The Butcher's Daughter

Chapter 4

Recall that secret place. You've been there, you remember:
That special place where once- Just once- in your crowded, sunlit lifetime,
You hid away in shadow from the tyranny of time.
That spot beside the clover where someone's hand held your hand
And love was sweeter than the berries, or the honey, or the stinging taste of mint.
It is September- before a rainfall- a perfect time to be in love.
-El Gallo (The Fantasticks)

Right away, the Casey's farmhouse felt like home. Annabelle and her younger sisters were boisterous, energetic and their presence in the tiny space reminded Mabel of a riding camp she attended shortly after losing her father. Giselle had been so concerned about her lack of a "support system" and, well, to make a long story short, Mabel holed up for the entire eight-week program, ate her meals while enclosed in a bathroom stall and hardly spoke to the other girls, even her roommates. This time was different- better. Not only did the Casey Girls like Mabel, but she liked them in return.

During the day, Annabelle would head into town and teach until the early evening. Scarlett and Delilah did not attend school, but were very well-read and clever, regardless. Mabel would spend most of her time assisting them with housekeeping and yes, she would sneak out to see Thomas whenever the opportunity presented itself.

In the evenings, Mabel would stretch out on her bed in the small, clean room that Annabelle had prepared after her first night there. When her mind wasn't busy regaling itself with the lazy, late-summer runs through rural 1770's South Carolina with a certain precious, silly young man; Mabel would think of her father.

"He's out there," she would muse, memorizing the new and strange shadows on her ceiling, "wicked and unchanged. Will he know me when he sees me? Will I somehow interfere with the influence that Annabelle will have on him?" Her concern for Annabelle grew with her curiosity- but the events of one evening in particular forced Mabel to reconcile with the fact that she was becoming almost too attached to the wayward nineteen-year-old girl:

"I, for one, think it's fantastically progressive for a woman to favor trousers over skirts!" Annabelle beamed, tossing a stack of the clothes that her father had left behind on Mabel's bed. "Not to mention, it must make it easier to ride."

"Yes, much." Mabel searched through the collection of pants, shyly. "I'll only need one pair, you know. To wear on laundry day."

"This is a just-in-case scenario. Besides, Father won't be coming back for a while!"

"You must miss him," Mabel pushed the clothes aside, making room for Annabelle to sit beside her.

"We all do. We worry about him all the time, too. He's a very quiet man. Smart. Hardly the kind of person you might imagine fighting in a war. But it's always the quietest people who end up being the most surprising." She let out one of her famously loud, albeit endearing laughs. "I must be in real trouble, then!"

"You'll end up surprising yourself soon enough, I'm sure." Silently, Mabel revisited her words and could almost feel her heart cracking inside of her chest. She didn't know all the details, but had an understanding of what Annabelle's fate would be. Knowing that someone so lively, humorous and kind was nearing a meeting that would seal her doom was almost too much to bear.

"Look!" Annabelle sprung from the bed to kneel beside the window. "They don't visit us for very long, but when they do- ah! They're the closest creatures to fairies that nature provides. Hummingbirds aside, of course."

Mabel's pain only grew with her sweet ancestor's discovery. The appearance of the fireflies was like an omen. It wouldn't be long before William Tavington would capture Annabelle's heart and set her tragedy in motion.