Juniper Halls

Violet

"Vi?" Fern called softly as she entered the office where Violet was seated at a small oak desk, signing her name upon a document.

"Hmm?" She responded; distracted. A wave of hair covered her face, hiding the tears that clung to her skin and she bent lower over the paper, cowering behind the ebony waterfall. Behind it she was naked, all emotion on display and she couldn't let her sister see her like that.

"There's a man at the desk who doesn't have any I.D with him," Fern stated, the beginning of a question in her voice. Violet thought for a moment, twisting the pen in her hands.

"Should be okay," she mused. "But make sure he pays up front. Just in case." Her voice was strong and steady as if nothing were amiss.

"Right. Got it." Fern - the usually shy, organised sister - turned to go.

"Want me to handle it?" Violet asked, still only half concentrating as her eyes scanned a second document on the table. Still wishing she could take a moment to dry her eyes.

"No, that's okay. You look busy."

Fern-

"Hi," I said, coming back to the front desk, listening to my heels tepping on the floor. "Sorry, just had to check something ot with my sister."

"That's okay," Max [I know you're James, but she doesn't]. "Can I have a room?"

"Sure, but you'll need to pay up front." I said. "Is that alright?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. How much?"

I told him the price and wrote his name down in the book. He pushed some notes across the table to me.

"Thanks," I said, putting the money away. "D'you want Room Number Two or Six?"

He smiled. "Which is better?"

"Well, Two's only one flight of stairs up, but you get a good view from Six."

"I'll go with Two. I'm feeling pretty lazy."

"Right. Vi?" I called again.

"Yup?"

"You made the bed up for Room Two didn't you?"

"Yeah."

I began to lead him upstairs. "This is family run then?" he asked.

"No, Violet and I only came a few days ago."

He raised his eyebrows. "Long story," I said. "Our mother passed away, our father's pretty much an emotional wreck..."

"Sorry." he said quietly.

"That's okay," I said, pushing open the door to Room Number Two, my charm bracelet. "Here we are. Breakfast starts at seven. Feel free to come down to the sitting room if you feel like it."

I left him there and went back downstairs.

[Holly]

Holly leaned back in the bench on her front porch, the intricate designs of the backboard rough through her thin shirt. Her eyes were closed, shutting out the soft light of the setting sun.

It had been another long day of cooking, cleaning, and going to school. Upstairs, she still had thirty geometry problems and two essays to write, but she needed to get out of the house for a minute. Her father was still grief-stricken, and would refuse to remove anything that her mother had touched.

It was suffocating in there.

The slight breeze rustled her brown curls, and the blue jays chirped in the trees. The whole neighborhood was silent. Holly relished in this quiet, her mind wonderfully free, until she heard the opening of a screen door next door.

She opened her eyes, watching as Aiden walked down the front steps and to his car. He must have felt her gaze, because he paused and turned his head to look at her. She quickly shut her eyes, not wanting to talk to him, to hear him tell her how sorry he was. She heard him begin walking again, but refused to open her eyes to see if it were towards or away from her.

(I ended it here so Aiden wouldn’t have to come over, although he can if he wants.)

[Aidan]

Something was wrong.

The Donovans' place was silent as a tomb, and that wasn't normal at all.

Odd that I hadn't noticed it before, but then it had only been a short while after my return; I had been away for the weekend, visiting my cousins. Now this--this… silence, that was so odd for a place normally alive with the sounds of five happy, active sisters. For the moment I aborted my plan to drive out to the grocery store, curiosity driving me toward the Donovan house.

Holly, the youngest, occupied the porch. I didn't know her nearly as well as I'd have liked to, but from my understanding she was rather anti-social and taciturn--traits I often found in myself, so no big deal there. Except… after just one glance, she shut her eyes, clearly not wanting to talk. Normally I would have been put off, but not this time; I was curious enough to keep walking. Soon I reached the porch.

"Hey, Holly, what's up?" I asked, offering up a feeble half-wave. "Er… is Briar in?"

if u want to change my first post for location that's fine but for all intensive purposes where is the bed and breakfast at?

James-

After the girl left James stood in the doorway. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Then he could hear it floating from the sitting room up the stairs and to his ear drums. The shuffling of cards and a feeble, "Whos up dlfir a game?" he set his only bag of belongings on the ground just inside the room. He had to stand very still for he was sure if he moved it would be towards the game instead of away. The cab ride and hotel room had been expensive but her still had a bit of cash in his pocket.
A little voice in his head told him one game wouldn't hurt. He could maybe make a bit of money and then leave the table. Another voice tuned in telling him exactly what he didnt want to hear. He wouldnt walk away from that table. In fact he would be the last to leave.
James pulled the door to his room closed and went back down the stairs. There was one more chair at the table. He walked over to the table and put his hands on the back of the chair. "Mind if I join?" he asked in his new American accented voice. One of the men nodded and even though he knew he would regret it he hung his jacket on the chair sat down and was felt in.

Violet

Violet waited until she was certain that her sister was gone before brushing her hair from her face and drying her eyes with a white, violet embroidered handkerchief. The stitiching was poor at best and worn, not from years of use, but from the last few days. It had taken Violet a while to find and taking it from the house had not been an easy task. Fortunately, her father wasn't likely to notice the disappearance of a single handkerchief. Not even one embroidered by his wife. Oh she'd had a steady hand and an eye for detail but Violet, at the age of six, had insisted on helping out which accounted for the uneven running stitch across the leaves.

Violet drew in the scent of the handkerchief and then forced herself to tuck it into a pocket before turning back to the papers. She shuffled them. Signed another, wrote some details on one more then extracted a third from the pile and left the room. She took it to

*Rory, it's somewhere rural, a small tourist town or something...*

Fern-

I came back down to the office. "I'm about to make a fresh pot of tea, you want some?"

Violet looked up quickly and flashed me a grateful smile. "Please," she said.

My sister looked tired. I perched on the desk beside her. "What's up?" I asked her.

"What isn't up?" she said. "Everything's gone upside-down since... you know..."

I reached over and squeezed her hand. "We can make this work."

She smiled again. "Have you heard from the others?" she asked.

"No," I said. "The post still isn't here. But I reckon we should try to keep Sunday afternoon free, just in case."

"D'you reckon she'll let us go."

"If we do all the beds super-speed after breakfast she can't keep us here." I said.

Violet rubbed her eyes. "Right," she said. "Well, something to look forward to at any rate."

She was right of course. The prospect of going out was one spark of light in what seemed like a very long tunnel.

Violet

Fern smiled in response and then turned and walked into the small kitchenette to put the kettle on. Violet waited until she was certain that her sister was gone before brushing her hair from her face and drying her eyes with a white, violet embroidered handkerchief. The stitiching was poor at best and worn, not from years of use, but from the last few days. It had taken Violet a while to find and taking it from the house had not been an easy task. Fortunately, her father wasn't likely to notice the disappearance of a single handkerchief. Not even one embroidered by his wife. Oh she'd had a steady hand and an eye for detail but Violet, at the age of six, had insisted on helping out which accounted for the uneven running stitch across the leaves.

Violet drew in the scent of the handkerchief and then forced herself to tuck it into a pocket before turning back to the papers. She shuffled them. Signed another, wrote some details on one more then extracted a third from the pile and placed it on top.

"Biscuit?" Fern called from the kitchenette, holding out a packet of milk digestives. Violet smiled.

"Yes please," she replied, crossing the room to accept first the biscuit and then the mug of tea.

"Girls?" Madam Desmonda called. "Oh there you are," she paused in the doorway, an empty tray between her hands. "Could one of you take some refreshments down to the lounge?"

"Sure," Violet said, setting the untouched drink and biscuit down. "Just drinks or food as well?"

"Oh both I should think. You'd best ask them what they want first though and I gave Libby the night off so you'll need to cook, Violet. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. Could you take their orders while I put the oven on, Fern?"

"Why on earth does a B&B serve dinner, that's what I want to know," I muttered to Violet. She grinned. I grabbed my notebook and went through to the little sitting room.

"Hello," I said to the men, who were sitting round a table with a pack of cards. "Just came to see if you want anything. Tea, coffee...?"

A couple of them asked me for a beer, Max asked for a Coke.

"Right. Well, if you're wanting dinner, you had better tell me now," I said.

"What is there?" asked Max.

"Anything that's within Vi's powers to cook." I said. "She's not half bad though. If it were me, you'd all be eating scrambled eggs on toast."

I took down what they wanted, luckily today they weren't being difficult, looking for pasta or chicken or rice. I jotted it all down and put the notebook in my skirt pocket.

"If you need anything, feel free to come through," I said. "I'll be back with those drinks in a mo."

I turned to go back to the kitchen.

[Holly]

Holly pursed her lips slightly as she heard Aiden step onto the porch. She knew he would just ask for Briar, and she wasn’t in the mood to explain to yet another person the story of her mother. He would learn enough from the gossip going around the town.

"Hey, Holly, what's up?" he asked, offering up a feeble half-wave. "Er… is Briar in?"

Holly rolled her eyes, standing up so she was nearly level with him; he still beat her by a few inches. He stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, appearing very unsure of himself as he looked down on her.

“No, she’s out,” Holly said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered behind him, wishing she were out in the woods that lay beyond the neighborhood instead of on the porch. “I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

If Aiden was disappointed, he hid it well. “Oh, all right. Thanks, Holly.” He looked away, unsure if he should leave or if she had more to say. She turned and walked the three steps to the door, opening the screen and pausing before stepping inside.

“I don’t think she wants to see you,” Holly said softly. Behind her, she heard Aiden’s breathing falter for a minute.

“Oh?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly despite his age. “Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure. You should probably stop bothering her, though.” She stood there for a moment, her face blank, waiting for him to reply. When he didn’t, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Holly figured it didn’t matter if she lied to Aiden. If he thought Briar didn’t want to see him, he wouldn’t come over. Once he found out about her mother, he’d still be embarrassed that Briar didn’t want to see him and wouldn’t come to offer his sympathy.

He would leave her alone.

She walked down the dark hallway, passing the living room where her father sat, weeping over a photo of her mother. Holly knew that her four sisters would be in it, and that she’d be missing. She never enjoyed photos much; they forced her to remember things when she spent her entire life trying to forget.

She climbed the stairs to her room, flicking the hall lights on when she reached the top of them. Her back was straight, her shoulders were square, and she had a soft smile on her face: the perfect image of someone who was content and sure of herself.

If anyone looked into her eyes, they’d know that the rest was all a lie.

Eh, not written too well, but I'm tired. *Grins sheepishly*

Anyone mind having one of the sisters call her? Get them talking, start having them to think about finding out how their mother died?

Briar

Willow was being very quiet, though I couldn't judge how much so, as Aunt Rosemary ensured that we were never in the same room at the same time. I'd just scrubbed every wooden or tiled floor in the house. Only two rooms had carpet; Aunt Rosemary's room, and the room which Willow and I were sharing. My knees and back were aching. At home, I'd always knelt on a cushion when it was my turn to wash the floors, but Aunt Rosemary hadn't offered me one, and I hadn't liked to ask as I didn't want her thinking I was pampered or delicate.

Having finished washing the floors, I leaned against the banister for a moment to rest. Aunt Rosemary was upon me in seconds. "Have you finished?" I nodded, my lips pressed together tightly. "Good." She nodded, though she didn't look at all pleased or grateful. "Come have some soup, then."

I frowned. "I'm not hungry."

"Nonsense!" She tisked. "Don't want you fainting on me.Come and eat, and stop being so ridiculous." She caught me by the arm and half dragged me into the kitchen. "Sit." She ordered. I wanted to remain standing, just so I could feel like I maintained some small dram of control, but I couldn't very well eat soup standing up.

"Should I call Willow for lunch?" I asked, lethargically picking up my spoon.

"She can eat when she's finished polishing the silverware." Aunt Rosemary told me sharply. I sighed, and looked gloomily into my soup bowl. She hovered over my shoulder as I ate. It was painfully disconcerting. I choked down a few mouthfuls until my nausea could take no more, at which time I forced a smile and tipped most of my soup down the sink.

Aunt Rosemary tutted at me. "So wasteful!"

I glared at her. "I told you I wasn't hungry. If you'd wanted to save it, you should have told me."

She acted as if she hadn't heard me. "Go hoover the carpets, and when you've finished that, you can start cleaning the bathrooms."

"Fine." I muttered, and stalked out of the room.

I didn't see Willow until dinner time, and by then I was too exhausted to speak much to her at all. Besides, with Aunt Rosemary sitting at the head of the table, I could hardly tell Willow that I meant to sneak out that night to post the letter to our sisters. Nor could I remind her that it was the night that our father went to play poker with his friends. I wasn't sure if he'd cancel, given the circumstances, but it seemed like as good a time as any to call poor Holly and check up on her.

Eventually, the day ended, and Aunt Rosemary sent us both to bed. I waited for about half an hour after I heard her get into bed herself, using the time to write to Aidan and tell him of our misfourtunes (I'd send the letter along with Violet and Fern's) and then whispered my plans to Willow.

The day trudged on, until the guests were all in bed.

Violet yawned hugely. "I think I'll hit the sack." she said. "You?"

"Yeah," I said, shaking my hair out around my shoulders and kicking my shoes off.

"How do you reckon the others are?" she asked.

At that, I looked at the phone. "I think I might call Holly. See how she's doing. You coming?"

I took the phone off the hook and punched in the number I had always given as my own.

Violet

Fern and Violet sat huddled around the phone as they waited for Holly to pick up. Violet drummed her fingers gently against the bed and Fern held a smile on her face, her lips slightly parted, ready to issue a cheery greeting. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"That's strange," Fern said, putting the phone back. "Engaged?"

"It must be Briar and Willow," Violet decided, feeling a touch disappointed. Contact with her other sisters had been scarce and she was even beginning to miss their father who had never been a particularly loving man. Except towards their mother, of course.

"How long do you think they'll talk?" Fern wondered.

"We'll try again in half an hour. Until then, if you give me your coat, I can fix that tear for you."

Fern-

"Thanks, that'd be great," I said, fetching my coat from its hook on the back of the door. I had managed to catch it on a loose nail and ripped the seam up the side.

"Do you think I'd get an extra rasher in the morning if I did the accounts now?" I asked, looking at the book.

"Go ahead. We've got three people chacking out in the morning, you'll need to do it at some point, we'll be busy tomorrow."

"Right," I said, fetching the log book. I dumped it on the table as Violet fetched down the sewing box.

"How do you think the others are anyway?" I asked her.

Violet

Violet measured out a length of thread before answering in slow, even tones.

"Aunt Rosemary can be tough, but she's fair and she would not treat them ill." Fern nodded thoughtfully, taking out a pen as Violet began to sew with a deft and steady hand. To some extent, the task soothed her but she thought that, if she closed her eyes, she might find herself taken back in time. Might open them to see her mother beside her and not her sister. They had often sat like that, side by side, darning clothes for the family.

Violet resisted the temptation. She could not sew with her eyes shut and she had no intention of making a poor job of the repair. She maintained her pride at least.

"Hmm. Which day did Mr Rogers and his wife book in?" Fern asked. "Or was is Desmonda who checked them in?"

"It was Monday. We'd just cleaned the best suite, remember?"

"Of course. How could I forget?" Fern pulled a face, recalling that they'd have that job to do again by the next evening.