Beyond the Storm (9780758276995)

by Pittman, Joseph

  Because he’d left one secret behind, still to be discovered.

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 10

  NOW

  Vanessa Massey’s eyes flickered open, hesitantly at first, then open wide and filled with questions. About her location and about what had happened, neither of which she gave voice to, bothered by the persistent chill that had seeped into her bones and still held tight to her body. A cool wetness was draped against her forehead, a single drop sliding into her eye, like shedding a tear in reverse. As it hit her eyelid, she blinked and then she stirred, fully came to, and then, at last, she spoke.

  “What happened . . . where am I?” She paused, light finding her, as though she had realized her situation. “Adam . . . are you here?”

  A soothing voice settled over her.

  “Yeah, I’m right by your side, Vanessa. I only left you for a brief moment to run down and get a cold washcloth from the bathroom.” He’d placed the cool, damp cloth on her feverish forehead, and now it peeled off and dropped to the wood floor of the cupola as she sat up. He paused, staring at her, watching as the light of life came back into her eyes, those green irises widening as he came into focus. Her wandering gaze indicated she was unsure where she was.

  “Still at the farmhouse, it’s only been a few minutes since you went blank on me.”

  “I passed out?”

  “Fainted dead away,” he said. “But I think you’re going to be fine. I don’t think you’ll have any lingering damage, your head barely hit the floor. I caught you just in time.”

  “Just the idea of that sounds like it could have hurt. How long was I out?”

  “Like I said, just a few minutes.”

  “A few?”

  “Maybe five. Really, that’s all.”

  “I don’t understand what happened. Why would I faint? I’m not a fainter by nature, nor am I some retiring type from the Victorian era. I’ve always been strong.”

  “Yes, you can handle anything.”

  He had no idea. She knew he soon would.

  “So why this time?”

  “Something took you by surprise. I saw your eyes roll up inside your head just before you went for a header.”

  “Pretty picture. But really . . . something? Thanks, Adam. That’s very specific.”

  He let out a short bark of a laugh that echoed down the open stairs. “At least you haven’t lost your biting sense of humor,” he said. “We went upstairs to the cupola, I wanted to show you the stars. Do you remember discovering the letters inside the trunk, the name written on them?”

  She nodded. “Venture.”

  “I said her name, and next thing you know . . . you were lights-out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Probably coincidence, that’s all, you were already a bit light-headed. Your fainting spell had more to do with the heat up here in the cupola. Windows closed, no fresh air. What I think you most need is some food . . . nourishment. Who knows when last you ate, you’ve been flying for a day, then you barely ate anything earlier. Not that I blame you, the soup and sausages were hardly appetizing. Let’s get you downstairs, maybe open the front door and get some breeze circulating in this house. Between the accident, the humidity outside, and the mustiness of this old cupola, the lack of solid food, maybe the effects of the wine too, and the, uh, energy we expended, it all created a perfect storm and out you went.”

  “Don’t say storm,” she said.

  He nodded, agreeing with her there. “Sorry, poor choice of word on my part. Come on, let’s see if we can get you back on your feet.”

  Her knees a bit wobbly, she happily accepted help from the stalwart, steadying force that Adam represented. He took hold of her arms and practically lifted her up. Holding on to him with one arm, her other grabbing at the railing, she eased down the first step, then a second. Immediately she felt a rush of cool air swirling up the staircase that helped clear the cobwebs from her mind. Still, before leaving the cupola she stole a look back at the old trunk, still open, the stack of envelopes piled about. He’d jokingly spoken of having a connection between them, and then they had gone and opened the trunk and discovered all those unread letters. Was there a link? How did it all connect, and why should it? She guessed that neither of them had any answers.

  “Once we get you settled, I’ll reheat what’s left of the soup and this time you’ll eat it,” Adam said as they made their way to the hallway on the second floor.

  Vanessa shuddered at the memory of the makeshift meal she’d prepared. “Condensed soup made without milk? I think I deliberately knocked it over.”

  “The sausages?”

  She looked suddenly green. “Even as I opened the tin I knew I wouldn’t eat one. Am I too grown-up to say ick?”

  “Just don’t faint on me again.”

  Still, Adam had to agree with her about their meal, cold soup and greasy sausages were not exactly a gourmet’s delight. The kitchen cabinets, though, had been as bare as the rest of the house, offering few options. He thought about the reunion surely taking place now, mere miles from them in the auditorium of Danton Hill High. Drinks were being served along with hugs between people who hadn’t seen each other in five, ten, perhaps twenty years, hungry former classmates chatting jovially as they piled their plates high with meats and salads, fresh local corn. Sounded nice; stomachs grumbled. His mouth watered over rich, fragrant, but imaginary smells. Vanessa’s voice broke him from his brief reverie.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Honestly? The reunion.”

  “There was salmon on the menu,” Vanessa said.

  “Salmon . . . from Danton Hill? That famous Great Lakes Salmon?”

  “Okay, I doubt the fish is the freshest . . . still, I’m so hungry I could eat anything . . . except soup and sausages. What else was in the cupboards, I can’t remember.”

  “Not much.”

  Just then, inspiration struck Adam, the proverbial lightbulb going off over his head.

  “Corn.”

  “Corn, in the cupboards? I repeated: ick. I hate canned vegetables. Adam, my stomach is growling, my mind is numb, and my body is feeling that deep-in-the-bone chill again.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Think about it, Vanessa, there’s fresh food right under our noses, literally—directly outside, in the fields that surround the farmhouse. How come we didn’t think of it before? We were only trapped in the midst of all those stalks this afternoon.”

  “The cornfields, Adam! My gosh, right from the stalk . . . fresh and sweet and juicy . . . my mouth is already watering at the very thought . . . and the corn is at its peak in August. It will be perfect.” She brightened, color returning to her cheeks. “I think I’m coming to.”

  “You do look a little better, the outside air might be just what you need,” Adam said.

  “Or a little exercise,” she replied.

  “Huh?”

  Vanessa picked up their pace as she neared the bottom steps, and suddenly she was off, racing through the house, not unlike before they had made love, when something had spooked her and she’d run from the house. This time her mood was bright, her energy pulsing.

  “Hey, wait . . . take it easy . . .”

  So much for the fainting spell.

  An impromptu race was on, the two of them charging through the kitchen and out the back door, nearly leaping onto rain-soaked ground and splashing their way through grassy pools far from the house and the road. Vanessa leading the charge, they journeyed into the towering, silk-topped stalks that grew from the edge of the yard. As the cooling night air prickled at their skin, they waded their way into two parallel rows of stalks, each of them picking out several ears still encased in their thick husks. Peeling away the soft silk and rough-hewn stalk, the exposed kernels were a mix of yellow and white. Vanessa dug a fingernail into the sweet meat, producing a bubble of juice. She brought it to her lips and closed her eyes as sweetness enveloped her. As they sought out the perfect ears,
they paid little attention to the fact that their legs were once again splattered with mud.

  Like pirates on the high seas finding a long-sought treasure, they laughed and shouted out in surprise. Gathering husks of corn into their arms, Adam at one point leaned through the stalks and planted an appealingly sloppy kiss on Vanessa’s lips. She giggled like a young girl before running through the tall rows. He chased after her, dropping ears with each unsteady step. At last he caught up to her, tossing the freshly picked ears into the air to free his hands for a near tackle, grabbing her as she threatened to lose her footing. After her fainting spell, he didn’t need to risk injury to her. Still laughing, she greedily accepted his kisses, his touch, as if this intimate exchange was the very nourishment her body had been craving. For a second it felt like the rain had returned, only to realize they were being showered by droplets that clung still to the giant stalks, released to the air by their happy tussle.

  “I think our isolation is turning us crazy,” she said.

  Smiling at her, he said, “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “What, isolated or crazy?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I like not feeling like part of the world. Solitude for two.”

  She paused, gazing into his eyes. They held the moment.

  Finally they returned to the here and now, noticing the ears of corn they picked were now lying muddied on the ground and in need of a good wash. They laughed at the sight of not just the corn but of their happy selves, never imagining that their return to the Danton Hill area would have brought about such surprises. That the simple task of picking corn would turn the heat up between them, sweeping away the cool air with a pleasant warm front and plenty of sweat-inducing humidity. Neither paid the world around them any attention, they just kissed and touched and touched again and kissed, right there in the middle of the cornfield, with no care other than the hunger they needed to feed.

  A distant, howling sound caught their attention, forcing them to break their embrace. A dog or a wolf, whatever creature lived out there, was angry at having its home disturbed. It was the first sign of life they’d encountered since the accident.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, pulling away, looking deep into the cornstalks.

  “Uh, yeah, well said.”

  “Shall we take this back inside?”

  “The corn, yes.”

  “Not just that . . .” Adam said, then the second those words had escaped his lips he knew he’d spoken the wrong thing. Even the wolf-like thing howled again, like it knew the mistake he’d made. Don’t push things, all that had happened so far had grown organically. What they had reacted to was a spontaneous burst of passion, with neither of them giving thought beyond what each was feeling. Speaking words, and as such giving credence and voice to the passion exploding between them, only served to put an end to their emotions. Like raindrops drowning their sizzle.

  “Okay, I know, sorry to push you . . .”

  She put a lone finger to his lips. “No, you have nothing to be sorry about. Look, Adam, I can’t tell you what an amazing time I’m having, with you . . . us, here at some lone house that no one seems to live in, but that still has managed to clothe us and comfort us and . . . well, nearly feed us. This is a far better reunion than I could have possibly imagined, not when I got the invitation, not on the plane when the pilot suddenly announced we’d begun our descent into the New York area. I hadn’t been back to the States for some years, and the apprehension I felt nearly paralyzed my heart. But the truth of the matter is, and I don’t think you’ll deny it, something odd is going on here—something bigger than both of us. It’s almost like we’re both supposed to be here, just the two of us. It’s like the play . . .”

  “No Exit.”

  “Sartre, right, all that existentialism. We’re trapped, with no chance of escape. I mean, look at what happened to us in the cupola, what we discovered.”

  “You think those letters are a clue?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I’m curious to know all about those letters, but right now something bigger demands our attention.” She hesitated, searching for additional words, hoping they would help explain her feelings. “Before we look at those letters, though, we have unfinished business between us, and if I’m ever to give myself to you again—honestly and truthfully and with no barrier built up between us—then I need to tell you my tale. Like you told yours, I think it’s my turn. Will you allow me that chance? Will you listen?”

  “That’s all I’ve been waiting for,” he said, “but I wasn’t going to push it. Look, Vanessa, I know something happened to you, either when you first left Danton Hill after high school or once you arrived in Europe, and whether it was good or bad is not important. I can tell that it changed your life forever, like today . . . is changing us. What happened altered your perspective, perhaps even your soul. It took from you, from your family and friends, that popular girl from high school who gave no thought to climbing to the top of the cheerleader pyramid. Like climbing atop the world, you feared nothing. Suddenly you became someone who questions all she does and beats herself up afterward for not being stronger. Am I close?”

  “I believe it’s called a sea change,” she said.

  “The sea. Water, again. We’re close.”

  She could smell the brine of the lake wafting through the air. Almost like the house was built upon this hill for just such a reason, to feel the daily currents of water-soaked wind. “Way too close.”

  “Come on, let’s get back to the house and get ourselves cleaned up, and then we’ll cook up some of this corn. I doubt there’s butter in the fridge, but if not, there’s got to be salt. Put some flavor on our tongues, get some substance in our bellies. And then, my dear Vanessa, the floor is yours. Just as you gave me space to tell my story, I won’t talk, I won’t react. I’ll just listen. And I certainly won’t judge. Sound like a deal?”

  She hesitated a moment, staring down at the ears of corn at their feet.

  “What, is something else the matter?”

  “Adam, I have a confession to make.”

  “Okay . . .” he said, hesitantly.

  “I’m a terrible cook.”

  Having feared the worst, Adam felt relief wash over him as he let out a laugh that rivaled the wail of whatever creature had howled them back into reality. He assured her he would boil the corn and maybe find something more in the kitchen to satisfy their cravings. If she really didn’t know her way around the kitchen, perhaps she’d missed some tasty morsel earlier. Maybe even another bottle of wine was hidden in a bottom cabinet just waiting to be uncorked. Like the past, it would provide a velvety comfort. She admitted that the latter would be a great find.

  “I’m on the case.”

  As they headed through the soaked yard back toward the rear porch, Adam’s foot tripped on an upturned root. He fell to the ground, crying out with sudden pain.

  “Is it your ankle?”

  “No, no . . . I bumped my head against something. Something hard.”

  Vanessa reached down to help him up. As he righted himself on the ground, he touched the wound on his forehead he’d incurred during the accident. He still felt the sharp piece of glass imbedded beneath the open skin beneath his hairline. He hadn’t reopened the wound, thankfully, as no fresh blood dripped. Just a sharp pain had wafted through his system, no doubt from the impact of his head hitting hard against the stone.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just, what was that I hit?”

  He looked, and Vanessa looked, and what they saw was unmistakable.

  “Oh my God,” he said.

  What revealed itself to them in the glow of the moonlight and in the high grass was a lone grave marker. Jutting out of the ground was a thick granite stone, a simple inscription chiseled onto its hard façade. With the aid of the freshly emerging silver moon’s glow, they were able to make out the letters. Each of them read the epitaph silently, their minds giving quiet reverence to their discovery. Wh
at they saw was this:

  AIDAN BARTON

  Death is just the beginning.

  August 19th

  Finally, the wind quieted down and the silence was all the more apparent.

  Vanessa was the first to speak. “Adam, look at the date . . . it’s today.”

  “More than fifty years ago . . . but you’re right, August nineteenth. That’s kind of creepy. And an odd coincidence.” Adam paused. “If you believe in such things.”

  “I think you do,” Vanessa answered. “All your talk of fate, and it lands us here.”

  “The fact of the grave’s existence still doesn’t answer who lives here now. Aidan Barton died long ago, the house could have changed hands countless times.”

  “And yet his grave remains.”

  “What a curious epitaph—‘death is just the beginning’?” Adam said, his mind turning over meanings for such an enigmatic phrase, like it was offering up hope of tomorrow. “He must have loved this house or Danton Hill itself to have asked to be buried here. Do you think he’s the guy who wrote all those letters? That woman . . . whom he called Venture, she must have been the love of his life, but I don’t see a grave for her. He lies here, alone.”

  “What I think is I want to go inside now,” Vanessa said, again wrapping her arms around her for needed warmth. Or perhaps, she thought, for protection. Adam watched as she stared down at the stone, wiping a single tear from her mud-stained cheek. “To think he’s all alone here, how sad. I’m glad that on the anniversary of his death someone is here to remember him. Thank you, Mr. Barton,” she said, “for giving us shelter. We’ll take good care of your home.”

  Adam smiled at her, reaching out to clasp his hand in hers. “Come on, let’s get you some food. I think you’ll feel better after we eat. You shower again, I’ll cook. And then maybe we’ll go see what our Aidan Barton wrote about in all those letters.”

  “Aidan Barton, how strange,” Vanessa said, testing the name out on her tongue, feeling a sense of the familiar. “Adam Blackburn. Do you realize the two of you share the same initials?”