Blackberry Winter: A Novel Read Free

bracelet, letting it fall into the protective space of my palm.
    Daniel looked up at me in confusion, and I studied his big, innocent eyes, wishing things were different for him, for us. “Mama loves her bracelet, dear one. I just want to keep it safe.”
    He considered the idea for a moment. “So you don’t lose it?”
    “That’s right.” I stood up and took his hand. “Will you help Mama put it in the
secret place
?”
    Daniel nodded, and we walked to the tiny cupboard below the stairs. He had discovered the space, no bigger than a hatbox, one morning while playing, and we’d decided the special compartment would be our secret from the world. Daniel kept eclectic treasures inside—a bluebird feather he’d found on the street, a sardine can that he’d filled with smooth stones and other odds and ends. A bookmark. A shiny nickel. A clamshell, sun-bleached to a brilliant white. I’d tucked in his birth certificate and other documents in need of safekeeping. And now I placed my bracelet inside.
    “There,” I said, closing the little door and marveling at the seamless fit. It blended perfectly into the paneling of the staircase. How Daniel had ever discovered it, I’d never know.
    He nestled his head against my chest. “Mama sing a song?”
    I nodded, smoothing his blond hair against his forehead, marveling at how much he looked like his father.
If only Charles were here.
I quickly dismissed the thought, the fantasy, and began to sing. “Hushaby, don’t you cry, go to sleep, little Daniel. When you wake, you shall take, all the pretty little horses.” The words passed my lips and soothed us both.
    I sang four verses, just enough for Daniel’s eyelids to get heavy, before I carried him to his bed, nestling him under the quilt once again.
    His face clouded with worry when he eyed my black dress and white pinafore. “Don’t go, Mama.”
    I cupped his chin. “It will only be for a little while, my darling,” I said, kissing each of his cheeks, soft and cool on my lips.
    Daniel buried his face in his bear, rubbing his nose against its button nose the way he’d done since infancy. “I don’t want to.” He paused, his three-year-old mind trying hard to summon the right words. “I scared when you go.”
    “I know, my love,” I said, fighting the tears that threatened. “But I have to go. Because
I love you
. You’ll understand that someday.”
    “Mama,” Daniel continued, looking to the window, where, behind the glass, the wind gathered strength. “Eva says ghosts come out at night.”
    My eyes widened. Caroline’s daughter possessed an imagination that belied her three-and-a-half years. “What is Eva telling you now, dear?”
    Daniel paused, as though contemplating whether to answer. “Well,” he said cautiously, “when we’re playing, sometimes people look at us. Are they ghosts?”
    “Who, dear?”
    “The lady.”
    I knelt down to level my eyes with his. “What lady, Daniel?”
    He scrunched his nose. “At the park. I don’t like her hat, Mama. It has feathers. Did she hurt a bird? I like birds.”
    “No, love,” I said, vowing to speak to Caroline about Eva’s stories. I suspected they were the root of Daniel’s nightmares of late.
    “Daniel, what did Mama tell you about talking to strangers?”
    “But I didn’t talk to her,” he said, wide-eyed.
    I smoothed his hair. “Good boy.”
    He nodded, nestling his head in his pillow with a sigh. I tucked his bear into the crook of his arm. “See, you’re not alone,” I said, unable to stop my voice from cracking. I hoped he didn’t notice. “Max is here with you.”
    He pressed the bear to his face again. “Max,” he said, smiling.
    “Good night, love,” I said, turning to the door.
    “G’night, Mama.”
    I closed the door quietly, and then heard a muffled “Wait!”
    “Yes, love?” I said, poking my head through the doorway.
    “Kiss Max?” he said.
    I walked back to the bed and knelt down as Daniel pressed the bear