A Beauty in the Beast
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Michelle Lindo-Rice
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Chapter One
When Eden Tempest woke up that morning on the first day of May and heard nothing but birds chirping outside her window, she was all smiles. She wrapped her long tresses in a bun, slapped on sunscreen, donned a long-sleeved shirt, shorts, rain boots and a wide-brimmed hat before bounding down the stairs to eat a breakfast bar and gulp down a glass of orange juice. She grabbed her gardening tools and gloves.
“It’s barely six a.m.,” her grandmother Susan called out from her bedroom just behind the kitchen. “Where are you going?”
“The sun is finally out and I’ve got to go check on my rosebushes,” she yelled back.
“I’ll be out in a few.”
“Okay, Grams.”
It sounded like her grandmother was still in bed, which wasn’t like the energetic sixty-nine-year-old. Usually Grams would have had biscuits, gravy and eggs ready and would be getting started on dinner or heading out to the farmers market to purchase fresh produce. But Grams had spent most of the evening before cracking walnuts to make her famous black walnut cake. So, Eden suspected that task had tuckered out the older woman.
Eden ventured through the back door in the kitchen, the screen door swishing shut behind her. She stood still when she saw a family of deer munching by an overgrown thicket and bowed trees near the fence. A bee buzzed by her ear. She tilted her head and swatted at it, her movement causing the deer to flee into the woods nearby.
She tugged her hat low on her face and surveyed the one acre of land, surrounded by the iron fence bent like an elderly person with a hump. There was a dilapidated shed in the right corner, the slats gray and covered in moss, as well as an old gazebo where her grandmother used to host weddings or social gatherings for the town of Blue Hen, Delaware. She could still see the ladies and girls twirling in their bright summer dresses, and the men in casual wear milling about the yard, talking and laughing and eating from the spread on the table in the center of the yard. The last event had been thirteen years ago for Eden’s sixteenth birthday. The day her life and her grandmother’s changed...forever.
That’s why she didn’t celebrate birthdays.
Her eyes misted. She dipped her head and turned to look at the once-majestic two-story, seven-bedroom bed-and-breakfast, with the paint chipped and blackened with soot. The gutters needed cleaning and the vines had claimed a lot of the room. No wonder the people of Blue Hen called their house haunted, especially after... Nope. It was best for her psyche if she stopped thinking about it. It took some effort, but she shrugged off the gargantuan memories and stomped through high grass and weeds to the best-kept area in the backyard: her rose garden.
She inhaled, appreciating the smell of fresh rain and the heat of the sun. It had rained for three days and she feared her rosebushes had been overwatered. They weren’t due to bloom until June, right on time for the yearly rose festival. Eden prided herself on having the most fragrant and beautiful roses in town. Every year, for the past ten years, her roses had won first prize at the Blue Hen Rose Fest and this year would be no different. Hopefully. If the rain hadn’t caused irreparable damage.
Carefully, she lifted the bushes and squatted low to inspect the roots. There was no evidence of rotting, a common result of overwatering. Eden exhaled, her shoulders slumping. She steadied herself to keep from falling on her butt. Wearing tan-colored shorts might not have been the right choice, seeing as how the earth was damp and wet. Next, she checked the leaves to see if they had yellowed or were spotted. She saw nothing but green. Yes!
She stood and wiped her hands on her shorts before grabbing the small bench she kept by the back door and started her pruning. She snipped and shaped and removed dead tissue; doting on her roses, ignoring the sun rays on her back and the sweat pouring from every crevice of her body. By the time she was finished, her boots and hands were covered in mud, three hours had passed and her skin was the shade of bronze.
She needed a tall, cold glass of water. And a shower.
Stepping back, Eden stood to take in the results of her labor, wiping her hands on her shorts. Beautiful. She pumped her fists. All this would be worth it when her grandmother came home with the first-prize trophy to put with the others on the mantel.
Speaking of her grandmother... Eden raced back into the house and tugged off her boots.
“Grams!” she yelled, but all was quiet. Her grandmother was nowhere about, and it was close to nine thirty. That was odd.
She washed her hands in one of the deep double sinks and helped herself to a tall glass of water then scuttled into her grandmother’s room to find Grams nestled under the covers.
Eden heard a moan. “Are you all right?”
“My tummy hurts,” Grams said, her body curled, her voice weak.
“Should I call Dr. Goodwin?” Eden crept closer. Her grandmother’s face was beaded with sweat.
“No, it was probably the ice cream I ate last night.” Grams was seriously lactose intolerant but that didn’t stop her from indulging in the treat.
“Let me get you some tea,” Eden offered, her heart beating fast in her chest. She couldn’t remember when she had ever seen her grandmother bedridden. Grams must have eaten the entire pint. Unless it something more serious. Eden put on the kettle using the front burner that worked. The right one had stopped working about a year ago. The walls, painted buttercup yellow, the matching checkered curtains—slightly tattered—and the worn appliances could use an upgrade. Grams hadn’t changed anything in close to fourteen years. It was like the house had been frozen in time since her parents’ passing.
Opening the cupboard, Eden searched for a mug that wasn’t chipped then dug into the drawer next to the stove for a spoon. She rifled through the different kinds of teas in a jar on the countertop—chamomile, Earl Grey, lemon—until she found a bag of ginger-and-honey. Please let this solve whatever ails Grams.
Eden lifted the lid of the cake stand where her grandmother stored freshly baked scones then placed one on a plate. Eden chose a large orange from the fruit basket on the tiled counter, her gaze falling on the oversize wall calendar and the big X on the date.
June 26. Her thirtieth birthday.
Her stomach knotted, and her hands shook as she cut into the orange and rested the slices on the plate. “It’s just another day,” she said, voice shaky. She drew deep, long breaths. “You’ll be all right.” Eden needed to make a tele-appointment with her therapist, who she used to see weekly until she had transitioned to an as-needed basis.
The kettle whistled and she poured the ginger-and-honey tea into the cup, the spoon making a light clink as she stirred. She gathered a wooden lap tray and placed the tea, the orange slices and some crackers on it, before making her way to the back room, rattling along the way and set it on the nightstand. Grams appeared to be sleeping. Eden touched her grandmother’s forehead and gasped. Fever. Hot, roasting fever.
This was definitely not lactose intolerance.
She tried to shake Grams awake but the older woman was pretty lethargic. Panic raced through Eden’s body. Her grandmother wouldn’t approve but she called Dr. Goodwin from their landline since she didn’t own a cell phone. What was the point? She never went anywhere. Eden did, however, have the most up-to-date computer. But that was because she needed it to teach her online courses for Blue Hen College. Eden taught English literature and composition courses to college freshmen and sophomores.
Twenty minutes later, she opened the front door, making sure to keep her neck semihidden, and the doctor went in to check on Grams. Eden used that time to shower, wash her hair and slip into a blue long-sleeved baby doll dress. She put on her hat and hurried down the stairs just in time to hear the bedroom door creak open.
In a flash, Eden was by his side. “Is Grams all right?”
He shook his head, his tone grim. “She’s been doing too much. I’m putting her on bed rest for now.”
Bed rest? “What’s wrong?” she asked, wringing her hands.
“You’ll have to talk with your grandmother about that,” he said, marching toward the door.
“Wait,” Eden called out. “Is it me? Did I somehow cause this?”
“No, my child. She’s almost seventy. Some things happen with age. Talk to her.”
“Okay, I will. I can’t lose her,” she whispered. “She’s all I have.”
Dr. Goodwin, the town physician, and the only one besides her grandmother who she trusted, gave Eden a look of compassion. “This house is too big for the both of you to manage by yourselves. You should think of hiring some help.”
Eden stepped back and lifted a hand. She watched the exact moment his eyes took in her scars and shoved her hands in the pockets of her dress. “No one will want to work in the haunted house, and I—I can’t be seen like this. I’m gossip fodder.”
“Dear, there’s more to you than what’s on the outside,” the doctor said. “There’s a whole world out there for you to enjoy.”
“I won’t be ridiculed or be made into the town laughingstock again.” She shuddered, remembering how she had been taunted and teased when she had ventured into town after the fire.
“That was almost thirteen years ago. Things are different now. Even you’re different,” he urged. “You’re not the same person you were all those nights ago. It’s time you forgive yourself.” Every time the doctor came to visit, he urged Eden to step out of her self-imposed cocoon. This house had become her haven since that fateful day. She never left, a prisoner of her past and fears.
“People don’t change,” she said, walking over to hold open the door. “And as for forgiving myself...” She shook her head, unable to continue from the heartache and guilt.
“Think about it. You don’t want to end up alone, filled with regret for what you didn’t do or should have done.” After giving her a pat on her cheek, the doctor departed.
Eden trudged into the room to talk with her grandmother. Grams was now sitting up and sipping the tea. Grams’s mother had been Chinese and her Jamaican father had been biracial, mixed with Black so Grams had inherited her mother’s tiny frame and her father’s olive color. Grams got a kick out people always trying to figure out her race. She would quip I belong to the human race every time they asked. Eden’s mother had looked a lot like Grams while Eden had inherited her own father’s height. Eden’s father had been from Louisiana, and she had inherited his red curly hair, his cognac-colored eyes and skin the color of sun-kissed sand. She felt like a giant next to Grams, standing at five-feet-eleven to Grams’s five-feet-two. Grams would often say Eden had legs for days and beauty for a lifetime, which was why she had been crowned Junior Prom Queen at her high school. But that was history, a lifetime ago,
“Come sit here next to me, baby,” Grams said, putting the cup down and patting the bed. Her long black hair hung to her shoulders and she looked frail.
Eden complied. “What’s going on, Grams?” she asked, her lips quivering. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m not well. I...” She averted her eyes. “Dr. Goodwin ran some tests. We aren’t sure what’s wrong but I’ve got to take it easy.”
“How long have you been feeling like this?” Eden asked, scooting close, inhaling the powder-and-lavender scent her grandmother always wore.
“I’ve known for a while but I didn’t want to scare you.” Grams wiped her eyes. “I’ve got a good amount of matured certificates of deposits and most of your parents’ death benefits saved but I’m worried about how you’re going to maintain this property long-term. I think it’s time we consider selling this place so you can have those funds when I’m gone.”
Eden touched her chest. “No. No. We can’t sell. This has been in our family for decades. That’s out of the question. Besides, I make good money teaching online.”
“That’s not enough to cover your living expenses. If you don’t want to sell, then we’ve got to get the bed-and-breakfast going again. It would mean so much to me to restore this house as one of the best places to visit in town.” Grams’s voice wobbled. “You don’t know how much it hurts to have the neighborhood kids call this place haunted.”
Every Halloween, they had their house egged or papered.
Though her insides quaked at the thought of strangers traipsing through their home, Eden nodded. “After all you have done for me, how can I say no?” She gave a little laugh. “I just don’t want to repulse the guests.”
Her grandmother lifted the hat off Eden’s face and ran her fingers down the scar leading from Eden’s neck down to her left arm and hands. Eden sat still, clenching her jaw.
“You don’t see what I see,” Grams whispered. “You’re beautiful, inside and out. I wish you would believe me when I tell you that.”
Eden looked down at her hands and changed the subject. “The roses are going to be magnificent this year.”
“They aren’t the only thing that’s magnificent. In time, my dear, I hope you’ll truly see how valuable, how priceless you are.” With a sigh, her grandmother drew Eden into her arms and kissed the top of her head. For someone who was burning up not too long ago, Grams felt cool. Odd. Maybe Dr. Goodwin had given her something. “Now let’s get back to the house. We need to put an ad in the town paper, hire a handyman of sorts... Maybe you can make a flyer.”
All she could do was nod, watching Grams’s flashing eyes as she went on about her plans for the bed-and-breakfast. Eden didn’t have the heart to tell her that no one would come. Because no one wanted to work for the girl they called the town monster.
