The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 2: I Still Miss Someone

Nine Years Ago

Thirteen-year-old Holly Barnes looked over at where her father sat, reading his big leather-bound book of folk tales one cloudy Saturday afternoon in November. She put down the Harry Potter book she was reading and turned to look at him. For as long as she could remember, it'd been like this: quiet evenings and quiet days at home with him. Not that she minded—there was something endearing about their quiet life molded from her dad's bookish demeanor.

She looked up at the painting across from the couch: a print of The Lady of Shallot, a hyper-detailed woman in a small boat in a serene lake scene. There was something about the young woman's expression that had always unnerved Holly—it seemed conflicted, perhaps even haunted. Almost as if she was running away from something.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to speak, "Dad...there's something I need to ask you. And I need you to be honest."

He looked up at her, a hazy expression on his face, like he was still too wrapped up in the world of his book to comprehend what she'd said. It took a moment, but finally his green eyes—the ones he'd passed to her—flickered to understanding and he nodded. "Of course, Holls, I'm always honest with you."

After another breath to steel herself, she exhaled in a rush, "What happened to my mother?"

He sucked in a breath, surprised by this line of questioning. She couldn't blame him—she hadn't asked in a very long time. But enough time had passed. She'd grown up enough that she would no longer accept his "I'll tell you when you're older" delay.

"Where's this coming from?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dad. I'm thirteen. It's about time I knew what happened. And you're the only one who can tell me."

It wasn't a guilt trip but the literal truth—in a town this small, she would have thought someone would be able to tell her about her mother. Some of the old bats in the historical society could practically remember the Halloween costumes of every child in town for the last twenty years. But no one knew her mother. She hadn't been from Freighton and it seemed she'd never even set foot there. Matthew Barnes had left for California to go to school and returned seven years later with two degrees and a little baby girl.

Every time she had asked him when she was younger, he'd put off the questions before bolting from the room, leaving Holly with a foreboding feeling in her stomach. She was starved for any and all information of her mother—a girl needed to know where she came from.

"Well, Holls, your mother...she..." he trailed off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She left right after you were born."

"Left? Left where?"

"I don't know. I wish I did. She just...took off without so much as a note and I haven't heard from her since."

"Why would she do that?"

"We were young. She just wasn't ready to be a mother. But don't think for a second that you aren't loved. You are the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me and I wouldn't change a thing about my life."

Holly considered this, the pit in her stomach still not assuaged.

"Will you finally show me a picture of her?"

"Well, I...I can't do that. There weren't many pictures of us to begin with, but what few I had, she took with her when she left." They fell into silence for a few moments until her dad got up from his chair to sit on the couch next to her. "I'm so sorry I waited so long to tell you. It wasn't fair. She was your mother, for better or worse, and you deserve to know what really happened. I just didn't want you to feel unloved because of what she did."