Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Water: Chapter 37

Chapter 37 Samhain I need you to look after something for me.

And what would that be,

My love?

Rose silently passed Davy the wooden box he had carved.

It felt heavy as he took it from her hands.

Why?

Rose shook her head.

I don't know,

I just feel it's the time for remembering the ancestors,

Those who have gone before and I can't see,

That is,

I don't know what the future holds for me.

Don't ask me to explain,

She finished,

Seeing the question frame upon Davy's lips.

Just understand I'm not sure what's going to happen and I want to leave this in your safekeeping.

For Rachel,

For the future.

Is everything inside?

Rose nodded.

Yes,

And I've asked Charles to write some things down.

He'll know what to do if.

.

.

Her voice trailed off and Davy pulled her to him.

Nothing's going to happen,

He murmured into her hair.

I won't let it.

I know,

She replied,

But just in case.

It was as Rose was making her way back to her cottage she first noticed the rosy glow in the sky.

She hurried,

Aware something was very wrong and by the time she arrived on the scene the church was well and truly ablaze.

Orange flames licked around the windows like the feasting tongues of demons and there was a fear the tower might collapse.

Smoke billowed from the doorway,

Preventing entry but the main problem,

Everyone agreed,

Was the roof.

If the fire in the roof could be put out then perhaps there was a chance of saving the building but the age-old timbers were tinder dry catching alight easily and it was far beyond the power of the villagers to rescue it.

Nevertheless,

They tried.

For seemingly hours,

Chains of men and women had attempted to douse the flames with buckets of water from the vicarage well but soon discovered that,

Due to the inordinately dry autumn it was rapidly drying up.

And so,

The time arrived when it became apparent they would be unable to save their church and simply have to wait until the fire lessened of its own accord and the church burnt to the ground.

It was then that Rose arrived.

There was a general atmosphere of panic in the air and as she approached was met by a throng of people milling around,

Fast losing heart in their task.

She forced her way as close as she possibly could.

There you are.

Where on earth have you been?

Her arm was roughly grasped by Jory as he swung her around.

I've been searching for you all over the place.

He glared at her,

Wild-eyed.

This is all you're doing.

He jabbed a finger at her in the orange darkness.

May the Lord have mercy on you for this.

Rose gasped.

How could you say that?

How could you think I would or even could do such a thing?

You and your spells and potions and curses,

Continued Jory as if she had not spoken.

I've always turned a blind eye to your carryings but this has gone too far.

You heathen,

You witch.

He backed away,

Such venom in his words and hatred in his eyes that Rose felt her throat constricting.

She fleetingly remembered lying in Davy's arms a mere hour before,

Recalled the tenderness and the love she had found there and realised he and Jory had always been worlds apart.

There was a touch on her arm and she turned to see the vicar standing behind her.

Rose,

I'm so glad you're here.

Don't touch her,

Vicar,

Interrupted Jory,

Pushing Rose roughly aside.

She's the devil's spawn and I'm ashamed to call her my wife.

May the Lord have mercy upon me for having anything to do with her.

Leave her be,

The vicar's tone was sharp and Jory blinked in astonishment.

Leave her alone and don't take the Lord's name in vain.

With an obvious effort he turned his back on Jory and took Rose by the arm,

Drawing her to one side away from the main throng.

His face was white and she could see the fear in his drawn features.

Rose,

He repeated,

I don't know how this began or what we have done to deserve it,

But.

.

.

She looked into his eyes and saw not a man of the cloth but simply another spirit such as her own,

Doing his best for humanity in the only way he knew how.

And she knew he saw the same in her.

She relaxed,

Feeling no threat,

No blame or intimidation from him.

Rose,

He swallowed,

You can see how things are.

There is no saving the church now.

You are the only person left to ask.

Will you help us?

Rose stood on the rise of the hill above the church and calmed herself,

Breathing slowly and steadily,

Moving into the place between the worlds where simple magic was at its strongest and worked best.

Slowly a sense of order descended upon her and she felt her body and mind balance with her spirit,

Above and below,

Within and without.

She felt the energy of the ground root her and the night air swirl around her being.

She was aware of the heat of the raging fire upon her face as she raised her arms wide to the heavens,

Calling in the element of water which was so desperately needed to save the church.

For in the end it mattered not who,

What or how people worshipped.

In the end all became one.

Rose's lips moved silently as she focused on bending her intent to her task.

The breeze,

Which so readily fanned the flames,

Danced around her,

Carrying orange sparks on the air which quickly turned to white ash,

Like confetti on the wind or the fall of Mayflower Blossom in spring.

The villagers had fallen silent,

One by one becoming aware of the woman standing on the rise of the hill behind the church,

Arms raised in supplication.

Time stood still.

The world waited.

Only the flames continued to dance as Rose concentrated upon calling the rain,

Bringing the water which was needed to douse the raging flames.

In all her years as village wise woman and healer,

This was her greatest challenge.

Rose slowly opened her eyes.

Nothing had changed.

The fire lit the building as ever and she was aware the villagers feared this last-ditch attempt would also fail and they would finally lose their church.

Rose drew a deep breath,

Knowing she had done all in her power,

Aware that only a much greater and higher energy than hers could change events now.

And then she saw her.

She stood to one side of the graveyard,

Forming a triangle between herself,

Rose and the burning church.

At first,

Rose wondered who she could be until she noticed this was no ordinary person for the woman's body undulated in the flickering firelight and Rose became aware that her hair was formed from swirls of grey and black smoke whilst her gown was the white rush of a waterfall.

A swift breeze sprang up all around her,

Flattening the grass in a circle and causing the leaves on the trees above to shiver.

Upon her head lay a circlet of wild roses and Rose instantly knew this to be the guardian who appeared only at times of great need and her heart soared as she felt the energy flooding into her,

Knowing without a shadow of a doubt everything was going to be alright.

One by one,

People began to notice the stars being obliterated as low clouds gathered in the night sky.

The wind changed direction,

Swirling now from the north and far away down the valley the first low rumble of thunder could be heard.

Rose stood,

Intent upon her task.

A hush fell over the villages,

The only sound the crackle of flames as they licked at the battens of the roof.

There was a louder rumble of thunder,

A sudden flash of lightning,

Which,

It was related in the telling,

Was so magnificent it would never be forgotten by any of those who witnessed it.

Then the heavens opened and the rains pummeled the earth in a deluge of water and hailstones which engulfed the burning building,

Causing such a hissing and spitting as flames and water clashed.

It was,

As some said,

A spectacle as magnificent as the fires of hell.

In seemingly no time at all the flames were doused and the fire out,

Leaving the ruined church in blackness,

Save for the mists of smoke which swirled around it and the glow of embers fanned by the remaining breeze.

The blackened walls stood stark and forbidding against the night sky,

But the tower and some of the roof remained intact and the villagers resumed their work,

Able to cope without the ever-increasing heat,

Cooling the walls and ensuring every last spark had been extinguished.

Rose surveyed the scene before her,

Glanced across the graveyard towards the place the figure had been standing and found her still there,

Her hand outstretched.

Come.

The word echoed on the dying breeze.

Come.

Rose's heart swelled with love and feeling an enormous sense of relief passed into blessed oblivion.

The rain was fading to a misty drizzle and it was obvious the church would be saved.

Everyone felt a wave of relief,

Then out of the blackness jewellery appeared,

Drenched to the skin,

Staggering down the slippery slope with Rose inert in his arms.

People rushed forwards,

Taking her from him and hurrying to the vicarage where they laid her gently down and wrapped blankets around her in an attempt to warm her freezing body.

But she remained pale and lifeless and every effort to revive her seemed to fail.

Let me see her.

Charles pushed into the vicarage,

Took one look at Rose and sent a man to ride immediately for the nearest doctor,

Although something in his heart told him it might already be too late.

Of jewellery there was no sign.

Charles sat with Rose,

Holding her hand.

He wished Davy was with them.

He would have known what to do to cause her eyes to open,

Bring warmth to her cold skin and make her smile again.

But Davy was still confined to his cottage,

Unable to do more than hobble.

As Charles sat with Rose's hand in his,

He felt a movement and Rose's eyes flickered.

Rose,

He whispered.

My Rose,

You saved the church,

You protect the fire.

It's going to be alright.

Hold on a little longer,

Just hold on.

Her grip on his hand tightened momentarily and then relaxed as if the effort were too much.

Tell Davy,

She whispered.

Charles bent his head closer to hear her words,

Which were soft as gossamer on an autumn breeze.

Tell Davy it was worth it.

Even for just once,

It was worth every moment.

It was ours in the end and next time we'll do it properly.

Charles leaned closer still,

But it was too late.

Rose's eyes stared at the ceiling and the fragile grip on his fingers slackened.

She looked so peaceful and content,

All Charles could do was gently close her eyes.

Then he put his head in his hands and wept.

He found Jory in the church.

Despite the danger of the roof falling in,

Charles knew there was nowhere else to look and indeed Jory was kneeling before the blackened altar,

Hands together in prayer.

As he ran up the aisle,

Charles glanced around him.

The damage was not as bad as it appeared.

The roof was,

However,

In danger of collapsing and it would be prudent to get Jory out as soon as possible.

But the blackened pillars stood tall and proud.

The stone font had suffered little damage,

Save for its charred wooden cover,

And the tower was still in one piece.

Nevertheless,

It was with a combination of compassion and urgency that Charles placed a hand on Jory's shoulder to feel it heaving with sobs.

Come along,

We must leave.

Rose?

The question was muffled and Charles knew he had no choice but to tell Jory the truth.

She's gone,

I'm so sorry.

Exhausted,

Cold,

But peaceful.

Oh,

So peaceful.

He pressed Jory's shoulder,

Searching for the right words,

Knowing he would never find them.

You should be proud of her,

Proud of what she did for us all.

Proud she saved the church,

He murmured eventually.

Jory turned then,

His face twisted and contorted in grief.

May she rot in hell,

He snarled.

Charles backed away,

Shocked at Jory's words,

Imagining they must be a reaction to his loss.

He held out his hand.

Come outside and we'll talk about it there.

You don't mean that.

No,

Jory sprang to his feet and Charles could see the wildness in his eyes.

She might have saved the building,

But with what?

Her trickery and her witchery.

I'd rather the place had burned to the ground.

At least it would have been God's will.

I wish I'd never married the woman.

I've spent my life torn between Rose and God,

Love and duty,

And now,

Now,

This was my test and this is my punishment.

This is all my fault.

He took one long shuddering breath.

I should have chosen God,

Not the woman I loved.

I should have.

He began to cry incoherently,

Great heaving sobs from the depth of his being.

Now I'm glad the witch is dead,

He finished,

As he turned and stumbled from the building.

Charles stood for a moment,

Shocked and stunned,

Until an overhead creek reminded him of the danger he was in.

And taking one last look around,

Followed Jory into the cold night air.