by Sherry Lewis
“By prompting people to begin speculating about the nature of my relationship with Patricia.”
“I see. And just what is the nature of your relationship with Patricia?”
“Exactly what you suspect.”
Her sudden surge of anger surprised her as much as the sting of jealousy that accompanied it. “So you have already started seeing another woman. And that is why you refuse to reconcile with me.”
“Our marriage has been nonexistent for five long years,” he said sharply. “That hardly qualifies as ‘already’.”
She refused to acknowledge his point, valid though it might be. “How long have you been carrying on with her?”
His gaze faltered and his cheeks burned red, and Shelby had her answer.
She stared at him in disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me this whole sordid mess came about because you couldn’t keep your . . . your . . . fly buttoned?” She resisted the urge to belt him in the head with her parasol and waved her hand toward the object in question instead.
The color in Zacharias’s face deepened. “Can we discuss this somewhere else? I’d prefer not to air our differences in front of the entire town.”
Shelby didn’t care who heard them, but a flicker of common sense warned her not to give the town gossips more fuel. “Do they know?”
“No one knows the entire story,” Zacharias whispered harshly. “We agreed to keep it quiet to spare you embarrassment.”
“To spare me?” Shelby gripped her parasol a little tighter. “I suppose your reputation wasn’t even a minor consideration.”
“My reputation wasn’t in question,” Zacharias said tightly.
“And Patricia’s?” The woman’s name tasted bitter as she said it.
“If you destroy her reputation, you only destroy your own.”
Shelby lost all the air in her lungs, as if someone had cinched her corset several inches too far. “Is that what you told me to keep me quiet? Because if it is—”
He cut her off. “Silence was your choice, Agatha.”
She tried to take a steadying breath, but her lungs refused to work. Poor Agatha. And damn Zacharias.
“If you wish to discuss this,” he said softly, “I suggest we go somewhere more private. Otherwise, I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” She spat the words at him.
“Nevertheless, I must insist.” He waited while an elderly woman strolled past, then went on. “You insisted upon knowing. Don’t be angry with me if you don’t like what you heard.”
“I’m not angry over what I heard,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I’m angry over what you did.”
His eyebrows arched as if she’d shocked him. “You’re angry that I turned to another woman?”
“Don’t tell me that surprises you.”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” He glanced around quickly, tipped his hat to a passing gentleman then turned back to her. “Can we please continue this conversation elsewhere?”
Dimly, she became aware of people watching them. Slowly, she remembered her responsibility to Agatha. Once again, she’d let the line between them blur. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll speak with you in private. Where would you suggest we go?”
He cast about quickly and his gaze landed on the buggy Colin had left standing only a few feet away. “We can take a ride out of town—away from prying eyes and curious ears.”
“And from anyone who might tell Patricia you’ve been spending time with your wife?”
“If I wanted to prevent that,” he said as he guided her toward the buggy Colin had driven her to town in, “it would already be too late.” He sent her a mocking smile. “And if you’re worried about your virtue, you needn’t. Compromising that precious commodity is the last thing on my mind.”
“You really are obnoxious, aren’t you?” Shelby made another vain attempt to pull away from him. “Must you be so hateful all the time?”
Pain flashed through his eyes, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I return what I’m dealt, Madame. Surely you remember that.” He helped her into the buggy and stepped back.
“Shouldn’t we tell Colin that we’re leaving?” she asked, searching the streets for him.
Zacharias rounded the buggy and climbed onto the seat beside her. “Someone will be sure to tell him.”
He didn’t speak again until they’d ridden to the edge of town and started north along the narrow road toward Cardiff Hill. The river lapped gently along its banks and fields studded with goldenrod, wild hollyhocks, and bloodroot tossed in the gentle breeze.
At long last, he sent her a sidelong glance and resumed their conversation. “You really have lost your memory, haven’t you?”
Shelby scowled at him. “What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you? Did you think I was making it up?”
“To be honest, I didn’t know what to think. Our relationship hasn’t exactly been amicable for a long time.”
“So I hear.” She settled her skirts more comfortably. “And all because you had an affair.”
He sent her another long glance. “That’s not entirely true.”
“No? There’s more?”
His gaze shifted back to the road. “It wasn’t my relationship with Patricia that drove us apart.”
“Wasn’t it? It seems to me any woman would be hurt by infidelity—even me.”
“Hurt?” He laughed bitterly. “You weren’t hurt by it, Agatha. As I said, I only did what you bade me to do.”
Shelby glared at him. “You expect me to believe that I told you to sleep with another woman?”
“I’m afraid you found my attentions distasteful.”
“So I sent you off to another woman’s bed?” The buggy hit a rut and sent Shelby sprawling against him. She pulled back quickly and clutched the seat to keep herself in place. “You’re lying.”
“Not at all. Actually, you were quite happy to be relieved of that particular duty.”
Shelby felt her cheeks redden and she found it impossible to meet his gaze. Having such an intimate discussion with him suddenly seemed dangerous. What if she was successful in rekindling the romance between them? Would she be expected to make love to him? Or would Agatha return in time for that?
Her pulse quickened, then slowed. She tried to concentrate on what Agatha would think about what she’d done instead of the possibility that she might have to take Agatha’s place in Zacharias’s bed. “Perhaps you misunderstood me.”
He laughed aloud. “I don’t think so, my dear. You left little room for misunderstanding.”
“And my lack of interest wounded your male pride so deeply you rushed out and slept with someone else?”
His smile faded. “Indeed not. I always slept at home under your roof. Sleep was one thing Patricia and I got very little of.”
“How lovely for both of you,” she said, barely controlling the urge to slap him. “And how very gentlemanly of you to tell me about it.”
He looked immediately contrite.
Shelby didn’t back down. “I must have tolerated your attention occasionally. We have two children to show for it.”
“Indeed.” His gaze faltered and he turned his attention back to the road in front of them. “Indeed,” he said again, softer this time.
Silence yawned between them for a long moment, and only the sound of the horse, the creak of buggy wheels, and the soft lapping of the river against the shore broke it. She forced herself to look at him. At least he’d had the decency to finally be honest with her. She supposed that was something.
“You know the whole story now,” he said at last. “I’d prefer not to discuss it further.”
Shelby had no intention of letting him off the hook that easily. “Oh, but I would. I’d like to know why you’re so damned smug—”
“Smug?” Anger flared in his eyes. “I’ve hardly been smug, Agatha. I’ve been filled with more regret than you know. I’ve begged your forgiveness for m
y actions and my decisions. I’ve done my best to make amends by giving you Summervale and the solitude you demand. Beyond that, I don’t know what I can do.” As he spoke, the anger in his eyes faded and a deep sadness took its place.
Some of Shelby’s anger evaporated along with it. “Maybe I didn’t believe you were truly sorry.”
“If I could believe that. . . ” He let his voice trail away and flicked the reins. “I swore I’d never beg you for anything else, but I was wrong. For Mordechai and Andrew’s sakes, I’m begging you now. Leave the matter alone. Let things lie as they are . . . please.”
He’d put his heart into the request and it shook Shelby to the core. Any parent who cared so deeply about his children deserved some credit. And though she sensed that he hadn’t told her the complete truth, she couldn’t make herself ask him for the rest. At least not now.
She only hoped her time wouldn’t run out before she had the answers.
That night Shelby tiptoed down the third-floor corridor holding a candle aloft to light her way. Since Zacharias wouldn’t tell her the rest of the story, and nobody else knew, she had only one remaining source of information. She’d made such progress without Agatha’s journals and letters, she’d all but forgotten that’s how she’d landed up here. But now she had no other choice.
That evening, she’d searched Agatha’s sitting room, her writing desk, her bedroom from floor to ceiling, but she hadn’t found a single helpful piece of paper. Though she couldn’t imagine why Agatha would move her journals to the attic while she was still alive, she just knew there must be some record of her break-up with Zacharias somewhere.
But where?
She approached the attic stairs with caution, moving soundlessly past the door to the bedroom Meg and Colin shared under the rafters, then inched open the attic door and started up the steps. The air was surprisingly clean and fresh, as if Meg had recently aired it.
Holding fast to the handrail, Shelby tested each stair to make sure it wouldn’t creak before she put her full weight on it. Meg and Colin had both been so concerned after she’d abandoned Colin in town, they’d spent the entire evening watching her, clucking over her, worrying about what she’d do next. She could just imagine what they’d think if they found her creeping around in the attic in the middle of the night.
Dear Meg. Kind, gentle Colin. If anyone had told her that she’d grow so fond of them in such a short time, Shelby would have laughed aloud. She’d grown adept at keeping her heart in check and remaining one step removed from the people around her. But Meg and Colin had somehow managed to sneak past her defenses.
And Zacharias— She shook her head and tried not to think of him. In spite of his confession that afternoon, her feelings hadn’t changed. She’d spent a good portion of her life watching other people, observing instead of participating, but she knew that there were always two sides to every broken marriage.
But the more she’d thought about all of them, the more deeply she realized she was becoming involved, the more determined she was to keep some distance between them and her heart. She knew how dangerous it was to grow attached, especially since she could be ripped away without notice.
If Zacharias hadn’t been so obstinate, so recalcitrant, so . . . so . . . pig-headed, she’d probably be gone already. But his damned stubbornness kept her here, and she fell more in love with him each time she saw him.
That thought brought her to a stumbling halt on the top step. In love? No. She’d accidentally thought the wrong word. She admired his devotion to Mordechai and Andrew, of course. But she wasn’t in love with him. She might be attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be? But she absolutely was not in love with him.
With that firmly settled, she climbed the final step and stood in the center of the huge attic. Turning slowly, she took in the trunks and crates, old wardrobes and other objects buried so deep in the shadows she couldn’t immediately identify them.
The sheer size of the attic and the number of possible hiding places overwhelmed her. If Agatha had brought her journals up here, it might take weeks to find them. Okay, so it didn’t even make logical sense that Agatha would store her journals up here, but Shelby was convinced there were journals somewhere and she didn’t have weeks to look. The date of Agatha’s death was creeping closer with alarming steadiness.
Biting her lip, she picked the corner furthest from Meg and Colin’s bedroom and got to work. The first few crates yielded nothing but old clothing that the Historical Society in Shelby’s own time would have given their eye teeth to get hold of. She found shoes, boots, brogans, capes, shawls, beeches, abandoned hoops from skirts only recently out of fashion, gloves, pantalets, and even a collection of old pipes. But not a single journal or letter.
Dust rose from the crates and tickled her nose. She could feel the grime under her fingernails and on her cheeks. With each new treasure, her imagination ran wild for a few minutes, but each time she drew herself resolutely back to her task.
She battled discouragement, but told herself that Agatha must have kept some written record. Once Shelby found it, she’d find the answers to all her questions. And then, hopefully, she’d go home—before she lost her heart and her head completely.
It must have been an hour later when she felt her determination falter and the need for sleep begin to tug at her eyelids. She opened a trunk, hopeful that it would yield something of value. But she found only another folded stack of clothes in styles she calculated to be at least twenty years old. Exhausted, she sank to the floor and tried to blink away tears of frustration. If she couldn’t find Agatha’s journals, how would she ever get home again?
Slowly, she replaced the lid on the crate, picked up the candle, and started back toward the staircase. But instead of descending, she changed direction and crossed to the window where she could look out at the slumbering city and the river curving softly between the bluffs.
Only a few flickering lights dotted the landscape and she lost herself in imagination as she’d done so often as a child, trying to imagine life in someone else’s house. Life with a loving family and friends. Houses filled with laughter and security.
Sighing softly, she leaned an elbow on the windowsill and listened to the hum of insects in the dark. Maybe she’d never leave here. Maybe she was doomed to stay and live out the rest of Agatha’s short life alone. And what did it matter? Who would miss her in the Twentieth Century?
A familiar sadness settled heavily on her heart. There was nothing waiting for her in the future and nobody who wanted her here. Zacharias had already moved on. The twins didn’t even know her. Meg and Colin seemed to like her, but she doubted even they’d grieve when she died.
She lifted her head again and stared out the window while conflicting emotions chased through her. Fear, hope, worry, peace, longing, satisfaction all tied together, each almost undistinguishable from the next. But she’d never been one to indulge in self-pity for long, and tonight was no exception. Somewhere, from deep at the bottom of her emotional well, one nagging thought kept rising, gaining strength, and pushing away everything else as it grew.
There were children involved. Agatha, Shelby, and Zacharias didn’t matter, but the children did. Slowly, she realized that she’d been focusing on the wrong thing all this time. She was here not to bring Agatha and Zacharias back together, but to make sure those children had what they needed—the security of knowing that someone loved them.
And she’d give that to them if she did nothing else. She wouldn’t let anyone stand in her way. Not Zacharias. Not Victoria.
Not even Agatha.
The next day, Shelby took a steadying breath as she slipped through the last of the trees separating Summervale from Winterhill. She wished she had the courage to march up to Winterhill’s front door and demand to see Agatha’s children. But after the way Zacharias had pleaded with her the day before, she didn’t dare chance running in to him. And she certainly didn’t want to risk another encounter with that viper who called herself
a mother-in-law.
She had to find some other way to make contact with Mordechai and Andrew. Some way to convince Zacharias that the twins needed their mother.
Keeping one eye on the house as she walked, she hurried into the sculptured garden, then moved furtively toward the pond on the far side of the house. Meg assured her that the twins spent mornings there with their nurse, and the thought of seeing the pond again and sitting beneath the shade of the summer house filled her with excitement.
She hurried past the library windows and when no one shouted at her to stop, she breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of roses filled the air, but she didn’t let herself stop to enjoy it. As she drew closer to the pond, the sound of voices and childish laughter caught her ear and made her walk faster.
She tiptoed beneath the arbor into the clearing, then stopped to watch. The nurse sat with her back to Shelby, shielding her eyes from the sun while she kept watch. The twins were so caught up in their game, they didn’t notice her. Just as well, she thought. She didn’t want to startle them.
Both tow-headed like their father, they ran after each other along the gently rolling hill that led down to the water’s edge. The sun winked off their hair, and their laughter echoed in the stillness. They didn’t appear to be identical. Other than sharing Zacharias’s coloring, they bore little resemblance to one another. One boy was tall and lanky, the other shorter and husky. One narrow-faced, the other broad.
Shelby’s heart skipped a beat. Their sheer pleasure in each other, their joy in the morning, their exuberance and their energy held her spellbound.
Oh, Agatha, how can you bear being separated from them?
She didn’t know how long she watched before someone grabbed her arm and tugged her around on the path. Holding back a cry of dismay, she found herself looking into Zacharias’s very unhappy eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
Shelby pulled away from his grasp and tried not to show her uncertainty. “I came to see the children.”
“After I specifically asked you to leave them in peace?”