AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tell me!”
“It’s meant to be ‘X’ marks the spot for a surprise I set up.”
“Oh! That’s much nicer than the Hoax.” She snuggles into my side.
“Aye.” I think of my handwriting, and how looking at our maps has me writing my own “X’s” in a way that resembles the Hoax’s. “I’m daft for using an ‘X’ after what you’ve been through with those we shall not name, but I was so focused on the surprise I wasn’t thinking clearly. Speaking of surprises, did you get my gift?”
“Oh my! I’d forgotten all about the bowl—seeing that ‘X’ and all—but it was so lovely. I was so touched, I started crying like a wean.” She comes close, kissing my cheek with her soft lips. “It’s beautiful. I loved it. And the note.”
I reach into my back pocket, slipping out a white envelope, closed with a circle of red wax, the Norse Garden Estate stamp she made sealing it. “Here’s another note for you, love.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she carefully opens the envelope. The note gives her a clue, leading her back to the “X” on the garden wall—the “X” I so daftly made to look like the Hoax’s by accident.
I’ve had a fixture installed, so when the brick is pressed, the better part of the wall shifts over, revealing her surprise.
I take her hand in mine. “Let’s go.” We walk outside, back to the “X” that I’ll be scrubbing off tonight. “Push it.”
She gives me a curious look, reaching up to press the stone.
Nothing happens.
I realize the gadget's been set to my pressure. I’ll have that fixed. Putting my hand over hers, I press down. The wall slides to the side with a low rumble, revealing a short, hidden passageway that leads to a lush garden. As we enter the secret entrance, the fragrance of more blooming wisteria fills the air.
Following a winding cobblestone path, we stand in front of a quaint cottage. Sunlight filters through the canopy of leaves, casting dappled shadows on the moss-covered roof. Well-groomed rosebushes stand at either side of its pink door. When we first bought the place, I offered the studio to the previous owner, Mary Allan. When she decided to go live with her sister, this studio sat empty, waiting for its new purpose.
“Oh my!” Her hand goes to her mouth as she takes it all in. "I had no idea this was here."
“No one has been here since we moved in,” I say. “Only me and Freya.”
The cottage's cream-colored exterior is adorned with ivy climbing up the walls, creating a picturesque scene from a fairy tale. A small wooden sign above the door reads “Whispering Rose Cottage” in elegant script, the name a mere coincidence.
“I left the name,” I say. “For your mam.” I slip the gold skeleton key from my pocket, handing it to her. “It’s all yours.”
“What?” Her palm stays open as she stares up at me. “What?”
“The Whispering Rose Cottage,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers and closing her fingers around the key. It belongs to you.”
The windowed black front door has been painted a dusty rose, the very same shade as the paint sample she shared with Freya back when she was trying to convince my sister to paint our front door that color.
Too overwhelmed to speak, she enters the cottage, greeted by the cozy, inviting atmosphere Freya helped to create. The walls are adorned with Mary's beautiful paintings, each one capturing a different aspect of the Estate: the view of the city from the second-floor balcony, the main garden, and the fountain out front in the circle drive, all in vibrant colors.
The furniture is simple and cozy yet elegant, with plush cushions and warm throws. Their soft fabric is an array of different shades of pink scattered around the sofas and chairs, inviting us to sit and relax.
"This is amazing," she says, taking in the surroundings wide-eyed.
"I'm glad you like it," I reply, proud of our little project. "This was once Mary's art studio. We've kept most of her original pieces here as a tribute to her work. She’ll be coming to visit soon. I hope you don’t mind if we also give her a tour of this place."
Getting over the shock of the gift, she comes to life. “Of course! I’m sure she would love to see all the updates you’ve made to the big house. You can’t leave this beautiful wee studio off the tour.” Fiona goes to a painting hung over the teal sofa table to get a better look at Mary Allan’s work. Mary captured the front view of her then-home, our now Norse Garden Estate, lovingly with each brushstroke.
"She was an incredible artist," she whispers.
"Yes, she was," I say. “And so are you. This place will be great for you to work on your seals.”
Her pretty face flushes. “I’m not an artist, but I’m sure you and I can find many fun ways to enjoy this sweet space.”
Blood rushes between my legs. “Aye, we will. I can promise you that, wee lass.”
As we explore the cottage further, I show her the kitchen. All the walls in the cottage have been painted a light, airy white, but not this room. The walls are pink. Retro-white appliances have been installed, and the oak wood floors have been refinished to a pale blonde to match the wooden countertops.
