The Deepest Roots Read online

  “I hate this part,” Mercy says, making a face.

  The last time we were out here was right after the big algebra-teacher debacle two years ago. One of the students had caught on to the way we’d used Lux’s talent as a Siren to get the teacher to believe we’d turned in homework, passed tests. The teacher had been willing to believe anything Lux told him, as long as she would keep smiling at him, keep laughing at his stupid Pythagorean theorem jokes. The principal had called Tina to tell her that Lux was attempting to have an inappropriate relationship with her teacher, that she was using her oddity to get special treatment in the classroom, and that she was going to be suspended for a week and would possibly need to repeat algebra.

  Lux ran away while her mom was still on the phone, stopping at my house and using the key under the mat to get in and help herself to a flashlight and a can of ravioli. At the time, Mom was waitressing and I was washing dishes at the café for cash under the table. When Tina stopped by our trailer the next morning to get Lux, she was surprised to find out that Lux hadn’t stayed with me the night before. None of us knew where she was.

  Mercy and I searched everywhere for Lux, and it was only a fluke that we thought to check the Remington homestead. After all, it was scary and supposedly haunted. We’d even checked the ruins first, hoping she was lounging on some moldy couch in the outermost trailer, eating the stolen can of ravioli. But she hadn’t been there, and the homestead was the last place we would check before the bus station in Evanston.

  It was near noon when Mercy and I held hands and side-shuffled across the tree bridge. I don’t know how Lux did it in the dark by herself the night before.

  I barely remember breaking into the homestead. We shimmied through an unlocked window and into the soft darkness of the house as sunlight scratched at dirty windows with dull fingers. We finally found Lux in an upstairs bedroom, curled up in a rocking chair, her cheeks tear-stained and dusty. Her long hair was tangled around her, a cape of strawberry blond keeping her warm as she slept.

  She’d screamed when I reached out and softly touched her arm.

  But it had been nothing compared to the scolding Mercy gave her. I thought the roof of the house was going to lift off, and afterward there were tears and hugging, Lux choking back sobs that echoed in the dark house.

  “Never leave us again,” Mercy cried, holding Lux tightly. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like this again, Lux.” She looked over at me, reaching out to grab my hand. “You either. We have to be strong. We’re more than friends. We’re sisters. And we’ll never keep secrets from one another, and we’ll never turn away from each other. Ever. You have to promise. Both of you.”

  I nodded, my throat tight. The windows must have leaked, because it almost felt like a cold breeze moved through the house.

  Lux pulled away from Mercy, dug around in her backpack past the dirty spoon and the empty can of ravioli until she pulled out a sharp metal nail file. “I’ll swear it,” Lux said. “A blood oath. We’ll never keep secrets. And we’ll never turn away from each other.”

  Lux sliced the sharp tip of the nail file across her palm, bright-red blood welling up along the cut. I thought for sure Mercy would say she was crazy, but Mercy took the file from Lux and did the same to her own small palm, wincing only a little. She clasped her palm against Lux’s, holding her gaze. “I swear it.”

  I took the file and cut my palm next, clenching my teeth as I did it.

  I clasped my palm to each of theirs in turn, repeated the oath.

  And that was it.

  We were more than girls from Cottonwood Hollow.

  We were blood sisters.

  Sworn to never turn away from each other.

  Sworn to never keep secrets.

  “Well,” Lux says, climbing up between the white roots of the fallen cottonwood. “Let’s go.”

  The bark was rubbed off long ago, leaving the trunk smooth and slippery, and I hope that the cheap flats I’m wearing won’t send me to my death. They’re one of the few types of footwear that is Evanston High approved to go with my uniform.

  “Wait,” Mercy says, apparently thinking the same thing as she toes off her small ballet flats. “We should all take off our shoes. It’ll be safer in bare feet than it will be in these.” She peels off her knee socks next and balls them carefully into the toes of her shoes. She tucks each one under an arm. It’s not a bad idea, and I do the same, grateful for the contact of skin against the tree when I climb up next to Lux. She’s ignored us, still wearing the new shoes Tina found on sale at the mall last week. Morgan has a pair just like them, and they cost more than I make in a day at work, which automatically rules them out as anything I would think to purchase for myself. Mercy climbs up behind me, and we begin side-shuffling after Lux.

  Lux is already halfway across the tree bridge when she slips in her pretty shoes. “Shit,” she manages to gasp out.

  Her arms pinwheel as she leans back over the drop, and the water rushes below, eager to add her to its collection of foam and debris. I snake one arm out and grab her wrist, attempting to anchor her. I throw my other arm out to help keep my balance, and my shoes slip from beneath my arms and plunge into the churning water below. Lux tenses against my grip, but she’s not as tiny as Mercy, and the weight of her pulls me toward her. My bare feet slide against the smooth face of the tree trunk, and I yank back as hard as I can without tipping over the other side. Mercy grabs me around the waist, securing me while Lux finds her balance again, Mercy’s breath coming in shallow gasps against my back.

  “Good thing those were ugly shoes,” Lux shouts over the rush of the water as her green eyes find mine. She laughs, and I feel Mercy exhale a sigh of relief.

  “I can’t believe you sometimes.” I catch sight of one of my shoes floating down the creek. We begin shuffling across again. Lux reaches solid ground first and leaps between the branches. She holds out a hand for me, and then Mercy, and we jump down.

  Mercy punches Lux in the shoulder. “You stupid jerk, next time listen to me,” she says. “You could’ve killed us all. Not to mention Rome’s poor shoes are gone.”

  “Yeah, my poor shoes,” I echo indignantly. “What am I going to wear to school tomorrow?”

  “Rain boots?” Lux suggests with a grin. “Don’t act so beat up about it, Rome. I’ll find you a pair when we get back. I’m sure I’ve got another pair in the back of my closet.”

  “Those were barely a month old,” I grumble.

  “All right,” Mercy says, using her no-nonsense voice. “Let’s focus here. We need to get to the farmhouse and look for this dowry chest. It’s already almost five, and I promised Mom I would be home for dinner.”

  “Home for dinner,” Lux mimics in a high-pitched voice.

  “You were invited, so stop being rude.” Mercy shakes her finger at Lux. Then she tosses her hair and stomps off between the tall cottonwoods that shield the homestead from view.

  “You were invited!” I echo Mercy silently, mouthing the words and pointing at Lux before stomping off after Mercy in my bare feet. The fact that Mercy still considers manners to be paramount when we’re hunting for a dowry chest hidden by a dead woman over a hundred years ago cracks me up, and I can use all the laughs I can get right now.

  Lux snickers as she follows me.

  The Remington homestead is a large, gray, weather-beaten farmhouse in remarkable shape for its age. I know the Cottonwood Hollow Historical Society tried to maintain it, but my guess is its preservation has more to do with the curse. Or gift, as Emmeline thought of it. A tangle of roses snakes up the west wall, thorns finding purchase in the soft, porous wood siding. The front door is padlocked shut, the lock rusted. But there’s a window around the side, the same one Mercy and I wiggled through two years ago. Beneath the window, I get down on one knee, the grass tickling the underside of my bare thigh. Mercy climbs up to the window, using my knee as a step. She struggles with the swollen wood for a moment, jiggling the window back and forth until it lo
osens and gradually slides up. She pulls herself through, muttering quietly to herself all the while.

  When I hear a soft thud, I stand up, brushing the grass from my skirt. Lux pulls herself up to the window and goes through it next. I follow last, tumbling to the floor as slowly and softly as I can. Lux and Mercy are brushing each other off as I stand up from where I’ve landed on the dirty floor.

  We’re in the parlor. Dusty chairs shrouded in the remains of gossamer-thin doilies frame each side of a big fireplace. We move through the parlor into the kitchen, where the hand-hewn cupboards have been pulled open, as if someone left in the middle of making dinner. The floor creaks beneath my bare feet. I look down at the kitchen table. There are four smears in the dust, and I reach out to place a finger in each one, laying my thumb just at the edge of the table.

  Lux’s gaze falls on my hand, and we both look down and notice the footprints in the dust. “Someone’s been here,” she breathes.

  “Do you think whoever it is might still be here?” Mercy asks, and the question makes me go rigid. We all freeze, waiting, listening for any hint of a creaking footstep or a closing door.

  “I think we’re alone,” Lux says finally.

  The words are barely out of her mouth before an icy wind surges through the room, pressing my skirt against my thighs and blowing my hair into my face. Lux reaches down and grabs my hand, her palm clammy, eyes frightened. This is one presence that even a Siren can’t tame. Mercy glues herself to my side, and I can feel her heart battering against my arm.

  And just as quickly, the room stills.

  “Do you think it’s her again? Like with the diary?” Mercy breathes. “Is it Emmeline?”

  There’s no doubt in my mind that the wind is Emmeline, and even though I don’t think she means to harm us, I don’t think that her presence means she’s happy, either.

  I try to keep my voice steady as I answer her. “I think it is,” I say quietly, as if rationally speaking aloud could strangle my fear. “But I don’t think Emmeline could leave prints,” I whisper, sliding my fingertips out of the dust. “Someone else has been here.”

  “Do you think she’s mad at us for coming?” Mercy asks, looking around the room as if there’s going to be some message written in the dust that says GET OUT NOW.

  “Maybe she doesn’t like that someone else was here,” Lux suggests in a whisper, looking up the staircase in the corner of the room. “Maybe she only wants the girls from Cottonwood Hollow in her house.”

  For the first time, I begin to wonder if someone else is looking for the dowry chest, too. Maybe Emmeline is mad because that someone else is not a daughter of Cottonwood Hollow.

  “Was she here before?” Mercy asks as we climb the stairs, all of us holding hands and moving at a glacial pace, as if Emmeline herself might appear at any moment.

  “Not like this,” Lux answers in a whisper. The stairs creak loudly, and her words are almost completely drowned out. “It’s like Rome reading her diary woke her up.”

  Upstairs, there’s a narrow hall and three bedrooms. The first bedroom is empty, but in the center of the second sits an empty cradle. My chest constricts, and all I can think about is Emmeline’s spidery handwriting in the journal spelling out the name Evangeline. Evangeline. Evangeline. The air in the room cools considerably, as if Emmeline can read my thoughts. I can barely keep my hands from shaking when the three of us back out of the empty nursery.

  The last bedroom is the one where we found Lux. The rocking chair is still pulled next to the windows, as if the occupant of the room enjoyed the view. There’s a four-poster bed and a vanity table with a low stool. The vanity’s mirror is covered in a cloth that might have once been black but is now a dusty gray. Someone pulled out all the drawers and dumped them upside down. The dust is smeared, as if whoever was here was searching for something and was desperate to leave no crevice unexamined.

  Mercy’s need for order and cleanliness overcomes her fear of whatever spirit is in the house with us, and she kneels and picks up each drawer, sliding them carefully back into their grooves until they’re flush with the front of the vanity. She scoops up handfuls of what look like strings of beads and a brush and comb and places them on top of the vanity table.

  “Look,” Lux says, her voice rising in pitch. “It’s still here. The chest.”

  I feel a surge of hope. Maybe Emmeline will save the Mach and Lux in one fell swoop. There’s a wooden chest at the end of the bed, big enough to hold everything Emmeline had described in her diary. The lock is scratched, the wood around it scarred with grooves. Someone’s been trying to open it. My heart falls somewhere down in my stomach.

  “Don’t you think the historical society probably looked through this already?” Mercy asks gently.

  Logic tells me Mercy is right, but I don’t want to believe it. I just want everything to work out for once in my life.

  “Maybe we should hurry,” Lux says, ignoring her. “What if whoever was here comes back?” She drops to her knees and frantically pulls at the lid, but it’s still locked. Whoever was in here didn’t get it open. Mercy reaches down into her bra and pulls out a bobby pin.

  “What?” she asks Lux when Lux raises an eyebrow. “I like to clip my hair back when I’m reading.” Mercy looks at me. “If nothing else, maybe there’s another diary in it. Or some letters or something that someone missed.”

  The three of us kneel in front of the chest, and I take the bobby pin, which is still warm from her skin. It may be the only warm thing in this room, because I swear the temperature has dropped another twenty degrees. Using the bobby pin, I lean over and begin to jimmy the lock. It’s old and stiff, the mechanisms I need to tumble long set in their ways. I work until the lock begins to blur before my eyes and my hands are cramping, but I am a Fixer. Eventually, the lock tumbles for me.

  The latch releases, and Lux and Mercy push open the lid. There’s a cloud of dust, and then it’s as if the sun has gone out. There’s not even the faint glow coming from the dirty windows. It’s black. The floor shakes, the furniture vibrating. Lux grabs my hand, and Mercy hugs herself against my waist. Their bodies are rigid with fear against mine, and I open my mouth to shout or scream, but no sound comes out. It’s an earthquake or a tornado, or maybe just the end. The mirror in the vanity shatters, the shards tinkling against the floor as the wind roars. The air presses against us. The house groans, and I think I can hear the glass of every window in the world cracking in the scream of a woman.

  And then silence. The air pressure drops, and the house breathes a sigh of relief. Perhaps of acceptance. Mercy lets out a strangled gasp, and Lux coughs. The light returns, slowly illuminating the room again. We’re surrounded by a halo of shattered mirror, a perfect circle of dirty glass.

  “It didn’t touch us,” Mercy whispers as she releases me. She crosses herself, as if this has been an act of God and not Emmeline Remington.

  Lux presses her forehead against my shoulder, shuddering in quiet relief. I close my eyes and lean my cheek on the top of her head, willing myself to stop shaking, to be strong for her and Mercy. Whatever else, I am the rock for my friends.

  “Are you okay?” Mercy finally gasps out, running her small, nimble fingers over my face and neck, looking for any sign of blood. She lurches across me to check Lux. “Are you hurt?” she asks again.

  “I’m okay.” I cough, lifting my cheek from Lux’s head. “Are you all right?”

  Mercy nods, her dark eyes welling with what might be tears of fear or relief or perhaps just disbelief.

  “Lux,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Lux lifts her head from my shoulder, and her eyes are unmistakably wet. “I thought that was the end,” she whispers.

  Mercy leans across me and grabs Lux in a fierce hug. “You’re okay, Lux,” she murmurs. “You’re safe.”

  Lux pulls away from Mercy, steeling herself to face us again. “I’m fine,” she says, swiping at her eyes. She leans over the open c
hest, her hand trembling as she holds it over the contents. “It’s things for the baby,” she breathes. “Things for Evangeline.”

  The room is briefly shattered with light, bursting three times before it goes back to the gloomy glow.

  “Is that a yes?” Lux asks, looking around the room warily, as if the crazy earthquake-tornado might start up again.

  I feel Mercy’s body tense against mine.

  Nothing happens, and Mercy relaxes. I start to breathe again. “She was a lucky girl,” Mercy says softly to the house. “She was lucky to be so loved by you.”

  The room warms a few degrees.

  Lux begins cautiously inspecting the chest, doing her best not to anger Emmeline’s ghost with any carelessness for the intrusion, but I know without looking that it’s not the dowry chest. There are baby gowns and blankets, bibs and quilts. There’s a framed picture that looks to be hand drawn. There’s even a lacy christening gown. But there’s no silver. No gold. This is just a chest meant to welcome Evangeline. The daughter who didn’t survive to be loved.

  “I’m sorry,” Mercy says, a tear trickling down from one eye.

  Mercy is the best of us.

  “I’m sorry that you didn’t get to live a long life with Evangeline,” Mercy continues. “But your legacy lives on. You’ve given talents to all of the daughters of Cottonwood Hollow.”

  Lux shudders. She still believes she is cursed.

  “We’re looking for the dowry chest,” Lux tells Emmeline’s icy presence. She can’t hide the edge of desperation in her voice. “We need help. We need your help.”

  The sunlight coming through the windows seems to bend and shake.

  The floor beneath our knees vibrates.

  “We are the daughters of Cottonwood Hollow,” I whisper, pushing away the cold fingers of fear moving up my spine, and the shaking ceases. The dust motes still in the air, as if time has stopped.