The Amaranth Enchantment by Julie Berry Read Free Book Online

Mary sat in her rocker by the fire and began to knit. The creak of the rockers and the dance of firelight on the ceiling overcame me, and I was asleep long before Mama came to say good night.
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Chapter 9
    It was still dark when I awoke. The fire had burned down to red cinders, throwing a red glow upon Greta Mary's chair.
    I sat up. "Has Mama come?"
    There was no one in the chair. Confusion came over me. I reached out a hand, grasping at darkness.
    I was in my old bedroom, that much was certain. But Greta Mary wasn't here, and I was fifteen, not five, and Mama and Papa weren't downstairs dancing.
    They slumbered in the burial ground.
    Finally I sat up and threw back the covers. My feet hit the cold floor, and all the blood drained from my belly. It prickled in my feet, making me lame. I hobbled toward the fire and saw that a small pot sat in the embers, emitting a delicious fragrance.
    There was a rag nearby, and I used it to clutch the lid 60
    and lift it off the pot. Soup. And on a small table by the foot of my bed, a clean setting of dishes.
    Stories of witches poisoning young girls came to mind, but I dismissed them.
    In the stories, the witches were ugly hags with warty faces, and the girls were beautiful princesses. Hence, I was safe. Not very sound reasoning, but it reassured me.
    The soup was bland and slightly bitter with flecks of dried herbs. It was perfect. I set down my bowl and heard Dog bleating outside. It comforted me mightily.
    I laced on my shoes, which stood at attention nearby. Beryl.
    Why had she brought me to my bedroom and fed me? Why hadn't she beaten me or at least scolded me? Who was she?
    I didn't know if I was a prisoner in her home, or a guest, but I decided to go find her and ask. I had a sense of where she'd be. I opened the door and stepped into the dark hallway.
    I found the door I wanted and opened it. My foot reached for the stairs, overestimating their height. Of course. I was bigger now. I adjusted my steps and climbed the winding staircase to the many-windowed room at the top of the house. The tower room, where Papa used to sit at night and watch through his spyglass for the lights of his ships returning from across the sea.
    She sat in a cushioned chair in the middle of the room.
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    There was no candle or fire, but reflected moonlight threw a pale glow over empty flowerpots, damask chairs, and the mounted telescope, looking like a long-legged hunchback draped in a cloak of dusty leather. A pane of glass was missing from more than one window, and night noises climbed inside.
    I sat in a chair opposite Beryl.
    "Why do you live in my home?" I asked.
    "What have you done with my stone?" was her answer. A swell of anxiety rose in my throat.
    "Are you a witch?"
    "Are you a thief?"
    Now I was angry.
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    "If I was a thief, why would I have come back here to confess and prove it to you?" I demanded.
    "If I was a witch, why wouldn't I have killed you by now? Or cursed you with warts?"
    My hands flew up to my face. It was still smooth, though tender where Aunt had struck me. I chided myself for checking.
    We were at an impasse. I could think of nothing else to say. I debated rising to my feet to see if I could walk out as easily as I'd walked in. I had just decided to try it when she spoke.
    "I bought this house. Years ago. From a lawyer who was selling it. The owners had died in an accident."
    In the dim light I felt safe when my eyes grew wet. It 62
    had been so long since I'd last heard them mentioned. I needed a change of subject.
    "What is an amaranth?"
    She smiled faintly. "A mythical flower that never dies. There's also a real flower called by that name. I have several of them growing here in pots. I'll show you. Another name for it is 'Love-lies-bleeding.'"
    I studied Beryl's face as she studied mine.
    "Beryl. That's not your true name, is it?" She said nothing. I tried another angle. "How did you know my