Chapter 28
Fay sat next to her father, staring straight ahead, trying not to see Anne’s coffin. The men had worked hard to dig through the frozen ground so Anne could have her final resting place. Sir Walter took her hand as the priest droned on. She could hear Marjorie sniffling behind her, as well as some of the boys. Anne had always been so kind to the pages, stern but fair.
She followed the procession, picking their way along the cleared path to the cemetery. She’d seen it, but never gone there. After all, it wasn’t really her mother who was buried there. None of the people there were related to her. The stinging pain threatened to topple her as they came upon the neatly dug hole. Anne felt like she was really hers. The pain was as strong as if she’d lost a lifelong sister. The worst of it was the shock. She hadn’t even said goodnight that last night, since Anne had gone to sleep early. Fay struggled to recall the last thing she’d said to Anne, but it must have been so mundane, she couldn’t.
Everyone else at the castle was as bereft as she’d imagined, but no one seemed as shaken by it as she was. She hadn’t taken Anne’s poor health as seriously as the people of this time. She’d never once thought Anne would slip away forever due to her frequent coughs. The more she thought about it, the more she knew everyone around her had been bracing for it. It was why no one expected Anne to marry. They hadn’t believed she’d live long enough. Even the book had that strange notation next to Anne’s name.
That jolted her out of her sad reverie. Don’t get attached. She’d assumed it was written by someone who hadn’t wanted to assimilate to her new surroundings, but now something about the instruction didn’t sit right. She haphazardly mumbled along with the prayers, her skin prickling. As soon as it was over and they were back inside, she broke free from the others, barely registering her father’s confused face. He’d have to think she was too upset to have supper with him. There was no way she could have spent another moment without consulting the book.
Batty followed her, full of concern, but Fay tearfully sent her away. “I want to be alone. Don’t come in here unless I call for you,” she snapped.
Digging through her closet, she touched the cloth that hid the cursed dress. At least once during the last week, she’d considered getting it out and putting it away. Tristan wasn’t coming back, Anne was gone. She’d felt very little will to carry on with the chore she’d been assigned by fate. She’d stopped herself only because she didn’t want to bring another person into it. She’d honor Anne’s memory by carrying on and, hopefully, eventually break the curse.
And then what? she wondered sadly, finally finding the book.
She sat on the floor in front of her wardrobe and flipped to the first pages. She slid her finger down the cast of characters, as she still thought of the list of names, even though every one of them was very real to her now. There it was, plain as she recalled it.
Anne—older sister, don’t get attached.
“It only means they suspected,” she said to herself, speaking aloud to try and calm her ratcheting heartbeat. “You were naive. Of course people die of colds here, everyone dies here.”
The tears were coming again, but she wiped them away, flipping through the book some more, trying to find all the weird notes she hadn’t understood before.
Brom—likes Batty, at least the first time.
That had annoyed her from the start, and she’d confirmed with Batty that Brom had never been to the castle before the day she arrived. So, how could that person have known he would like her? She started to feel sick and hurriedly flipped some more, her hands shaking. She had to find that reference to the snow she’d thought about the night before Anne died. It had seemed important then but, of course, she’d gotten sidetracked. There. There it was.
The day of the first snow is coming. No matter how I brace myself, I don’t think I can go through this again.
“Okay,” Fay stammered, flipping some more. “Again. They always say they don’t want to go through it again.”
She had assumed all those references pointed to their failed attempts at love. Broken hearts hurt, but the curse demanded they prove true love existed, so each poor soul had to keep going through painful breakups. That was what they meant, right? But Anne had died the day of the first snow. That seemed like an awfully big coincidence.
There were three more references she found right away. It was as if her fingers were led to those pages. Each one said they couldn’t face it again or they couldn’t go through it again. The last note she found was halfway scratched out, but she held it up and peered at the words under the ink splashes. What she read chilled her to the bone and made her breath catch in her throat.
He didn’t remember me. I can’t live through it one more time.
Unable to breathe, she turned to the last pages of the book, where she’d read the apology letter from the girl who’d gone before her. Every time she’d consulted the book, she avoided those last pages, with the eerie words telling her she was dead. She found it and stared down the words, shaking her head. She wasn’t dead, she was alive, and she meant to stay that way. She flipped to the final page of writing.
You’re cursed. The whole castle is cursed. The moment you laced up the gown, you were dead to all those who know you in your own time. As far as I can tell it’s 1398. It’s always 1398.
I’m so very sorry, but I couldn’t face doing it again. This time will be my last. I no longer judge those before me for failing, and I hope one day you’ll no longer hate me for giving up.
I honestly thought it would be me to break the curse, just as everyone before me must have thought the same. If you’re smart, you’ll put the gown back in the chest and end it before your heart breaks too many times to count.
But you’ll try. We all did. Good luck.
The walls seemed to cave in on her. It was all there in splotchy black and white, explaining it all. She hadn’t understood. She still didn’t understand or want to. She didn’t want to. But it was all so sickeningly clear to her now. Why everyone kept giving up.
The whole castle is cursed.
It’s always 1398.
I couldn’t face doing it again. This time will be my last.
And finally, the sad line, half-crossed out.
He didn’t remember me. I can’t live through it one more time.
Fay held the book away as tears splashed down onto the page. The words blurred, but she continued to see them in her mind. It was always 1398. They’d been trying to tell her all along, but she hadn’t gotten it. It wasn’t simply too many broken hearts that had made them give up their lives.
“It starts over,” she gasped. Tossing the book away from her, she clutched at her laces. Even loosening them didn’t ease her ragged breathing. “Oh my God, it starts over.”
How much time did she have before it all went back to day one? It’s always 1398. Was it a year before the curse reset, then? How long since she’d first arrived? Ten or eleven months? She didn’t have all the time in the world, she might only have a few weeks before it started all over again. Would she get another chance with Tristan or would it be a completely different scenario? The curse was set up to make them fail, and when their spirits were finally crushed, they gave up.
Her fingers curled into fists, her nails raking against the stone floor. Such cruelty. She wasn’t strong enough to fight against such evil. A sudden thought made her sit straight up. A dizzying, wonderful silver lining.
If it was true and everything went back to when she first arrived, Anne would still be alive. Yes, she believed that had to be true, because of the warning not to get attached and the one girl trying to brace herself because she knew it was going to be the first snow, and that was when Anne died. Merciful heavens, how many times did those poor women have to go through that? She could see now why they eventually gave up, knowing she couldn’t stand to face losing Anne again.
But maybe she wouldn’t have to. Now that she knew, perhaps she could find a way to save Anne. She couldn’t handle sitting on the floor anymore and burst up, pacing manically. She could study whatever passed as medical texts here in this time. She would wrack her memory for any knowledge from her own time. She’d travel to see the monks who were famous for healing, wondering why Sir Walter hadn’t done that already.
With better care and knowing when it was going to happen, she thought she could certainly save her. She wanted to start now, that moment, but knew the others would still be down at supper, remembering and grieving for Anne. She’d wait until the next day to ask Great-uncle Edgar to borrow his books. He’d think she was strange, but everyone already thought she was a bit off and she was willing to put up a fight if she had to.
She thought of Tristan and it brought the familiar ache, but perhaps it was for the best it hadn’t worked out. Since she had no prospects at love, she’d wait and see if the curse really did reset. Then she’d concentrate on saving Anne.
“Okay,” she gasped, hugging her sides as she paced, still shaking. “You almost had me beat, but I’m still fighting you, damn curse. We’ll see who finishes who.”