Page 17 of The Unknown

I curtsied again and asked, “Do all of you also possess the Gift?”

Jonquil lifted her skirt and stuck out a leg, exposing it all the way past her knee. “With gams like these, I don’t need any other gifts.”

I suppose I should have been scandalized. From the way she covered her mouth in horror, Mrs. Minafer certainly seemed to be. But I wasn’t in the least. In fact, I admired Jonquil’s boldness as much as I appreciated Mrs. Minafer’s properness. As for Katrina, who stood off to the side, pouting, I suspected that in time I’d find something to like about her, too.

But I’ve already decided that, despite my initial misgivings, I love New Avalon. It feels, for the time being, like home. I’ve been searching for a place like this ever since Daddy passed on, and now that I’ve found it, I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.

Four

I stand in the woods behind my cottage, halfway down the slope that separates it from the lake. Now in my blue dress, I close my eyes, feel the late-summer breeze on my face, and try to become Daisy.

An impossible task. I’m too present in my own skin—not to mention my own roiling thoughts—to pretend to be anyone other than myself. Even though the table read ended an hour ago, it lingers like a hangover, making me woozy, weak, and on the verge of throwing up.

Not because the script is bad. On the contrary, it’s good.

Verygood.

Nausea-inducingly good.

What Ronan has come up with is spooky and atmospheric and very much an indie movie. Yes, it has Ronan Peters directing and Violet Wright as its star, but it’s too strange and ambiguous to be considered mainstream horror. Still, if done right, this movie could be a hit with both critics and audiences.

But it’s not just the script that has me spiraling. It’s also the role of Daisy and what it could mean for me. It’s an incredible part. A potentially career-making one. Jamie Lee Curtis inHalloween. Or Tippi Hedren inThe Birds.

If done correctly, that is. The script is so tightly constructed that one false note or a single wrong scene could cause the whole thing to fall apart. Hence the nausea. More than at any moment in the past seventy-two hours, I understand that I could make or break this movie.

Yes, Violet is the nominal star as Ruth Hume Semple, but it’s Daisy audiences will latch onto. Because it’s based on her diary, she’s their entryway into the story, guiding them through the plot from start to finish, with dialogue on almost every page.

She’s also, incidentally, the only one to make it to the end credits.

To do the part justice requires a performance I’m not sure I’m capable of giving. The table read didn’t provide any insight. Not to me, anyway. It felt like taking a test I hadn’t studied for. I knew some of the answers, but most of it left me stumped. As everyone filed out of the parlor, I looked to Ronan for a sense of what he thought. He responded with a single nod. Though subtle, I knew exactly what the gesture meant.

You’re welcome.

He might feel differently once cameras start rolling next week. The fact that I have only that long to figure out how to play Daisy prompts a panic attack I try to stave off with a mental pep talk.This is what you wanted, I tell myself.This is what you’ve dreamt about. Seize it. Own it. Put in the work and make what little time you have count.

It helps, to an extent. Although still simmering with panic, I also understand the gift I’ve been given. Not just the role of Daisy, but the opportunity to exist in the same place she did. That is, after all, why we’re here. To take the time to find our characters. To become them. If I take advantage of the situation, there’s a chance I’ll understand Daisy by the time I leave New Avalon.

On the way back to my cottage, I note the way it feels to walk in the woods. How the setting sun filtering through the trees warms my face. How the leaves crunch beneath the sturdy soles of my boots. How the hem of my dress swishes along the ground. A dress, I might add, that’s not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be, although I left theperiod-specific undergarments in the dresser. Those bloomers, for lack of a better word, can be saved for another day.

Daisy could have made this same trek, I think, strolling from her cottage to the water’s edge and back again. Maybe I am literally following in her footsteps, which makes me wonder how she walked. Timidly, I decide. Like a deer alert to every threat in the forest.

I try it out, moving lightly, carefully choosing each step before I take it. It feels…good. Literally like a first step toward becoming Daisy. I continue moving that way to edge of the woods near the wrought iron arch, stopping only when I notice something on the last tree before grass takes over.

The same strange symbol I spotted at the main house.

This one is carved into the tree’s trunk, nothing more than a faint scar etched into the bark. I run a finger over it, tracing the circle. Ronan’s screenplay mentions the hex signs only in passing. Like they’re mere set dressing. But in real life, they seem to be everywhere, including the tree next to this one.

And the tree after that.

I study the tree line ahead and behind me. What I see is as unnerving as it is confusing.

Every single tree that borders the village at the top of the island contains a hex sign.

There are so many that it makes the ones in the main house seem tame in comparison. It’s like a wall of symbols surrounding the center of the island. What hell did the Semple family think was in these woods?

I follow the hex signs the same way a hiker does trail markers, moving past the back of my cottage. I’d keep going if not for the two women standing behind the cottage next to mine.

Susie and Heather.