Page 31 of The Dravenhearst Brides

Dear Diary,

I planted a magnolia tree today.

—Excerpt, the diary of Eleanor Dravenhearst

The bed grew cold in the night. It was either very late or very, very early. Still dark out.

Margot rolled over, reaching for him. Reaching to where he was supposed to be.

But Merrick’s side of the bed was empty.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She sat upright so quickly, the room swirled around her. Dizzying.

She rose to her feet and shivered. The room was ice cold, the door cracked open.

She knew he’d closed it before they’d gone to sleep. Before they’d made love in his bed.

“Merrick?” she whispered, creeping toward the hall. Her breath rose in a frozen cloud. “Merrick?”

The anxious and fearful part of her brain woke up fast. Surely he hadn’t snuck out? Not again?

Not ever again. He’d promised.

Things were different now, weren’t they? She was certainly different. With every step she took, she could feel the ache between her legs from where he’d been.

“Merrick?”

She reached forward, pushing open the door with a slow creak. He wasn’t in the hallway, but someone was. Margot froze.

A woman. Dressed all in white. Turning the corner for the stairwell. Margot barely caught the swirl of skirts before she disappeared.

“Go back to bed.” The familiar whisper raised the hair on the back of her neck.

Margot turned, expecting to find Babette, but the dark hallway was empty.

Where was Merrick?

She took off down the hall, heading for the stairs. She had to find him.

Her bare feet thudded on the carpet, slapped loudly on the wooden landing. She ran to the serpentine balustrade, looked into the foyer, and lost her breath.

There she was. The woman in white. Gliding across the floor.

She wore an ivory bridal ballgown, full and heavily skirted.

Over her face hung a veil so long and thick it completely obscured her features and trailed to the floor, dragging behind her as she walked.

Each step unhurried. Hauntingly staggered.

Under her breath, the woman hummed. The echo resonated in the empty foyer, the tune familiar. An old children’s lullaby.

Margot’s veins ran with ice. When she blinked, there was frost on her eyelashes. She gripped the railing and descended the stairs, possessed by the sight of the woman in white. When she was halfway down, the woman disappeared through an archway.

Margot followed. Down the final stairs, across the foyer, into the hallway. The candles were snuffed out, fresh smoke in the air. It was pitch dark in the corridor, but a door was cracked open on her left. A door to a sitting room overlooking the front of the house, the magnolia trees.

Humming came from within, drawing Margot forward. She pushed open the door.

A small table was set. White cloth. China teacups.

And sitting there, right there, mere footsteps away, was a bride, illuminated by moonlight. A Dravenhearst bride, veil still covering her face.

“When the wind blows,” the woman whisper-sang, fingers fluttering above the tea set, “the cradle will rock.”

Margot suspected who she was, but she had to know. An icy fist of fear gripped her heart. Ruth was in her mind. Babette was in her mind. She was preternaturally afraid. Could barely get the words out. “Who…?”

The woman looked up.

“Who am I?” The voice was almost childlike, musical. Her head tilted, veil moving with it. “Who are you?” She lowered her voice, continuing to sing. “When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come baby…”

“Margot,” she whispered. “Margot Dravenhearst.”

A sharp intake of breath, excited. The woman eagerly patted the empty seat beside her. “Margot Dravenhearst? Yes, of course you are. I knew it. I simply knew it. Come, sit with me. We have so much to talk about. Are you in love, Margot Dravenhearst?”

“Am I…what?”

“You look like you’re in love.” The words were fervent and wistful. “Tell me everything. You’re going to have a baby, aren’t you?”

Margot didn’t answer. Her hand drifted to her stomach, eerily disengaged from the rest of her body. Like a puppeteer pulled her strings. The place between her legs was still sore and damp where Merrick had been mere hours ago.

“I know that look.” The bride nodded. “You’re one of us now. Just like you always wanted.”

How did she…?

“Sit down. Please.” She patted the seat again. “Have tea with me.”

“Who are you?” Margot croaked.

“I’m Eleanor.” The bride giggled, as though Margot was very silly indeed. The sound was high-pitched and girlish and wrong. So very, very wrong. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re going to be the best of friends.”

Margot awoke with a scream.