Turned 2: The Bramblewood Werebear

Chapter 2: Bramblewood

Jennie took a brief nap, and awoke refreshed. The clock in the hall told her that it was only four o' clock. Dinner would not be for some hours, so she donned a light dress and her comfortable walking shoes, and went to explore the grounds.
The sunlight lay in mellow golden bands across Bramblewood's parkland. She passed through the rose garden with delight, pausing to breathe the scent of several varieties that begged for her attention. After that, she strolled across the plentiful grass toward one of the nearby ponds.
The strange ducks she had seem from the carriage were there--lovely black and red creatures, with white markings upon their heads and wings. They kept to the far side of the pond, making remarks about her to one another in low voices.
Jennie followed a path over a hill and down to a well-kept orchard. One of the household maids worked among the trees on a stepladder, gathering late plums. She looked up with an uncertain expression as Jennie approached.
"Hello!" Jennie called. "Pay me no mind--I'm on walking tour."
The maid smiled, and curtseyed as well as she could manage from atop the stepladder. "Beg pardon, miss. Cook sent me to gather plums for tonight's dessert."
"Carry on!" Jennie selected a fine red plum from the tree, and sampled it. The thin skin burst in her mouth with sweet juice. "I must get to know everyone, if I'm to be the new mistress of the house. What's your name?"
"Harriet Downs, miss. I've been here not yet a year."
"Do you like it here?"
Harriet dropped several plums into a basket. "Yes'm."
Jennie contributed her efforts. "What do you think of Mr. Gunnersen?"
"He's very kind, to be sure. And he ..." Harriet trailed off and pursed her lips.
"He what?" Many horrible possibilities filled Jennie's mind--he gambled, he drank to excess, he played the fool among women ...
"Well, he's that odd, and no mistake. Spends whole nights in the woods, returns with his clothing torn. None of us are to venture outdoors on those nights."
This did not match Jennie's preconceptions. She plucked more fruit and pondered. "He does enjoy the outdoors, he's said. Perhaps he's given to intimate study of the natural sciences?"
Harriet shook her head. "I couldn't say, ma'am. I'd better get back to the kitchen before Cook sends to find me." She hoisted the basket and struggled with the stepladder.
"Allow me," said Jennie. "It's not far."
After a moment of protest, Harriet accepted her help. Jennie chatted with her as they returned to the house, but her reasons were duplicitous. The servants would surely know if Oliver hid any devastating secrets or habits. And if they did not, she would know that she had nothing to fear.
The kitchen door was around the rear of the house, reached by a path through a generous kitchen garden, which looked faded in the midsummer afternoon. Nonetheless many cucumbers and melons peeked out from beneath the spreading leaves. Bramblewood's table already promised much enjoyment.
The kitchen was hot from the stove, and the aroma of roast beef made Jennie's mouth water. The cook was a thin, severe woman swathed in an apron, who swirled around the kitchen like a tornado. Jennie backed prudently out of sight as Harriet delivered the plums. Perhaps hanging about the kitchen was not the best idea.
Jennie walked among the garden boxes instead. The herbs were full of butterflies, and she watched them a while, counting species. A small gray fellow defied identification, and she was peering at it and wishing for a net, when a voice said, "Hello."
She turned. An old man stood there with a rake in hand, his flattened hat pushed back on his head. His clothing was stained with earth, particularly about the knees. Lines of character etched his face. Jennie held out a hand. "Hello! I'm Jennie Walden."
He shook her hand, and his own was rough and callused. "Frank Herman, head gardener. You the girl Gunnersen's been on about?"
"I--I think so." Jennie withdrew her hand, and her cheeks warmed. "He's talked about me?"
"Heavens, yes." Frank raked at the rough soil of an unused bed. "You're the girl from northern parts who writes about moths."
She bowed her head to hide a smile. "Yes, that's me."
Frank nodded curtly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." He said nothing more, but raked so ferociously that Jennie retreated. He reminded her of her own grandfather--fierce, blunt, and soft-hearted beneath. Time would tell if Frank possessed the latter quality.
Jennie strolled across the back garden, which was arranged with flowers and brick walks in a circular pattern. Shadows stretched from the woods in the distance as the sun sank behind them. Jennie rested on a bench beneath an oak, and gazed about her. A beautiful place, to be sure ... complete with its little mysteries.
The back door opened, and Oliver stepped outdoors, shading his eyes with one hand. Jennie's heart trembled with sudden nerves. There he was. The man she loved, yet scarcely knew.
He descended the veranda steps and strode toward her, dressed in a black suit coat and fawn-colored trousers. "Here you are, Jennie! The servants tell me you've been exploring."
Again she was struck by his sheer size as he towered over her. She mustered her courage and smiled, straightening. "Yes, I wished to become familiar with the grounds. Also, I'm not certain of when to expect supper."
"Supper is at seven," he said, taking her hand. "Breakfast at eight, luncheon at noon. What have you seen?"
She recounted her travels. Arm in arm, they strolled about, and Oliver showed her the stables and paddock, where the carriage horses grazed. As they circled back to Bramblewood's front, Jennie said, "We crossed a river driving in. How far is that?"
Oliver pointed north. "A bend of it flows quite close to the grounds. It's safe enough this time of year."
His tone rang strangely in her ears. She gazed up at him, thinking of midnight rambles and torn clothes. "When is it unsafe?"
"At night." He caught himself. "And in spring, when the floods come down from the snowmelt."
"At night?"
He hesitated, and rubbed his chin, as if uncomfortable with such questions. "I dislike placing any prohibitions on you, but I must, for your own safety. Come with me." He led her to the top of a small hill, and pointed south. Two stone towers were barely visible miles away over the forest's top, blue with distance. "You see those?"
"Yes," said Jennie, mystified.
"That is the Grayton Wall. You've heard of the land of Grayton, and the curse upon its people?"
Jennie shuddered. "I've heard dark rumors. Of men who become beasts and rend other men."
Oliver nodded. "This spring, they opened their gates after fifteen years of isolation. The cursed men run abroad at night. They resemble wolves. The curse spreads with a bite, so my household is forbidden to set foot outside after nightfall."
Jennie studied the distant towers with uneasiness crawling through her. "If they are so deadly, why open their gates?"
"Their economy was on the verge of collapse in the curse's aftermath," said Oliver, folding his arms. "They needed to trade or starve."
"Do they come to Woodsdale?"
"Yes. Business has been exceptionally good lately. My merchants may not trust the wolf men, but they readily accept their gold."
Jennie slipped her arm into his, admiring the bulging muscles of his forearm beneath the suit coat. "And that is good for you."
His other hand caressed her hair, and his voice mellowed. "Why, yes." He pulled her into his arms, and she relaxed against his chest. His body was warm and firm against her own, and for a moment she was safe and sheltered there. She slipped her arms around his waist, and he kissed the top of her head.
She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her forehead, delicately. His lips were soft and warm. If only he would kiss her mouth as well! But he showed restraint, and merely brushed her hair away from her face. "My love."
"I love you," she murmured. As she said it, she knew it was true. Despite her uncertainties, she loved this man in a deep, clear-eyed way--aware he had faults, and willing to overlook them.
"And I love you," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest. His blue eyes were soft with kindness.
They stood that way for some time, as the sun sank and blue twilight overshadowed the world. But finally he said, "We should wash for supper," and they returned to the house.
The cook had outdone herself with the roast beef and plum cake. Jennie ate far too much of everything, but so did Oliver. Afterward they retired to the veranda with cups of tea, and watched the stars emerge. They talked and laughed together, and when fatigue finally forced Jennie to bed, she was sorry she could not be accompanied by her lover.
Before she slept, thoughts of Oliver with torn clothes nagged at her mind. Would he sleep this night, or remain outdoors? He was not a wolf-man, out to devour anything he could catch?
Through the open door of her bedroom, the bear painting was faintly visible. She gazed at it until sleep set her worries to rest.