“On some level—maybe.”
He resumed his pace, then stopped by the main stairwell lined with portraits she assumed were his ancestors. Judging from the clothing and hair styles, they appeared to be ordered by ascension, the first a wigged man, fortyish, dressed in a blue, ornately buttoned coat, reminiscent of the late eighteenth century, with coconut eyes like Jonathan’s. “That’s Emmanuel. I recognize the face from the portrait at the library.”
“Yes.”
“I’m curious. Why did King George give him so much property? He wasn’t even a general, a low-ranking lieutenant.”
“A long story. In a nutshell, Emmanuel saved the life of the king’s distant relative, and so George rewarded him with a title and land. The land tract is verifiable, but as for the heroic deed, that’s oral history, not a shred of documentation anywhere. After the war, Emmanuel resigned his commission, married Lady Victoria Woolsey, and sired nine sons and five daughters. Only three daughters and one son lived to adulthood. That son’s son started a mercantile business, a venture that brought prosperity to Haven.”
“Henry?”
“Yes.”
She studied Emmanuel’s portrait, the eyes, somber and deep, like Jonathan’s, eyes soaked with some other pain. What?
Jonathan motioned to follow into a small room to the right of the stairwell. “The family archives are stored here. If you’re interested, you can browse through them.”
Like footprints to a treasure, these tombs were the answer to the mysteries shrouding Dawn’s Hope. Was it worth staying a few more days and let Abe deal with Styles? They climbed the stairwell, and Jonathan pointed to the last portrait in the group. “Father,” he thudded.
Sam compared the eyes—Jonathan’s mournful. The other Gladstone’s were hard, fierce.
“I don’t see any of the women’s portraits.”
“This way—at the top of the stairs.” The landing opened into a spacious area twice the size of the Arlington Library meeting room. “The ballroom, my lady.” He gazed into her eyes as if looking for permission. For what? Without warning and seemingly out of character, he spun her in an impulsive twirl, and waltzed her across the room, light on his feet compared to Sam’s missteps.
Jonathan’s playfulness took the wind from her, the twirling made her dizzy. Maybe she hadn’t recovered to full strength as quickly as she thought she would.
He stopped his dance. “You look a little white, Sam. I apologize. Something came over me, a sudden urge.”
“No harm, but these sandals aren’t any better for dancing than hiking.”
He pointed to the portraits on every side of the room. “The mistresses of Dawn’s Hope.” Sam recognized Muriel Arlington’s portrait placed next to one that must have been the fashionable Lady Victoria Woolsey Gladstone. Sam followed the lineage of Gladstone women, by birth and by marriage, resting upon the ethereal Angelica, seated in front of a fireplace adorned with bouquets of hyacinths, a rosy-cheeked infant snuggled in her arms.
She’d seen artwork depicting Mary and the infant Jesus. Each one, although in varying degrees, featured a halo around Mary’s head similar to the effects highlighting Angelica’s portrait. “You painted this one.”
“Yes. I did. But how did you know?”
“The brush strokes are similar, the way you hallow the hyacinths. That’s your signature. At least the early paintings I’ve seen.”
Sam stepped back to appreciate Angelica’s perfect features, an oval face, her hair as black as midnight, eyes as blue as a cloudless day. “Beautiful is too weak a word to describe her.”
He traced the outline of her form. “Sometimes, I think she holds me here.”
“You mean like a ghost?”
“No. I’m not crazy, Sam. I don’t see her. But I feel her and there are times I think I hear her calling me, as if she wants me to go to her and Elliott. Every spring she put up dozens of hyacinth bouquets. I haven’t allowed a one in the house since she died, yet I swear I smell them in every room.” Jonathan glanced in Sam’s direction, concern in his eyes. “You’re shaking.”
“Am I?”
“Your face turned white when I mentioned the hyacinths.”
“Smell is probably one of the most powerful memory triggers, especially those we’d sooner forget. In my case, the scent brings comfort.”
“Invisible hyacinths? You, too?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I knew there was some reason I liked you.”
She intended to offer a gaze of reassurance, to verify his sanity with her insanity. Instead, her eyes held at his chapped lips. Her legs trembled and blackness fell on her. She roused at Jonathan’s gentle stroke across her cheek. “Sam, what happened?”
He must have caught her as she started to faint, brought her against his chest to keep her upright. His eyes matched the confusion in her heart, as she permitted a kiss.
No…this was wrong. She pushed lightly against his hold. She’d been impetuous to come here, to let him hold her like this, to let him kiss her. She couldn’t afford any sort of romance, not even a fling. Not now. Not with Zack, and certainly not this strange man who filled her with as much ire as he did passion.
“You…looked like you were fainting—”
“Thanks for catching me.”
Their eyes locked. “Sam—”
A distant chime. Jonathan’s gaze held fast. “That’s the doorbell. Probably Josiah.”
“Probably.”
“Should I let him in?”
“Probably.”
“Yes. I should do that.”
He sighed, turned, and headed back down the steps.
She’d done it again, guillotined a chance at something wonderful. She’d add that to her list of regrettable decisions.
21
Harlan Styles shook hands with a devil, the deal done and sealed according to Washington.
“It’s all arranged, Harlan. I met with the DA this morning to finalize everything. This deal’s been three months in the making, but it’s finally come to light.” Washington’s face glowed, as shiny as if he’d had a snort…probably did, too. Harlan heard the words, but fear gripped him. No matter what kind of sweet deal Washington cooked up, Harlan Styles was a dead man walking, in or out of prison.
“The DA’s not happy with our Miss Knowles. Not one bit. She’ll be sacked, and Abe Hilderman will be assigned to take Knowles’s place as lead prosecutor. DA doesn’t want it leaked that the city put a child abuse victim at the helm of a child murder case, so they were ready to deal to avoid a civil suit. And your testimony put the icing on the cake.”
Washington rubbed his tongue over his lips—the high that man got from turning the law in on itself. “Your hearing is tomorrow.”
Harlan shook his head. “Judge Normandy isn’t going to cooperate. You saw the way he stared me down when he read his findings. If beheadings were still done, he would’ve sent me to the chopping block right then and there.”
“Hilderman thinks he can have Normandy removed, too. Seems he made some offhand remark in front of a juror that could be misinterpreted as prejudicial. He thinks the case would then go to a judge who owes Hilderman a boatload of favors. Gotta love it when politics works on our behalf for a change.”
“Us, or for you? I don’t see my situation improving much. I’m dead.”
“I keep telling you, Harlan, Hilderman promised protection.” Washington’s lips turned upward in a hasty grin, suspiciously forced. “You should be happy, Harlan. You’re going home, like I promised.” He cleared his throat. “House arrest for a year. Better than being in here the rest of your life. Best I can do, Harlan.”
“House arrest? I don’t have a house anymore, Darnell. I got nothing left. I’ll have to depend on welfare.”
Washington clucked, a nervous chicken under a woodsman’s axe. “You could go live with your brother.”
“Reg isn’t exactly much protection, now is he? It rots, Darnell. Why won’t anyone believe I’m innocent?
”
Washington’s pleasant mask turned sour; he might as well have pointed a finger. “Because you’ve lied about too many things.”
22
Sam looked out the window. The rain had stopped and the afternoon sun peeked out behind still grayish skies. Justine’s call had been troubling, her tone muted, distant, foreboding, her enthusiasm coated with dread. Well, the truth would come out soon enough.
A faint rap and a weak, “Can I come in?”
“Yes, Leon.”
She should give him Abe’s how-dare-you-intrude look, but how could she stay angry with a man who rocked her to sleep? She melted in seconds.
“You look upset. I might not remember what I had for breakfast, but I can still tell a worried face when I see one.”
Sam smiled. “That was my friend Justine on the phone.”
“From Manhattan?”
“Yes.”
“Something wrong?”
Everything’s wrong, Leon. “No, not really. She and my boss are coming here tomorrow.”
Leon brought his hands together and lifted his shoulders, “Ooh, I’ll be so pleased to meet them.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I’ll confess. I’m nosy. I was curious about your visit with that Gladstone boy.”
Now there was a memory she’d like to throw into the forgettable half of her life. “Fine.”
“He sounds like a sad bloke. I hear things. People think I’m crazy so they aren’t very careful with what they say around me.”
“What do you hear about Jonathan?”
“Can I sit a spell?”
“Of course.” She took the Queen’s chair and pointed Leon to the bed. “So?”
Leon sat and winked. “I also hear he’s a handsome fellow.”
“I suppose. I didn’t go up there to rate his physical attributes.”
Leon chortled. “Are you going to see him again?”
“Maybe...I’m not…probably not.” There. She settled the matter in her mind. She would tell Jonathan their client/attorney relationship was over. He wanted her advice, and she had given it. Any competent attorney could represent him once he decided what he truly wanted. “Besides, I’m leaving Thursday afternoon. I need to get back to Manhattan.”
Leon’s face drooped. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. I’ll be back for Justine’s wedding.”
He turned to go. “Won’t be the same. Nobody else’s room smells so nice.”
An unaccustomed sensation swept across her stomach. Hunger? Must be the mountain air combined with the savory aromas drifting through the planks in her room that stoked an appetite, but it was too early for supper. She glanced at her watch…with any luck she could make it to the bank before it closed. “Are you up for a walk, Leon?”
“I’d like that. Where to?”
“We could meander and see where we end up.”After the bank, the next stop would be someplace where she could buy sensible shoes. “I have a business matter I need to tend to before we leave. Justine wants to get married at the church down the road. Do you know who I should talk to about that?”
“That’s Reverend Gottlieb’s church, where Sadie and Aaron attend. Mazie and I go with them sometimes, but mostly they go to Saturday night service so Aaron can fish Sunday mornings. I was raised that Sunday’s for church not for fishing, but I don’t say a word of that to Sadie and Aaron. They’ve been mighty kind to me.”
“Do you think Sadie could make a call for me?”
Leon beamed with purpose, his laugh heartier than a man of twenty.
Sam took his jutted elbow.
“Let’s ask.”
He left Sam at the bottom step, walked over and pecked Mazie on the cheek, then rejoined Sam as they walked to Sadie’s gift shop. “I always say goodbye to my girl. Even if she doesn’t know who I am.”
Sadie finished helping a customer, then Leon motioned to get her attention. She hustled towards them. “What can I do for you two, this afternoon?”
“My friend, the one who wants to get married here, is coming tomorrow—”
“Oh, yes. We had a nice long chat this morning about what she wanted for her theme, menus, everything. I’m looking forward to meeting her.” Sadie rambled on about pot roast versus roast beef and how chicken cordon bleu was preferable over orange-glazed chicken. If Sam was going to get to the bank, she had to leave soon.
“All very interesting.”
“That’s not what you wanted to know, is it, dear? I can tell by that yawn you’re trying to hide.”
“I am a little tired. Seems the least bit of exertion wears me out, and I must have walked for miles today at Dawn’s Hope. Justine wants to be married in the old church on Main Street. She looked it up on the Internet, and apparently, it’s a popular wedding chapel. Leon says that’s where you and Aaron attend.”
“Yes, lovely place for a wedding—”
“Would you be willing to call and set up an appointment for us, tomorrow, if possible?”
Sadie galloped to her counter, picked up the desk phone, and punched in a number. “No time like now. Want a thing done—do it right off, I always say. Hello, Pastor Gus—”
Sam wandered through the gift shop, sniffing the assortment of candles, settling on a pair labeled spring flowers, a hint of hyacinths and lilacs, perfect for her apartment. When Sadie disconnected, Sam brought the candles to the register.
Sadie’s face glowed with excitement. “All set, dear. Pastor Gus will meet you and Justine around 9:30 tomorrow morning. The parsonage is attached to the church, so he’ll pop in when you get there. The church is generally unlocked during the day. Is that too early for your friends?”
“They’ll be here even if they have to leave before dawn.”
Sadie wrapped the candles in tissue paper and slipped them into a green checkered gift bag labeled Sadie’s Gift Shoppe. “Nice scent,” she said. “Fills up the whole room. If you and Leon are going for a walk, do you want me to put these in your room for you?”
If the whole Earth were filled with people like Sadie, there’d be no need for a Heaven. She nodded. “And could you put them on my tab? I’ll make the bank my first stop so I can settle my bills. I plan to go back to Manhattan right after court.”
Sadie smacked her lips in contemplation. “Well now, that’s a whole ’nother day away. Lots can happen in a day, don’t you know.”
****
Sam made a quick stop at the bank, transferred some money to set up a temporary checking account, and withdrew a couple hundred for operating expenses. Feeling less like a vagabond as she put her receipts into her purse, she gazed up at the teller. “Are there any other clothing stores on Main Street besides boutiques for the frivolous?”
The teller shook her head. “Nothing much for the ladies, I’m afraid. Main Street caters to the tourists, the hunters, the fishermen, and the hungry.”
Either brave the boutiques or go traveling after supper. She turned toward Leon. “Right now, I could go for a cinnamon muffin. Let’s stop at the bakery. My treat.”
“If you’re buying, I’ll have coffee, too. They’ve got a humdinger of a house blend there.”
When she and Leon came to Wells Bakery, Sam took out a twenty and set her purse on an outside table. “Wait here and I’ll get our orders. How do you want your coffee?”
“Two sugars. No cream.”
Sam went inside, ordered, and came back out with a tray. No Leon. No purse.
“Over here, Sam.”
She turned toward the tinny voice. Leon stood by the window holding her purse. “Where would you like to sit?”
She sighed. Was Leon playing another game or did he have a genuine memory lapse? “We can sit over there by the sidewalk.”
“That’ll be nice. Here’s your purse. I found it on that table over there. You shouldn’t go wandering off and leave your things out in the open like that. Somebody might’ve walked off with it.”
“No har
m done.”
Leon took a knife and sliced off a nibble; Sam devoured her muffin in four bites. “Leon, tell me something, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Don’t mind. There shouldn’t be any secrets between friends.”
Pearls of wisdom from a man who probably would forget what he said by the time he finished his muffin—maybe before, at this rate. No, there shouldn’t be secrets between friends. She should have trusted Justine with her past, if no one else.
“What do you want to know, Sam?”
“There’s more to you and Mazie than the fact you once dated, isn’t there?”
Leon took a sip of coffee. “Like I said, I don’t keep secrets from a friend, so I guess I can tell you, but you have to promise not to go blabbering this to anyone else.”
“If it doesn’t involve a crime, I promise.”
Leon sliced off another piece of muffin then took another sip of coffee. At this pace, they’d be here all afternoon. Sam chewed on the facts as she knew them, and pieced the evidence together. “Sadie’s your daughter, isn’t she?”
Leon took his napkin and dabbed his eyes. “For Mazie’s sake, we don’t talk about it. You see, I never knew about Sadie until she came to see me right after she and Aaron got married.” He hesitated.
“Go on, Leon.”
“Ours is the same as a hundred other stories, I suspect. We were young and in love, Mazie and me. When the war broke out, I wanted to get married before I went overseas, but Mazie had her heart set on a fancy church wedding. We put the ceremony on hold, but not our love.”
“Mazie got pregnant?”
Leon nodded. “Back in those days, that sort of thing created a scandal. She never told me she was in the family way. Instead, I got Mazie’s goodbye letter while sitting in a foxhole in the South Pacific. She told me she married someone else, a man she knew from work.”
The Other Side of Darkness Page 15