“I found her in a neighbor’s yard this morning,” the social worker told Callie the next day when she entered the Arbor Street shelter. “Sleeping under a tree.”
“That’s not good,” Callie said.
The social worker shook her head. “No, it’s not. And that’s not the worst of it. Come with me.”
The social worker opened a door leading into her office, the only room with accessible windows. Several of them had been smashed. Splinters of broken glass were everywhere.
“Rose did this?”
“No,” the social worker said. “But whoever did it knows she’s here. There were notes wrapped around the rocks they threw, condemning her. The police took them as evidence.”
“Do they have any suspects?”
“They said it could be anyone. It’s bad enough that people know she’s here. But we can’t have her sleeping outside anymore. I’m afraid of what might happen to her. We don’t think she should be going outside at all, but our policy allows it. If we can’t protect her, though, she can’t stay here. She’ll have to go back or go to one of the other shelters.”
“I’m not staying inside. You can’t hear the trees inside this place.” Rose shrugged. “You can’t see them from my window, either.”
“You don’t understand,” Callie said. “They won’t keep you here if you’re not safe.”
Rose was adamant. “I can take care of myself.”
“They’ll send you back to the hospital, Rose. Or worse.”
Callie wasn’t sure what she meant by “or worse,” but it seemed to profoundly affect Rose. She quieted, her bravado vanishing.
“You have to at least sleep inside.”
“Okay,” Rose said.
Though her meds appeared to be working fairly well—the staff said she’d had no outbursts—Rose confided to Callie that the trees were talking to her more and more. She admitted that she felt compelled to sketch them during the day, and was carrying her Book of Trees and her pencils everywhere, drawing as quickly as possible, as each oak on this side of town imparted a new message that took her closer to “solving the puzzle.”
“I see you’ve been sketching,” Callie said, trying for something more pleasant to talk about. Something to bring Rose back from the dark place Callie’s warning had sent her to. The journal in Rose’s hands was almost overflowing. “Can you show me what you’re working on?”
She didn’t tell Rose that she’d peeked once before, at the hospital. Rose handed over the journal easily. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
Callie flipped through the book. The ripped-out pages had been taped back in place. Rose’s new drawings were more intricate, showing every bit of light on bark, every striation of bare branches. In one sketch, she had depicted a torn limb and the pulp beneath, revealing what looked oddly like a human circulatory system, the sap flowing like blood.
“I thought you said the trees were talking to you,” Callie said.
“That’s right.”
“But there aren’t any words written in your book.”
“Trees don’t talk in words,” Rose said, as if stating a fact Callie should know.
Callie paged through the book more carefully. She saw limbs, branches, twigs, bare and fully leafed, but no messages that she could decipher. “I can’t read any of the messages you wrote,” she admitted. “It’s beautiful, though. You have a real artistic talent.”
She flipped the pages again, and that’s when she saw the harp. It was a different rendition of the image she had seen in the painting on the wall at Ann’s house, part of her collection of sacred imagery. In Rose’s sketch, the harp was clearly made of oak. There were oak leaves coming out of the ends of each string. And what appeared to be a pair of flowers.
“The Oak of Two Blossoms,” Callie said.
“You know it?” Rose was delighted that Callie understood one of her drawings.
“It’s a harp.”
“It’s Dagda’s harp.” Rose smiled at her.
Callie made Rose repeat the name, just to make sure she’d gotten it right.
“He’s a Celtic god.”
Even before she’d sent Rafferty the contents of the old love letter the Goddesses had had her recite, Rafferty had told her about his conversation with Ann. How Dagda was one of the Celtic gods, known to tryst with Morrigan—a nickname most likely appropriated by Leah Kormos. The letter, and the plan to “take him,” made sense if that were the case, as well as Leah’s murderous anger at the party. But now Callie was nervous…Hadn’t Ann said that the harp’s music killed its enemies? Was that possible?
Of course not. It was legend. But it was still bothersome to see the image in Rose’s Book of Trees.
Rose was disappointed when Callie cut their visit short. Rose tucked her book back into her bag.
“You can’t sleep outside, Rose. Whatever messages the trees are sending you, they’re going to have to tell you in the daytime. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Rose nodded. “Don’t court the strike.”
“Exactly,” Callie said.
Callie hadn’t been able to reach Rafferty by phone, so she’d gone to the coach house to tell him about the harp. “I don’t know what it means, but it is something. My gut tells me it’s a fairly disturbing something.”
Rafferty said he’d talk to Ann about it and asked if Callie wanted to come along.
“I’ll wait here, if that’s all right with you,” she said. The more she liked Paul, the more she couldn’t stand Ann Chase. All she could think of was Paul touching Ann, rubbing her neck and shoulders and not stopping there…“You know she’s talked to the press.”
If he knew it, Rafferty didn’t comment. “I’ll call you if I learn anything new.”
It was just four o’clock, so she walked over to the tearoom to join Towner and Zee. “I hope Rose really will stop sleeping outside,” said Callie, sipping her Difficult-Tea. She’d acquired a taste for it over the past few weeks. “She is required to be in the house by curfew. They can send her back to the hospital if she isn’t. Or they’ll give her bed to someone who will follow the rules.”
“She can’t come back here,” Zee said to Towner. “Your husband is catching hell because the whole town thinks Rose lives at his house.”
Callie stared into her tea. She didn’t want to discuss with Towner what people had been posting online about Rafferty, though she suspected Towner knew. Some were calling for his dismissal. Many were calling for much worse. What hateful things people felt free to say when their anonymity was protected. “I need to get a place of my own nearby,” she said. “Then Rose can be released to me.”
“You need to stay where you are,” Zee countered. “You don’t understand the toll living with Rose would take on you. She needs to be in a permanent facility, where they can administer her meds and monitor her behavior.”
Callie shook her head. “I don’t think she needs all that.”
Zee sighed. “Denial is a powerful thing.”