purpose.
“It happened again, August,” the young man on the left said, bringing me to a stop. I turned so that I faced them, only the basins separating me from their image. There was Lord Grey. He looked less like the boy I’d just seen beaming at his mother and more like the man he’d become, someone too pale, too thin, someone who had forgotten what happiness felt like.
“It’s a good thing I get up early, or you’d be thrown out of the school,” the young man said. “What is happening? How are you doing it?”
Lord Grey shook his head. “I don’t know, William. I didn’t even know it was occurring until you told me.” His eyes moved through the room, making sure no one could hear their conversation. As his gaze landed on me, he frowned.
The front door opened without warning, and out came a woman dressed in a gown the color of lavender sprigs, her dark hair pinned in a perfect bun on her head. Behind her, his face turned up to her as if she were the very sun, was a small boy. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven, but one glance told me who he was. I held my breath.
It was Lord Grey. That boy was the man with whom I’d just been sitting.
“Come, August,” the woman said. Her eyes passed over me as she looked down the long carriageway. “Your father is almost here.” She stretched out a hand and the boy took it, the smile on his face so bright it seemed to radiate outward. “Let’s see what he’s brought you for your birthday, my darling.”
The boy looked out as well, his eyes resting on me for just an instant, his brow furrowing with curiosity. But the unmistakable sound of a carriage pulled his eyes away.
“He’s here!” August cried, leaping into the air in excitement. The air around him shivered with his energy, with his absolute glee.
That was when it happened: the roses, all of them, all the ones I’d seen since the moment I had arrived at Rosewood, appeared. They rose up from the bare ground, from the many planted bushes, from in between the stone steps leading to the door.
The woman gasped, but August’s eyes never wavered from where his father’s carriage would be appearing.
“August,” she said. “Oh, my darling.” She brought a hand to her mouth and knelt down beside him. Her skin blushed in pale imitation of the flowers all around her, and her laugh wove itself around me much like the roses’ scent.
The horses’ hooves drew nearer and nearer, until we could all see the carriage and the two men who rode it—the coachman, a large man with drooping skin, and a man who could not have been anyone but August’s father. His face was harsher, his eyes dark as oak, but I could see the resemblance in the way he moved as he opened the carriage door.
His smile dimmed, then disappeared.
“Jane, what in God’s name?”
“He made them grow, William!”
“Who did? What are you talking about?”
“Our son did this!” She laughed. “He’s our little wonder!”
August’s father shook his head, fear etched clearly on his face.
There was a sudden soft peal, almost like Lady Caldwell’s bell, and the scene around me froze. The day’s light started to ebb, quickly contracting into a small circle on which only I stood. Then, even that vanished.
I reached a hand out to steady myself and felt fine linen against my palm. I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed and looked about.
There were young men all around, fourteen or fifteen years old, their tailored suits belying their uncombed hair and rumpled shirts.
It was a large space, with two rows of beds spanning the room’s length. A boy’s dormitory, I realized. My cheeks warmed as that knowledge reached my head. What would Father say if he saw me here, surrounded by young men in various stages of undress?
Like before, no one seemed to see me as I edged around one of the beds, passing two young men washing their faces at the numerous white basins left between the rows of beds for just such a purpose.
“It happened again, August,” the young man on the left said, bringing me to a stop. I turned so that I faced them, only the basins separating me from their image. There was Lord Grey. He looked less like the boy I’d just seen beaming at his mother and more like the man he’d become, someone too pale, too thin, someone who had forgotten what happiness felt like.
“It’s a good thing I get up early, or you’d be thrown out of the school,” the young man said. “What is happening? How are you doing it?”
Lord Grey shook his head. “I don’t know, William. I didn’t even know it was occurring until you told me.” His eyes moved through the room, making sure no one could hear their conversation. As his gaze landed on me, he frowned.
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