And he'd said nothing to her back then, hadn't taken her hand or dried her tears or anything. He'd just taken the woman's money and her daughter and said nothing. Not a damned thing.
He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Lara."
She blinked at him. "Sorry about what?"
So much. This time he did touch her, a breezing caress that wiped the moisture from her full check. At the touch, he felt her raw, misunderstood pain, seen in his mind as a red swirling mist of anguish and confusion and loss.
It shamed him to the core. What could he say? How could he atone for the pain he'd so blindly ignored, even fostered?
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There was nothing, no words.
"I'll be different," he said quietly.
She frowned. "Dr. Carrick?"
He knew she didn't understand, and it didn't matter. Selena was right; the past wasn't the important thing in life. The future was what counted, the choices that were made. He gave Lara a smile. "How about if we try to find a worm for that little guy? Maybe we could even make him a nest out of batting or something."
"Truly?"
"Truly." Smiling, he stood up. "Come on."
She grabbed her doll to her chest and got to her feet. She started to take a step toward the house, then stopped. Without looking up, she reached for his hand. He saw the contact coming, and for once in his life, accepted it, even welcomed it.
The vision, when it hit, was completely unexpected. The anguish, the pain, the confusion, were gone. Her mind was filled with childish excitement-I hope I find the first worm.. . . Hold on, birdie, I'll take care of you. . ..
He had done that, he realized suddenly. With nothing more than a fairy tale and a few moments of kindness, he had made this child smile, had given her a moment of hope.
He looked down at her small hand tucked into his larger one, and for a second his heart was achingly full.
Damned if he didn't feel like a father for the first time in his life.
Together, they went in search of worms.
Selena knocked on Maeve's door. Behind the barrier, she heard the rustling of feet, then a hurried "Come in."
She twisted the brass handle and pushed the door open, stepping into an unexpectedly sunny room. A huge tester bed dominated the chamber, its surface draped in yellow and white checked silk and piled with Battenberg lace pillows. Around it, the walls were a
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clean butter yellow, papered here and there with bright pink rosebuds. Painted wooden bookcases covered one whole wall, the shelves filled with books and knick-knacks and dead animals, stuffed and sewn to look real.
A yellow and orange sofa, overflowing with flowered pillows, sat huddled alongside the marble fireplace, warm and inviting. Above the fireplace hung a gilt-framed painting of a naked blond woman draped in the sheerest curtain of gold. The artist's name, Jonas, was a gigantic black scrawl along the lower edge of the painting.
Selena stared around her in awe. "Your bedroom is beautiful, Maeve," she said.
Maeve gave her a broad smile. "Thank you. And thank you for coming." She turned and rifled through her walnut armoire, finally pulling out a lovely aquamarine silk gown and a bunch of dried flowers. "Here," she said, smoothing the gown along the end of the bed. 'This was my wedding gown. I want you to wear it."
Selena moved slowly toward the gown. It was the most exquisitely beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She picked up the hem, fingering the silken softness of the fabric, the heavy ecru lace that lined the daring neckline and fell in soft folds across the shoulders, the billowy half sleeves that ended in layer upon layer of more exquisite lace. "Oh, Maeve ..."
"Try it on. The wedding is five days away. We may need to make alterations." Maeve hurried to the chiffonier, wrenching open one drawer after another, piling her arms with lacy undergarments.
Selena saw the torture device called a corset and winced. "I shall not wear that."
Maeve laughed. "Corsets and weddings go together. It's a rule."
"I do not follow rules. And I do not want to pass unconscious at the first curtsy."
"All women do. At my wedding, ladies dropped like flies on the dance floor."
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"It makes no sense."
Maeve shrugged. "Most of life doesn't. But I can tell you this: You'll never get your body into that dress if you don't squeeze into this first."
Selena sighed and walked toward Maeve, plucking up the corset. It dangled, stiff as steel, from her thumb and forefinger. "Who designed this?"
"A man. Do you need more proof of their evil?" Maeve gave her a broad smile.
"Are ladies truly so witless? Someone should have laughed at the inventor."
"Too true. Now, put it on."
Selena sighed. "Maeve, I believe that sometimes I prefer it when you are mad."
Maeve laughed. "Wait ten minutes."
Selena stood at the end of the bed, allowing Maeve to dress-and dress, and dress-her. Chemise, drawers, stockings, bustle, petticoat after petticoat, gloves, and camisole. The amount of clothing was endless, but finally Maeve slipped the elegant pale turquoise gown over Selena's head. The shimmering fabric floated around her and swooshed to the floor.
She felt like the Cinderella from the fairly tale. She swirled around, watching herself in the full-length che-val mirror. "Oh, Maeve," she said softly. "I look lovely."
"Yes." Maeve's voice was loving and soft. "Your mother-wherever she is-would be proud."
Before Selena could respond, Maeve took her hand and led her to the ornate walnut dressing table, gesturing for Selena to sit. The oval mirror framed them both.
Maeve began to brush Selena's hair. "Most brides wore white in my day. Even then I was different," she said with a little sigh.
Selena stared at Maeve in the mirror, seeing the pain in her friend's eyes, hearing it in her tired voice. "Have you always been different?"
Maeve looked startled for a moment, as if surprised
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that someone would ask so intimate a question. Then she smiled. "That's the saddest part: no. Oh, I always heard voices-I thought everybody did. But they didn't stop me when I was a child, they were just there, like friends in the background, whispering and laughing, urging me onward. I was sixteen when I fell in love with Herbert, and he was nearly thirty, but he loved me as much as I loved him. We married quickly, thoughtlessly, and for a while I was so happy that the voices almost completely disappeared, the depressions I'd always felt became a thing of the past. I thought ..." She shrugged, stared at Selena's hair. "I was young and naive. I thought everything would always be perfect. I had Ian almost immediately."
Her voice fell to a whisper, her fingers paused on Selena's hair. "I still remember how the change started, how the end began. I was afraid to nurse my baby. Can you imagine that?" She looked up, staring at her own face in the mirror through a veil of tears. "I thought he was sucking the life out of me."
"Oh, Maeve ..."
"I tried to hide my feelings from Herbert, but he noticed, he always noticed everything. The voices came back, only they were louder this time, screeching at me, telling me that Ian was evil and trying to kill me, that Herbert didn't love me anymore. I started talking to the voices and to people who weren't there. I tried everything to make them go away, even banged my head against a stone wall, but nothing worked. When it got bad enough, I just ... slipped inside myself. I imagined myself in a warm, dark room, curled in a tight little ball. After a while, the voices would go away. But they always came back."
Selena had seen Maeve like that once. She had sat on the floor, rocking, humming to herself, hearing nothing, answering no one. She had to be carried to bed.
Maeve set the brush down on the marble tabletop and kneeled at Selena's feet. "But I did not ask you here to
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speak of such things. Or perhaps I did. I ... I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you are marrying my son. To tell you I love you and I welcome you into our family. And . .." Her voice bro
ke off. She cleared her throat and looked at the hands curled in her own lap.
"Maeve?"
Slowly Maeve tilted her chin and looked at Selena. "I won't make the same mistakes again. I won't frighten your children, Selena, I swear I won't. I'll stay away, I'll watch them through the window and touch them in their sleep."
"Maeve, what are you talking about?"
"I never thought mat I could ever look into Ian's beautiful blue eyes and feel anything but shame for my madness. But you have changed him, softened him, and he is beginning to come back to me." Tears slipped from her eyes. "I would never do anything to frighten his children-you must tell him that."
Selena touched Maeve's wet cheek. "Oh, Maeve. Our children will never be afraid of you. They will know from the beginning that Grandma has good days, and not so good days. And they will know that you love them. That will be enough."
"No." Maeve said the word softly, shaking her head.
"Yes," Selena answered firmly, believing it with all her heart. "It's what Herbert should have told Ian long, long ago."
Maeve sat back on her heels and hung her head. "I pray you're right."
"Don't pray, Maeve, believe."
Ian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Checkmate."
Johann stared at the board, empty but for a few key pieces. Like Ian's king and queen and Johann's rook. "Damn."
"That's two in a row for Dr. Carrick," Andrew said with a bright grin.
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Johann smiled. "I'd think about changing to poker, but with Ian's degenerate background, I wouldn't have a chance. How about charades? You're far too stuffy to perform well."
Ian started to answer, but his words were cut off by the sound of a carriage approaching the house. At once, Andrew and Edith and the queen surged to their feet and thundered to the front door. They squished together and stared out the small side panel window.
"Who'd be out on a day like this?" Edith said. " Tis rainin' cats and dogs."
"It's an old man on an even older wagon," Andrew said.
The queen gasped and dropped into a knee-popping curtsy. "It's Albert. He's come for me at last."
Edith made a clucking sound. "If that's the royal carriage, things ain't goin' so well in the homeland."
Ian pushed back from the game table and got to his feet, strolling toward the door. Opening it, he stood in the entrance. The wagon came to a slow, groaning stop, then a man climbed down from the driver's seat and walked up the gravel path.
The stranger was a big man, with the broad shoulders and beefy arms of a farmer. A floppy-brimmed brown hat, splotched by the rain, covered his face and fell in folds above his ears. He wore a brown, rain-marked woolen suit and heavy black boots. At the bottom of the porch steps, he paused. Without looking up, he climbed the stairs slowly, one creaking step at a time.
Finally, on the porch, he looked up and pulled off his hat, crushing it beneath his arm.
Immediately Edith and the queen screamed and scrambled backward.
Half of the man's face was horribly scarred. An old scar, by the looks of it. Ugly, purplish ridges creased his cheekbone; the skin pulled his left eye down in the corner. One ear was a dark hole in the middle of raised, welted flesh. Short, close-cropped gray hair grew thick
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and full on the right side of his head, and in tufted patches on the left.
"Hello," Ian said. "I'm Dr. Carrick." The stranger reciprocated with an uneven smile that, pulled hard at the scar tissue. "I'm Elliot Brown." "Come in," Ian said, backing into the foyer. The inmates scattered like ants, scurrying into dark corners to watch the scarred man's entrance.
Elliot stepped over the threshold and paused on the small rug in front of the door. His huge, booted feet made the rug look like a postage stamp. He stared down at the floor for a long minute, then cleared his throat and looked up. "I'm sorry to bother you... ." Ian smiled. "Don't worry about it." Elliot reached into his big, damp pocket, pulling out a wrinkled, dirty piece of paper. "I've come about the woman you found. She's my wife."
"Oh, Lord," Johann said from the parlor. His chair squeaked as he rose, his heels clicked across the hardwood floor.
Ian stared at the old man in shock. "What?" "Ian! Look!" Selena's high, excited voice cut into the silence. She stood at the top of the stairs, wearing his mother's wedding dress. Her long hair cascaded around her flushed face.
Smiling, she hurried down the steps. When she saw the stranger, she came to a sudden stop. Her mouth fell open for a split second, and then she was smiling again. "We have a guest." She glided over to Elliot. "Welcome to Lethe House, sir. May we steal your coat?"
"Hello, Agnes," Elliot said, taking a hulking step toward her. "Sheriff Monahan told me a woman was staying up at this place. He knew you were missing. I've come for you."
Ian could barely turn, barely move. This man, this scarred, shambling man, had come for Selena. Come for her. The words cycled through his brain until he couldn't think of anything else, could barely breathe.
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"You better have some goddamn good proof," he hissed.
Elliot flinched. "I don't under-"
"Show it to me." Ian spat the words. "Show me your proof."
Selena gave Ian a look of such stark, agonizing fear that he felt as if she'd struck him. Then she fainted.
Ian and Elliot both lurched toward her. Ian got there first, wrapping his arms around Selena, drawing her close. "Don't you touch her," he snarled, shoving Elliot away.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the parlor, laying her out on the overstuffed settee, loosening her gown so she could breathe. He saw the white outline of the corset. In another time he would have laughed at her, would have teased her for breaking her commonsense rule and wearing a straitjacket.
But there was no laughter inside him now. He kneeled beside Selena, stroked her face with a hand that couldn't stop shaking. He wanted a drink. Sweet Jesus, he wanted a drink. "It's okay, goddess, just rest a minute. I'll take care of this."
"Dr. Carrick__" Elliot said in a quiet, respectful
voice.
Ian jerked to his feet and spun around.
Elliot stood in the middle of the room. The residents clustered behind him like children, gawking, touching, pointing. Lara was crying softly, rocking the little bird in her cupped hands. Andrew looked stricken. Even Johann was pale. It fueled Ian's anger that they believed the old man, that they were afraid.
"Get out," he hissed to the crowd.
He didn't have to say it again. Andrew and Edith and the queen disappeared like smoke. One minute they were there; the next, they were gone. Johann was the only one who stayed. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. His pose was languid and relaxed; only the sharp narrowing of his eyes revealed his anxiety.
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"Go." Ian had meant to say away, go away, but nothing else made it past his lips, just a growling fragment of a word.
"But-"
Johann gave Ian a last, meaningful look, then walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Ian turned to Elliot, and felt the anger again, rushing, cresting, burning. Jesus, he wanted to punch him, wanted to smash his scarred face into the floor. "You are not her husband, old man. Now, you've got ten seconds to get the hell out of my house."
On the settee, Selena stirred, released a quiet moan.
She sat up slowly. She saw Ian and smiled brightly, then she noticed Elliot and her smile faded.
Elliot dug through his pockets, finally pulling out a small, framed tintype. "Here." He shoved out his fleshy hand. "This is our wedding picture."
Selena threw Ian a sharp look, then walked toward Elliot. Ian came up beside her. He longed to touch her, slip his hand through hers and squeeze, but he couldn't. He was afraid he'd crush her fingers in his angry, punishing grip.
Selena touched the picture first, caressed the tiny, ornate frame and took the tintype in her hand.
A wedding picture; there was no
mistaking it. Selena and Elliot.
Selena gasped quietly.
Ian's anger shriveled, and dank, sweaty fear rushed in to take its place. He wanted to be angry again- howlingly, irrationally angry-but he couldn't find that kind of heat. He was cold suddenly, so cold.
"I look so young," she whispered.
'Twelve," Elliot answered.
Ian's head snapped up. "You married her at twelve?"
Elliot nodded. It looked for a moment as if he were going to speak again, perhaps to explain, but he didn't.
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Just stared at Ian with a flat, dull-eyed look. His fingers closed reflexively around the picture.
"But I do not remember you," Selena said in a small, stricken voice.
Elliot looked at Selena for a long moment, then turned to Ian. "What have you done to her?"
"I saved her. What did you do to her? She came here half-dead, her head bashed in."
The color slid from Elliot's face. "What happened to her?"
"You tell me," Ian snapped.
"I don't know. How ... how did she survive?"
"I'm a brilliant surgeon," Ian said bitterly. He wanted to believe that Elliot had caused her injury, but there was no mistaking the old man's sudden horror. Elliot hadn't hurt her-Ian had no doubt about that. But he wished he did. Oh Christ, he wished he did. It would give him the excuse he wanted to kill the man.
"Is that why she doesn't recognize me? A head injury?"
Ian heard the hopefulness in the old man's voice, the pain that lurked beneath the simple question. "Yes."
Elliot blinked hard. Tears filled his eyes as he looked at Ian. "I .. .I don't know what I'd do without her. Thank you."
The words, the plain little expression of gratitude, hurt more than anything that had preceded it.
"I misunderstand." She looked from Elliot to Ian to Elliot again, her eyes brimming with tears. "I-I was a virgin."
Elliot's face drained of color. He turned to Ian.
Good, Ian thought. Be mad. Challenge me to a duel. Something. Anything that would bring back the anger, the heat of emotion. Anything to fill the yawning numbness that was slowly suffusing his insides.
But there was no hatred in the old man's eyes, no anger. Just a draining, inexpressible sorrow.
And suddenly Ian understood, and the understanding
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almost killed him. This big man loved Selena, loved her the way Ian loved her. He had come all this way, searching with blind faith for his wife, his love, and he found that she'd slept with another man and had no memory of their life together.
And all he said was a quiet, shaking, "Was?" "I misunderstand," Selena said again, her voice rising with fear. "How can a virgin be married?"
The hat slipped from Elliot's big fingers and fell to the floor with a muffled thump. He crossed his arms and stared at Selena. "I married you to save you, Agnes. You were all alone, a little girl picking pockets on the streets of New York. When I found you, you'd been beaten up and left for dead." A smile twisted his lips, squeezed his left eye almost shut. "But you had a lot of fight in you, even then. You said your pa'd beaten you up and that he'd be back for you. You wouldn't go anywhere with me unless I married you. You thought I'd sneak out on you if we weren't legally wed. So I agreed."
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