Chapter 8
“What beautiful weather for a day-trip!”
Aunt Marilyn slammed the car door and shielded her eyes with one hand. Sophie stepped from the passenger side, smiling to her aunt and nodding. The exhaustion in her limbs kept her from moving quickly. The night before had drained every ounce of energy in her body, both emotional and physical. Nightmares plagued her and though she awoke early, the weight on her heart grew heavier with each breath.
“It's definitely a nice day,” she said, rounding the car to stand beside Aunt Marilyn. She fought to keep a tone of excitement in her voice. It was her unspoken hope that the more she faked it, the more likely it would become reality.
“Excited, are we?” Aunt Marilyn poked her in the ribs, making Sophie proud of her acting skills.
“A little,” Sophie shrugged. “I think I've needed this.”
“I think we've both needed this.” A look passed between the two women before they made for the wide path leading to a long dock and boat shack. The smell of fresh water and fish met them as they neared the small shack. Aunt Marilyn waved a hand under her nose and shuddered.
“Yuck,” she muttered. “It smells like something is rotting down here.”
With a soft chuckle, Sophie pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the small room. It appeared to be empty, except for a large dog that raised its head at their entrance. Its ears twitched, but it made no other movement.
“Hello?” Sophie called when no one appeared. “Is anyone here?”
“Coming,” a voice called from behind a faded curtain. The accent was thick and difficult to understand.
They waited, Aunt Marilyn clicking her tongue at the dog and patting her thighs, and within a few moments a young man emerged from the back room. His shoulder length blonde hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and a tattered scarf held the stray pieces in front away from his face. He called to the dog, which ran toward him and through the curtain, and then turned to them. Brief shock flashed over his face, almost undetectable because of his quick composure. He glanced at Aunt Marilyn first and then turned to Sophie with a smile.
“Can I help?” he asked.
“Um, yes,” she said, a blush rising in her cheeks. He was handsome, and his piercing gaze made her feel awkward and self-aware. “We would like to rent a boat. For the day.”
“Yes,” he replied, “of course. I can show you.”
When they had chosen a sturdy looking rowboat and paid for the day's rental, the man bade them farewell, bowing his head in Sophie's direction with a smile, before turning to re-enter the shack.
“My, my,” Aunt Marilyn crowed after climbing awkwardly into the boat, holding the dock with both hands as she maneuvered toward one of the two seats. “He was handsome, don't you think?”
“Sure,” Sophie said, stepping carefully over the edge of the boat and sitting down. “I guess so.”
“She guesses so,” Aunt Marilyn chuckled under her breath. “I'm sure.”
With a stern look, Sophie handed an oar to her aunt and gripped her own with both hands.
“Don't mess with me,” she joked. “I'm the strongest one on this boat.”
Laughing, they began paddling through the clear water toward the line of small buildings on the opposite side. The lake was not large, but wide enough that neither of them could have rowed across easily on their own. There were a few other boats floating, mostly fishing boats and couples out for a morning drift. The sun’s rays glanced from the calm water, creating a bright and welcoming atmosphere that was a pleasant and appreciated change from the fear-filled mystery of the Isa Caecelia. With each stroke of the oars, the blanket of apprehension began to fade, and Sophie inhaled the fresh, moist air with gratitude.
By the time they reached a dock on the opposite side, they were both out of breath and sweating. Aunt Marilyn sat for a minute while Sophie tied the ropes to one of the anchors and breathed deeply through her nose.
“I'm too old for this,” she panted. “We should have taken that beautiful blonde man up on his offer to row us over.”
Sophie snorted.
“It's good for you,” she said. “Fresh air and exercise, isn't that what you're always telling me?”
“You're young, Sophie dear. Old people don't need fresh air and exercise. We prefer beautiful blonde men.”
With a snort, Sophie held out a hand and heaved her aunt from the boat. They stepped over the low curb at the end of the dock and into a small parking lot. The air hummed around them as they made their way toward a bustling street. Pedestrians gathered at the edge of a crosswalk, waiting for the constant stream of vehicles to cease. As Sophie and Aunt Marilyn joined the throng of people, no one paid them any attention – another welcome change from the cold and staring glares of the residents across the lake.
It was not long before they found rows of tiny shops lining one narrow street. There were no cars on the cobblestone road, simply people milling about, glancing in windows and pausing to chat. A group of children darted past them, screaming and squealing with laughter as they chased one another through the streets. Aunt Marilyn patted Sophie's arm every few seconds, pointing to shops and bakeries and coffee houses, exclaiming with delight and making Sophie think it might have been more appropriate for her aunt to run laughing through the streets as well.
“Let's stop here,” Aunt Marilyn said, pointing to a small clothing store to their left. “I'd like to see if they have anything nice for the rehearsal dinner.”
“What?” Sophie asked. “You didn't pack enough?”
“Don't be sarcastic, Sophie, it's an important day.”
“I'm just saying, you'll need to book an entire plane to yourself to get all your suitcases home.”
Aunt Marilyn raised an eyebrow at her niece and began to excuse her way through the rows of people hovering on the sidewalk toward the stained glass door of the shop. With a shrug, Sophie stood alone on the pavement, debating whether or not to follow, when a group of young men passed her. The first of them to turn to her with a wink had her bee-lining for the shop’s open door.
“Auntie?” she called into the shop, unable to spot her aunt over the towering racks overflowing with vibrant fabrics and accessories.
“Over here,” she heard her aunt call from somewhere near the back wall.
As she edged through the maze of racks, brushing her fingers along the different textures of hanging clothing, Sophie caught the scent of incense and dried flowers before coming to an open space near the back of the room. Aunt Marilyn was there, perusing a large case full of delicate glass figurines while an elderly woman stood by her side. She smiled at Sophie as she approached, but did not speak. Aunt Marilyn turned and motioned for Sophie to join her.
“No, thanks,” Sophie said quietly. “I'm going to look over here.”
“Suit yourself,” Aunt Marilyn said and turned to the woman beside her. “These are simply beautiful. I think I'll have to take one home.”
Sophie turned away, heading to a smaller rack in the corner and pushing the clothes around with her fingers. She hummed quietly as she wandered the store, forcing her mind away from the overwhelming stench of heavy incense and thinking instead of the disturbing things Rausch had told her the previous night. It had not been long after he asked for her help that she had gone to bed, still confused and frightened, but resigned to do anything she could to aid the old man.
His obvious relief at her acquiescence had warmed her heart and she was determined to follow through with her promise, though she was still unsure what exactly she could do. Her small store of courage had already disappointed her more than she liked to admit. Before he had a chance to explain further, the man she had been warned about appeared at the end of the hall and Sophie had fled to the safety of her room.
Rausch tried to assure her that he would not be able to enter the locked door, as they were still bound by most physical laws of the living world, but her sleep had been fitful and full of dark dreams regardles
s. When she woke to the bright sunlight that morning, her mind was made up. There was nothing she wanted more than to discover the secrets behind Lukas and Rausch's mysterious words, and she knew the best place to start.
It was with that in mind that she managed to be involved in her aunt's bubbly conversation as they spent the majority of the morning in shops similar to the first, before stopping for lunch at a quaint bakery near the center of the town. Sophie mused that the town seemed to have been pulled straight from a child's storybook, with its rows of local shops and brick paths, the tinkling of the river somewhere outside the line of trees, and the architecture that reminded her of her childhood gingerbread houses at Christmas.
“That was delicious,” Aunt Marilyn sighed, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “How was your sandwich?”
“Good,” Sophie answered, pushing the half eaten meal toward the center of the table. “What are we doing next?”
“It's probably a good idea to head back,” Aunt Marilyn said, checking her watch. “It's nearly two o'clock. There is quite a lot to do for the wedding, I would hate to duck out for too long.”
An hour later, with the boat safely docked in its original place, the two women made their way toward the crooked shack. Sophie pushed on the rough surface of the door, but found it to be locked.
“That's funny,” she said, peering in the dusty window beside the door, the cobwebs tickling her nose. “I don't see anyone.”
“Oh, well,” Aunt Marilyn shrugged. “It would have been nice to thank him, but we should get back.”
Before Sophie had taken two steps, she heard a voice call out from behind her.
“Here,” the man who had rented them the boat was jogging up the dock. “Sorry.”
“That's alright,” Aunt Marilyn said, her eyes raking over the man's shirtless chest. “We've returned your boat. Thank you so much.”
“Your day was enjoyable?” he asked in broken English. His gaze was fixed on Sophie.
“Very,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “Thank you.”
He nodded with a small smile. An uncomfortable silence surrounded them for a moment, before Aunt Marilyn clicked her tongue and tapped Sophie's shoulder.
“We should be going,” she said.
“Yeah, you're right,” Sophie answered. “Thanks again.” She waved to the man, hoping the hot blush in her cheeks was not as obvious as it felt. He reached out and seized her wrist before she had a chance to turn. She tried to pull away, her eyes locked on his face, but his strong grip remained intact.
“You are staying at the Isa?” he asked quietly. Something was different about his hushed voice.
“Yes,” Sophie answered nervously, looking over her shoulder at Aunt Marilyn shuffling up the path toward the car. “That's right.”
Sunlight sparkled in his blue eyes as he scanned her face. His expression was curious, but when he spoke, it was not the urgency in his voice that startled her, but the change in his thick accent.
“Come with me,” he said in a perfectly understandable British whisper, his eyes flicking toward Aunt Marilyn and then back, “I must show you something. It is very important.”
“I,” Sophie began. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”
“Sophie?” Aunt Marilyn called from the street. “You coming?”
“Yes,” Sophie called back, pulling her hand out of the man's grip. This time he released her. “I'm sorry, I have to go.”
She walked quickly toward her aunt, fully aware that he followed. When she reached the street, Aunt Marilyn was holding her car door open and leaning lazily against the frame. Seeing Sophie emerge from the path with the man behind her, she raised her eyebrows and smiled mischievously.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” she laughed. “Did I disturb something?”
“No!” Sophie exclaimed, but the man stepped ahead of her.
“I’ve just been asking Sophie if she would like to have coffee this afternoon,” he said, his voice bright and inviting, the strangled accent back in place. “She has accepted, unless you mind.”
“I don't mind at all, dear,” Aunt Marilyn gushed, “as long as Sophie doesn’t.”
“Well, I-” Sophie stuttered. She stepped toward her aunt and leaned in. “Maybe it’s a bad idea. I don’t know him at all. What if he's a psycho or something?”
“Oh, Sophie,” Aunt Marilyn interrupted, waving a hand at her. “Don't be ridiculous. He’s harmless, I can tell. Smitten, but harmless. Just go and have fun,” she climbed into the driver's seat, “for once. Call me when you're ready to come home and I will pick you up,” she turned toward the man and smiled sweetly. “You do have a telephone she can use to let me know when to return, don't you… I’m sorry, what is your name?” she paused.
“Jude,” he answered with a quick bow.
“Jude,” she repeated with a wide smile.
He returned her smile and nodded once.
“Of course,” he answered.
Aunt Marilyn raised an eyebrow in Sophie's direction before slamming her door shut and pulling on the seatbelt. In disbelief, Sophie watched her aunt drive away, the smell of exhaust wafting around her. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she turned slowly to face the strange man behind her. He was looking at her with an apology in his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I need you to come with me. Please.”
He held out a hand toward her, but she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin.
“I am not going anywhere with you,” she said. He stepped forward, but stopped when she stiffened. “I swear, if you touch me, I'll scream.”
“I'm not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his hand and stepping back. “Please, you are not safe there. There is something you must know about the cas-”
“How do you know?” Sophie interrupted without thinking.
The man raised his eyebrows.
“I know.”
The confidence in his quiet voice disturbed her. Curiosity and apprehension battled in her mind as she watched the man turn away, following the direction her aunt had gone. She did not follow, and he turned back to her after a few steps.
“Please,” he said again, “it won't take long.”
Reluctantly, Sophie followed him, cursing her aunt's flighty romantic ideas. He slowed his speed to match hers, allowing her to plod down the street at his side.
“My name is Jude,” he said. “Jude Lawson.”
“Not a very Swiss name,” Sophie retorted, keeping her arms crossed over her chest. “What's with the fake accent?”
“I like to blend in,” he answered. “The people around here don't care much for foreigners. In case you haven't already noticed.”
“I have noticed. Don't you live here?”
“I do,” he smiled down at her. “Not for a long time, but I've been here long enough to know that even a funny accent can get you on their bad sides. Besides, what good is it to try and fit in if you can't even speak the language?”
“Why are you here?”
“It's a long story,” he hesitated and then laughed. “You don't strike me as a detective, Sophie, although you do seem to enjoy mysterious company.”
Sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but she had caught the slip and stopped dead.
“Have you been watching me?” she demanded.
“Please,” he held out a hand, but she slapped it away.
“Answer me,” she hissed, a fresh wave of suspicion flaring and causing her to recoil from his advances.
“I'll explain,” he pleaded, glancing toward an elderly couple perched on their veranda mere feet from where they stood. “But not here. Sophie, please.”
She shook her head, keeping her eyes on his face. He tilted his face toward the sky and sighed.
“Alright,” he said, “I know this because I know someone who knows someone that you have met while staying,” his voice lowered, and he shot a look at the couple, “at the Isa.
Is that good enough? I can't say more here.”
“How could that possibly be good enough?” Sophie retorted, her voice growing louder.
Jude cringed at the sound, his eyes flicking to the strangers beside them. Their hushed conversation had ended, and they watched Sophie with narrowed eyes.
“Please,” he said again, “not here. I will tell you everything, I swear it, but we must have privacy – for the sake of us both.”
His voice was panicked and high, and his eyes pleaded with her. She felt a twinge of pity.
“Not good enough,” she repeated, but fell into step beside him again and he ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was full of relief.
“Have you seen the church?” he pointed ahead of them. From her angle, nothing but the tops of the trees was visible, but she knew it lurked somewhere behind them.
“Briefly,” she answered, less than inclined to participate in small talk.
“It is quite ancient, built in the fourteenth century. Parts of it have been restored, because of the fire, but most of it is original.”
“Is that where we're going?” Sophie asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I wanted to go inside, but haven't had the chance.”
“We can,” he said, smiling down at her, “if you'd like.”
They walked in silence along a narrow sidewalk until Sophie could see the outline of the steeple above the trees, but she assumed there was no other access but the one nearer to the castle.
“Where are we going, if not to the church?” she asked.
“We are going to the church,” Jude answered.
“Oh. I thought-”
“What I have to show you is not inside,” he said, guessing her question.
She looked up at him. He slowed and squinted through the sunlight at a place just beyond the final house at the end of the street. After a moment, he looked down at her again.
“Are you in a hurry to get back?” he asked.
“Well,” Sophie thought for a moment. She pictured her sister's face, heard a faint echo of shrieking demands, and shook her head. “No, not really.”
Ashes of Iris Page 12