“It’s nice and bright out for sure…but the sky was red earlier this morning.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Don’t tell me you never heard tell of the sailor’s saying: ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight, red sky at morning, sailors take warning?’”
Sam hardly grew up with rural wit. Mama and Daddy’s conversations usually involved shouting and foul language. “No, I never heard that one before.”
Sadie glanced toward the window. “Never seen it fail.” She reached under the counter and handed Sam an umbrella. “I’d feel better if you had this on you.”
“Thanks.” If only Mama had been a little like Sadie.
Sam headed north, passing store fronts of every description, and a very old church, apparently still in use, since the sign read: This Sunday’s Message: Holiness is not a way of life, but a state of mind. If she were still here, this might be an interesting church to attend Sunday. Maybe it was time to get back into the church habit.
She counted four boutiques among the novelty shops, bakeries, and used bookstores.
A few people meandered up and down the cobblestone road, and once every few minutes, a car sailed through. A van slowed when it neared Sam, crept alongside for a few minutes, then sped up and disappeared at the intersection. Odd. Probably a town person curious what a tourist was gawking at so early in the morning.
When Sam reached the end of downtown Haven, she caught the shadow of a gothic mansion, featuring gables on all visible sides, wings jutting from a main section. With her knowledge of architecture as scant as her knowledge of art, she could only describe it as a conglomeration of styles ranging from castle, fortress, to towers, as if sections were added on over the years, a mishmash of construction. And yet, in all its uneven presence, it stood proud, tall, and beautiful, a sentinel, its abutments like angel’s wings, hovering over the town.
This must be the famed Dawn’s Hope, the Gladstone residence. If she had an appointment with Haven’s royalty, she should go prepared, do a little preemptive research. She crossed the street and checked the library’s hours of operation, then headed back towards the Lighthouse.
Cinnamon aromas grabbed her senses. She shouldn’t be hungry after Sadie’s enormous breakfast, but she’d never been able to resist cinnamon, cinnamon anything, muffin, donut, bread, or tea. So what if she gained a few pounds while on vacation. Everyone said she was too thin, and her size two dresses had been hanging on her frame. She ducked into Well’s Bakery, pulled out her soggy twenty-dollar bill, glad it hadn’t disintegrated, and bought a cinnamon muffin, devouring it in four bites.
She walked the cobblestone sidewalk past the Lighthouse, past the bridge, to the south end of Main Street, where a sign pointed toward a small parking area to the right, room for ten cars. A narrow road, marked Emmanuel Lane, veered from the main drag up the mountain. At the north and south ends of Main Street, civilization stopped—not a single shop or house, an endless tarmac to nothingness except that eerie mansion.
Droplets pinged at her head. She opened the umbrella Sadie had given her and retreated to the Lighthouse where Zack waited on the stoop. “Ready? I saw you walking, but you looked pretty intense so I thought I’d stay here until you came back.”
She hopped onto the runner and climbed into the cab. With any luck, she’d have some sort of independent transportation within the hour. More than likely, this would be her last ride in Zack’s red truck. She liked Zack, she didn’t like trucks. Daddy had driven a truck, a big black one.
As she clicked her seatbelt, her gaze caught Zack’s unsettling smile, one that spiked a desire to flirt, a smile that splintered her resistance towards romance. She shook off the want, a risk she could not afford right now, not while Harlan Styles still had a chance at freedom. Yet, she couldn’t shake off the wonder…what if she permitted the interest in Zack, let whatever feelings birthed between them take root? What was the harm in a little fling, if such a thing existed? Whatever it was wouldn’t survive her return to Manhattan, where courtrooms and law books suffocated any burgeoning relationship. A little fling might prove to be fun, like a shipboard love affair, Zack a safe bet.
She chided herself for her premature thoughts. Zack might very well have a girlfriend, and besides, it had been so long, she couldn’t remember how to flirt. Instead, she offered an unsure smile.
He hit back with a wider, eye-popping grin, and something like an electric bolt shot through her. Not even Johnny Miller made her feel heat the whole four years they went out. They’d agreed to be boyfriend and girlfriend through high school, to avoid the whole clumsy mess of dating. Until this tingle, she’d thought love was a convenience, not a discovery.
Why did Zack have to be so irresistible, like cinnamon? With his movie-star smile coupled with sincerity, Zack had to be the most sought-after bachelor in town. Sam pictured a line of airheads waiting for a Zack smile. Mama’s warning rang in Sam’s ears. “Handsome men are dangerous, Sam.” Daddy was handsome; handsome and kind didn’t often go together, though they seemed to in Zack.
He didn’t push for conversation, a trait Sam admired. Justine would get paranoid if Sam didn’t fill up the room with chit-chat when they were together. Chit-chat didn’t mean people liked each other. In Samantha Knowles’s Book of Friendship, mutual quiet meant respect, a comfort in each other’s company.
Maybe she should say something, in case Zack didn’t like quiet, but was too polite to drill her with a lot of nosy questions. “Thanks for the lift.”
“My pleasure. Find anything interesting on your walk?”
“I saw a house—more like a mansion—beautifully grotesque—up there on that mountain.”
“Dawn’s Hope. The Gladstone estate.”
Should she tell Zack she had agreed to meet the nefarious Gladstone tomorrow morning? No. She’d keep that to herself for the moment—unless she needed a ride. “I hope I didn’t intrude into your day off too much.”
“Not really. I was supposed to go to baseball practice later. But I expect it’ll be cancelled due to rain.”
“You play baseball?”
“Not on a regular basis. A few of the teachers and firemen formed a team to compete in the charity tournament during Haven’s Spring Fling next month.”
“Spring Fling?”
Zack’s face glowed like Abe when he took a bite of Bob’s prime rib—prideful, as if he himself had cooked it. “It’s the name we give our Founder’s Day, the biggest day in Haven. Wish you could be here for it. There’s a parade, carnival, and fireworks courtesy of the Gladstone estate. Say, maybe you’d come back for it? I’ll make sure you have a good time, if you do.”
The burn in Zack’s boyish blush warmed her, prodded her to move a little closer to him.
“Sam, I hope I’m not out of line asking this.”
“Ask me anything you want, but I reserve the right to refuse to answer.”
“Fair enough. Now, I know you’re not married because the police checked out next of kin at the accident, but I wondered if…well…if there was a special person—”
“No, Zack. I’m totally unattached.”
He grinned.
“And I plan on keeping it that way.”
Zack’s face reddened—she’d either embarrassed him, or hurt his feelings. He might’ve been getting up the nerve to ask her on a date, and she’d trounced on his opportunity with as much consideration as squashing a cockroach. She regretted her action, even if it was for the best. Forget the idea she could manage a small town romance, then brush it off when she returned to the city. It had taken her two years to get over Johnny Miller, even though she agreed breaking up was the sensible thing. “It’s too hard to keep a relationship going if we’re attending different colleges,” Johnny said. “We should be free to see other people, don’t you think?” Johnny Miller had wasted no time in seeing other people, and he married during his junior year.
Zack moved his jaw back and forth. “I understand. You’re not looking for a b
oyfriend. We can still be friends, can’t we? Maybe I could come to the city once in awhile, and you could show me around?”
“I’d like that, but my job keeps me so busy, I don’t have time to develop relationships outside of work.”
He stared straight ahead. “I see.”
Could she rescue this moment without hurting Zack any more? “How about you? I take it from your question you’re not exclusively involved with anyone.”
“I dated a girl I met in college…off and on. A few years ago, I convinced her to move to Haven to take a teaching job. We were engaged. She up and left, and broke off our engagement in the process. Seems Haven wasn’t exciting enough for her. Can’t say I blame her. Not a lot happens here, and it’s probably the reason why everyone can’t stop talking about your moose incident.”
“Incident?”
He smiled. “The feature article for the next edition of The Haven Gazette.”
Justine believed there was a man for every woman, and did her best to help Sam find hers, fixing her up on dates, crazy dates—the stuff of comedies, and the reason Sam believed she should die a spinster, as Great Aunt Susie predicted: “It’s a good thing you’ve got your own money, Sam. You’re pretty, but not pretty enough to land a man worth any substance. You’d be better off never to get married, die an old maid, like me.” Between those crazy dates and now, being the lead article in a newspaper, Sam was sure Aunt Sadie was right.
The rain abated, but black roving clouds promised another downpour soon. Zack pulled onto a side street, made a few more lefts and rights and then parked in the dirt driveway of an old barn on the other side of Haven’s mountain. “We’re here.”
The sign said Josiah’s Towing and Salvage. You break ’em. We fix ’em. If reports were right, though, Lucille was a lost cause.
A short, dark-complexioned man with flaming red hair, four shades brighter than Sam’s, approached and shook hands with Zack. She tried hard not to stare at the comical contradictions in his appearance.
“Morning, Zack. Nice of you to give Miss Knowles a lift.” He offered Sam a handshake. “I’m Josiah McIntosh.”
She accepted the handshake, but still couldn’t drag her eyes away from Josiah’s crop of curly, clownish hair. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I apologize.”
“No apology necessary. Most people react the same way when they first see me.” He grunted a minute laugh. “I managed to pry open the trunk. Your pilot case, as well as your laptop, is in my office for safekeeping.”
“Can I see her…Lucille? I know it’s silly, but I’d like to say goodbye.”
Josiah smiled compassionately, as if he understood the special attachment some people developed to their cars. “Of course. Follow me.” He led the way past his barn through an orchard of mangled cars, Lucille’s final resting place, a graveyard in exchange for her spare parts or as scrap metal.
Zack held Sam’s arm, guiding her as if fording a river. Josiah had a big enough lead, and Sam’s curiosity got ahead of her manners. “What gives with his red hair?”
“Josiah’s a descendent of Patrick McIntosh, an early settler of Washington County, a former plantation owner who freed his slaves, married his housekeeper against the scorn of his family and friends, and made a new life in the Adirondacks—a close friend of Lord Gladstone, actually. Josiah is president of the Haven Historical Society.”
Josiah stopped. “Don’t think I can’t hear you. Zack got it mostly right. He worked as a tour guide at the town museum during the summers. His father and I taught him everything he knows about Haven’s history.”
Sam buzzed with discovery, so much she could learn from a place, until two days ago, she’d never heard of.
“My story isn’t so unusual, lots of interesting folks in these mountains, Miss Knowles. As for my freakish hair, I like to think I’m a symbol of the American Melting Pot. Like the best Columbian brews, I’m an exotic cultural blend.”
Sam laughed. She liked the odd-looking man, about the same age as Haven’s justice of the peace, yet still putting in a day’s labor, and probably had no time to fish like Aaron. As town historian, Josiah might be able to give Sam a bit of a history lesson on the Gladstones. “Zack mentioned your ancestor was a friend of Lord Gladstone. Would that be Jonathan Gladstone’s ancestor?”
Josiah stopped and turned. “Yes, it would be. Now that Jonathan’s a story. Sad, really.”
“Why’s that?”
“Jonathan’s the last of Lord Gladstone’s heirs. Rumor is he has a hankering to go to Paris if he can figure out a way to shed responsibility for Dawn’s Hope.”
“Really?”
Josiah pointed toward the hinder portions of the Gladstone mansion. “See that house up yonder? That’s the second house on Dawn’s Hope, built by Henry Gladstone about 1825. The first house burnt down soon after The War of 1812.”
Finally, some history Sam remembered. “The British?”
“More likely it was an act of revenge. Folks in Haven didn’t cotton much to Henry, though the mills he built brought prosperity to the town and also made him wealthier and more powerful than his father or grandfather. Legend has it tragedy’s followed the Gladstone clan ever since.” He shook his head with sympathetic resignation.
Josiah stopped in front of an unrecognizable heap of metal. “As you can see, Miss Knowles, your Lucille has passed on to the Great Parking Lot in the Sky.”
Sam sobbed…the first real cry since…since she could remember. The heavens opened, sharing Sam’s grief.
****
Zack covered Sam’s head with his jacket. “Here. This might help a little. We should find shelter.”
She shoved the jacket back toward him. “I won’t melt, Zack. I might be a little emotional over Lucille, but I’m hardly a delicate flower that’ll bend with a little rain. Lucille has been like a friend. I bought her my senior year of high school…oh…my keys. Do you have them, Josiah?”
“Right here in my pocket. I brought them in case you wanted to look inside.” He unlocked the doors then threw her the keys. “Makes no sense keeping a dead car locked, anyway, so you might as well keep ’em.”
“My life in keys,” Sam said, as she plunked them into her purse, her words cracked with sorrow. She peered inside as one would view a dead loved one at a wake. “Bye, old girl. I’ll never forget you.”
More tears.
Zack squeezed her hand, and this time Sam let him hold it. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sam.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m being silly. She is just a car, a hunk of metal, and I should learn to accept that.” She heaved a sigh that seemed to come from her toes. “There. I’m done with grief. You’re getting soaked with rain.”
Josiah pointed towards his garage. “Follow me. We’ll talk turkey where it’s dry.”
Once inside he listed Sam’s options…encouraging her toward buying a car from him. “I’ve got a used Focus, loaded.”
“Loaded? Now Josiah McIntosh, I’m sure you figured out that I know blip about cars. What do you think, Zack?”
Finally, he felt useful, and his cheeks warmed that Sam actually looked to him for help. He felt an inch taller, bursting with pride. “I’ve seen the car, Sam. It’s a good deal.”
“Well, then, if Zack recommends it, that’s good enough for me.” She looked right at him with those little-girl eyes, but spoke to Josiah. “I trust Zack. Aaron trusts you. I think we can do business.”
Zack leaned in towards Josiah. “What will you give Sam for Lucille’s salvage?”
He scratched his head. “A hundred is the best I can do on a car that old. Now Sam can—”
“Hey, you two. Quit skirting around me like I’m an old lady. Talk to me, Josiah. I appreciate Zack’s expertise, but I’m the one who’s paying.”
Josiah scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. “As I started to say, I can give you a daily rental rate or we can deduct the salvage and you can purchase the Focus outright. Did you have collision insurance
?”
“No. Standard liability is all. Look, I need a vehicle. I can pay cash for it, but I’m afraid my bank cards are useless. The numbers are unreadable, and I left my checkbook in Manhattan. I could write you a cashier’s check, I suppose. What do you think, Zack?”
Now she wanted his opinion again. He looked at the whole of her, her neediness and refusal to admit it, her shape—thin, but meat on all the right places, smart, too. Absolutely, a few slips and slides would be worth having her on his arm. He’d have to learn to keep better balance.
Josiah was the trusting sort, would probably let her drive it away and wire him the money from Manhattan. But, if she found that out, Sam might leave tomorrow, not bother to wait for her court date. Zack needed a little more time to get her on his good side; and if that smile was a clue, there was a start of something between them, even if he’d stepped knee deep into her moat of resistance.
“It’s a good car, Sam. That’s all the advice I’ll give you. If you want it, go for it.”
“Thanks Zack. I appreciate your help and advice. I can take it from here. I don’t want to keep you from your baseball practice, or if it’s cancelled, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than hang around while Josiah and I conduct business.”
Sam’s tone was undeniable—dismissed like a valet. He’d thought there’d been a spark of something between them, as much as a city gal would loosen up to a backwoods local like Zack Bordeaux. He’d hoped to follow her into town and spend a few hours showing her around Haven, the real Haven—the Haven he’d grown up in and loved, not the tourist block on Main Street. Instead, she pushed him aside like his jacket. Samantha Knowles could take care of herself. He should take the hint and forget about her. He should, but he couldn’t. Might as well jump in with both feet, right up to his neck. “Will I see you later, Sam? At Sadie’s? I usually have dinner there.”
She cast her glance downward. “I suppose I’ll see you, then.”
The Other Side of Darkness Page 7