“Why do you think that?” Anne asked, gently turning Beatrix’s chin upward so that she could look directly into those brown eyes.
Beatrix remained silent for a moment but then slowly started pulling off her gloves, tugging one finger at a time until her skin lay bare.
“The words are gone,” Beatrix explained as she lifted her hands toward the light of the fire.
The elegant dips and curves of Beatrix’s handwriting had disappeared, leaving behind smooth, unmarked skin. She couldn’t even make out a comma between the grooves of her knuckles or a period along the hollow of her palm. Now there were only lines waiting to be written upon.
“When did this happen?” Violet asked as she took one of Beatrix’s hands in her own and gripped it tight.
“After I signed the contract for the third book, I was so busy with the tour that I didn’t notice at first,” Beatrix murmured. “But by the time I finally sat down to write again, I could tell that the words weren’t quite as dense. And then every day I stared at those blank pages, another letter would fade away until I was left with nothing at all.”
“That doesn’t mean your magic’s left you,” Anne said. “It’s probably just waiting to be drawn out again.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true,” Beatrix sighed. “I can’t describe it properly, but sitting down for hours at the desk only to walk away without having written a single sentence has left me hollow. I’ve not experienced this sense of loss since . . .”
Anne and Violet hugged Beatrix closer, letting her know that they understood without her having to say the words. Though the sting of their parents’ deaths had become less biting, it didn’t mean that the pain of losing them had faded entirely. The joys in the present and possibilities of the future had just made the memories easier to bear.
“You will write again,” Violet insisted, her tone so firm that it sounded like a demand.
“You can’t know that,” Beatrix replied with a quick shake of her head.
“But I can,” Anne said as she reached for the cup of tea that Beatrix had set on the table and stared down at the leaves clinging to the white curves of the porcelain.
“Oh, you mustn’t,” Beatrix whispered, but before she could pull the tea away, Anne had caught hold of a sign that rested in the middle of the cup, where it dangled so close to the tea’s surface that it nearly slipped back into what remained of Beatrix’s orange spice blend.
Beatrix waited for Anne to reveal what she’d seen, but before images of snakes and bats could fly to the front of her suspicions, a smile started to tug at the corners of their sister’s lips.
“It’s a cart,” Anne announced, pointing to the leaves as if she were trying to show her sister where she might catch sight of a falling star.
A cart symbolized a dip in the road of fortune, a moment where challenges and doubts needed to be confronted beforemoving forward. But like all roads, the one that the cart traveled along would eventually become smooth.
“It’s a promising sign,” Beatrix said with a sigh. “But I still can’t be certain.”
“Listen to me, Bee,” Violet demanded as she grasped her sister’s shoulders. “Now that we’re back, you’re going to write the best novel that readers have ever gotten their hands on. I won’t accept anything less.”
Beatrix leaned into her sister’s embrace then, a bit of the tension fading from her shoulders as she let Violet take some of the weight she’d been carrying.
“Well, if you insist,” Beatrix said, the softness of the words cutting through the sorrow that had hardened her voice.
“Precisely,” Violet replied as she laid her head on Beatrix’s shoulder and closed her eyes, the strain of her long journey home obviously starting to get the best of her as she drifted off to sleep.
The house noticed the way her arms started to loosen and tucked the quilts just a bit tighter about her chin so that none of the troubles threatening to seep through the cracks in the windowpanes would disturb her sleep.
“Why do you think she’s come back?” Beatrix whispered as she brushed her fingers along Violet’s fringe and let her own head fall against the back of the settee.
“I’m not sure,” Anne sighed. “But she’ll tell us when she’s ready. I’m just happy that we’re all home again.”
“Home,” Beatrix murmured, letting the texture of the word start to carry her off into dreams laced with the taste of honey buns and cardamon icing.
Grinning, she fought to keep her eyes open as the sound of Violet’s slow, even breathing and Anne’s steady voice lulled her to a place beyond worries.
But, eventually, she fell under the spell of the crackling logs and worn cotton quilts, slipping into dreams where something was lurking about the edges, waiting to step out of the shadows of the past now that all three sisters were together in the present.
CHAPTER 5
Snakes
Indicate that trouble is brewing.
