When the Black Roses Grow by Angela Christina Archer Page A

cheeks. “You believe I do not know the words sitting upon thy tongue? That I do not foresee the argument you wish to bestow?”
    “No, I believe you do not or else you would not look at him the way you do.”
    “And, how is that?”
    “You love him. Whether you know it or not, deep down, you do. You just hath not faced the truth yet.”
    An imaginary fist punched my chest. I did not know what I felt—perhaps, love, perhaps, a simple lust. Of course, no matter the difference, I could not admit to it.
    “I do not love him. I cannot love him. I know what lies in thy thoughts, the similarities of John, Julia, and Rebecca. I know the fate that awaits me should Mary even whisper an accusation.” I wiped the tears with my dirt covered hands, staining my face. “Please,” I begged. “Please, just allow me to return to my home.”
    After she nodded, I spun to leave, hesitating for a moment.
    “And, please do not visit me tomorrow. I only wish to be alone.”

EIGHT
    The mid afternoon sun peaked through the closed shutters on my windows. A heavy guilt burdened, and I hung my head in shame. Birds chirped outside, their happiness fluttered from tree to tree as they enjoyed the sunshine and fresh, spring warm air.
    Just as I should enjoy it, opening the closed shutters to the world outside instead of shutting it out and recoiling from the beauty and glee.
    I cringed away from everything I should embrace, and withdrew from the world and everyone in it—especially James, who did not visit last night as promised.
    I did not want to think of his whereabouts or the hours that he spent in Mary’s company instead of mine. And, it was for this reason, I closed out the sun and closed out the beauty and contentment.
    You are not but an imprudent, ignorant young girl, Emmalynn.
    I fetched a tumbler glass off the table and threw it across the room. The delicate glass smashed against the wall, shattering into countless pieces, before raining shards down upon the vine that had nearly tripled in size.
    The thick stem jerked away from the threat, bold and swift, bouncing the tiny buds that had already begun to open into the beautiful, haunting black roses.
    As black as a lump of coal, and darker than the darkest of nights, the midnight hue glistened and reflected with a dark blue tint when light touched them—unnatural, and yet, breathtaking.
    Or, at least they were.
    Today, the soft and silk-like blooms wilted, as though they needed love from me that I could not give.
    A gentle knock rapped against the front door. My pulse quickened. Who visited this afternoon? Was it James? And, if so, why would he knock on the one door and not the other? Was someone else with him? Or, was this visitor someone else?
    I tiptoed to the door. My fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and the door creaked as I opened it. I caught my breath as the unexpected visitors stood before me and returned my gaze—Sheriff Corwin, Doctor Griggs, Deacon Pruett, and Reverend Perris.
    “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pruett.” Reverend Perris’s eyes twitched with suspicion, and the gruffness in his tone spoke of his irritation. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
    I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it slowly to gain my composure.
    “’Tis Miss Hawthorne, not Mrs. Pruett. My husband passed, and I am no longer their family.” I glared at the reverend as much as I could without drawing attention to the hatred I felt toward the man. “And, good afternoon, gentlemen.”
    The three other men all nodded and tipped their black brimmed hats.
    “Mrs. Pruett—”
    Sheriff Corwin raised his hand, silencing Reverend Perris from addressing me a second time. “What the reverend meant was, please forgive our interruption to thy afternoon prayer, but we were wondering if we may speak to you for a moment. If you do not object, of course.”
    The reverend growled under his breath, but the sheriff ignored him—his attention focused solely upon me.
    My heart pounded, the deep thud