As the first car pulled up in front of the chapel he froze. Vestry staff. They were inside for a long time before anyone else came. This time it was a florist’s van with boxes full of flowers. While they were being arranged the clergy arrived. Then the first trickle of guests, carrying the invitations Jessamyn Bennett had written out in a careful hand. Soon the little chapel would be packed.
Dwayne waited. He had waited for a long time; he could wait a little longer.
When the wedding party began to appear he almost laughed out loud. This was what the town’s leading lights had been reduced to! Served them right. Horse-drawn carts and carriages and an absurd vehicle that was half pickup truck. A couple of automobiles.
Then Jack Reece and his aunt in his Mustang, with Nell’s children in the back.
Getting close now. Almost here.
Inside the chapel Evan Mulligan watched Jessamyn Bennett enter with her brother. For a moment she paused below the stained glass window, gazing up at the shepherd and his flock. A ray of light streamed through the glass and illuminated her hair, giving her an angel’s halo.
In that moment she was the most beautiful creature Evan had ever seen.
* * *
By the time Hooper Watson reached the bar and grill the “Closed” sign was on the door.
Watson began to run, pumping his arms as hard as he could and turning very red in the face.
* * *
Wearing a pale green silk dress with a matching jacket, Lila Ragland drove Nell’s car. The bride sat beside her. Nell felt as if she were caught inside a bubble. “I wish today was over,” she said.
“You don’t mean that; this should be the happiest day of your life.”
“It is, it will be. But I don’t think I’ll really appreciate it until I look back on it. Jack says we see more clearly from outside than inside.”
“Well, I see that fool Hooper Watson running like an idiot! What does he think he’s doing?” Lila braked in front of the chapel and called out the window, “You’re not going to miss anything, the bride just got here!”
Watson turned and trotted toward the car just as Lila started to get out.
The blast of a shotgun shattered the day.
26
The next edition of The Sycamore Seed carried, under the byline of Lila Ragland, the following article:
“Sycamore River has endured more than its share of violence over recent years, but the tragic deaths on the sixth of April shocked us all. Hooper Watson was a lifelong resident of the town and an asset to the community. We unite in sympathy for his wife, Nadine, their daughter, Angela, their extended family and many friends.
“Tyler Whittaker had only been with us for a few years, but he was well liked as a man and respected as a law enforcement officer. His courage in apprehending the murderer of Patricia Nyeberger is a testimony to his character. He displayed that same courage in pursuing the alleged killer of Mr. Watson, who only briefly escaped. Both men died in an exchange of gunfire several blocks away.
“It is hoped these two will be the last victims of the Change, for that is the way Dr. Gloria Delmonico, staff psychologist at Staunton Memorial Hospital, describes them. In an interview yesterday she told this reporter that since the inception of the Change the number of people suffering severe neurological disorders has multiplied tenfold, not only in Sycamore River but probably throughout the world. The stress of living under constantly increasing uncertainty with no end in sight can permanently damage the human psyche, according to Dr. Delmonico.”
* * *
Three funerals on three successive days, as if the earth of Sunnyslope could not receive so much all at one time. Every service was well attended, including a large turnout for Tyler Whittaker, who was buried last to allow time for his relatives to come from Ohio.
“The sheriff certainly was a hero,” Bea Fontaine said to her nephew as they finished lunch the following day. Neither had much appetite, but Jack had perked up at the sight of Bea’s layer cake waiting on the kitchen table. “It was heroic of Nell to go to the funerals too,” she added. “Nell and Lila saw what the rest of us didn’t.”
“Nell’s stronger than she realizes,” said Jack. “It wasn’t easy to mourn for Dwayne Nyeberger.”
“We all did it for the sake of his boys, so they wouldn’t remember their father as such a pariah.”
Jack’s fork attacked a large wedge of cake. “Y’know, this is a pretty good town.”
“Haven’t I always told you that? And while I’m handing out plaudits, Lila did a fantastic job with the article in the Seed. A lot of reporters would have sensationalized it.”
“Not if they’d been eyewitnesses, Aunt Bea; no one who was there would want the gory details. The damned bastard used a double-barreled shotgun.”
“Thank God the children and I were already in the chapel,” said Bea. “Who was Dwayne after, does anyone know? Surely not poor Hooper Watson.”
“Guess we’ll never find out. It’s like Gloria said, his mind broke under stress.”
“I’d known Dwayne Nyeberger for years, Jack; that wasn’t a sound mind in the first place. It didn’t take much for the Change to tip it over.”
Jack helped himself to a second cup of coffee. “Maybe what happened can’t be blamed entirely on the Change. But there’s no way to quantify how much damage it has done.”
“Do you think it really is over?”
“Looks like it. ‘No end in sight’ seems to be an error.”
“But how could it start and then stop again?”
Before Jack could answer, Gerry Delmonico ran up the steps and onto the porch. “Jack!” he called at the door. “Are you ready to go?”
“Come on in and have a cup of coffee with us first. And while you’re at it, tell my aunt how the Change could start and then stop. I’d be interested to hear that explanation too.”
They went into the kitchen. When Gerry rolled an eye at the cake, Bea cut a large slice for him. “Where are you two going?”
“The bar and grill.”
“But this isn’t Wednesday.”
“I know. But since, well…”
“Some of you feel a need to be together,” Bea finished. “Human nature. Is Gloria going with you?”
“She’s keeping the baby at home; she’s had all she can take for now.”
“You want to come with us, Aunt Bea? I’m driving.”
“No thanks, Jack. My cats are tribe enough for me; when I’m troubled there’s no comfort like stroking a purring cat.”
While Gerry enjoyed his coffee and cake he explained about mass being congealed energy. “Every time energy is released there is some decrease in mass,” he elaborated, “even if it’s very slight. It’s called a decay event. A fundamental probability is at work in quantum physics, Bea. In decay processes it’s revealed in the seeming randomness of individual events, which is what we saw with the Change. But the universe also has laws of conservation, which means that the total energy it contains, including that held in mass, doesn’t change. So there really wasn’t a Change, just a redistribution. The force behind it was making adjustments. Starting and stopping.”
Bea turned to her nephew. “You agree with all this?”
“I’ll accept it’s scientifically sound, but I’m still not convinced. I’ve always had a hunch that the sun—”
“You two are maddening!” Bea exclaimed. “You haven’t answered my question at all; I wanted to know about the force itself! Who or what is it?”
“That,” said Jack, “is still the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
* * *
When he and Gerry entered the bar the Mulligans and Edgar Tilbury were already there. So was Lila Ragland. Jack thought she looked smaller, diminished. Mass and energy, he mused. Sitting down beside her, he said, “Your story in the paper struck just the right note, Lila: dignified.”
“After what we saw in the street a lot of dignity was required.”
“That was your jacket over�
��”
“Hooper’s head and face, yes. I wanted to hide them from Nell and the people coming out of the chapel.”
“That was fast thinking.”
“No it wasn’t, Jack. It felt like time had frozen.”
“Time’s relative; I learned that when I was a kid. I climbed too high in a tree and fell and broke my leg. It took an hour to hit the ground, and a lifetime before my aunt stopped scolding me about it.”
“Where’s Nell?” Tilbury asked Jack. “I thought she’d be here.”
“When I took her home after the sheriff’s funeral she said she wanted to be alone with her kids for a few days. Quality time. She’ll be trying to help them come to terms with what’s happened.” He hesitated. “Under the circumstances she, I mean we, have decided to postpone the wedding. You don’t need to say anything about that in the paper, Lila.”
“I wouldn’t anyway. Later in the year, maybe?”
“I don’t know,” he said tightly. “Up to her, I guess.”
Jack was uncomfortable. The marriage seemed cursed. Would Nell look at it that way? Could the violence on her wedding day have caused an irrevocable change in the woman he loved?
To change the subject he said, “Isn’t Morris coming?”
“He took Hooper’s death hard,” Shay replied, “but I imagine he’ll be along. Strange, isn’t it? So much tragedy on one hand and the Change fading away on the other. Like scales balancing.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s not an equal balance.”
Bill Burdick passed around drinks. “On the house,” he announced. “Like a wake.”
“I have a better idea,” said Evan Mulligan. He raised his glass. “Let’s toast the future. It’s gotta be better than the last year or two.”
Shay rumpled his son’s hair. “Good boy. The future it is!”
27
When Morris Saddlethwaite burst through the door of Bill’s Bar and Grill his face was ashen. “You’re not gonna believe this! I mean, you’re not gonna believe this!”
“You’re repeating yourself,” said Bill. “Sit down and have a drink, you look like you need one. Or have you had too many already?”
“Is that your red car parked outside the door?” Saddlethwaite asked Jack.
“You know it’s my car, there’s not another one like it in the state. If it’s in your way I’ll move it, though.”
The other man lifted his right arm and waved it in the air. The sleeve was covered with a flaky substance that resembled dried blood and crumbled from the fabric. “I don’t know if you can move it, Jack. I just brushed against your fender and this stuff came off on my clothes. Now the goddamned metal’s rotting!”
By Morgan Llywelyn from Tom Doherty Associates
After Rome
Bard: The Odyssey of the Irish
Brendán
Brian Boru
Drop by Drop
The Elementals
Etruscans (with Michael Scott)
Finn Mac Cool
Grania
The Horse Goddess
The Last Prince of Ireland
Lion of Ireland
Only the Stones Survive
Pride of Lions
Strongbow
The Wind from Hastings
THE NOVELS OF THE IRISH CENTURY
1916: A Novel of the Irish Rebellion
1921: The Great Novel of the Irish Civil War
1949: A Novel of the Irish Free State
1972: A Novel of Ireland’s Unfinished Revolution
1999: A Novel of the Celtic Tiger and the Search for Peace
About the Author
MORGAN LLYWELYN is the New York Times bestselling author of Lion of Ireland. She has won numerous awards for her historical fiction. She lives near Dublin, Ireland. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
By Morgan Llywelyn from Tom Doherty Associates
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DROP BY DROP
Copyright © 2018 by Morgan Llywelyn
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Michael Graziolo
Cover images © 2018 Shutterstock.com
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8866-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8868-1 (ebook)
eISBN 9780765388681
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: June 2018
Drop by Drop Page 22