Shadows Wait

by Denise A. Agnew

  “Marjorie will still be here even when I’m not. I’d think that is enough of a reminder.”

  Pain lanced through her gaze, and an equal burn filled his stomach. She placed her drink on the table near her and sighed. “Are you going to marry her?”

  Surprise made him blurt, “What?”

  “To appease your guilt? To chain yourself to the woman whose life you destroyed?”

  He ignored the bite in her words and went for the facts. “Marjorie and I never had that kind of relationship.”

  “No, but you could have. She always admired you.”

  “Not that way. She was betrothed to Douglas.”

  Mrs. Holtz snorted a laugh. “Loved. Yes indeed.”

  Morgan heard through people in town that Douglas had broken their engagement the first time he realized his betrothed didn’t recognize him. “He wasn’t worthy of her.”

  “And you are. You’re the perfect man for her, Morgan. You made her this way. It’s only right that you take care of her for the rest of your life.” Those words settled inside him, digging deep with claws so sharp, they took his breath. Could she be right? Was that the only way to atone? “I would have more respect for you,” she said.

  “You’d hate me less?”

  She sighed. “No. I wouldn’t hate you less. But I’d feel better knowing my daughter had someone to take care of her when her father and I are gone from this earth.” She laughed again, this time a sound filled with derision. “Your father suggested we put Marjorie in Tranquil View. Can you imagine it?”

  His father hadn’t told him that. “I can imagine it.”

  “Is that what you think we should do?”

  “No. Not if you can help it.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” She nodded and brushed lint off the skirt of her dress. “Your sister is quite the handful and yet your father doesn’t commit her. How very hypocritical of him.”

  If Mrs. Holtz hoped to sting him with her words, she hadn’t. “Very true.”

  Her glance cut away from the fire to pin him down. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

  “Care for her at home just as you are now.” He leaned forward, eager to share. “I’ve been reading extensively lately about some studies into catatonia. It’s possible she could recover from this. It is a slow process, but if she has enough stimulation and people keep talking to her, she may yet recover more of her awareness. I doubt she’ll ever be her former self, but anything is possible.”

  Mrs. Holtz’s eyes brightened with hope for all of a moment, then faded to darkness. “If anything is possible, it would have happened by now.” She stood. “Come. If you must see my daughter, then get on with it.”

  * * *

  “Becca,” Lilly said as she stared at the gravestone in front of her. “I won’t come again. At least not for a while. I’m moving out of the asylum because I got a job at the Healy home. I don’t plan to come back.”

  Lilly had learned a couple of days after the ball that she had gotten the position at the Healy household.

  An icy breath surged against her neck. She shivered as the cold reached under her wool duster and dress. The hat on her head was pulled down low. A pristine layer of snow, perhaps an inch deep, lay along the tombstones. It crunched under her feet as she moved. She glanced at the pine trees towering all around. Not a needle or cone moved.

  She swallowed hard and flexed her fingers in her mittens. “You don’t have a hold on me anymore, do you hear?”

  She waited, half expecting Becca to appear, her usual whiteness mixed against the winter background. Nothing. Heaving a sigh of relief, she turned with a smile.

  Becca stood less than a foot in front of her.

  Lilly jolted, her heart hammering. “Becca.”

  As always, Becca looked as white as the snow she stood upon. “I’ll never leave you.”

  In the distance she saw Oleta walking toward her. “Becca, leave me be.”

  The ghost obliged, fading into the winter.

  Lilly’s heart still pounded in her chest as if she’d been running. She waited patiently, with relief, for Oleta.

  “What are you doing out here in this cold?” Oleta asked.

  “Telling Becca goodbye.”

  Oleta, bundled up in coat and hat, shook her head. “Why on earth would you want to do that? Why tell her where you’re going?”

  Lilly attempted a smile, but failed. “Do you honestly believe a ghost wouldn’t know where I was going?”

  Oleta sighed. “You’re right, child. At least you’ve accomplished your goal of leaving this God-forsaken place.”

  Lilly scanned the craggy building, the gray surface harsh and forbidden in the cold morning light. Many found themselves unjustly committed here, but for so many others it was sanctuary. She no longer belonged here, though she ached somewhere inside—fear mixed with apprehension mixed with excitement. A new world loomed for her outside of the asylum.

  “Oleta, maybe you should leave here, too.”

  “Why?”

  “You obviously hold little love for it here.”

  Oleta pulled down her hat, perhaps trying to get the knit to stretch farther and cover her ears. “It is the only job I know. I’ve seen a lot of the world out there, Lilly. Sometimes this place is far kinder.”

  Lilly winced. “So you say, but I need to see more for myself.”

  “Of course you do. I’m glad you got that notion out of your head about being unworthy to work outside of the asylum.”

  “I have my doubts.”

  Oleta smiled, if a little sadly. “Just be careful.”

  What could she say to that without revealing her deepest, darkest plan? “Always.”

  Oleta linked her arm through Lilly’s. “Come. Time for lunch. The graveyard will still be here tomorrow. And if you’re fortunate, so will Becca.”

  “She will be.” Lilly spoke with confidence.

  Inside she could only hope Becca remained, silent in the grave once and for all.

  * * *

  “You plan to do what?” Morgan asked his father and settled into a chair near the den fireplace shortly before noon.

  The fire threw an orange glow over Morgan’s father. Outside wind stirred the snow that had stopped falling. Clouds still hung over the day.

  “I’ve hired a new companion for your sister.”

  “What? When?”

  “End of last week. I didn’t say anything to you because I was busy.”

  Morgan doubted that. “Again? Father, why don’t you increase Coleen’s wage? She could be Patricia’s maid and companion.”

  His father shook his head and rose from his chair. “That chit is scared to death of your sister.” He went to the small liquor cabinet near his expansive mahogany desk and withdrew two glasses. “She isn’t intelligent enough to deal with my daughter.”

  “Who is?”

  Without asking if Morgan wanted whiskey, his father poured him a tall glass. Morgan knew what to do—accommodate the man so far, sip the drink, and leave a good portion in the glass. Having already downed a brandy this morning, Morgan didn’t want to continue the day half drunk. His father walked back to Morgan and handed him the drink. Morgan didn’t say thank you. Father said he didn’t thank many people and neither should Morgan. Morgan didn’t extend his father’s strange idea to others and even thanked servants.

  “The woman you danced with at the ball is qualified to be your sister’s maid.”

  Morgan almost choked on his drink. “What?”

  “You know who I’m talking about.” He stared at Morgan, took a drink, and strolled back to his own chair by the fireplace. “Lilly Luna. According to Nurse Franklin, Lilly is very suitable. Lilly is intelligent and headstrong enough to deal with Patricia. Plus, Nurse Franklin thinks it isn’t healthy for Lilly to be housed in an asylum.” He shrugged. “She’s not mad, just unfortunate.”

  Morgan weighed his words carefully as unease worked upward inside him. “Wasn’t she the girl that was caught up in t
hat scandal at the apothecary?”

  His father shrugged. “Good help is difficult to find. If we lived in Denver I could find someone with a spotless reputation that I could hire. Simple is too small for that.” He threw Morgan a speculative glance. “Her reputation didn’t stop you from dancing with her.”

  Morgan echoed his father’s shrug. “I don’t hold anything against her. I don’t know all the facts.”

  His father threw him a bored glance. “She has no training to be a lady’s maid, but the nurses on staff say she’s competent, so I’ll take their word for it.”

  “You want to take a chance on a woman who has been raised in an insane asylum?” Morgan’s disbelief grew.

  “Nurse Franklin took the girl under her wing from the time she was born. She’s been to Nurse Franklin’s family home in Denver every summer for several years. The Franklin family even paid for a tutor to come and teach the girl everything she would learn in a school. Granted, if all that hadn’t happened I’d be concerned the girl had major problems and wasn’t suitable. Her problems at the apothecary probably had as much to do with that man’s son as anything. I’ve met Harry Arbig. The kid is nice enough, but he’s after everything in a skirt. As boys his age often are.”

  Morgan stared into his glass, and then took a big gulp. “I see. How long has Miss Luna been working with the patients? Why isn’t she a nurse?”

  His father shrugged. “Well, she simply volunteers to help. She doesn’t have formal training or credentials.”

  “Yet you’re willing to hire her without credentials.” Morgan almost snorted in contempt. “For your own daughter.”

  Father slugged back his whiskey, sinking the double without so much as a gasp. “You know how many nurses and maids have left our employ over the years after dealing with Patricia. Miss Luna’s advantage is that she’s lived among many individuals with various problems. She isn’t cowed by it as so many young ladies are.”

  Morgan did worry that so many women had left the household employment. He rose from the chair and crossed the large room to peer out one window. “Lilly Luna isn’t qualified to deal with my sister. Hire a nurse. Someone qualified.”

  “Morgan, we’ve already hired trained nurses before. It doesn’t seem to matter whether they’re qualified from schooling or not. They all end up leaving because they cannot handle her ... tendencies. The maids she’s had are even worse.”

  “You said the nurses all resigned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t they return to the asylum for work?”

  Displeasure and impatience spilled over his father’s face. “If they cannot take care of Patricia, they obviously aren’t capable of caring for the patients in the asylum. I terminated their contracts, paid them a month’s wage, and they were taken to the train station. I think a month’s wage was more than generous.”

  “Of course.” Morgan couldn’t argue with his father’s financial generosity.

  “I cannot watch Patricia all day and neither can your mother.”

  “Mother helped the nurses. She can continue to help.”

  “And so can you. I’ve never known you to be lazy.”

  Morgan sipped more whiskey as his temper rose. “I just arrived back home from ....” He cleared his throat. “You know I’ll help with Patricia. I always have.” He had, more times than he could count. One more sip of whiskey. Damn it, he didn’t mean to drink this much. He swirled the liquid and stared into the amber.

  “Father, why do you insist on taking care of Patricia here?”

  Father didn’t answer. He never did. Instead he stared at Morgan as if he hadn’t heard him. “I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Morgan swallowed the last of his whiskey and left the glass tumbler on the table. “Very well.”

  Disgusted with his father, and with himself, Morgan exited the den and closed the door. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at everything around him. Returning to this place had seemed the only alternative to what he’d faced in Denver. Shame rose upward as high as his anger.

  “Morgan?” His mother’s melodic voice emerged from the top of the stairs.

  As always, his mother’s wheat-blonde hair was decorously piled upon her head in a pompadour. Her blue day dress was elegant and ready to greet guests. Sunlight from the stained glass window at the top of the stairs spilled over her tall, almost frail form. She’d always been slim, but she looked as if she’d lost weight. It concerned him, and he intended to ask her if she ate enough. Sculpted with an artist’s hand, she looked younger than her forty-eight years. Men Morgan’s age had tried to garner her favor on more than one occasion, and only a glare from Morgan’s father had chased them away.

  “Mother.”

  “Is something wrong?” She descended the double winged staircase, one delicate hand touching the rich dark wood banister. “You look unhappy.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t come from the heart. “We have to talk, Mother. It’s time.”

  She reached the bottom of the steps before she spoke again. “I don’t have time to talk darling. The ladies’ society is coming by for luncheon.”

  “Mother, did you know father is hiring Lilly Luna from the asylum to be Patricia’s nurse and maid?”

  “Of course. He told me.”

  She touched his arm and affection flooded him. Her blue eyes were as crystal clear as the sky at this altitude, untouched by wood or coal fires.

  “She isn’t qualified,” Morgan said. “Patricia needs special help, not a nursemaid.”

  “Special help?”

  He groaned. “You know what I mean. Do not try and act as if you don’t know.”

  She licked her lips, something a lady never did, according to her. “Patricia doesn’t need anything more than someone to look after her when I cannot.”

  He cupped her shoulders and turned her toward him. “How many hours a day do you sit with Patricia?”

  “I told you the day you arrived. About three hours a day. Not long if you think about it.”

  “You’ve been a devoted mother. Thank you for taking care of her while I was away. I’m here to help now.”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “I’m so happy to have you home.”

  “Even under the circumstances?”

  She smiled, but it was a side expression. “Even then.” She sighed and he released her. “Besides, your father is ....”

  He waited, but she didn’t finish. “He’s what?”

  “He’s working too hard at the asylum and needs to spend less time there. He still wants you to succeed him as superintendent,” she said softly.

  Morgan’s laugh was equally soft but filled with disbelief. He glanced at the den, and heard his father start up his gramophone. “That’s up to the state. And I doubt they’ll approve of me now.”

  She touched his forearm. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He shifted on his feet and pulled his pocket watch from his vest to glance at the time. “Do you know when Lilly is suppose to start working here? Father didn’t say.”

  “This evening, after dinner.”

  “That soon?”

  “Yes. Would you be a dear and go pick her up? The weather is cold and it will be dark by then. We cannot have the poor girl walking with her luggage of course.”

  He seized up for a moment, battling with three warring emotions, two of which that he shouldn’t feel at all. Lust followed hard on the heels of eagerness, and after that so did reluctance. God, how could he think this way? It was not suitable to think of Lilly this way. Ever. Yes, she was a pretty woman and it was natural to feel physical urges for a beautiful face, but he didn’t want to be the kind of man who only felt interest in a woman’s façade and not her other qualities. He’d never been that type of man, and he wouldn’t start now.

  “All right,” he said. “It’s the only decent thing to do.”

  “Good.” She smiled, and for a moment he felt like that little boy who had always adored h
is parent ... his mother, not his father.

  She started to move away, but he said, “Wait.” She turned and folded her hands, a picture of patience. “Patricia isn’t getting better, mother. She needs more help and we can’t give it to her at home.”

  For the first time, irritation filled her eyes. “Lilly will take better care of her than the others. Your father says she already has experience with people who have significant problems.”

  Exasperation filled him. “Lilly will be like all the others.”

  She twisted her hands together. “Your father is a doctor. He knows what he is doing.” Deep inside the implication of her words stung and it most have shown on his face. “Darling, I didn’t mean that you don’t know what you’re doing.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t blame you for what happened in Denver and neither does your father.”

  “Yes he does blame me.” He was beyond definitive. “And I don’t blame him.”

  His mother was a good woman, and she’d always been a wonderful mother. Unease stirred inside him. What did she see in his father?

  Tears trembled on her eyelashes.

  “Ah, damn,” he said.

  “Don’t you curse, Morgan Healy.” Her voice went brittle and soft. “That sort of talk isn’t allowed in my home.”

  He wanted to smile, but he didn’t. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He drew her into his arms, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. She patted his arm and sighed. “You’re a good boy, Morgan.” He brushed his hand over her hair as guilt and sorrow ate away at him. His family was a damned mess dressed in finery. She drew back from him and stepped away. “You’ll look out for Lilly while she’s here, won’t you?”

  “I am sure she can take care of herself.”

  Something dark and unsure went through his mother’s eyes. “Of course. But she’s lived in that place twenty years. There are things she won’t understand.”

  Why did he think he didn’t know everything his mother implied? “All right.”

  When his mother left, Morgan stood in the hall and wondered what he’d volunteered to do.

  Damn it all. Lilly Luna. A ridiculous name for a disturbing woman.