by Sherry Lewis
“From leaving, you old fool. Now git. Don’t stand her yapping at me while she slips away.” When Colin still didn’t move, she added, “If she leaves, the real Agatha will come back.”
That got his feet moving. He ran back into the stables, saddled a horse for himself, and pulled himself into the saddle. “Stay with her, Meg. Don’t let her do it.”
“I’ll do my best.” She slapped the horse’s flank to set it in motion, then turned back to the house and ran across the hard-packed earth. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest, but she didn’t slow down.
She tossed her shawl across a kitchen chair and raced back up the stairs as quickly as her legs would carry her. Her knees buckled and she nearly lost her footing just past the landing, but she ran on. She prayed frantically as she climbed—for Agatha, for Shelby, for Zacharias and the twins.
Maybe it was wrong to want Shelby to stay in Agatha’s place. Maybe she was wicked for trying to prevent them from switching back. But she couldn’t bear to see the life seep out of this house again, couldn’t face more years as the past five had been, couldn’t think about what having Agatha back would do to those lively little boys.
When she reached the second floor, she hurried to the corner bedroom and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, louder this time.
Silence.
She pounded, frantic. “Agatha? Madame? Open the door.”
Nothing. Not even a footstep.
Her heart thudded ominously in her chest. A huge lump of fear blocked her throat. “Shelby!” She raised her voice and turned the knob. “Open this door immediately.”
But only silence answered her.
Zacharias sat bolt upright in bed, startled by noises coming from the drive in front of the house. Not just noises. Voices. Agitated ones, at that.
He fumbled for a match, struck it, and lit the lamp beside his bed, then stumbled across the floor and checked the clock on the mantle. His eyes, still blurred from sleep, refused to focus. He settled the lamp on the mantle, rubbed his eyes, and checked again.
Who on God’s green earth would be making such a racket at one o’clock in the morning? There must be trouble somewhere, he realized slowly.
Suddenly nervous, he grabbed the lamp again, scorching his thumb in the process, and hurried out of the room and down the stairs. He could hear Badgett arguing with someone, and as he drew closer, he had the sick feeling he recognized the second voice, as well.
Colin? His stomach lurched when he realized something must be wrong with Shelby. He couldn’t imagine Colin creating a disturbance under any other circumstances.
Worried now, he tore across the foyer and reached for the door.
“Zacharias? What is the matter?”
He wheeled about to face his mother, who’d come to the landing in her thin silk wrapper. “I don’t know, Mother. I’m on my way to find out.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, make them quiet down or they’ll wake the children.”
Waking the children was the last thing Zacharias was worried about, but he didn’t see the need to bring his mother up-to-date on his concerns. He nodded quickly and stepped onto the porch.
Colin noticed him immediately and pushed past Badgett to get to him. “Meg sent me for you, Zacharias. She says you’re to come quickly.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Badgett began.
Zacharias motioned for him to be quiet. “What is it, Colin?”
“It’s Agatha. Something’s dreadful wrong.”
Zacharias shouted for someone to saddle his horse, but Colin motioned him toward the mount he’d brought from Summervale. “Take mine. There’s no time to spare.”
Numb with worry, Zacharias mounted the horse, speaking to Colin as he did. “Dammit, man! What is it? Is she ill?”
“Worse.” Colin came to stand behind him as he wheeled the horse around. “Meg thinks she’s trying to leave.”
Zacharias’s heart dropped and icy fingers of dread curled around it. Without taking time to say another word, he spurred the horse and rode hard toward Summervale. Clouds hid the moon and bathed the road in shadow, but Zacharias didn’t slow the mount. He knew the road well, and he just prayed he’d find nothing unexpected in his path tonight.
His heart hammered as if he, not the horse, was making the run that seemed interminably long. He knew exactly what Colin meant, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. How could she think of leaving? How could she bear to throw away everything they’d finally found together?
Anger churned with hopelessness in his stomach and he spurred the mount even faster. The sound of insects filled the night and made the long ride seem even more ominous. He tried to tell himself she couldn’t just decide to leave, but in truth, he knew nothing of the miracle that had brought her to him, and he feared that she might be able to force her departure. If so, he just prayed he’d reach her in time.
At long last, the road to Summervale rose up in front of him. He sawed on the reins to steer the horse toward the house. There, he leapt from his mount even before it came to a complete stop, tossed the reins toward the hitching post, and tore up the front steps onto the porte cochére.
With his heart thundering, he took the grand staircase three steps at a time and found Meg outside Agatha’s bedroom. Her pale face and tear-stained eyes send a chill straight through him.
“She’s locked the door,” Meg said when she saw him. “I can’t get her to open it.”
Zacharias motioned her away and kicked near the lock using all the strength he could muster. The door creaked but didn’t give way, and he cursed himself for insisting on the best materials when the house was being built.
He kicked again and again, threw his weight against the door with his shoulder, but the door held. He could hear Meg crying softly, but he couldn’t give in to the despair that tore the breath from his lungs and screamed through his veins.
He backed up to the bannister and charged at the door, hitting it squarely with his shoulder and ignoring the pain that shot through him when he hit. But it held fast.
“Open the door, Shelby!” he shouted as he backed away to try again. “Dammit, woman, open the door.”
Fear and frustration drove him on. “Downstairs,” he ordered Meg. “Get the sword from above the mantle in the library. Be quick! We can’t lose her.”
Meg raced away, and Zacharias tried twice more to break the lock before she returned dragging the heavy sword behind her. Yanking it from her, he worked the steel blade beneath one of the hinges. Praying that he wouldn’t snap the blade, he threw his weight against it. The wood gave way with a satisfying crack. He repeated the process twice more and the door fell open at long last.
He tore inside, with Meg only a step behind. But he was too late. Shelby’s limp, lifeless form lay on the floor in front of the dressing table.
NINETEEN
Shelby opened her eyes slowly, aware only of the pounding in her head and a burning sensation in every muscle in her body. Musty air stung her nostrils and dust filled her mouth and eyes. She closed her eyes quickly and tried to stand, but she was too weak even to lift her arm.
Groaning softly, she lay there until something skittered across the floor near her head. At once more fully alert, she opened her eyes again.
Where was she?
Inside somewhere, she realized. She couldn’t see the sky. Shadows filled the corners, and only a little sunlight spilled into the room through the chinks in the boards covering the windows. Even that tiny bit of light hurt her eyes and made the hammering in her head worse.
She let out a deep sigh and gingerly put her arm over her eyes to block the light. Silence surrounded her, broken only by something stirring softly near her head. She tried moving her legs, but the effort left her breathless and sent a jagged searing pain through her back.
Where was she?
In spite of the pain, her legs seemed curiously free. No yards of fabric covering them, and even in this state
she could tell she wore no corset. In a rush everything came back to her. She dropped her arm and looked around carefully.
Summervale. Summervale of the future. She’d done it. But she wished with all her heart she hadn’t.
Hot tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Zacharias,” she whispered to the empty room. “Oh, my love, what have I done?”
She curled into a ball and lay there for what felt like forever, sobbing until the muscles in her stomach protested and her throat was raw and sore. Until she had no more tears to shed and exhaustion left her even weaker than she’d been before. Until her head felt as if it would explode and she couldn’t breathe.
Then, with no other recourse, she got to her knees and pulled herself to her feet using the chipped, listing dressing table to help her.
Nothing had changed, she realized with despair. Summervale was still deserted. And she’d lost her will to try to save it—along with everything else.
Slowly, carefully, she made her way through the room and out into the corridor. How much time had passed? Was it the same day? Had she been lying here a month? No, surely not, or she’d be dead of starvation and water deprivation.
Had anyone noticed her absence? Or had only a few minutes passed? She descended the staircase, wincing at the effort, holding her head with each jarring movement. The huge, gaping hole where her heart had been ached as if someone had wrenched her soul from her body. But she had to keep moving.
When she reached the first floor, she crossed carefully on rotting floorboards to the door and stepped outside into the fading afternoon sunlight. She took several deep breaths, battled the urge to cry again, and started toward Winterhill.
How long would be before Evan sold the house? Or had he already? How long before demolition began? How long before she was forced to leave? How long before she was denied even that small connection to Zacharias and the twins?
Her head throbbed with every step. Her arms and back twinged and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Insects tormented her, but she didn’t even have the energy to swat them away.
After what felt like forever, she reached Winterhill’s gardens. They looked empty. Lifeless. But she knew that was only because Zacharias and the twins weren’t there to give them life.
A wave of dizziness made her reach for the stone bench where she always sat in the mornings, but it wasn’t there. Confused, she rubbed her forehead and glanced around. The gardens looked different, but she couldn’t say why. Had roses always filled that bed? Had the Japanese maple always been there on the curve of the path? She couldn’t remember.
She forced herself to keep moving toward Winterhill, toward her bed where she could rest and regain her strength. She wouldn’t sleep. She wondered if she’d ever really sleep again. But she needed rest so she could think and plan. After all, she had an entire, lonely life to face.
The denim of her jeans chafed at her legs. She felt oddly naked without her corset and dressed only in a thin T-shirt. She wondered how long it would take to get used to dressing this way again. How long before the memories would began to fade and the pain to subside?
Battling another wave of dizziness, she climbed the front steps of Winterhill and turned the knob to open the door. To her surprise, the door didn’t open.
She tried again, half convinced she was simply too weak to open it. But the knob refused to turn and she realized slowly that it was locked. Maybe she had spent longer than an afternoon in Summervale. Maybe Evan had already changed the locks. Maybe the house had already sold.
In that case, what would she do? Where would she go?
Jon, she thought with a wave of relief. Jon would give her a place to stay. But she didn’t have the strength to walk into town. She’d have to beg whoever lived here to let her use their telephone.
She knocked, then leaned her head against the door frame and waited. Please, she begged silently, let someone be home.
To her immense relief, she heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later the door opened. But when she looked at the person who filled the door, her knees buckled and she had to clutch the wood to hold herself upright.
She stared straight into a pair of blue eyes, took in the wildly curling hair, and gaped at the ski jump nose.
“Agatha?”
The eyes that had once been hers widened in shock and she heard her own voice a second before everything faded to black.
“Is there any change?”
Zacharias glanced up at Meg and shook his head. Shadows stretched across the room. The air hung heavy around him. Perspiration soaked his shirt and trickled down his temples onto his cheeks. But he made no move to check it.
“She’s the same,” he said.
Meg tried to keep her voice chipper—for his sake, Zacharias knew. “Ah, well, at least she’s no worse.” She removed the cool rag from Agatha’s forehead and replaced it with a fresh one, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she worked. “You look tired.”
“I am,” he admitted. “I don’t remember ever being this exhausted.”
“You should rest.”
He shook his head quickly. Not while Shelby’s life hung in the balance. “I can’t leave her.” His voice came out curt and he tried to soften it with a thin smile. “I need to be with her, Meg.”
“I know, but you’ll do her no good if you make yourself ill in the process.”
“I won’t make myself ill,” he insisted. “And I won’t leave her. I need to be here in case she wakes up.”
Meg set aside the bowl and came to stand beside him. Her face was tight with worry, her eyes dark. “You’ve been here for two days, sir.”
“And I’ll be here another twenty, if that’s what it takes.” He ran his fingers through his hair and added, “I appreciate your concern, Meg, but you don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think.” She slanted a glance at Shelby. “Have you considered that when she does wake up—if she wakes up—”
He cut her off angrily. “You’ll not talk like that, Meg. Not where she can hear you. Not where I can hear you.”
“Of course not, sir.” Meg looked contrite. “But have you stopped to think that she may not be the woman you love when she wakes?”
“You mean, she might be Agatha?” Zacharias massaged the muscles in his neck and nodded slowly. “Of course, I have, Meg.” He turned his gaze back to the face he loved and said again, “Of course I have. But it doesn’t matter. If Shelby comes back to me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making her the happiest woman in the world. And if Agatha returns, I’ll do exactly the same thing.”
Meg scowled, her confusion deepening. “You’ve changed your mind about Agatha, then?”
“No.” He sighed heavily. “But if Agatha returns, at least that will mean that Shelby is alive somewhere. And I’ll show my gratitude by devoting my life to making my wife—whoever she is—happy. If I can do that, maybe Shelby will be happy in her own life.”
Meg averted her gaze, and Zacharias knew she didn’t hold out much hope of either woman returning. But he refused to give in to the despair that hovered on the edges of his consciousness. He simply would not allow either of them to die.
He lit another candle and nodded toward the door. “Go, Meg. Fix Colin his supper. No doubt he’s hungry.”
“He has no appetite, either,” she said with a tight frown. “He’s as worried as we are.”
“He’s a good man,” Zacharias said. “No matter what happens, your future is secure. I promise you that.”
Tears pooled in Meg’s eyes. She dashed them away as if they made her angry. “Do you think we care about that now?”
“No more than I do,” Zacharias said with a smile. “But I need to express my gratitude in some way.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And we appreciate it, sir. We truly do. I shouldn’t have snapped at you—”
He waved away her apology. “We’re all upset, Meg. Thank God we have eac
h other to cling to.” He stole another glance at the inert form on the bed and felt some of his optimism slip. She looked so weak, so pale, so near death it frightened him beyond words. “Is there nothing else we can do?”
“Nothing that I know of, sir. I’ve exhausted all my remedies. Short of calling in Dr. Messing, all we can do is wait.”
He dropped into the wing chair again and covered his face with his hands. And, as he’d done a thousand times in the past two days, he pleaded with God to keep both women alive. When he’d finished, he lifted his gaze to Meg’s again. “Am I wrong to keep the doctor away from her?”
“I don’t know.” Meg crossed to the bed and felt Agatha’s forehead tenderly. “I don’t know what more the doctor could do for her. And if she seems no better, at least she’s no worse.”
That, at least, was something to be grateful for. Zacharias leaned forward and took the limp hand in his. It was cool to the touch, but he could still feel the weak pulse in her wrist. “We’ll wait a while longer. But if she shows signs of weakening, we’ll summon the doctor without delay.”
He just hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
“I’m not going back there.”
Shelby watched, fascinated, while the body she’d lived in for twenty-eight years paced in front of the fireplace. Strangely, she didn’t think of it as her body anymore. She’d grown quite comfortable in Agatha’s during the past month.
She took a bracing sip of tea and set her cup aside. “Zacharias is ready to work out your marriage,” she argued, “and the twins need a mother.”
Agatha shook her head. “I’m not going back.”
“But Zacharias—”
“Has Patricia Starling.”
“But he loves you,” she said softly.
Agatha glared at her. “Love? He wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.”
“But he does,” Shelby insisted. “He’s worked through so much. He’s ended his relationship with Patricia. All that remains is for you to take your place at his side again.”
Agatha raked a cool blue glance over her. “You have been busy, haven’t you?”