The Arrival (Children of the Morning Star Book 1)

by Kastie Pavlik

  Remembering how she had teetered on the ladders to place those things in just the right spots made him smile despite his mood. He shook his head as he crossed the oversized crimson and cream rug and tossed his briefcase and sunglasses onto his desk.

  He stopped before a shelf on the back wall and stroked an ancient book. Its spine was coarse and left a powdery substance on his fingertip. Time's touch had been gentler to him. Smudging the powder between his thumb and forefinger, he walked over to his chair and sat at his desk.

  “How am I going to do this?”

  He leaned forward on his elbows and contemplated the rest of his office. The modern era had appeared in small amounts, but for the most part, the space looked much the same as it had before he remodeled it after Andrew's death.

  His desk was set far back in the room, apart from a sitting area in the foreground where a suede sofa, flanked by matching recliners, divided the office. Display cases highlighted a collection of antique Victorian vases, and a marble-topped sideboard, handcrafted by a local artisan, contained a refrigerated cabinet stocked full of juice, water, and soda. Several lamps and a tray of top shelf whiskey and vodka in lead crystal decanters sat on the counter, and an LCD television hung above it along the interior wall.

  There were no paintings or pieces of art, only a few small frames with his degrees and certificates hanging near the door. The lone photograph that sat on his desk was of Andrew, Felicia, and their daughter, taken several years before the accident.

  He picked up the frame and traced the little girl’s outline with his finger. She no longer existed. Day by day, time would never change him, but it had certainly changed her.

  “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll never leave your side again.”

  He stood with a sigh and trudged back to the door, where he poked his head out to summon Molly. More than just a secretary, she was his most trusted confidante and assisted him with many facets of his personal life. Only Andrew had known him as well. Not many got that close, but his life made people like her a necessity.

  The middle-aged woman smoothed her tweed skirt as she rose from her desk. She wore her chestnut hair tied into a loose bun. Bifocal glasses rode low on her narrow nose and curiosity flashed in her hazel eyes.

  Pushing her glasses up, she hurried into his office and crossed the large expanse to plop down in one of the chairs opposite his desk. She stopped and looked over her shoulder when she realized he had slowly closed the door and remained in place, staring ahead vacantly.

  “Mr. Ravenscroft?” She used the formality at his request at work and in public. Given their apparent age difference and their close-knit community, hiding the extent of their relationship prevented hassle and rumors.

  He glanced at her and parted his lips, but couldn’t find the words he needed.

  “Give me a moment.”

  She simply replied, “You forgot your spectacles, again.”

  A reluctant smile cracked at the old word, a joke between them, as he strode across the room, pulling a case from his jacket pocket. He slid rectangular frames onto his nose and pinched the metal bridge for a moment with his eyes closed. When he opened them, his arm fell to his side and he met Molly’s gaze with dead seriousness in his.

  “I’m expecting a visitor. Probably today. Soon.” He ran a hand through his hair and then removed his jacket, draped it over his chair, and sat and leaned back. “You should have a seat for this.”

  Molly’s jaw tensed as she perched on the edge of the chair.

  Folding his hands in front of his face, he said, “Paresh came home last night.”

  Molly’s eyes widened. Her lips moved in an effort to reply, but no voice came out. It took her several attempts to say, “P-P-Pare... Paresh Hawthorne?”

  Eric nodded and dropped his hands to his desk. “I saw her myself.”

  “She came home?” Molly whispered to herself in disbelief. Her eyes darted back to his face and she rapidly fired, “How is she? Did you talk to her? Did they let her go? Was she hurt? Oh! That poor child! Oh, I hope she’s all right!”

  Eric motioned for Molly to calm down. “I haven’t spoken with her yet, but she appears to be fine. She came alone.”

  “Could you tell if—” Molly paused and averted her gaze. “If they hurt her, or anything?”

  “No,” he replied in a low voice. After another few seconds of grim silence, he dipped his face down to catch Molly’s eye. “Given her recent birthday, I expect she will be here soon to see me.”

  At first, Molly seemed confused. Then she gasped and pointed at his face. His head bobbed in agreement with her unspoken realization.

  “I’ll get to that,” he said. “First, when she arrives, contact Walter Hodges and have him respond right away. I intend to delay terminating the trust until we understand more. I’m not certain she knows she was kidnapped and I’m concerned about her mental health, which legally covers me, and hopefully delays whatever David has planned.”

  David’s name visibly shook her. “Do... are you sure you want to wait to notify the chief?”

  “Quite. I want to see her first. Call him on his direct line, not through dispatch. I don’t want a media circus or parades in honor for her safe return right now.”

  He let out a deep sigh and brushed ebony hairs away from his glasses. Molly watched them fall right back into place.

  “Now, on to the issue on both of our minds,” he said, indicating his face. “Request that Walter addresses me as Mr. Ravenscroft in her presence. You will inform her that I am out of the office, but that my son is assisting and he will meet with her. Right now, I need answers and don’t want my appearance to confuse her.”

  Molly posed her next question in a quiet voice. “Darien?”

  Eric had spoken to her about his dead son only once. He had made it clear that it was a sensitive matter, so she had never broached the topic again.

  Without hesitation, he answered, “Yes. I’ll identify with the name.”

  “Did she know you had a son?”

  “No.” His curt tone put an end to any further delicate questions.

  “Shall I rework your schedule, then?” she asked, ticking off a mental checklist. “Mr. Dugao can cover your nine-thirty and eleven o’clock hearings, and Mrs. Daley can meet with your clients this afternoon. Also, the Jamersons want you to represent their son. He allegedly broke into their neighbor’s shed and stole some power tools, all of which remain missing. He’s at the jail awaiting arraignment since they couldn’t afford bail.”

  Eric marveled at the woman’s ability to switch to office mode so swiftly, especially when her concern for Paresh nearly rivaled his own. She had been Andrew’s secretary and longtime friend, too.

  “Clear my schedule for the next several weeks. Tell the Jamersons that I must decline and recommend either of my partners to handle the case at their discretion. If they were looking for pro bono, pay their expenses from my account until I can speak with their son and resolve the matter. Rework your schedule, as well, and see what the girls upstairs can take from you. I think we are going to be rather busy in the near future.”

  II

  Paresh awoke to warm, sunny rays stretching through the windows. Birds flitted about outside, singing and tapping the glass while small animals scampered along the ground and doves cooed in the distance.

  Flat on her back, Paresh stared at the ceiling and smiled. This was a morning ritual long overdue, yet never forgotten. Closing her eyes, she allowed the sounds to float around her. Another noise soon broke through: a low hum. The refrigerator was running.

  Stretching, she rose and headed for the shower. As with the rest of the cottage, time held the bathroom suspended, left mostly untouched for ten years. The only hints of the present were a stack of fluffy white towels, an assortment of travel sized toiletries, and a fresh bouquet of carnations, daisies, and azaleas sprouting from a Depression-era vase near the sink.

  Paresh eyed the glazed antique washbasin sitting on the vanity. A ha
nd-painted rose garnished each side of the pitcher nestled comfortably inside its matching ceramic bowl. The cherished item, given to her parents as a wedding gift, had been the family heirloom of her father’s partner and dated back to the 1840s.

  It reminded her of the unpleasant task ahead. Again wondering if she had made a mistake, she glanced at the mirror and noticed a swatch of lavender behind the door.

  It was her mother’s silk robe. The material around the collar, slightly stretched, retained the shape of the hook when she removed it. It had been there since the last time her mother had worn it—that morning before church. Stillness hung around her, enhancing the sound of the hall clock’s ticking and the refrigerator’s hum. The faint sounds grew louder, echoing in her ears until another noise thundered through—a knock at the door.

  The material was cool on her skin as she slid into the robe and knotted the fabric belt at her waist. After a quick check of her reflection, she smoothed her hair and trotted to the front door. There was another knock just before she opened it.

  A man in his late seventies, short and pudgy, with a poof of white hair atop his head, stood before her. He wore a red and blue flannel shirt haphazardly tucked into faded jeans. One hand held a white sack and the other an insulated travel mug.

  “Ah, I see you got in okay. Thought you might be hungry and not have any breakfast, what with the power out and all. Is it on yet?” He poked his head through the door. “No bags?”

  “You must be Simon,” she said with a warm smile. She remembered the throaty rattle in his voice from their phone conversation a few days earlier. “Thank you. Please, come in. No bags yet. I’ll pick them up later at the train station.”

  She was about to motion for him to join her in the dining room, but he had already set the items on the table and dropped into a chair.

  “Can’t stand long on account of my bad back, you know,” he said. “I can get your bags for you later, if you want. Here—” He pushed the items across the table. “A doughnut and orange juice. Didn’t know if you were a coffee drinker and figured most everybody likes juice. Took a minute to choose apple or orange, though.”

  “Orange is fine. Thank you again,” she said, smiling again as she sat across from him. “I’ve never tried coffee to know if I like it or not.”

  As he watched her stream liquid from the mug, his eyes lifted from her hands to her face. The intensity in his gaze prickled her skin. She gently cleared her throat. He lowered his gaze.

  “You’re much bigger than the last time I seen you. You grew up into a real pretty young lady.” He offered a sad smile. “Sorry ‘bout your folks, you know. Bet this place is happy to have you home.”

  Her eyes stung as she sipped the orange juice and looked away. She forced a smile and met his gaze. “It’s good to be home. Everything looks wonderful. You’ve taken very good care of it.”

  Following a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, she tapped her fingers lightly against the plastic mug, trying to think of a something to say. He nudged the unopened sack.

  “Well? Aren’t you hungry? Eat up, eat up!” He waited until she bit into the doughnut before glancing around the room with pride. “Yeah, I cleaned this place top to bottom and washed just ‘bout everything here. Sorry ‘bout the power thing, you know. You’ll probably want to wait ‘til tomorrow to use the fridge. Other than that, everything should be just ‘bout perfect. You stayin’ long?”

  She nodded and finished another bite before answering. “I’m here for good. I’m looking forward to getting back into the community and picking up my father’s charity work while I look for a job.”

  “Job?” Simon clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times while surveying the kitchen. “Hmm-hmm. You’ll want to update the appliances then. They’re probably as old as you and haven’t been used in half as long at least.” He slapped his hands on the table. “So, do you have your luggage tags or ticket stub, locker key, whatever, so I can gather your bags?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I need to go into town anyway and can take care of it then. I, uh, wanted to go before I settled in.”

  She had not left her bags behind by choice. With only enough money left from her trip’s allotment for a small lunch, she couldn’t rent a car to retrieve them until she met with her father’s partner about her inheritance.

  Butterflies tickled her stomach. She tore off a chunk of doughnut and shoved it into her mouth, aware of Simon watching her, but too absorbed in thought to care. She questioned if she possessed the strength to face that man when the prospect alone made her want to run back to Kansas. “Why can’t I just...”

  She wasn’t aware she had whispered aloud until Simon said, “Well, I know you don’t have a car, but I can give you a ride at least. I can wait or come back later.” He crumpled the bag as she took the final bite.

  Shaking her head as she swallowed, she smiled and tossed her hands dismissively. “Thank you for the offer, but I’d like to walk and take in the scenery.” She finished her juice. “Thanks again for breakfast. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better host.”

  “You been gone a long time and I can’t say I wouldn’t have a lot to think about neither, if I was in your shoes.” He sighed. “But, figured you’d need something to eat, seeing there’s no food here, so thought I’d pop by. You sure you don’t need anything else ‘fore I go?” He pressed his palms on the table and started to rise.

  “Well,” she said in a somewhat reluctant manner. “There is one thing. Do you remember Dad’s partner, Eric?”

  “Yep, he’s my boss. Still runs the firm downtown. Should be there today—if you need to see him,” he replied nonchalantly, facing away from her as he struggled out of the chair.

  “Oh...” Her eyes followed her voice as it trailed into the table. “Of course.” She bit her lower lip and glanced up at the old man. “So, he knows I’m back then?”

  “Actually, haven’t seen him since you called, sorry. He and I just kind of go about our business, if you know what I mean. If you need anything, my number’s by the phone.” Pointing to a sheet of paper on the sideboard with one hand, he grabbed the travel mug with the other. Then he shuffled to the door and paused with his hand on the knob. He turned at the waist, peering over his shoulder without looking at her. “You know—you look an awful lot like your mother. I swear... ain’t that something? It’s been nice seein’ you again.”

  She approached him with a smile, cupping her hands in front of her chest. “Thank you. You, too. I’m sorry I don’t remember you from before.”

  He shrugged. “You was a little one back then.”

  “Still, thanks for everything you’ve done. It really does look great.”

  He nodded and let himself out. She followed and leaned against the doorjamb to watch him hobble down the path. Her stomach sank.

  Soon she would face the man who had cast her aside. The man who had sent her to grieve among strangers when he left her with an uncle her father had never mentioned. The man who had broken his vow—his promise to be with her always—but perhaps she had been a foolish young girl to believe such a thing in the first place.

  III

  After a hot shower, she found herself standing outside the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, tempting her with yet another glimpse into the past. She yearned to enter and select one of her mother’s dresses to wear, but another part of her hoped that Simon had boxed this room up and sent it off for storage, leaving behind nothing more than remnants of once happy lives.

  She curled her fingers over the door’s edge and stared ahead at the grain of the wood, imagining ghostly sheets draping the bed and furniture, and cobwebs cascading from the canopy to the floor and hugging the corners with thick, sticky funnels. But she knew better. The cottage and each item in it had been stuck in time, and their room would be no different. Her parents’ clothes still hung in their closet just as her mother’s robe had remained on that hook.

  Entering would only stir up dusty me
mories that needed to wait. She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the door and tightened her grip. “Just get through the morning. That’s all you need to do.”

  With some effort, she returned to the living room to slip on her dress and sandals, her pulse ringing in her ears.

  When she reached for the front door’s handle, the room teetered and tilted. It was really going to happen. She was going to see him after all these years. Swallowing hard and taking a big breath, she opened the door and stepped outside.

  The sun hugged her like someone embracing an old friend. She didn’t feel its warmth, though. Nor did she appreciate the cluster of small, woodland critters tagging along down the flagstone. Her thoughts swept her far away as she strolled past the carriage house, an old stable turned garage left over from the days when the Sunset Grove Parish stood in the clearing instead of the cottage. She didn’t notice that the animals began to fall back when she approached the main road or that she emerged from the forest’s shadow all alone.

  She had been similarly absent during the sixteen-hour train ride. She’d known nothing of an inheritance until her custodian had asked if she wanted to go home. That meant finally seeing him again, and the prospect of doing so on her own had almost kept her in Kansas.

  She drifted into town, paying no attention as trees gave way to houses and houses became businesses. Without even realizing it, she walked up one bustling street after another until she stopped in front of a window with large, block-lettered names on it.

  “Law Offices of Hawthorne, Ravenscroft, Dugao, and Daley,” she read quietly. The two new names offered a much-needed distraction, and seeing the Hawthorne name on the glass was a welcome relief. Her father and Eric had practiced in this building together for years, starting long before she was born.