Red Wolfe (17 page)

“I have to go,” she cried, her whole body shaking.

“It’s in the middle of the night!”

“I can’t stay here,” she shouted. “I need to clear my head.”

“Please
, let me explain!”

Ellena looked at Gregor with wide eyes. “How could you not tell me? I-I’m not even sure what I’ve just seen!” She grabbed her red coat and fled.

She made it to the main entrance, throwing open the door’s latch with a bout of strength only acquired from a rush of wild adrenaline. She was almost there. The forest edge was only a few feet away and just beyond was the town.

“Ellena!”

Her steps slowed at the voice, but didn’t stop. It was John, the fear in his voice making her heart ache, but she couldn’t bear to turn around and look into his eyes.

“I have to go!”
was all she could say as she slipped away.

        Chapter Fourteen

The deep mud from the melting snow squished under her boots, splashing o
nto her white cotton nightgown. Not once did she stop, even when her lungs begged for release, not even when the tears began. The poor girl didn’t even know why she was crying.

By the time she reached the forest edge at the base of the town’s mountain, she was completely covered in mud, pale, and exhausted. She dropped to her knees, struggling to catch her breath.
She sat in the silence trying to collect her thoughts, half expecting to see John come bursting out of the woods.

But he never came. No one did.

What was she expecting, she angrily berated herself. She had just stolen away in the middle of the night! They must have all thought that she was crazy. Maybe she was, perhaps she had imagined the whole thing? She wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

Early morning was beginning to rise in the far east when she entered town. The sun had not risen just yet, but the sky had turned from dark velvet to a light, hazy purple indicating that dawn was fast approaching.

The village looked like a ghost town in the misty morning hours as she found her way back to the hotel, but the door was locked and
Madame
Catherine was nowhere to be seen. She dashed off to the only other place she could think to go.

“
Monsieur
Ansel!” Ellena beat on the bakery door. She was about to give up with a soft light flickered on in a back room.

“
Mademoiselle
Ellena?” He let her in, his surprise turning to terror when he noticed her disheveled appearance.

“I’m all right,” she whispered.

“Come here and sit down.” He helped her to a table before briefly disappearing. When he returned it was with a blanket and cup of tea. “Drink this.”

Ellena did not argue as he set he wrapped her in the blanket.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “I thought that you had returned home.”

She shook her head. “No, I
was staying with ….a friend.”

“This friend of yours, was it a man?” The blush across her cheeks answered his question. “Did he hurt you?”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Ellena breathed.

“Then what happened?”

“I’m not quite sure.” She was gripping her cup. How could she possibly explain? “I was just frightened.”

“Of him?”

“No, I had actually grown quite fond of him.”

“And he did not return your affections?”

For some reason, this innocent question startled her. “I do not know.”

“Is that why you are running away?”

Before he could continue, Ellena set her cup down. “Do you believe in magic?”

“Magic?” The poor man was now even more confused. “I-I’m not sure. You mean like potions and spells?”

“I’m not sure what I mean,” she confessed with a sigh.

“It’s been a long night. Come, I have a bed in the backroom you are welcome to, but first let’s get you cleaned up.”

She slept most of the next day as Ansel continued with his work at the bakery. A few times he even excused himself from waiting customers just to slip away and check on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. The way she had looked upon arriving at his doorstep the night before, worn and beaten, had touched his old, hardened heart. He knew she needed the rest.

Late that afternoon she finally stirred, her eyes cracking open to see the sunlight already beginning to fade. It was well past noon and she tugged at the old brown sweater that Ansel had
given her. It was a little too big, but it was warm and smelt like powdered sugar.

She
missed waking up to Louisa’s voice and Gregor’s gentle knock at the door. She missed the busy bustle of the servants as they hurried about, but there was one person that who she missed the most, the one person who seemed to always occupy her mind, no matter if she was awake or asleep.

Did he also know about the paintings? Of course he had to know! How could he not? They all had been keeping secrets from her, so many secrets. Anger, fear, betrayal, longing—the cascade of emotions shook Ellen
a to her core like a wild wind, but one thought pierced through the rest. Would she had even believed them if they had told her? That wasn’t the point, she angrily thought. She sat up and kicked the covers to the floor. These inner battles were beginning to take their toll.

“I am glad to see you have regained your energy,” Ansel chuckled. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Ellena replied. “I’m sorry for sleeping in so late.”

He waved his hand to stop her. “Think nothing of it. By the way, someone left this in the shop. It had your name on it.”

“Who left this?” Ellena demanded when she caught sight of what was in his hand.

“I don’t know. I walked to the back to get some pastries and when I returned it was on the counter. Do you wish for me to throw it out?”

“No!” she cried. “I’ll take it.” Her fingers gently grasped the red cover. Inside her name had been elegantly written across the page, just below the black bold printed words…

Francis Folklores.

Closing time was fast approaching the little bakery. Once the last couple left, Ellena cleaned their table and brought the dishes in back where Ansel was hard at work washing them. She had kept herself busy all evening, sweeping the floor, cleaning the counter, waiting on customers. It was the least she could, Ellena thought since Ansel had been so inconvenienced by her sudden arrival.

“Distracting yourself from the problem isn’t going to make it go away,” he wisely said as she picked up a rag and began drying the dishes.

“I’m doing no such thing,” she defensively said. “I wanted to thank you for your kindness.”

“That I do not doubt, but I don’t believe that’s your only reason for staying so busy.”

Ellena leaned against the counter, drying the blue plate in her hands. “Do you think I am acting cowardly?” she softly asked.

“From the short time I have gotten to know you, young lady, I have discovered you are many things, but cowardly is not one of them.”

“I had always believed I could handle anything, but now…”

“I don’t quite understand what is happening, but take some advice from an old man. The only thing you can do, the only thing any of us can do is strive for the truth. Once you have that, the rest will fall into place.”

He was right. She knew he was. It was time to stop running and that’s exactly what Ellena decided to do as she began to untie her pink apron. “I need to—”

“Go,” he ordered. “You better hurry. It’ll be getting dark soon.”

“Thank you, Ansel,” she said, pecking a light kiss on his check and then dashing away.

Her first order of business was the book. The ghastly object had been haunting her all day and it was time to finally face it. The cursed thing was lying on her bed where she had left it, innocently lying there, with its crimson cover contrasting brightly against the dull, gray sheets.

She knew the story that lay written across its worn pages, but she picked it up anyway. It started the same way it had before.

Once upon time there once was a kind prince who fell madly in love with a beautiful young woman…

And ended
right where it had before.

The blank pages following beckoned her to finish the story and so she did. It was like a spell had been cast over her as she vaguely reached for a pen from the desk by her bed. She could hear John’s
deep voice vibrate in her skull as she recalled his words. She recounted the prince’s plight, his despair, and his desperation to forget the woman that he loved.

And a whole spell was placed upon his household
…

The pen suddenly stopped as she wrote those words and an image of the paintings flashed before her eyes.

The bakery bell suddenly rang and
Monsieur
Ansel appeared from the back kitchen just in time to watch Ellena race away. “Young people,” he mumbled through a lopsided grin.

Sunset was just beginning. She still had time. The bookstore finally came into view and just as the shop owner was walking to the door to lock, Ellena burst inside.

“
Un moment
!”

The woman looked like she was about to refuse, but then thought better of it and begrudgingly allow
ed Ellena to enter.

“Do y-you have any historical books? About the h-history of this village?” she was still panting heavily as she choked out
the words.

Just as Ellena thought, there were not many, only about half a dozen or so. The shop owner tapped her on the shoulder. “
Dix minutes
,” she said before walking away.

Only ten minutes? That barely left her any time at all!

Ellena started with the fattest of them all, a thick brown book with the tiniest font she had even seen. She squinted, trying to read the sentences, but quickly became too frustrated to continue on with that one. The next two also were just as unhelpful. Finally she found a skinny, blue book lodged in the far back, hidden by the others.

The first two chapters w
ere how the village was founded, a long drawn out account of dates and negotiations, but then she saw a name muddled in the many battle recounts—Lord Simon Wolfe. Apparently, he was quite the hero this region and to the village.  A list of his descendants had been recorded just down below.

Simon Wolfe wedded and had three children—
Sarah, Peter, and Daniel. His daughter wed a wealthy merchant in a nearby town, Peter became a politician and moved to Paris. Only Daniel remained, fathering a boy named Jamison who would soon be wed to a local beauty named Danielle and have only one descendant, a boy by the name of John.

Was this the name of the man who John was named after?

Her question was answered when she turned the page. The lineage suddenly stopped, but one sentence remained.

John Wolfe—son of Danielle and
Jamison Wolfe. Went missing at the age of twenty seven. Presumed dead shortly after his disappearance.

A picture of young teenage boy was sketched below. He was younger
, with a rounder face, but it was him. It was her John. This couldn’t be possible, she told herself. The dates made no sense. If they were true that would make John…

“
Excusez-moi
.”

Ellena looked up with wide eyes. She could barely hear the shopkeeper telling her it was time to leave.
As if in a trance, she returned the blue book and slowly left. A harsh wind blew as she stepped onto the sidewalk causing her to tremble. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a glimpse of a red cape dart around the corner just ahead and her heart leapt.

“John,” she breathed.

When she reached the corner, she saw it round another bend and then another. Her unexpected game of cat and mouse led her to the train station where only an empty platform greeted her. Slowly, she crept along until she reached a little row of benches and there she found the hooded figure, sitting with a basket in her hands. Next to her, fluttering about the bench was a red cardinal.

“
Madame
Danielle? How did you get that hood? Where have you been?”

“Come and sit down, my dear,” she slowly said. “I’ve been much closer than you thought.”

“Is that cardinal your pet?”