Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match

“This is exactly how it starts. A basket. A water dish. An apple core, here and there.” To distract herself from the incline, Angelika said, “Tell me what trees and plants I have here on this hill.”

He began to name them. “These are blackthorn shrubs, but don’t even try to taste those berries. They’re only good for gin, but I have made a syrup to treat rheumatism. I’m not sure how I knew to do it, but I did.” He patted her hand. “When Mary returns home, I think it will help her immensely.”

“I’m sure it will make her feel better.” The rabbit holes and slippery leaves were easy to traverse when she had both of her arms wrapped around his. “Maybe you are a doctor, my love. They have to know a lot about herbs. You certainly have the calm disposition, and you cared for me perfectly when I hit my head.”

“It is a possibility.” Will pointed out more trees. “You have hazel trees up here on the ridge, and walnut down in the grove. These huge, twisted trees are called yew, but I think you knew that.”

She did. “I just like hearing you talk about what you love.”

He patted her hand and continued the lesson. “Yew trees represent immortality, but also death. I rather relate to them.” He put his hand on one as they stepped under its low branch.

“Perhaps you are a teacher. A botany professor.”

“One could go mad wondering.” It was a quiet warning to drop it.

On the steep slope, these mossy yews hugged the incline, casting their branches in fairy-tale shapes. In several places on the estate they formed tunnels. They were horrifically beautiful. Angelika asked, “Why do they mean immortality?”

“They’re ancient. These would be hundreds of years old, and I could show you some that look like they could be a thousand. They regenerate themselves. Inside the old hollow trunk, a new one will grow. Then the old trunk will fall away. Your grandchildren will have reborn yews to walk beneath. That is the nature of their immortality.”

He did not say our grandchildren, and the pang was acute. “And why do they represent death?”

“Many folktales exist, but mainly because they are poisonous. The Romans believed yew trees grew in hell.”

Angelika was despondent. “Guess what type of wood my bed is made from. I suppose my nature makes sense now.”

Will tried to jolly her. “Must be why I woke up that first morning after we met feeling regenerated.”

“You couldn’t wait to escape my hellish, poisonous bed. I need to rethink my boudoir. Rosewood sounds more feminine.”

What kind of tree would Christopher be? A solid, uncomplicated oak that shed its leaves in one pile and acorns in another. Why did he have to sprout in her thoughts so often?

“That brings us to these elder trees; these ones that look like cork.” Will paused at a different trunk, pressing the springy bark to show her. “Elder supposedly keeps the devil away. Perhaps they balance each other out up here.” He looked back for the piglet, and they waited for it to catch up. In the distance, they could hear distant hoofbeats.

She sighed. “That will be Victor riding out. He’s so tired. I think we should plant a ring of elder trees around the house. And the laboratory. Maybe one in my bedroom.” She was gratified by his smile. “But of course, I forgot. We do not believe in the devil, or in hell.”

“I believe.” He helped her over a log.

This time, she noticed that his hand was very, very cold. Had it ever been warm, as long as she’d known him? She brushed the thought away. “Did I tell you that the apples Victor eats are his own invention? He grafted two varieties together when he was ten. They are his exact preference.”

“I’ll have to ask him how he did that. What does he call them? I’m sure his invention has a name.”

“Conqueror apples.”

Will was quick. “Ah. Because he’s the victor. Did you make your own tree?”

“As usual, I just helped him.” She took a deep breath. “I thought about what you said to me, some time ago. That without Victor I would achieve my full potential. I think you are right. It is time for me to leave this place. But I don’t know what my potential is.”

“Your potential can be found in the places where you can make a difference in this world. It is your duty and your privilege. I would like to suggest that you think about the apple harvest. You still have time to plan it ahead of the season. Mary told me that it all goes to waste, but I think you know now that it’s not too late to start again.”

Angelika was tired of talking about the future and trees now. “Apples are not my forte. It’s more Victor’s area of expertise, but he is riding out so often to search. Could you sort it?” Immediately she winced, and amended, “But you are not my groundskeeper, so I shall sort it myself. And don’t make some allusion to the fact you may be long gone by the time the first apple falls to the ground. I cannot bear it.”

They walked in silence until Will pointed. “There.”

Angelika was both overjoyed and dismayed when they walked to the front of the Frankenstein family chapel. “The forest has tried to eat it.” It was impossible to see if it remained intact. The ancient stones were barely visible underneath the ivy. Angelika tried to imagine a wedding party making the hike up this hill to find this structure. “I don’t think this will work.”

“The fairy queen, able to grant resurrections, is ready to quit before she even steps foot inside?” He had a point. She kept any further opinions to herself as they trod through red-spotted toadstools to the door. It was painted the same maroon as Mary’s door, and it screeched as she pushed it open.

Once inside, she turned, taking everything in. “I remember it being so huge inside, but it’s tiny, isn’t it?”

The beamed roof was as sturdy as the day it was built. At the far end, stained glass was darkened by the ivy outside. Above the altar hung a porcelain cross, still as white as bone. “It’s really not as bad as I thought it would be. Have you cleaned up in here?”

“Perhaps when I was asleep. But I don’t think so.” Will sat on the narrow pew and watched her investigate. “When we cut the ivy back, the sun will shine through that window at sunrise. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Angelika snorted. “You know that Victor barely makes it to the breakfast table.”

Will gave her a faint smile. “For Lizzie, he will do anything. Even wake up early.”

She stood at the altar and tried to picture how a ceremony might look, minus the piglet.

“Lizzie will stand here, and Victor here . . .” She turned to the blank space where the obligatory officiant would be lurking. “I suppose the church will charge us triple to send someone up here. How I wish I were qualified. Let’s try.” She took the priest’s place and made a book shape with her hands. “You do? You do? Grand. Now kiss.”

She waited for Will’s grin, but he looked away with a tight jaw. “It’s only a joke. So, how would I look if I stood here in a white dress?” She changed her hands to hold an imagined bouquet.

“You deserve to be wed in a cathedral, not this.” He gestured up at the cobwebs. “You limit what you want for yourself, because of your brother.”

She couldn’t face what he kept trying to show her. “But how would I look?”

With his eyes full of affection and patience he replied, “Like the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Don’t I tell you enough?”

Angelika beamed. “No.”

“You’re energy.” He pressed that compliment deep into her heart. “You’re warmth, and youth, and so very clever. And yes,” he amended when he could see she was not satisfied, “you have the prettiest, most unforgettable face. It has been a privilege to stare at you so much. I wish I could, until the very day I die.”

“I’d marry you right now, right here. You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” he returned solemnly. “Your heart is sewn on your sleeve. I know everything you want, beautiful girl.”

Angelika sat down beside Will and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, letting herself imagine for a moment that they were an old married pair. “I need to apologize to you.”

He covered her knuckles with his wintery palm. “No, you don’t.”

“I sat alone with Christopher, knowing he would lay out his offer. And he did, most comprehensively.” She tipped her head sideways to look at him, but he kept his eyeline on the white cross.

“I forgive you.” A scowl formed, before he blinked it away. “You should hear all of the options available to you. You still have a choice, and you always will.”

“I always thought romance would be something like two men fighting in the dirt for me. But I realize now that being trusted, the way you trust me, feels a lot more romantic. Thank you for teaching me that lesson, and I’m sorry.”

“Are we confessing to each other?” Will waited until she nodded. “You will not like what I will tell you now. I am religious.”

Her heart sank, but she was not surprised. “How do you know? Do you remember something?”

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