Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(68)

“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?”