Ashes of Thornwood

Chapter 17

The air had grown colder with the arrival of November, the chill creeping through the cracks of Thornewood as if the house itself mourned alongside me. I sat wrapped in a heavy blanket on the front porch, a cup of tea cooling in my hands. The steam had long since faded, leaving the liquid tepid and uninviting. The cold had seeped into my bones, and it felt as though the very air I breathed was heavy with sorrow. The world outside was draped in a bleak, lifeless gray, matching the emptiness that had taken root inside me.

It felt as though I was drowning, sinking deeper into the cold, dark waters of my grief with each passing day. Thornewood, which had once echoed with life and hope, now seemed like a mausoleum, each room a tomb holding the memories of what I had lost. The joy I had once felt, the dreams I had harbored, seemed distant and unreachable, like fleeting shadows that slipped through my fingers. I wondered if I would ever feel anything again.

The sound of the front door opening barely registered in my mind, but I felt the shift in the air as Lottie stepped out onto the porch. She hesitated, her presence a quiet comfort in the oppressive stillness. Without a word, she came to my side, her touch light and warm through the thick fabric of the blanket. Yet, even her warmth couldn't chase away the chill that clung to me.

"I made you some fresh tea," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. But I didn't respond, didn't even turn my head to acknowledge her. The effort it took to speak, to engage with the world around me, felt insurmountable. All I could do was sit there, lost in the vast, empty landscape of my sorrow.

Lottie let out a quiet sigh, her hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment longer before she pulled away. The clink of the teacup as she placed it on the small table beside me felt strangely jarring in the otherwise silent morning. She had postponed her wedding to stay and take care of me, sacrificing her own happiness to tend to her broken sister. I knew how much that decision had cost her, how much she had given up, and it only deepened the guilt that gnawed at me like a relentless parasite.

Thornewood, once a thriving symbol of our family's legacy, was now a shadow of its former self. The fields lay dormant, the crops withered and sparse, barely yielding enough to keep the estate afloat. Mr. Crowley had been forced to hire cheap labor from the nearby towns, as he could no longer rely on the slaves who had once been the backbone of the plantation. They had all gone now, seeking their freedom or fleeing the approaching war. It was a small victory in a sea of loss, a sign of progress that felt almost meaningless against the backdrop of everything else.

Mr. Crowley, however, was bitter. He felt cheated, robbed of the plantation's wealth as more money slipped through his fingers. He grumbled endlessly about the expenses, the dwindling profits, the inability to keep up with the demands of the estate. It was clear that he blamed me, at least in part, for the decline of Thornewood. I could see it in the way he looked at me, in the barely veiled resentment in his eyes. But I couldn't bring myself to care. The plantation, the land, the legacy—it all felt like ashes in the wind.

Lottie remained on the porch with me, silent and steadfast, her presence a balm to the raw wound in my heart. She had always been the strong one, the one who could find light even in the darkest of times. But now, even she seemed weary, the weight of our shared grief pulling her down.

"I miss him too, you know," she said quietly after a long stretch of silence. "And Benjamin... it's not fair, Evie. None of it is."

Her words cut through the fog of my thoughts, striking a chord deep within me. I felt the familiar sting of tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I had cried so much, I wasn't sure I had any tears left to shed. Instead, I simply nodded, my throat tight with unspoken pain.