How Deep The Roots Go ( Book One)

Chapter 22

The sound of the sewing picked up again, and Adelaide was no longer conversing with Temperance, but began humming an old southern church rhyme, Temperance noted. One she had heard before sitting in the pews of her church with her mother. Adelaide had one foot on the treadle, and the other, still, on the concrete floor. Temperance walked over to her, but Adelaide did not look up, only continued to sew and hum.

The rush of something foreign went through her; slithering into her system like a potent drug.

"Adelaide," her voice grew higher and urgent now. "What did you say?"

The sewing continued, the strike of the needle colliding upon fabric buzzing loudly against her ears. Temperance placed her hand on Adelaide's shoulder, and then pulled it back quickly, feeling a numbing cold against her palm.

"Have you met him yet?" Adelaide inquired, her voice sounding disparate.

Temperance swallowed, taking an unsteady step backward. "Whom?"

"He watches... he waits..." She clucked her tongue several times, the small sound, eerie and odd.

Adelaide's head was hunched over the machine, her black eyes still centered on her work at hand. Her hands pushed the fabric through the needle faster now — carelessly and sloppily.

"Adelaide..." Temperance said, her voice drifting in diffused desperation.

Adelaide's head bobbed down like a puppet on a string, and then it slowly rose from its position. The sound of the needled ceased, causing the fabric to bunch in protest. She turned around on the stool, revealing eyes that were glazed over with bright shine. They were not the onyx ones Temperance had always looked into.

A small, low laugh escaped her. She tapped her hand on her right leg, and then began to rub it back and forth nervously; her long, unpolished nails scratching her thigh in a proactive manner.

"The one bound to you," she replied, cocking her head to the side.

Temperance shook her head, a tide of mystification gushing into her. Still holding the gown, she gathered it up and moved toward the door to the main store. Her feet were unsteady and shaky, like she was in a dream and unable to move at the pace she wanted.

"Adelaide," her voice was higher, more desperate. "What are you talking about?" She asked, moving closer to the exit, her shoes making light scuffing noises on the concrete floor.

Suddenly, the door to the backroom flew open and Violet stepped in, holding her gown up in a tribute to the designer gods.

"I've found the one, my friend." Violet twirled around, as if she were dancing with it. "This baby right here is going to land me some looks, let me tell you," her smile was wide, then suddenly realizing something was amiss, it ceased.

"Temp, what's the matter?" She walked forward looking at the dress Temperance was clutching tightly to her chest. "You don't like the dress?" Her voice sounding thoroughly disappointed.

Adelaide smiled to Temperance mischievously, and then she slowly turned back to her sewing, continuing on as if nothing ever occurred between them.

Temperance could barely speak, her throat felt constricted. "I haven't tried it on yet," she managed to say.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She glanced at her watch. "I'll check out some accessories while you try that bad boy on."