fic: Sub Rosa Part I
Sub Rosa
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Art Post
Once upon a time, there was a rich and handsome merchant named John Winchester. He owned a shipping company and had three wonderful children. He had two beautiful daughters named Hope and Faith, each with many suitors and many dresses, similar enough in looks and character to be mistaken for each other. They were twenty and nineteen, and beginning to wonder if they were perhaps too old to still be unmarried.
The youngest of the three was tall and straight as an evergreen, with hair the colour of chestnuts, and had a face so ordinary that remembering him was a challenge. He was just past seventeen, with everything that age implied. He had spots, and occasionally sulked, and was, at this point in his life, made up entirely of elbows and knees. In his youth, his lovely sisters had, for their own reasons, called him Beauty. This unfortunate name had stuck.
The sisters went to ball after ball, received many proposals of marriage, and gave John headaches. Beauty, meanwhile, spent much of his time in his father’s library, reading and growing pale. The Winchester library was not very big, so Beauty spent much of his time re-reading what had already been read and making half-hearted attempts to learn his father’s business.
“It will be my legacy to you,” John was fond of saying as he passed Beauty the potatoes while the sisters giggled. “You’ll be rich, and able to take care of your sisters.”
“Oh Papa,” said Faith, daintily buttering a bun, “of course we’ll be married by then, with our own rich husbands to love and care for us.” Hope smiled gently and nodded.
“Ah, my wonderful family.” John beamed and squeezed Faith’s hand.
Beauty ate his potatoes.
:::
In May, John sent the Colt, the Singer, and the Mary out to sea. They were due back in November. They were his finest ships, and his fortune rested upon their safe and prosperous return. Beauty knew this. His sisters did not.
:::
In November, the three ships did not return. John was beyond distraught. His creditors began clamouring at his door, scenting blood. Beauty watched his father tell his sisters that everything was all right throughout the day, and heard the sounds of his worried pacing at night.
:::
In January, John’s lies could not cover the fact that their possessions had to be sold to pay their debts.
Faith and Hope cried as their beautiful gowns and their jewels were sold. They held hands and tried to dry their tears when their father walked by. They must be brave, they had decided, for their father’s sake. They had told Beauty this, their eyes red and lips trembling, the night before. He had merely added another book to the stack that was to be sold.
:::
By the end of the week, almost everything had been sold. They had traded their highbred horses for some bow-backed ponies and provisions, and they rode out of the seaside city that had been their home for as long as the Winchester children could remember.
John, Hope, and Faith waved to the small gathering of friends that had stayed with them through their ordeal until they were out of sight.
Beauty didn’t look back.
:::
Their new house was on the outskirts of a town called Stanbrooke, which contained a church, a blacksmith, a pub and inn, and an apothecary. It was bleak and sparse, and Beauty in particular noticed the lack of any kind of bookstore at all. As they moved what little furniture they had into the house, a small group of people - Beauty had a feeling that for this place, it was a downright mob - came up the lane to greet them.
A good-looking woman about John’s age stepped forward.
“Hello strangers,” she said, thrusting her hand forward. Faith and Hope exchanged glances. The woman noticed and gave a crooked smile. “We don’t stand much on ceremony here, ladies. I’m Ellen.”
“John,” John said, and kissed her hand. Hope and Faith put their heads together and giggled. Two young men stepped forward and swept their ragged caps off their heads. They looked as much like alike as the two Winchester girls, and their smiles came easy.
“Hello,” they said together.
“I’m Andrew-” said one, “-and I’m Ash,” said the other. Faith and Hope curtsied and introduced themselves. The two men took their bags into the house, the blushing girls trailing after.
“This is my daughter Jo,” Ellen told Beauty, pulling Jo in close. She was a lovely girl, blond hair and blue eyes, and made Beauty long for his books.
“This is Samuel,” John said, a twinkle in his eyes for the first time since the ships failed to come home. “But we all call him Beauty.”
Beauty sighed and the women laughed gaily. “Then Beauty you shall be,” Jo said smartly, “no matter how little it suits you.”
“Jo!” Ellen said, shocked.
“Oh, no matter,” John said, beckoning them into the house. “Beauty has thick skin.”
Flushing, Beauty followed them in.
:::
Their life in Stanbrooke was pleasant, if hard. Beauty gained calluses from chopping wood and poor posture from the low ceilings of his attic bedroom. He forgot the feel of a book in his hands, of the grit in his eyes from a long night’s read. He longed for a warm bath with rich scented soap or the light of a candle burning long into the night. These desires made him frown with shame, for he ought to be focusing on their new life.
Hope and Faith, he knew, felt much the same as he did. One night, he had wobbled unsteadily past their shared bedroom after a long day of chopping the dark and overgrown forest back from their field and had heard the unmistakable sounds of stifled sobbing. But during the day their faces shone with sweat and contentment as they cleaned the house and made food.
At first, their cooking had been barely edible, and John and Beauty had choked it down with barely suppressed grimaces. After strenuous lessons with the widow Ellen, however, their soup had become liquid and their bread light and fluffy, and meals were eaten with pleasure. Ellen’s name was one praised loud and often within the Winchester household.
After almost a year in this small town, filled with fixing up their small house, clearing the field, and planting and harvesting the crops, they were all in higher spirits. Their life was simple, for they had barely enough money to get by, but they were closer than they had even been.
Beauty grew taller, until Faith had laughingly called him a giant, and he developed a tan over the paper-white of his skin. He built up muscle over his thin frame that filled out his shoulders and arms and discovered a talent for carpentry hitherto unrealised. His spots retreated, his sulks decreased, and he grew long, lithe limbs in the place of his joints.
John and Ellen, meanwhile, had gotten quite close, as had Hope and Andy, and Faith and Ash. Beauty and Jo had become close as well, but only as friends. She listened eagerly to his tales of the city, asking him question after question until he’d told her he spent most of his life inside. He visited her and her mother at the inn often, helping to close the bar. Ellen beamed and left them alone, and Jo and Beauty left her with her fantasies.
:::
In December, with just three weeks until Christmas, a man came to the Winchester home, wearing tattered clothes and riding an exhausted horse. He asked for John, and said he came from the city. Faith, who had answered the door, curtsied and invited him in, giving him food and drink while Hope ran for her father and Beauty led the tired horse to their meagre barn.
The family assembled around the kitchen’s rough-hewn table and watched as John gave a shout of joy. The stranger stood, bearded face creased in a smile, and the two embraced.
“Bobby!” John laughed, and slapped the man on the back. It was the first mate of the Singer, looking much older than the last time he’d been seen. At John’s urging, and after a refill of his glass, Bobby began his story.
The three ships had set off with the winds of fortune in their sails. Two weeks into their journey, a roiling dark cloud had been seen on the horizon, moving so fast towards them that Bobby swore it had been alive. Yellow balls of lightening had boiled across the cloud’s surface, and a few lucky sailors had jumped overboard at the first sight of that awful glare and drowned among the sinister dancing waves.
The Mary, by far the proudest of the three, had been the first casualty. She had burned, and one hundred souls had fallen with her. The Colt had been lost to the waves, while the Singer managed to make it close enough to a tiny island to breach herself on a reef, and stranded the fifty remaining sailors on these foreign shores.
There they lived, at first in harmony, until one by one they were picked off by an unknown foe. Bobby had been the first to realise it was Ava, the scullery maid, who was killing his men. With a roar, he’d launched himself on her until she broke and sobbed that the storm had pierced her dreams and promised her fame and fortune in exchange for the sailors’ deaths. Bobby cut off her head in the sand as dawn broke bloody over the ocean.
He’d spotted a ship sailing on the horizon soon after, signalled them in close enough to make it aboard, and had thusly made it back to the port town that the Winchesters had once, so very long ago it seemed, called home.
John wept for the sailors and the Colt and the Singer and most of all for the Mary, his favourite and most beloved ship. Bobby wept too, for his men and for Ava, and for John, whose last dream he knew he had shattered.
“John,” he said, when at last they had dried their eyes. “There is a small amount of cargo left, that which I managed to salvage from the wreck of the Singer. And a fine ship she was, too.” The family toasted to her memory.
“You-” John paused, cleared his throat. “You managed to salvage something?”
“Aye,” Bobby nodded as Hope refilled his cup. “Not much, to be sure, but I’ve left what little there was with Master Gordon, down at the docks. He’s waiting for you to decide what to do with it.”
“Ah, Gordon,” John said thoughtfully. “A sad man, that Gordon, but good enough at his core.”
“Driven,” Beauty supplied, and all nodded.
“Well, I must go back to the city,” John said, setting his cup down. “You shall spend the night, of course, and we shall set out in the morning.”
Bobby gave a grateful smile, and heaved himself to his feet. He settled his ever-present cap more firmly onto his head.
“You shall have my room,” Beauty told him, and stood also. “I shall sleep elsewhere tonight.”
“Ah, yer too kind, lad.” Bobby gave him a watery smile, and Faith led him upstairs.
The family went to sleep that night content with the knowledge that their fortune was forever lost to them.
:::
Before he left the next morning, John gathered his family around him.
“Children,” he said, very serious. “Our fortune has been snatched from us by fate and a yellow-eyed cloud. However, a small something remains to us - the monies I receive from the sale of my goods. Much must go to Bobby, of course, for such heroic service in the face of such an unnatural series of events.” The family nodded solemnly. “But I should like to get you something from the city before I come home. Something that will remind you of our good times and of my love for you.”
“Oh Papa,” Hope cried, and hugged him. “I want for nothing from you, only your love.”
“Oh Papa,” Faith cried, and hugged him also. “I too want nothing, only your happiness.”
John’s face crumpled, and he offered to Hope, “A nice dress, perhaps?” She shook her head, lips trembling. “A string of precious gems?” he asked Faith, who merely wiped her eyes.
“Oh, where would we wear them around here?” Hope demanded, scrubbing angrily at her apron. “Bring us some sensible cloth to make some sensible dresses and enough money to buy a cow and maybe a horse, and we shall be happy.”
Faith agreed mutely, then burst suddenly into giggles. “Imagine, sister, our asking for sensible cloth!”
Hope managed a chortle. “And a cow!”
They laughed together, the sound of a shattered past, and John turned his swimming eyes to his son.
“Beauty,” he whispered, voice cracking. The sisters’ laughter cut off as quickly as it had come. “Surely, you would ask something of me?”
“Yes Beauty, ask for a hen,” Faith said, her weariness evident in her voice.
Beauty took a moment to think. “I would have some rose seeds,” he said finally. “To plant in the garden. Yes, I think some seeds are in order.”
John’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Of course my boy, some seeds you shall have.”
And with that, he clapped his hat on his head, kissed his children goodbye, and strode out of the house.
:::
The journey to the city took a week, at a leisurely pace, and so when John was not home almost three weeks later, the Winchester children could no longer avoid the worry that permeated the house.
“Oh, imagine if we lost Papa,” Hope cried out one storming winter night as they sat around the fireplace.
Faith immediately shushed her. “Don’t be stupid,” she scolded, and turned to her brother for help. “I’m sure Papa is fine, isn’t he Beauty?”
The snow rapped angrily at the window as Beauty let out a derisive snort. “We all must die at some point,” he said, and left his sisters crying by the fire.
:::
The next night, just as prayers were being said over dinner, the front door burst open. Faith ran into the front room, and her glad cry of “Papa!” brought Hope and Beauty running after her.
“Oh Papa,” Hope exclaimed, and hurried to shut the door. It had not let up snowing since the afternoon before, and the night outside was black as coal.
“Are you all right?” Faith asked, helping her father with his coat.
“No,” he wheezed, and the children gasped at the sight of his face. He had aged twenty years since they had last seen him, and his rich black hair was now threaded through with grey.
“Papa, whatever has happened to you?”
“Get me a drink, my dear, and some warm food and the fire, and I shall tell you all I know.”
While the girls hurried to do their father’s bidding, Beauty threw on his thin coat and ventured into the howling winds. There was an unfamiliar horse standing in the drifts with the bow-backed pony they’d named Jessica. He led them into the barn, unburdening the pony of her heavy saddle bags.
Back inside, the family reunited around the fireplace as John devoured his meal. Faith and Hope sat at his feet while Beauty sat on the couch, idly stroking the saddlebags.
Finally, John began his story.
He and Bobby had made it to the city safely, and John had quickly concluded his business with Gordon. He had paid Bobby and bought a reasonable horse, suited to farm labour and priced so that they could afford a cow and some hens. He found some sensible cloth, and some good candles and crockery.
“Crockery?” Hope breathed, excitement shining on her face.
“Aye, crockery,” John replied, weary to the bone, and continued.
He had been held up looking for the rose seeds. Apparently, it was the wrong time of year for roses themselves, and therefore no one carried the seeds. He had searched high and low, until he found a man of the cloth known only as Pastor Jim on a street corner who had some to spare.
Finally, he was able to leave the city that no longer felt remotely like home. He longed for his family, and so gathered his things and left. That was more than ten days ago.
“But where have you been since?” Faith asked. Hope shushed her, and John sighed.
“My dear, dear children,” he sighed again, and stroked a broad palm over Faith’s shining hair. “Since then, I have lost myself. I have lost you.”
Quietly, he began to cry.
Concerned, Hope and Faith hugged his knees, and urged him to finish his story. From the couch, Beauty watched and said nothing. The saddlebags were impossibly heavy across his legs.
Eventually, John stopped his tears enough to continue his tale.
The ride had been uneventful, until he was almost home. He had estimated another day or two of riding, and so when a storm blew in - black clouds heaving upon the horizon, full of yellow lightening - John had decided to push on, eager for the sight of his children, of home.
The snow blew in much faster than John had expected, and Jessica had become hopelessly confused in the snow. The new, larger horse stumbled more than once, and still John rode on, desperate to find some form of shelter.
He became lost in the swirling snow and unfamiliar woods he found himself in. How long he wandered he could not say, knew only that by the time he saw the dim lights through the storm he was more than half frozen.
John had slid off of Jess and led the two animals towards the lights, certain that no one would turn him away on a night like this. He found himself standing at a shining silver gate, two massive torches burning on either side, rose bushes in full bloom standing silent and serene in the snow. Before he could lay his hands upon the gate, it swung silently open. On the other side there was no wind, and only a bare dusting of snow. Too tired and cold to be concerned by this oddity, he had stepped inside, and the gates closed behind him.
John had deposited the horses in the well-lit stable, empty and clean except for two waiting stalls full of straw and feed bags. John left them munching happily, and turned, bone-tired, towards the castle that loomed in the distance.
The estate was massive, stretching as far as John could see, though he did not linger to look. Instead, he trudged towards the heavy main door, the air heavy and still around him.
The doors, like the gate, slid open before him. “Hello?” John called on the threshold, not wanting to intrude, though he wanted nothing more than to sleep for several days. Silence blanketed the room, so that even his breathing seemed muffled and distant.
A light shone out suddenly from the hallway to his right, and John turned to it, eager to meet his host. But the light was getting further away, dimming as it receded, and John called out as he followed.
The light bobbed steadily ahead of him until it disappeared just as swiftly as it had appeared. The hall was plunged into darkness, and there was a harsh, panting breath that blew thick across his neck.
“H-hello?” John had stammered - scared, as he told his breathless children, nearly out of his mind.
“Sleep,” came the hissed response, and a door opened directly in front of him and spilled light into the hall. The room was dominated by a gigantic bed, and John, unable to resist, found himself walking towards it, as if already in a dream. It occurred to him then that perhaps he was in actuality lying in the forest somewhere, freezing to death, and this castle was just a dream from the cold. And yet, as an unseen force pulled his clothes from him and gently tipped him into the soft, soft bed, John found himself unable to care.
He slept for who knows how long, until he woke on a morning that shone grey and clear through the windows in his room. There was a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table, and a still-warm breakfast on the little desk. He ate, hungry beyond measure, until at last he was full. He wrestled on his clean, dry clothes and headed back into the hall, determined to give thanks to his host.
And yet, try as he might, he could not find his way anywhere else but to the front doors, no matter how many times he retraced his steps and attempted a different route. Finally, he stood by the mighty portal and called into the silence, “Thank you for your generosity, my friend. I owe you much.”
He had gone to the stables and collected his horses, and rode once more to the gate. There, beside the path, was a rosebush, in perfect bloom despite the winter’s chill. Its roses were budding bloody into the air, the deep red seeming to pulse in the frozen air. They called to him, a throbbing warm that yearned for his touch. And so John had leaned down and plucked one, thinking only of Beauty’s smile.
A mighty roar rent the air, and the animals reared and plunged, eyes rolling white.
“How dare you touch my roses!” came the horrifying snarl, filling up all of the space in and around John’s head. It clarified, coming from behind and to his left, as it spoke again.
“How dare you, you filthy creature!” it bellowed. “I allow you in my house, take care of your animals, feed you, care for you, and this is how you repay me!”
John sat limply on his trembling horse, paralyzed, unable to face his furious host. “I’m sorry, sir,” he started, and was interrupted by a hideous howl.
“I am not your sir,” it hissed, and John felt five brilliant points of pain on his leg. Looking down, he saw a brown-furred paw as big as his head, with ebony-tipped claws that pierced his trousers.
Back in the living room, the children stared as John absently fingered the left leg of his trouser. Hope let out a breathy gasp as she noticed five bloody points that spanned the entire length of his thigh. She and Faith exchanged horrified looks.
Gasping quietly, John continued.
“My most sincere apologies,” he had told the owner of this monstrous hand, not daring to turn to face it. “You have been beyond kind, and I did not realise such a little thing as a rose would be missed.”
“You were wrong,” the creature growled in his ear, breath hot and moist as a jungle.
“I realise that now,” John said. Without thought, he added, “It was for Beauty. A rose for Beauty. That’s all.”
There was silence from the beast. Jessica foamed and shivered under John’s hand.
“Beauty,” said the deep, rasping voice, musing in John’s ear. After a pause, it said, “I could kill you, you know, or keep you here for my entertainment. But instead, I will give you one week. At the end of that week, you will send Beauty here, and your life will be spared in exchange for another. If, in one week, your Beauty is not here, I will come to your house and eat your family, your friends, your livestock, your village. Only come into the woods, and you shall find me.”
And with that, the gate swung open, and the horses lunged forward, and John was carried away from the castle with harsh laughter grating in his ears.
In the warm living room, fire crackling merrily in the hearth, John slumped down into his chair, his tale told. He could not look at any of his children, afraid of what he might see.
“It wants Beauty?” Hope asked finally, voice small in the silence of the room.
“Yes my love, it wants Beauty.” John turned from the fire to look at his son, who sat quiet and still in the flickering light. He swallowed and continued. “But it shall not have him. I will go back. I only wanted one week with my children, one last week before I leave.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Beauty told him, face in shadow. “If you go, the Beast may yet come and kill my sisters, and take me anyway, in payment for your- for my rose. I shall go, as required. When it realises I’m…” he trailed off, then cleared his throat and started again. “That is to say, when it realises that I am not as beautiful nor as feminine as my name implies, it shall most likely send me back with a stern lecture on the foolishness of asking one’s father for a rose in December.”
“Or,” added Faith lowly, “it will eat you.”
:::
The next day, just five days before he had to leave, Beauty pointedly ignored his father’s talk of going in his stead and his sisters’ tears. Instead, he planted rose seeds in December, chipping away at the frozen ground, utterly determined to leave something truly beautiful in his stead.
:::
Three days before he had to leave, Beauty opened the saddlebags. They were filled with luxurious dresses for his sisters, ropes of pearls, diamond chokers. There were pouches of crop seeds, and thick wax candles, scented soaps and dainty perfumes. There were rich costumes for his father, trimmed in gold. There was more, far too much to have fit in Jessica’s saddlebags, and each new item yielded a barely suppressed gasp from the person it was so obviously meant for.
The last item from the bag, found by Faith, was a thick silver ring, a ‘B’ inscribed on the inside. As he slid it on the ring finger of his right hand, Beauty wondered if it was meant as a gesture of goodwill, or as a bribe.
:::
With two days left to go, the Winchesters ate at Ellen’s pub, and it was announced that Beauty would be leaving them.
“Where are you off to?” Jo asked, taking in John’s tears and Beauty’s steadfast expression.
“I’m going to try my hand at sailing,” Beauty lied, while Hope stifled a sob on Andy’s shoulder.
“Well,” Jo said, “be sure to send me letters from foreign climes.”
“I don’t see why you can’t stay and help your father,” Ellen said, angrily wiping down the already-clean bar. “Why this need to go gallivanting off? You’re leaving your family behind.”
Beauty gave her a tight smile and thought about leaving this place. He felt sure the beast had books in the castle, and his smile eased into something more natural. “I shall miss you all, of course,” he told her, “but I think this is a good way to become a man.”
Ash grinned and tossed his long hair back from his shoulders. “You just be careful, young Winchester, about how you go about being made a man.” He and Andy exchanged a sharp-edged glance. “Long months at sea… Aye, you watch yourself.”
Beauty smiled and wondered what on earth that was supposed to mean, and poured himself some more ale.
:::
The week passed quickly, much faster than Beauty thought possible. On the sixth night, he packed what little clothes he had, unsure of what the creature expected from him. Would he be food, or entertainment, or company? This of course did not make a lick of difference on his clothing, as he had only his tattered work clothes to bring.
He turned the ring on his finger, and thought of a heavy-voiced stranger, with claws for fingers and a thick brown pelt. He shivered, and went to bed.
He did not dream.
:::
The next morning, John saddled Jessica and the girls stood outside to see Beauty off. Hope and Faith were crying, clutching each other for support. John’s eyes were red, and his hair seemed greyer than ever. Beauty mounted the pony and scowled.
“This is ridiculous,” Beauty said crossly, looking down at his feet, which dangled almost to the ground. “Can’t I just walk?”
“No you cannot,” Faith told him crossly, through her tears. “Jessica will take you to this awful beast, so that we may have some comfort that you are not alone.”
Hope nodded, and both sisters stepped forward to cover his face in kisses. John stepped forward and gave his son a one-armed hug. “Be careful, my boy, and know that I love you, and if you were not so stubborn I would go in your stead.”
“You could try,” Beauty told him, tired of his lines, “but I would knock you down, old man.”
There were thin smiles all around, and Beauty nudged poor Jessica to face the forest, looming black at the edge of the white field. “So long,” he said, over his shoulder, and kneed her into a canter.
At the edge of the forest, he reined her in and looked back. One of the small figures of his sisters had slumped to the ground, waving feebly, while the other leaned on her father, who held her close.
And Beauty went in to the forest.
(next)
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Art Post
Once upon a time, there was a rich and handsome merchant named John Winchester. He owned a shipping company and had three wonderful children. He had two beautiful daughters named Hope and Faith, each with many suitors and many dresses, similar enough in looks and character to be mistaken for each other. They were twenty and nineteen, and beginning to wonder if they were perhaps too old to still be unmarried.
The youngest of the three was tall and straight as an evergreen, with hair the colour of chestnuts, and had a face so ordinary that remembering him was a challenge. He was just past seventeen, with everything that age implied. He had spots, and occasionally sulked, and was, at this point in his life, made up entirely of elbows and knees. In his youth, his lovely sisters had, for their own reasons, called him Beauty. This unfortunate name had stuck.
The sisters went to ball after ball, received many proposals of marriage, and gave John headaches. Beauty, meanwhile, spent much of his time in his father’s library, reading and growing pale. The Winchester library was not very big, so Beauty spent much of his time re-reading what had already been read and making half-hearted attempts to learn his father’s business.
“It will be my legacy to you,” John was fond of saying as he passed Beauty the potatoes while the sisters giggled. “You’ll be rich, and able to take care of your sisters.”
“Oh Papa,” said Faith, daintily buttering a bun, “of course we’ll be married by then, with our own rich husbands to love and care for us.” Hope smiled gently and nodded.
“Ah, my wonderful family.” John beamed and squeezed Faith’s hand.
Beauty ate his potatoes.
:::
In May, John sent the Colt, the Singer, and the Mary out to sea. They were due back in November. They were his finest ships, and his fortune rested upon their safe and prosperous return. Beauty knew this. His sisters did not.
:::
In November, the three ships did not return. John was beyond distraught. His creditors began clamouring at his door, scenting blood. Beauty watched his father tell his sisters that everything was all right throughout the day, and heard the sounds of his worried pacing at night.
:::
In January, John’s lies could not cover the fact that their possessions had to be sold to pay their debts.
Faith and Hope cried as their beautiful gowns and their jewels were sold. They held hands and tried to dry their tears when their father walked by. They must be brave, they had decided, for their father’s sake. They had told Beauty this, their eyes red and lips trembling, the night before. He had merely added another book to the stack that was to be sold.
:::
By the end of the week, almost everything had been sold. They had traded their highbred horses for some bow-backed ponies and provisions, and they rode out of the seaside city that had been their home for as long as the Winchester children could remember.
John, Hope, and Faith waved to the small gathering of friends that had stayed with them through their ordeal until they were out of sight.
Beauty didn’t look back.
:::
Their new house was on the outskirts of a town called Stanbrooke, which contained a church, a blacksmith, a pub and inn, and an apothecary. It was bleak and sparse, and Beauty in particular noticed the lack of any kind of bookstore at all. As they moved what little furniture they had into the house, a small group of people - Beauty had a feeling that for this place, it was a downright mob - came up the lane to greet them.
A good-looking woman about John’s age stepped forward.
“Hello strangers,” she said, thrusting her hand forward. Faith and Hope exchanged glances. The woman noticed and gave a crooked smile. “We don’t stand much on ceremony here, ladies. I’m Ellen.”
“John,” John said, and kissed her hand. Hope and Faith put their heads together and giggled. Two young men stepped forward and swept their ragged caps off their heads. They looked as much like alike as the two Winchester girls, and their smiles came easy.
“Hello,” they said together.
“I’m Andrew-” said one, “-and I’m Ash,” said the other. Faith and Hope curtsied and introduced themselves. The two men took their bags into the house, the blushing girls trailing after.
“This is my daughter Jo,” Ellen told Beauty, pulling Jo in close. She was a lovely girl, blond hair and blue eyes, and made Beauty long for his books.
“This is Samuel,” John said, a twinkle in his eyes for the first time since the ships failed to come home. “But we all call him Beauty.”
Beauty sighed and the women laughed gaily. “Then Beauty you shall be,” Jo said smartly, “no matter how little it suits you.”
“Jo!” Ellen said, shocked.
“Oh, no matter,” John said, beckoning them into the house. “Beauty has thick skin.”
Flushing, Beauty followed them in.
:::
Their life in Stanbrooke was pleasant, if hard. Beauty gained calluses from chopping wood and poor posture from the low ceilings of his attic bedroom. He forgot the feel of a book in his hands, of the grit in his eyes from a long night’s read. He longed for a warm bath with rich scented soap or the light of a candle burning long into the night. These desires made him frown with shame, for he ought to be focusing on their new life.
Hope and Faith, he knew, felt much the same as he did. One night, he had wobbled unsteadily past their shared bedroom after a long day of chopping the dark and overgrown forest back from their field and had heard the unmistakable sounds of stifled sobbing. But during the day their faces shone with sweat and contentment as they cleaned the house and made food.
At first, their cooking had been barely edible, and John and Beauty had choked it down with barely suppressed grimaces. After strenuous lessons with the widow Ellen, however, their soup had become liquid and their bread light and fluffy, and meals were eaten with pleasure. Ellen’s name was one praised loud and often within the Winchester household.
After almost a year in this small town, filled with fixing up their small house, clearing the field, and planting and harvesting the crops, they were all in higher spirits. Their life was simple, for they had barely enough money to get by, but they were closer than they had even been.
Beauty grew taller, until Faith had laughingly called him a giant, and he developed a tan over the paper-white of his skin. He built up muscle over his thin frame that filled out his shoulders and arms and discovered a talent for carpentry hitherto unrealised. His spots retreated, his sulks decreased, and he grew long, lithe limbs in the place of his joints.
John and Ellen, meanwhile, had gotten quite close, as had Hope and Andy, and Faith and Ash. Beauty and Jo had become close as well, but only as friends. She listened eagerly to his tales of the city, asking him question after question until he’d told her he spent most of his life inside. He visited her and her mother at the inn often, helping to close the bar. Ellen beamed and left them alone, and Jo and Beauty left her with her fantasies.
:::
In December, with just three weeks until Christmas, a man came to the Winchester home, wearing tattered clothes and riding an exhausted horse. He asked for John, and said he came from the city. Faith, who had answered the door, curtsied and invited him in, giving him food and drink while Hope ran for her father and Beauty led the tired horse to their meagre barn.
The family assembled around the kitchen’s rough-hewn table and watched as John gave a shout of joy. The stranger stood, bearded face creased in a smile, and the two embraced.
“Bobby!” John laughed, and slapped the man on the back. It was the first mate of the Singer, looking much older than the last time he’d been seen. At John’s urging, and after a refill of his glass, Bobby began his story.
The three ships had set off with the winds of fortune in their sails. Two weeks into their journey, a roiling dark cloud had been seen on the horizon, moving so fast towards them that Bobby swore it had been alive. Yellow balls of lightening had boiled across the cloud’s surface, and a few lucky sailors had jumped overboard at the first sight of that awful glare and drowned among the sinister dancing waves.
The Mary, by far the proudest of the three, had been the first casualty. She had burned, and one hundred souls had fallen with her. The Colt had been lost to the waves, while the Singer managed to make it close enough to a tiny island to breach herself on a reef, and stranded the fifty remaining sailors on these foreign shores.
There they lived, at first in harmony, until one by one they were picked off by an unknown foe. Bobby had been the first to realise it was Ava, the scullery maid, who was killing his men. With a roar, he’d launched himself on her until she broke and sobbed that the storm had pierced her dreams and promised her fame and fortune in exchange for the sailors’ deaths. Bobby cut off her head in the sand as dawn broke bloody over the ocean.
He’d spotted a ship sailing on the horizon soon after, signalled them in close enough to make it aboard, and had thusly made it back to the port town that the Winchesters had once, so very long ago it seemed, called home.
John wept for the sailors and the Colt and the Singer and most of all for the Mary, his favourite and most beloved ship. Bobby wept too, for his men and for Ava, and for John, whose last dream he knew he had shattered.
“John,” he said, when at last they had dried their eyes. “There is a small amount of cargo left, that which I managed to salvage from the wreck of the Singer. And a fine ship she was, too.” The family toasted to her memory.
“You-” John paused, cleared his throat. “You managed to salvage something?”
“Aye,” Bobby nodded as Hope refilled his cup. “Not much, to be sure, but I’ve left what little there was with Master Gordon, down at the docks. He’s waiting for you to decide what to do with it.”
“Ah, Gordon,” John said thoughtfully. “A sad man, that Gordon, but good enough at his core.”
“Driven,” Beauty supplied, and all nodded.
“Well, I must go back to the city,” John said, setting his cup down. “You shall spend the night, of course, and we shall set out in the morning.”
Bobby gave a grateful smile, and heaved himself to his feet. He settled his ever-present cap more firmly onto his head.
“You shall have my room,” Beauty told him, and stood also. “I shall sleep elsewhere tonight.”
“Ah, yer too kind, lad.” Bobby gave him a watery smile, and Faith led him upstairs.
The family went to sleep that night content with the knowledge that their fortune was forever lost to them.
:::
Before he left the next morning, John gathered his family around him.
“Children,” he said, very serious. “Our fortune has been snatched from us by fate and a yellow-eyed cloud. However, a small something remains to us - the monies I receive from the sale of my goods. Much must go to Bobby, of course, for such heroic service in the face of such an unnatural series of events.” The family nodded solemnly. “But I should like to get you something from the city before I come home. Something that will remind you of our good times and of my love for you.”
“Oh Papa,” Hope cried, and hugged him. “I want for nothing from you, only your love.”
“Oh Papa,” Faith cried, and hugged him also. “I too want nothing, only your happiness.”
John’s face crumpled, and he offered to Hope, “A nice dress, perhaps?” She shook her head, lips trembling. “A string of precious gems?” he asked Faith, who merely wiped her eyes.
“Oh, where would we wear them around here?” Hope demanded, scrubbing angrily at her apron. “Bring us some sensible cloth to make some sensible dresses and enough money to buy a cow and maybe a horse, and we shall be happy.”
Faith agreed mutely, then burst suddenly into giggles. “Imagine, sister, our asking for sensible cloth!”
Hope managed a chortle. “And a cow!”
They laughed together, the sound of a shattered past, and John turned his swimming eyes to his son.
“Beauty,” he whispered, voice cracking. The sisters’ laughter cut off as quickly as it had come. “Surely, you would ask something of me?”
“Yes Beauty, ask for a hen,” Faith said, her weariness evident in her voice.
Beauty took a moment to think. “I would have some rose seeds,” he said finally. “To plant in the garden. Yes, I think some seeds are in order.”
John’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Of course my boy, some seeds you shall have.”
And with that, he clapped his hat on his head, kissed his children goodbye, and strode out of the house.
:::
The journey to the city took a week, at a leisurely pace, and so when John was not home almost three weeks later, the Winchester children could no longer avoid the worry that permeated the house.
“Oh, imagine if we lost Papa,” Hope cried out one storming winter night as they sat around the fireplace.
Faith immediately shushed her. “Don’t be stupid,” she scolded, and turned to her brother for help. “I’m sure Papa is fine, isn’t he Beauty?”
The snow rapped angrily at the window as Beauty let out a derisive snort. “We all must die at some point,” he said, and left his sisters crying by the fire.
:::
The next night, just as prayers were being said over dinner, the front door burst open. Faith ran into the front room, and her glad cry of “Papa!” brought Hope and Beauty running after her.
“Oh Papa,” Hope exclaimed, and hurried to shut the door. It had not let up snowing since the afternoon before, and the night outside was black as coal.
“Are you all right?” Faith asked, helping her father with his coat.
“No,” he wheezed, and the children gasped at the sight of his face. He had aged twenty years since they had last seen him, and his rich black hair was now threaded through with grey.
“Papa, whatever has happened to you?”
“Get me a drink, my dear, and some warm food and the fire, and I shall tell you all I know.”
While the girls hurried to do their father’s bidding, Beauty threw on his thin coat and ventured into the howling winds. There was an unfamiliar horse standing in the drifts with the bow-backed pony they’d named Jessica. He led them into the barn, unburdening the pony of her heavy saddle bags.
Back inside, the family reunited around the fireplace as John devoured his meal. Faith and Hope sat at his feet while Beauty sat on the couch, idly stroking the saddlebags.
Finally, John began his story.
He and Bobby had made it to the city safely, and John had quickly concluded his business with Gordon. He had paid Bobby and bought a reasonable horse, suited to farm labour and priced so that they could afford a cow and some hens. He found some sensible cloth, and some good candles and crockery.
“Crockery?” Hope breathed, excitement shining on her face.
“Aye, crockery,” John replied, weary to the bone, and continued.
He had been held up looking for the rose seeds. Apparently, it was the wrong time of year for roses themselves, and therefore no one carried the seeds. He had searched high and low, until he found a man of the cloth known only as Pastor Jim on a street corner who had some to spare.
Finally, he was able to leave the city that no longer felt remotely like home. He longed for his family, and so gathered his things and left. That was more than ten days ago.
“But where have you been since?” Faith asked. Hope shushed her, and John sighed.
“My dear, dear children,” he sighed again, and stroked a broad palm over Faith’s shining hair. “Since then, I have lost myself. I have lost you.”
Quietly, he began to cry.
Concerned, Hope and Faith hugged his knees, and urged him to finish his story. From the couch, Beauty watched and said nothing. The saddlebags were impossibly heavy across his legs.
Eventually, John stopped his tears enough to continue his tale.
The ride had been uneventful, until he was almost home. He had estimated another day or two of riding, and so when a storm blew in - black clouds heaving upon the horizon, full of yellow lightening - John had decided to push on, eager for the sight of his children, of home.
The snow blew in much faster than John had expected, and Jessica had become hopelessly confused in the snow. The new, larger horse stumbled more than once, and still John rode on, desperate to find some form of shelter.
He became lost in the swirling snow and unfamiliar woods he found himself in. How long he wandered he could not say, knew only that by the time he saw the dim lights through the storm he was more than half frozen.
John had slid off of Jess and led the two animals towards the lights, certain that no one would turn him away on a night like this. He found himself standing at a shining silver gate, two massive torches burning on either side, rose bushes in full bloom standing silent and serene in the snow. Before he could lay his hands upon the gate, it swung silently open. On the other side there was no wind, and only a bare dusting of snow. Too tired and cold to be concerned by this oddity, he had stepped inside, and the gates closed behind him.
John had deposited the horses in the well-lit stable, empty and clean except for two waiting stalls full of straw and feed bags. John left them munching happily, and turned, bone-tired, towards the castle that loomed in the distance.
The estate was massive, stretching as far as John could see, though he did not linger to look. Instead, he trudged towards the heavy main door, the air heavy and still around him.
The doors, like the gate, slid open before him. “Hello?” John called on the threshold, not wanting to intrude, though he wanted nothing more than to sleep for several days. Silence blanketed the room, so that even his breathing seemed muffled and distant.
A light shone out suddenly from the hallway to his right, and John turned to it, eager to meet his host. But the light was getting further away, dimming as it receded, and John called out as he followed.
The light bobbed steadily ahead of him until it disappeared just as swiftly as it had appeared. The hall was plunged into darkness, and there was a harsh, panting breath that blew thick across his neck.
“H-hello?” John had stammered - scared, as he told his breathless children, nearly out of his mind.
“Sleep,” came the hissed response, and a door opened directly in front of him and spilled light into the hall. The room was dominated by a gigantic bed, and John, unable to resist, found himself walking towards it, as if already in a dream. It occurred to him then that perhaps he was in actuality lying in the forest somewhere, freezing to death, and this castle was just a dream from the cold. And yet, as an unseen force pulled his clothes from him and gently tipped him into the soft, soft bed, John found himself unable to care.
He slept for who knows how long, until he woke on a morning that shone grey and clear through the windows in his room. There was a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table, and a still-warm breakfast on the little desk. He ate, hungry beyond measure, until at last he was full. He wrestled on his clean, dry clothes and headed back into the hall, determined to give thanks to his host.
And yet, try as he might, he could not find his way anywhere else but to the front doors, no matter how many times he retraced his steps and attempted a different route. Finally, he stood by the mighty portal and called into the silence, “Thank you for your generosity, my friend. I owe you much.”
He had gone to the stables and collected his horses, and rode once more to the gate. There, beside the path, was a rosebush, in perfect bloom despite the winter’s chill. Its roses were budding bloody into the air, the deep red seeming to pulse in the frozen air. They called to him, a throbbing warm that yearned for his touch. And so John had leaned down and plucked one, thinking only of Beauty’s smile.
A mighty roar rent the air, and the animals reared and plunged, eyes rolling white.
“How dare you touch my roses!” came the horrifying snarl, filling up all of the space in and around John’s head. It clarified, coming from behind and to his left, as it spoke again.
“How dare you, you filthy creature!” it bellowed. “I allow you in my house, take care of your animals, feed you, care for you, and this is how you repay me!”
John sat limply on his trembling horse, paralyzed, unable to face his furious host. “I’m sorry, sir,” he started, and was interrupted by a hideous howl.
“I am not your sir,” it hissed, and John felt five brilliant points of pain on his leg. Looking down, he saw a brown-furred paw as big as his head, with ebony-tipped claws that pierced his trousers.
Back in the living room, the children stared as John absently fingered the left leg of his trouser. Hope let out a breathy gasp as she noticed five bloody points that spanned the entire length of his thigh. She and Faith exchanged horrified looks.
Gasping quietly, John continued.
“My most sincere apologies,” he had told the owner of this monstrous hand, not daring to turn to face it. “You have been beyond kind, and I did not realise such a little thing as a rose would be missed.”
“You were wrong,” the creature growled in his ear, breath hot and moist as a jungle.
“I realise that now,” John said. Without thought, he added, “It was for Beauty. A rose for Beauty. That’s all.”
There was silence from the beast. Jessica foamed and shivered under John’s hand.
“Beauty,” said the deep, rasping voice, musing in John’s ear. After a pause, it said, “I could kill you, you know, or keep you here for my entertainment. But instead, I will give you one week. At the end of that week, you will send Beauty here, and your life will be spared in exchange for another. If, in one week, your Beauty is not here, I will come to your house and eat your family, your friends, your livestock, your village. Only come into the woods, and you shall find me.”
And with that, the gate swung open, and the horses lunged forward, and John was carried away from the castle with harsh laughter grating in his ears.
In the warm living room, fire crackling merrily in the hearth, John slumped down into his chair, his tale told. He could not look at any of his children, afraid of what he might see.
“It wants Beauty?” Hope asked finally, voice small in the silence of the room.
“Yes my love, it wants Beauty.” John turned from the fire to look at his son, who sat quiet and still in the flickering light. He swallowed and continued. “But it shall not have him. I will go back. I only wanted one week with my children, one last week before I leave.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Beauty told him, face in shadow. “If you go, the Beast may yet come and kill my sisters, and take me anyway, in payment for your- for my rose. I shall go, as required. When it realises I’m…” he trailed off, then cleared his throat and started again. “That is to say, when it realises that I am not as beautiful nor as feminine as my name implies, it shall most likely send me back with a stern lecture on the foolishness of asking one’s father for a rose in December.”
“Or,” added Faith lowly, “it will eat you.”
:::
The next day, just five days before he had to leave, Beauty pointedly ignored his father’s talk of going in his stead and his sisters’ tears. Instead, he planted rose seeds in December, chipping away at the frozen ground, utterly determined to leave something truly beautiful in his stead.
:::
Three days before he had to leave, Beauty opened the saddlebags. They were filled with luxurious dresses for his sisters, ropes of pearls, diamond chokers. There were pouches of crop seeds, and thick wax candles, scented soaps and dainty perfumes. There were rich costumes for his father, trimmed in gold. There was more, far too much to have fit in Jessica’s saddlebags, and each new item yielded a barely suppressed gasp from the person it was so obviously meant for.
The last item from the bag, found by Faith, was a thick silver ring, a ‘B’ inscribed on the inside. As he slid it on the ring finger of his right hand, Beauty wondered if it was meant as a gesture of goodwill, or as a bribe.
:::
With two days left to go, the Winchesters ate at Ellen’s pub, and it was announced that Beauty would be leaving them.
“Where are you off to?” Jo asked, taking in John’s tears and Beauty’s steadfast expression.
“I’m going to try my hand at sailing,” Beauty lied, while Hope stifled a sob on Andy’s shoulder.
“Well,” Jo said, “be sure to send me letters from foreign climes.”
“I don’t see why you can’t stay and help your father,” Ellen said, angrily wiping down the already-clean bar. “Why this need to go gallivanting off? You’re leaving your family behind.”
Beauty gave her a tight smile and thought about leaving this place. He felt sure the beast had books in the castle, and his smile eased into something more natural. “I shall miss you all, of course,” he told her, “but I think this is a good way to become a man.”
Ash grinned and tossed his long hair back from his shoulders. “You just be careful, young Winchester, about how you go about being made a man.” He and Andy exchanged a sharp-edged glance. “Long months at sea… Aye, you watch yourself.”
Beauty smiled and wondered what on earth that was supposed to mean, and poured himself some more ale.
:::
The week passed quickly, much faster than Beauty thought possible. On the sixth night, he packed what little clothes he had, unsure of what the creature expected from him. Would he be food, or entertainment, or company? This of course did not make a lick of difference on his clothing, as he had only his tattered work clothes to bring.
He turned the ring on his finger, and thought of a heavy-voiced stranger, with claws for fingers and a thick brown pelt. He shivered, and went to bed.
He did not dream.
:::
The next morning, John saddled Jessica and the girls stood outside to see Beauty off. Hope and Faith were crying, clutching each other for support. John’s eyes were red, and his hair seemed greyer than ever. Beauty mounted the pony and scowled.
“This is ridiculous,” Beauty said crossly, looking down at his feet, which dangled almost to the ground. “Can’t I just walk?”
“No you cannot,” Faith told him crossly, through her tears. “Jessica will take you to this awful beast, so that we may have some comfort that you are not alone.”
Hope nodded, and both sisters stepped forward to cover his face in kisses. John stepped forward and gave his son a one-armed hug. “Be careful, my boy, and know that I love you, and if you were not so stubborn I would go in your stead.”
“You could try,” Beauty told him, tired of his lines, “but I would knock you down, old man.”
There were thin smiles all around, and Beauty nudged poor Jessica to face the forest, looming black at the edge of the white field. “So long,” he said, over his shoulder, and kneed her into a canter.
At the edge of the forest, he reined her in and looked back. One of the small figures of his sisters had slumped to the ground, waving feebly, while the other leaned on her father, who held her close.
And Beauty went in to the forest.
(next)