Ivy of Our Hearts

Thirteen

I'd felt the truth. We would never see our homes or our parents again, but if we didn't try to get away, we'd be handing ourselves over to him. I couldn't let him win.

I shoved my feet into my boots and pulled on my backpack, although I could have gone without them if I had to. If it weren't for Margaret who still slept, I would have left right then. It bothered me the way she slept, in fetal position with a smile on her lips. I hope she didn't dream of him. I went around the bed and yanked the covers away.

She grasped for them. When she couldn't reach them, she lifted her head. "I was using that," she said.

"Get up. We're leaving."

She sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. "What?"

I gestured at the window. "The storm is over. We can go home."

"Is Phillip—"

"Forget about him," I said, waving my hand, as he deserved, like a pest, to be waved away, though it would take more than a flick of my wrist for me to ever forget him.

She must have seen the unflinching determination on my face because she got out of the bed, but she didn't move as fast as I needed her to. Any minute now, Phillip could return. To be sure, I went to the window. He and his pet were nowhere to be seen, but I hadn't heard him come in either. I wanted us to be gone by the time he came back, so far away I'd never see the inky pools of his eyes again. I swore, if we escaped him, I would never listen for him after dark again. I would bar myself against him.

"Margaret," I said.

She'd begun to make the bed, fluffing her pillow, and tugging the covers straight.

"What are you doing?"

"It's the least we can do," she said, while smoothing a crease in the covers.

I didn't know how to explain it to her. She had to have sensed that Phillip wasn't some white knight, that his intentions weren't to take us home like he'd promised. He'd fooled her somehow. Like he'd fooled me. When I hadn't been well, it had been the two of them, and he must have done it then. Whatever it was that had made her so oblivious.

"Snap out of it." I grabbed the pillow I'd slept on from her hands. "We don't have time for this." She flinched, as if I'd taken away a precious gift. I threw the pillow out of her reach. "We can't stay here. He doesn't want to help us at all. Don't you see?"

She eyed the pillow. "How do you know?"

"It doesn't matter how I know, but I do," I snapped.

A creaking sound made us look towards the door. It wasn't Phillip but the wind that had made its way in again. It was as if it was spying on us.

Margaret clenched the hem of her sweater. "It's so strange. When I'm around him, I feel so..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry." Her shoes and bag were near the door as well. She rushed over to them. "Where is he?" she asked, as she stuffed her feet into her boots. She left them unlaced and shrugged on her backpack. "Did he say where he was going?"

I went to the door and peeked out of it. I'd left the front door open. He wasn't out there. "I don't know, but we should leave now before he returns." I had one foot over the threshold when she ran back to the bed.

She tossed me my cell phone. "Don't forget this."

I caught it. "Thanks."

We left the bedroom door open, figuring he'd realize soon enough that we weren't there. Margaret peered out of the front door to make sure we were alone. She waved for me to follow. We ran to the fence, which squealed like a dying pig when Margaret swung it open, making us turn towards the cabin. Someone, if they were around, would have heard the noise we'd made. When he didn't appear, when we were sure no one would, we stole away down the sloped ground to the trees.

Behind us, the cabin sat so plain, empty, and forlorn that Phillip would guess we'd left before he stepped through the door.

I imagined the trees parting like the Red Sea to let us through, to create a path for us that would take us far away, because they, too, knew the truth about Phillip, that he was a ravisher of hearts. I imagined they wanted to help us. But they didn't part. And there was no path. We would have to find our own way. As Margaret slipped into the trees, I let myself look behind me and saw him. He stood like he had in front of the shack, motionless; with the silken mass of feathers on his shoulder he called Manderley. He'd seen us. Manderley's cry pierced my heart as sharp as a sword, sharper than Phillip's glare. After all, I'd felt the truth. He'd meant to keep us for himself and we'd slipped from his grasp.

I darted between the trees after Margaret. "Keep going, Margaret," I said. "And don't look back."

I was thankful to at least have the light to guide us. We hurried, darting around trees, as if we knew our way. He did know the way. He could find us and drag us back with no one to hear our screams. But the woods made too much noise. Our own footsteps were clumsy. We tripped over our feet. Twigs snapped and saplings crunched under our boots. I couldn't tell if we were being followed or not.

I scanned the treetops for Manderley, but instead caught glimpses of other woodland creatures, squirrels and sparrows. Like he would want me to, I doubted myself. Maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe all this time he'd wanted to help us. I didn't think we could find our way to the cabin even if we dared try. It was as if we'd been swallowed whole by the woods and were deep inside its belly. It was as if it were pregnant with us, and like a baby in its mother's belly we thrashed around, hoping to be let out.

Let us out, I pleaded.

I thought of home, lavender detergent, and chicken pot pie, all the things I remembered from the night we'd gone into these woods. Did my father blame himself? Did my mother? We'd been foolish, naïve, and impudent. This was our punishment, worse than death, Phillip and Manderley and whatever they had planned for us.

We had to get away, even if it was by the tip of our tongues. How I ached for home.

"Ivy, look." Margaret pointed up ahead to where the trees parted, giving way to a path, the first one we'd seen so far.

During the storm, several trees had been knocked over, snapped right in half. They reminded me of pencils that had been broken by a temperamental child who couldn't have what he wanted. They were in our way and were too high to climb. Night would come and go, and we'd still be in these woods, in its obtruding belly, where he'd find us.

I spun in a circle, searching for a way, any way out of Roving Woods. There must have been another way somewhere. When I heard the shrill call of Manderley, I'd already made up my mind. I took Margaret's hand and pulled her away from the path. We ducked behind the shrubbery. If we couldn't run, we would hide from him.

He would never have our hearts. He would never have my heart.