“I know plenty more than you realize, Mister Jonas. I have had a visitor over the past few days that has been quite helpful in explaining matters to me.”
Jonas’s beast grunted like a bull, a mist filling the air before him. He breathed in deep, scenting that, yes, there was another within the house. Not a child. A man. He growled.
“Now don’t you start barking and snarling at me like some dirty dog. That man in there has been nothing but polite and good to me and my own since he arrived. If you’d get hold of yourself, you would realize he is likely not someone you would take pleasure in harming either. He is your son.”
“Cain.” The name passed his lips as a whispered oath. He placed the scent of the other male and realized that it was indeed his son. Why was Cain there, in residence at his mate’s home? His mind whirled and his beast continued to growl. “My son has a habit of making himself all too familiar with other males’ mates.”
“Well, I am not your mate nor his so I suggest you relax. I have a lot of good things on the porch, minus the stack of pots you fell into. I’d hate to bloody my stock because you couldn’t listen.”
He sneered at her. “Shoot, Clara. I have no fear of dying.”
Her narrow shoulders raised and lowered on a sigh of exasperation. “That may be true, but I consider your son a friend and I do not think he would be pleased if I shot you. Now, do I have your word you will be on your best behavior if I let you in? It’s damn cold this morning and my fingers are aching with arthritis while my nether parts are getting frostbitten below my robe.”
Jonas’s eyes shot to the region of her body she claimed to be getting frostbite upon. He began to pant. His body wanted what she kept hidden beneath that raggedy old robe. He noticed a tattered slipper begin to tap irritably upon the porch.
“Eyes up here, Mister Jonas. I am twice your age and will not have you looking at me like that.”
Twice his age? So, although she knew more than he expected, she did not know all. “What exactly has my son told you?”
“Come inside and we will discuss it. Either give me your word now or leave. I’m cold and this chill burns my lungs something fierce.”
He stared at her, trying to figure out her angle. Why would she trust an absolute stranger in her home? A man none the less. She was not of the greatest strength, weak, even for her mite size. How had Cain managed to pave somewhat of a welcome for him? He saw her shiver and his protective instincts took over. He stood like a docile, cowed young boy and followed her into the home.
The house smelled of fresh coffee, paint, and her own unique scent. He sensed the children sleeping in a nearby room. He also sensed his son awake, but giving him the respect of privacy.
She led him into a small kitchen and gestured for him to take a seat at the small table dominating the cramped space. He sat, the simple wooden chair creaking under his weight, and rested his palms on the smooth enameled surface of the table. She walked to the counter and leaned the rifle into the crook of the cabinets.
As she moved to pour two steaming cups of coffee, he examined the space. There were boxes tucked into corners throughout the home. Paintings lay stacked against almost every unfurnished space. Upon the counter were apothecary bottles by the dozen. Medicines. He looked at her refrigerator, the curved white surface covered with a collage of colored photographs. There was one of his mate with two young children and a woman who was the younger image of herself.
“Do not get too comfortable, Mister Jonas. I may be old, but I am quick. One false move and I will have that rifle on you in a heartbeat and you will feel the burn of buckshot throughout your more prized parts.”
She turned, holding the two mugs. She carried them to the table then retrieved the gun and found her seat. She rested the rifle across her lap and slid a mug closer to him. Jonas wanted nothing of the beverage, his desire for food long gone.
She sipped her coffee quietly then commented, “That boy of yours sure is a schmoozer. I imagine he has the women on your farm chasing him around with their tongues lolling out of their mouths, unsure what to do with themselves in his presence. Drink your coffee.”
Jonas frowned, but pulled the mug to his lips and pretended to take a sip. “What has Cain told you?”
She placed her mug on the table and he noticed flecks of paint embedded around her cuticles. “He told me to expect you. That you needed something from me, but he could not explain what. He said it was your place to tell me. He also said he would protect me if there were need. He only asked that I listen to you and consider your request before sending you away. I will tell you, Mister Jonas, if this is some attempt to purchase my home you can go. My home is for my grandchildren. It is the one thing I can leave them in this life and I have no intentions of seeing it passed off to someone else.”
“I am not interested in your home.”
“Then what?”
“Who is that man with his arm around you in that photograph?”
She turned and looked to the refrigerator. Spotting the photo he was referring to, she said, “That’s my husband, Arthur. That picture was taken of us the year Clinton was inaugurated in his first term. We had gone to Washington for the event. Not that we were invited in, but it was still exciting to be close to all those who cared. My husband was a political man. Very involved in the elections as a constituent.”
“Was?”
“Arthur passed away September 11, 2001. He and my son-in-law were aboard Flight 93.”
“An airplane accident?”
“Yes. The day the Pentagon and the World Trade Centers were hit. Arthur and Robert’s plane was the fourth to go down. No one knows where the hijackers were intending to take it. The passengers formed a rebellion before they made it to their target. I have no doubt my husband, always the patriot, was one of the men insisting on mutiny. My daughter spoke briefly to her husband Robert, but I was never given the chance to say good-bye to my Arthur. It’s difficult to imagine a mother and daughter becoming widows in the same day. But there were many women who became widows that day.”
Jonas recalled hearing of this event. There had been talk of war, but Amish were pacifists. They had prayed for the victims and for the grace of forgiveness among those affected by such ugliness, ironic that he had been praying for his mate. “I am sorry for your family’s loss.”
She gave a sad smile and Jonas sensed her grief. “Loss is something my family has known all too well.” She took a sip of her coffee and seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment. Placing the mug back on the table, she said, “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”
“Did you love your husband?”
“Very much. Have you ever been married? I know you have a son, but Cain did not tell me much of your personal life.”
“I have four children. Cain is a twin to my other son, Adam. I have a younger daughter, Gracie, and my eldest is called Larissa. My wife’s name is Abilene.”
“Is? And where is this wife of yours?”
“She is home on the farm. She has insisted I come here and meet with you.”
“Well, I am on pins and needles, Mister Jonas. What can I do for you?”
“Why do you have so many medicines?”
Apparently taken off guard by his question, she turned and noticed where he gazed. The little orange bottles filled the space below the length of the windowsill. She laughed. “I’m old. You will get there someday.”
“How old are you?”
“Tsk, tsk. Did your mother never teach you it is impolite to ask a woman her age?”
“My apologies.”
She waved a hand at him, her paint-dappled fingers fanning through the space between them. “That’s okay. My mother taught me plenty. I am twenty-nine.” At his look of shock, she began to chuckle in earnest. Her laughter faded into a rattling cough. When she regained her composure she smiled. “I am seventy-two, Mister Jonas.”
She did not look twenty-nine, but she also did not look seventy-two. Although her hair
was white as snow, it was full and beautiful. Her eyes had a spark of merriment that never seemed to leave them. Her skin bore no makeup yet she had a sort of radiant glow about her. After simply watching her for a few moments, he said, “You are the guardian of your grandchildren.”
“Yes. My daughter passed away last month. It is something I would rather not discuss if you don’t mind.”
“How old are they?”
“Ten and sixteen.”
“You worry for them.” It was not a question, but an observation.
“Of course. Who else will? I worry myself out of sleep. I worry myself into tears. I worry ruts into my floor over what will happen to them when I am gone. Who will look after them? Dane is two years from being a legal adult. Even then he will be too young, to my thinking, to properly look after himself and his sister. They have lost both parents. We were always a small family. Come next year it will have shrunk by one again. I am not where I should be with my God at this point in my life and I fear I may never forgive him for what he has taken from those children in there.”
Jonas knew plenty about being at odds with God. “How are you so certain you will not be here for them?”
“I have refused treatment other than pain-management drugs. The doctors have given me a few months. Already I feel my time approaching. It is as if I can overhear the angels whispering about me at night, just outside my door, biding their time.”
He frowned. “Treatment for what?”
“Cancer, Mister Jonas. I am dying.”
“Only God knows when it is our time.”
“God and doctors, apparently. They do have a God complex, some of them.” She laughed without humor. “I will not go through what I went through years ago. At this age I do not see the point. Sometimes the cure is simply worse than the disease.”
“There is a cure for your condition?”
“Nothing will ever take it away. The only promise we are given in this life is that we will all someday die. The doctors may be able to buy me time, but that is all. There is no such thing as eternal life.”
“What if there was? Would you take it?”
“I am too old to play make-believe, Jonas.”
“But what if you could live forever. Be there for your grandchildren? Would you wish it?”
“Wishes are meant for wells.” She shook her head. “I have grown tired of this life. I have lost everyone I have ever loved and I loved them all dearly. I fear for Dane and Cybil. This world is cruel and dangerous. I am not qualified to protect them. I can barely keep on my feet for more than two hours a day and I am losing minutes with each passing day. I am running out of time and I find peace in that. I wish that I could prepare more for the kids, but all I have is this home to give them. My attorney has it already in their names and protected so that the state cannot take it from them. I have expressed my wishes for Dane to become Cybil’s legal guardian once he is of age. I have money, enough to pay their way so that Dane can put himself through college and afford the taxes and necessities over the first few years. Other than that, what can I do? We all die at some point. I am tired of waiting. I want to be with my Arthur again so that I can tell him all the things I never was able to that morning his plane went down.”
“I am dying as well,” Jonas announced and Clara’s gaze met his, appearing skeptical. “My wife knows it. My children know it. I am the only one who seems prepared for it though. Like you, Clara, I have a cure that I refuse to take.”
“I believe the tragedy of this table rests on your half. You are too young to die. You have young children and a wife who will miss you. I on the other hand have lived my life and am coming to peace with its end.”
“You would be surprised how much of my life I have actually lived. I am not as young as I look.”
“You couldn’t be older than forty and I am only being that generous because Cain must be at least twenty-five.”
“Cain has just turned thirty-eight and my Larissa will be fifty this winter.”
Her eyes grew big. “You are fooling with me.”
“No. Would you like to know how old I am?”
“It’s impossible. Your hair is full and glossy black. You have no wrinkles. You are fit and I can tell by the way you carry yourself that you are strong. I will not believe you are any older than forty.”
“I am one hundred and forty-eight years old.”
“You are lying,” she whispered. “No man has ever lived that long.”
“I am not a man. I am of a race your people know nothing about. We do not age, we heal rapidly, we have incredible speed and strength, and other than in a few rare situations, we are immortal.”
The rifle was suddenly placed upon the table. “I think it is time you left, Mister Jonas.”
Jonas looked to the window. Dawn was coming fast. He would have to seek shelter before the sun rose. He nodded. “I want you to think about what I have said, Clara. I could offer you eternal life. An eternity to protect your grandchildren and never fear death again.”
“Even if that were true and you had that gift to give, which I do not believe you do, none of us are ever free of death’s reach. You are arrogant to believe it so. If I were to live eternally, would my grandchildren be granted the same?” When he shook his head, she continued, “So I would have to watch the last of my loved ones die. No. That is not a gift you pretend to offer, but a curse. The children will be up soon and I want you to go.”
Jonas nodded, not wanting to upset her too much. “I will go, Clara, but please, think about what I have said. I could make all the pain go away.”
Chapter 29
Larissa turned from washing her face at the pitcher and ewer when there was a soft knock at the door. “Who is it?”
“Larissa? It’s Adriel Schrock. May I come in? Eleazar sent me.”
She quickly tied her apron and moved to the door. Pulling it back a crack, she peeked into the hall. A tall, slender woman with sharp, green eyes stared back at her. She smiled and said, “May I come in? I brought you shoes and some other things Eleazar thought you might need.”
The woman seemed familiar with the bishop by the way she used his Christian name. Larissa frowned at the way she used his first name rather than his title. The woman laughed. “Oh, darling, no, you do not have to be jealous of me. Eleazar is merely my friend. I want nothing to do with him or any other male in that capacity. I assure you.”
“You read my mind.”
“Sorry. Habit. I read most minds around here. How else is a female supposed to know what’s going on?”
Larissa stepped back and let the woman through the door. Adriel stepped in and immediately removed her bonnet. Larissa was momentarily distracted by the bold color of her red hair. It was braided so tightly it looked painful. She waited as the woman placed her bonnet on the dresser and turned to face her again.
“I brought you shoes, some toiletries, a new gown, which now looking at you, may be a bit too short, and a sandwich.” She held up a cloth-wrapped sandwich and Larissa almost ripped it out of her hands. She had had breakfast a few hours ago. Eleazar had left a tray for her, but she was still hungry.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the sandwich and unwrapping it from the cloth. It smelled divine. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m fine. Please, eat. I figured we could talk.” She sat in the chair by the window as Larissa sat upon the bed and began to eat. “I understand you are Eleazar’s mate.”
Larissa paused, midbite, and looked at the woman. No one was supposed to know her situation until her marriage was absolved.
“Child, I am Eleazar’s friend. You can trust me. He has done many kindnesses for me in the past and I will not betray him or his mate. No one else knows that you are here.”
“You are friends?”
“Yes. Eleazar is an extremely private male, one I don’t believe many know. We have been friends since our days in Europe and I intend to keep him as my friend for many more centuries. Will that be a problem?”
She frowned. “Really, I had expected a different answer from the way Eleazar described you. Perhaps I was misinformed.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That you were strong willed and intelligent.”
Larissa scoffed. “I am intelligent.”
“Then why on earth would you timidly accept my demand to be your husband’s companion when you know nothing of me. You are the wife of the bishop, not a field mouse. I had always hoped I would find an ally in his mate, someone who would join me in my campaign for our rights as females of this species.”
“The bishop and I are not yet married.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I am not concerned with Silus. He is a rodent. You will marry the bishop in no time and what I said will be true. I would hope you would come to terms with your position quickly, before the other females begin drawing conclusions about your character.”
“Why would they care?”
“You don’t get it do you, dear? You are marrying the patriarch of The Order. You will hold a position no other female has ever even dreamed of. You will be the neck that supports and turns the head of our society. Many women, well, the intelligent ones, will desire an alliance with you and seek your ear on issues the males have no time for.”
Larissa suddenly had no desire to eat. She wrapped the remainder of her sandwich in the cloth and pushed it aside. “I have no say in how the bishop handles his affairs.”
Adriel slowly shook her head. “No, my little mouse, you have all the say in the world. Do you not know that a mated male will place everything second to his mate’s happiness? It is impossible for them to disappoint a mate.”
It was Larissa’s turn to laugh. “I assume you are not mated. I assure you, Eleazar is quite capable of telling me no.”
Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 28