Serafina and the Black Cloak (18 page)

W
hen she finally began to feel tired, she pulled herself away from the window. She went over to the fireplace and felt the warmth of its glowing
coals. Then she pulled a blanket off the leather chair and curled up on the fur rug on the floor in front of the fire. She fell asleep almost immediately. For the first time in what seemed like a
long time, she slept soundly and dreamed deeply for hours. It felt good to be home.

In the middle of the night, she awoke slowly to the gentle sound of Braeden’s voice. “I was hoping you would come,” he said. It didn’t seem to surprise him at all to wake
and find her curled up by his fireplace. “I was worrying about you all day.”

“I’m all right,” she said, her heart filling with warmth as much from the tone of his voice as the words he spoke.

“How did you make it home?” he asked.

She told him everything, and for the first time, it all began to feel real in her mind and in her heart. It didn’t feel like just a dream or a child’s fantasy, but actually true.

Braeden turned onto his back and listened to her account with rapt attention. “That’s amazing,” he said several times.

When she was done, he paused for a long time, as if he was envisioning it all in his mind, and then he said, “You’re so clever and brave, Serafina.”

She couldn’t suppress a sigh as all the fear, uncertainty, and helplessness that had built up inside her drifted away.

They sat quietly in the darkness for a long time, he in his bed and her by the fireplace, not moving or talking, and it felt good just to be there for a while.

She got up slowly, took a few steps over to the window, and then faced him. She could see his eyes looking at her as she stood in front of him in the moonlight. She imagined her skin must look
very pale to him, almost ghostly, and her hair almost white in color.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” she said.

“All right,” he said softly, sitting up in his bed.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

Braeden went quiet and did not answer. The question seemed to scare him. “What do you mean?”

“When you look at me, do you see…do you see…a normal girl?”

“Clara Brahms is different than Anastasia Rostonova, and you are different than both of them,” he said. “We’re all different in our own way.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but am I…” She faltered. She didn’t know how to ask it. “Am I strange looking? Do I act strange? Am I some sort of weird
creature or something?”

It stunned her when he did not reply right away, when he did not immediately deny it. He didn’t say anything at all. He hesitated. For a long time. Every second that went by was like a
dagger in her heart because she knew it was true. She felt like leaping out his window and running into the trees. His reaction confirmed that she was strange and contorted beyond reckoning!

“Let me ask you a question in return,” he said. “Have you had a lot of friends during the course of your life?”

“No,” she said soberly, thinking that now he was being particularly cruel if this was his way of explaining just how grotesque she was.

“Neither have I,” he said. “The truth is, besides Gidean and my horses, I’ve never had a good friend my own age, someone I really trusted and wanted to be with through
thick and thin. I’ve met a lot of girls and a lot of boys, and I’ve spent time with them, but…”

His voice faltered. He could not explain. And she could feel the hurt inside him, and her heart went out to him despite the fact that he’d practically called her a monster to her face just
moments before. “Keep going…” she said softly.

“I-I don’t know why, but I haven’t made any friends that are…like…that are…”

“Human,” she said.

He nodded. “Isn’t that strange? I mean, isn’t that
very
strange? After my family died, I didn’t want to talk to anyone anymore or be with them. I didn’t want
to wonder when I was going to see them next. I just didn’t want to. I wanted to be alone. My aunt and uncle have been very kind. They’ve brought all sorts of boys and girls here to see
if I was interested in making friends. I sat with them at dinner because my aunt and uncle wanted me to sit with them. I danced with the girls because they wanted me to dance with them. I never
said anything mean to any of the girls or the boys, and felt nothing but kindness toward them, and maybe they never even knew what I was feeling. There was nothing wrong with them, but for some
reason, I would just rather be with Gidean, or taking a walk watching the birds, or looking for new things in the forest. My uncle brought my cousins here to explore the forests with me, but they
started playing a game with a ball, and soon I drifted away from them. I don’t understand it. There’s nothing wrong with any of them. I think there’s something wrong with
me
, Serafina.”

Serafina looked at Braeden, and she spoke very softly, not sure she wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. “Was it like that when you met me?”

“I don’t…I…”

“Would you just as soon I go?” she said quietly, trying to understand.

“No, it’s…it’s hard to explain…”

“Try,” she said, praying that he wasn’t just about to tell her that he felt nothing for her and just wanted to be alone.

“When I met you, it was
different
,” he said. “I wanted to know who you were. When you ran down the stairs and disappeared, I was frantic to find you again. I searched
all over, every floor. I checked every closet and looked under every bed. Everyone else was looking for Clara Brahms, may God be with her, but I was looking for
you
, Serafina. When my aunt
and uncle decided to send me away to the Vances, I pitched a fit of temper like they’d never seen before. You should’ve seen the look on their faces. They had no idea what had gotten
into me.”

Serafina smiled. “You really didn’t want to leave Biltmore that bad?” Still smiling, she took a few steps forward and sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

“You have no idea how my heart leapt when I saw stupid old Crankshod shaking the daylights out of you in the porte cochere,” he said. “I thought: There she is! There she is! I
can save her!”

Serafina laughed. “Well, you could have come a little earlier and saved me a good shaking!”

Braeden smiled, and it was good to see him smile, but then he remembered her question and turned more serious again as he looked at her. “But then, later, during the battle in the forest,
and in the carriage that night, and when you disappeared the next morning, that’s when I realized how different you really were from anyone I had ever met. Yes, you are different,
Serafina…very different…maybe even strange, like you say…I don’t know…but…” His words faded, and he did not continue.

“But maybe that’s all right with you,” she said tentatively, thinking she understood him.

“Yes. I think it’s what I like about you,” he said, and there was a long pause between them.

“So, we’re friends,” she said finally, her heart beating as she waited for his answer. It was a statement, but it was also a question, to be confirmed or denied, and it was the
first time in her life she had ever asked someone that question.

“We’re friends,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Good friends.”

She smiled at him, and he smiled in return. Her chest filled with a sensation like she was drinking warm milk.

“I also want to tell you this, Serafina,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with me, either. I
don’t know. We’re just different from the others, you and I, each in our own way. You know what I mean?”

He climbed out of the bed. “I have a present for you,” he said as he lit an oil lamp on his nightstand. “I know you don’t need the light, but I do. Otherwise, I’m
going to stub my toe on the bed.”

“A present? For me?” she said, not really hearing anything else he said.

Presents were something she’d read about in
Little Women
and other books, something people exchanged when they liked each other. She had never been able to figure out why her pa
never celebrated her birthday, but now that he’d told her the story of her birth, she realized that it probably dug up dark and painful memories that he preferred to forget. It didn’t
help that buying sentimental presents that weren’t useful was akin to a sin in his book. And the one time he tried to make her a gift, she ended up with a doll that looked suspiciously like a
crescent wrench. The truth was she had never received an actual wrapped present in her life, but the thought of it excited her.

“Why do I deserve a present?” she asked Braeden as she crawled farther onto the bed.

“Because we’re friends, right?” he said as he handed her a medium-size lightweight box wrapped in decorative paper and tied with a crimson velvet bow. “I hope you
don’t mind what it is.”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s foreboding. What is it, a black satin cloak?”

“Just open it,” he said, smiling.

She untied the bow, thinking of how different the soft velvet felt in her fingers compared to the rough twine that she once cinched around her waist. But having no practice at it, she
didn’t know how to unwrap the beautiful paper. Braeden had to show her how.

Finally, she lifted the lid off the box.

She gasped. What she saw in the box struck a deep chord in her heart. It was a gorgeous winter gown. It had long sleeves of dark maroon velvet and a corset of richly patterned charcoal-and-black
velour, all trimmed in lynx-gray piping, its silver threads shimmering in the flickering light of the oil lamp.

“Oh, it’s wonderful…” she said in amazement as she lifted the dress out of the box. The material felt so soft and warm that she kneaded it with her fingers and touched
it to her face. She had never seen such a beautiful dress in her life.

She pulled her hair back behind her head and tied it with the red bow from her present. Then she went to the mirror and draped the dress in front of her to see what she looked like. When she saw
her image, it almost seemed like a completely different person staring back at her. She wasn’t a wild creature from the forest anymore, but a beautiful little girl who belonged wherever she
went. She stared at the girl for a long time.

As she marveled at the exquisite details of her new gown, a dark thought crept into her mind. She didn’t want to be rude, but her curiosity won that battle as fast as water running
downhill. She turned to Braeden.

“I already know what you’re going to ask,” he said.

“We’ve only known each other for a short time, so how did you get this dress so quickly?”

He looked at the pictures on his wall.

“Where did it come from, Braeden?”

He looked at the floor.

“Braeden…”

Finally, he looked at her and answered, “My aunt had it made.”

“But not for me.”

“She wanted me to give it to Clara.”

“Ah,” Serafina said, trying to come to grips with it.

“I know, I know, I’m really sorry,” he said. “She never wore it, though, I swear. She never even saw it. I just really wanted to give you something nice and I
didn’t have anything. I didn’t mean any offense by it.”

Serafina gently touched his arm. “It’s a beautiful gown, Braeden. I love it. Thank you.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek.

Braeden smiled, happy.

She enjoyed seeing him pleased, but the dress made her think of Clara again. “So, why were the Brahms invited to Biltmore?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Braeden said. “I think my aunt and uncle heard that Clara was a prodigy and they thought it would be nice to meet her and have her play for the
guests.”

“And your aunt saw how sweet and pretty she was, how educated and talented, and she wanted you to be friends with her.”

He nodded. “Part of my aunt’s grand plan to find a friend for me. She really liked Clara, in particular, but I only spoke to her a few times so I didn’t know her very
well.”

As Braeden spoke, Serafina’s ears picked up the sound of someone approaching. She heard footsteps coming slowly down the hall. She set aside the dress. “Do you hear that?” she
whispered. “Someone’s coming!”

“I hear it,” Braeden said in a low voice.

Gidean rose to his feet and went straight to the closed door.

“Douse the light!” she whispered.

Braeden quickly followed her suggestion, striking them into darkness.

Staying quiet, they stopped and listened.

From the sound of the shoes, she thought that it might be Mr. Vanderbilt coming to check in on his nephew. She’d been caught, she thought. She’d been caught bad and there
wasn’t going to be any way to get out of it! The shoeshine-girl ruse wasn’t going to work this time. She wondered if she could hide under the bed, or fling some sort of crazy excuse at
him and then skedaddle down the corridor before he got a good look at her. But then she heard the slithering noise.

It was the Man in the Black Cloak.

He was coming down the corridor.

He was searching.

Every night he came.

He was relentless.

“I have a secret way out,” Braeden whispered.

“Let’s just be real quiet,” she said. “Stay very still.” Leaving Braeden near the bed, she moved forward through the darkness and joined Gidean at the door, worried
that he’d start barking and give their presence away. She touched the dog’s shoulder, letting him know that if a fight came, they’d fight it together.

The sound came closer and closer until the Man in the Black Cloak was right outside the door.

He stopped there, listening, waiting, as if he could sense them inside the room. He knew they were in there.

She could hear him breathing. She picked up the foul scent of the cloak as the stench wafted through the crack under the door.

The Black Cloak began its slow, slithering, rattling motion.

Gidean growled.

The doorknob slowly turned.