“Did you believe her?” Ryan asked.
“Yes. I could see in her eyes that she was telling the truth. She looked too earnest, too guilt-ridden. I don’t think she would have pursued a relationship with him had she known he was married, but then what do I know? I never imagined Zack would cheat on me and risk the life we’d built together, and, of course, Harper could have ended things with him when she found out he wasn’t separated, but she didn’t.”
“Had Zack known she was pregnant?”
“She said she hadn’t realized she was pregnant until after the funeral, and she’d intended to bring up the baby on her own.”
“You owe her nothing,” Ryan said, but Lauren could hear the slight tremor in his voice. As a single father, he could probably relate to Harper’s plight.
“I know that, but Finn is Zack’s child. It’s not his fault his father turned out to be a lying, cheating bastard. I told Harper I’d have a decision for her by the end of May, but I listed the apartment before leaving Boston. Even if I refused to help her, I couldn’t bear to remain. Everything I had believed to be true was a lie, and our home was now a testament to that. I needed to get away from everything and everyone I knew in order to see clearly.”
“And do you?” Ryan asked softly.
“Yes, I do. I have a buyer for the apartment; I’m going to sign a contract on Monday. I am going to give Harper half the money and then I will never see her or her son again. I think that’s the right thing to do, for all of us. I need to start fresh.”
“And Zack? Are you ready to let him go?”
“I already have,” Lauren said, smiling through the tears. “Once I had time to think, I realized that his lies hurt me more than his death. I would have learned to live without him in time, but I could never forgive his betrayal. He carried on as if nothing was going on, spoke of our future, the children we were going to have, while all the time he was sleeping with someone else and making promises to her. She showed me some of the pictures on her phone. They looked like any other couple: kissing, holding hands, strolling through the park, having a picnic, taking selfies in bed. She was no blip on the radar. She was his partner, possibly his future. And who knows, there might have been others,” Lauren said, her voice devoid of feeling. “He might have been cheating on me the entire time we were together. I’ll never know unless someone else comes out of the woodwork, claiming to have had his kid.”
“Lauren, you can’t think like that,” Ryan implored. “You must let go of your anger in order to truly move on.”
“Yes, I know, but everything I believed to be true had proven false. The man I trusted, had bound my life to and planned to have a family with, had lied to me at every turn. There were no signs, Ryan, that’s how good he was at lying. I never felt a sudden withdrawal or a lack of affection. Our sex life hadn’t changed. He was the same old Zack, the guy I’d fallen in love with. He made love to me, talked about his dreams for the future, and made plans. Never once had I suspected that his mind was elsewhere or that he was doing the same thing with someone else. I checked his phone records after Harper came to me. Nothing. Clean. He used another phone to speak to her. He covered his tracks well.”
“Don’t let this change you,” Ryan said. “His behavior is no reflection on you, only on him.”
“I know that, but how can I ever trust someone that way again? He’s tainted every future relationship I will have.”
“He can’t taint anything unless you allow him to. Not every man is a liar and a cheat, and not every man will take you for granted.”
“No, but how will I ever know if I can’t trust my instinct? How can I give my trust when I don’t know if it will be betrayed?”
“You won’t. No one does. Falling in love is a leap of faith. A happy outcome is not guaranteed. But if you want to be with someone, you must take the risk, again and again, until you find a person who’s worth it and who will cherish you and love you for the rest of your life.”
“You make it sound so poetic.”
“It is. That’s why countless poems and songs have been written about love, but also about heartbreak. It’s the flipside of the romance coin. Heads or tails? It’s a tossup.”
“Is it really?”
“Seems to be, since nearly half the marriages end in divorce. But people keep getting married because they believe their relationship will be the one to survive and flourish.”
“Are you ready to risk it all again?” Lauren asked, turning to face him.
“Yes, I’m ready to risk it all,” he said softly. “With you.”
Ryan’s arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her close, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was feather-light, but it was full of hope and tenderness, and affection, just like Ryan himself. Lauren wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She would always carry the scars of Zack’s betrayal and view every man’s actions and words through the lens of his lies, but as the kiss deepened, she realized that she trusted Ryan and was willing to take a chance on him, as he clearly was on her. After more than a year of loneliness and grief, she felt like a bud opening to the sun on the first truly warm day of spring.
As they pulled apart, Lauren looked into Ryan’s eyes, and what she saw there was love and trust. Lauren took him by the hand and pulled him back into the cabin, her intentions clear.
Afterward, as she lay next to Ryan, her body sated and her soul at peace, Lauren felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted. Nothing had changed, but everything was different. She was different. She felt reborn. As Ryan pulled her closer and her eyelids began to grow heavy with the need for sleep, an unexpected thought flitted through her brain. Goodbye, Zack, she thought drowsily, and knew that this farewell was final.
When Lauren finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of Holland House, and Sophie.
Chapter 58
Sophie
March 1729
Sophie hoisted a basket of laundry onto her hip and walked out the back door. It was a cool, breezy day at the end of March, perfect for drying laundry. She needed Caleb’s help with washing the bulkier items, like bedlinens, but she washed shirts, hose, and her shifts once a week, preferring not to wait for Caleb to bring buckets of hot water and then empty the tub when she was finished. She’d gladly do it herself, but she was wary of picking up anything heavy for fear of losing the child. She was about six months along, her belly swelling noticeably beneath her apron. This child was calmer than J.T. had been, kicking halfheartedly only when Sophie went to bed. During the day it remained quiet, probably sleeping in its dark, quiet world.
Once she finished hanging the laundry and emptied the tub, she’d have a cup of tea, Sophie decided. She was tired and hungry, and it was hours yet till dinnertime. Teddy had gone into the village to look at a new horse, and Caleb had tagged along, eager to see his sweetheart. They had ‘an understanding,’ according to Caleb, which basically meant that he’d speak to her father when he was ready to provide for his bride. Caleb had been diligently saving his wages, so the big day couldn’t be far off.
The strong tea revived Sophie somewhat, and she nibbled on a piece of buttered bread spread with honey. With J.T., she’d craved meat, but with this one she constantly wanted something sweet. Having appeased her sweet tooth, Sophie mended several pairs of hose before going to check on the laundry. In this type of weather, it dried quickly. She set the basket down and began to take the hose off the line. Her skirts whipped against her legs and her shawl did little to protect her from the biting wind. Spring came late to Cape Cod.
Sophie smiled when she saw a pair of boots appear below Teddy’s still-damp shirt. “You’re back early,” she said. “Was the horse not to your liking?”
When Teddy didn’t immediately respond, she moved aside the shirt and came face to face with George Holland. Sophie let out a strangled cry as her hand flew to her breast in terror. She took a step back, only to discover that George wasn’t alone. An older man, whippet-thin and unusually tall, had
come around the side of the house and was now positioned squarely behind her. His light blue eyes were narrowed, and his lips stretched into a smile of satisfaction.
“I take it that’s her, Mr. Holland?” the man asked, coming even closer.
“It is, indeed, Major,” George replied, his gaze fixed on Sophie’s face. “You look well, wife.” His gaze slid down her body, dark fury flashing in his eyes when it settled on her rounded belly.
“Wh-what do you want, George?” Sophie stammered. Her heart was hammering, her bladder threatening to let go.
“What do I want?” George echoed, clearly surprised by the question. “I want to wring your scrawny neck and toss you into the bay, but I’ll content myself by beating that bastard out of you,” he said savagely. “Then, I will take you back to Boston, where I will legally rid myself of you once and for all. And when your mangled body happens to turn up in some gutter shortly after the divorce, I will rejoice and take a new wife, one who’ll be obedient and grateful,” he hissed.
Sophie’s legs nearly gave out as George took a step toward her. This was no idle threat made in anger. George meant what he’d said. He would punish her for the humiliation she had caused him, and then have her killed once he was legally free to marry again. If he killed her while they were still wed, suspicion would fall on him, but if she happened to die once they were officially divorced, no one would think he had any reason to commit murder and jeopardize his future. Sophie’s gaze flew toward the house, but all was quiet. J.T. was sleeping upstairs. He’d been under the weather and had stayed abed.
Please don’t wake up, my darling, Sophie silently pleaded with him. Don’t make a sound.
“If you think your lover will save you, you’re wrong. We saw him in the village. It’ll be hours before he returns, by which time you’ll be long gone.”
“George, please, there’s no need for violence,” Sophie said. Her trembling voice seemed to give George great satisfaction. His smile was positively reptilian.
“Isn’t there? You made me the laughingstock of the colony. Not a single person who walks into the shop doesn’t know that my wife ran out on me, probably with her lover, which happens to be true. You’ve denied me the chance to get on with my life and have had the temerity to declare you’ve had a child by me, laying an indisputable claim to my estate. No doubt your lover’s idea.”
“H-how did you—?”
“How did I know? Mr. Barron happens to be a friend of my father’s, so when your letter was delivered to him, he did what any gentleman would do and warned his friend of the plot against his family. The Hollands are many things, Sophie, but fools isn’t one of them.”
No, you’re much worse than fools, Sophie thought defiantly. You’re monsters.
“How did you find me?” she asked in a fruitless attempt to forestall the inevitable. It had been more than a year since she’d fled, and her letter made no mention of where she and Teddy had planned to settle. What had led George to Eastham?
“The major here is a very talented man,” George replied conversationally. “He haunted the docks, thinking he might pick up some gossip that might lead him to you, and sure enough, he met a man named Roy Smith. Ring a bell?” he asked, smiling viciously. “That’s right. Seems Mr. Smith had met an old acquaintance of his, a Ted Mercer, who had happened to be betrothed to a woman named Sophie Brewster before his rather inconvenient disappearance. Mr. Smith hoped to claim the reward, but Father said he wouldn’t see a penny of that money until you were apprehended.”
“What happened to Roy Smith?” the major asked, coming closer. “The man seems to have vanished without a trace, a consequence of getting mixed up with your lover, it seems. No one has seen him since they left Boston together six months ago. I wager he’s dead,” the major said, cocking his head to the side. “Yet another crime to add to your man’s growing list.”
“I think I’ll let you live long enough to see him swing,” George said with relish. “Won’t that be fun? We can attend the hanging together, as husband and wife. It will be our last public outing before your untimely demise.”
“George, I implore you—” Sophie began, but she never got to finish the sentence. George hit her face, hard. She staggered backward and nearly fell, her ears ringing with the force of the blow. Blood from her split lip trickled into her mouth and ran down her chin. She covered her face, but George wasn’t interested in hitting her there again. Instead he punched her in the stomach, making her howl with fear and pain. She felt the child shift inside her, her belly growing taut. Sophie wrapped her arms around her belly, desperate to protect her baby, but George was far from finished. He hit her again and again, relishing her cries of pain.
Teddy! Sophie’s muddled mind screamed. Teddy, help me.
Changing course, George hit the side of her head, and colorful stars exploded before her eyes as she went down, falling as if in slow motion. Sophie didn’t feel the cold as she landed on the hard ground, nor did she hear what George said. His mouth opened and closed, but she was deaf to his threats. She was floating, the pain kept at bay by her failing consciousness. The child inside her had grown perfectly still, as if sensing the danger. Stay with me, Sophie begged. Stay with me. She rested her forehead against the ground. The cold jolted her out of her stupor, but it also seemed to wake her senses. Pain tightened around her belly like an iron band, squeezing hard and leaving her breathless. George must have cracked her ribs.
“Give her a moment to recover, Mr. Holland,” the major said, his voice deep and gravelly. “You won’t enjoy the beating if she’s not awake to appreciate it,” he added smugly.
“I don’t think we should tarry,” George said, his bloodlust abating. “I can have another go at her later. Right now, we need to leave. Mercer is just foolhardy enough to follow and try to get her back.”
“He’s one man,” the major replied with an indifferent shrug.
“He’s got that pup with him.”
“Those two are no match for us. Mercer’s not even armed. I’d love to blow his head off, but I’ll leave that pleasure to you.”
“You can have the boy,” George replied. “Mercer is mine. I’d like her to watch him die, helpless in the knowledge that he won’t be there to save her, not this time. Perhaps I should remain married to her a little longer,” George mused. “Enjoy my husbandly rights. I was cheated of the pleasure the first time around. She didn’t care for my methods.” He laughed and kicked Sophie with the toe of his boot. “You there, my sweet? Time to wake up.”
Sophie curled around her belly and covered her head with her hands. She knew it was futile, but she’d make it as difficult as possible for the men to move her and inflict a few injuries of her own. George’s boots came closer. “Get up, you worthless whore,” he said. “Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be. You’re coming with us.”
When Sophie didn’t budge, George tried a different tack. “Get the child, Major. He must be in the house. I’m not leaving anything to chance.”
“Traveling with a child will take longer,” the major replied.
“I have no intentions of taking him with us. Slit his throat and stuff him down the privy. It’ll make my day to know that Mercer is shitting on his own brat.”
The major walked toward the house and opened the back door, disappearing inside.
“No,” Sophie cried. “Please. He’s just a little boy.”
“Little boys die every day. Comfort yourself with the knowledge that he’ll go to Heaven,” George replied with a chuckle. “Now, get up. I won’t tell you again. If you refuse, I’ll have the major torture the little bastard. I don’t think you’d like me to do that.”
Sophie sobbed as she staggered to her feet. She’d do anything to protect J.T. from unnecessary pain. He was only two—a baby, really. George came to stand in front of her. His face swam before Sophie’s eyes as she swayed with dizziness. She thought she was going to be sick. A warm trickle had started between her legs, and severe cramps rolled th
rough her stomach, making her double over.
“Quit stalling,” George hissed. He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, making her lose her balance.
Sophie stumbled and nearly fell, but George caught her and pushed her upright. Darkness hovered at the edge of Sophie’s vision, her body threatening to shut down as wave after wave of pain assaulted her abdomen. Only her fear for J.T. tethered her to the world, forcing her to remain conscious. She had to be there for him in his final moments. She had to tell him she loved him.
George suddenly released his grip on her. His eyes opened wide, a look of surprise transforming his features. Sophie sank to her knees, and it was only then that she noticed another set of boots behind George’s. Blood dripped onto the ground, the droplets blooming like flower buds as they soaked into the snow. George fell to his knees in front of her, revealing Teddy standing behind him, a blood-covered dagger in his hand.
“Sophie!” he cried as he shoved George’s body aside and knelt beside her. “Sophie, can you hear me?”
Teddy’s warm hands were on her face, the desperation in his voice willing her to look at him, but she couldn’t. Whatever strength she’d been holding on to had seeped out of her body, leaving her as weak as a newborn kitten. She felt so battered, she couldn’t manage to keep her eyes open or form a coherent word. She slipped into the welcoming darkness where nothing hurt, and she wasn’t terrified for J.T. any longer.
When Sophie came to, she was in her bed, J.T. asleep next to her. Teddy was sitting in the rocking chair, his feet firmly planted on the floor, his shoulders hunched as he leaned toward her, watching her.
The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Page 31