The Other Side of Darkness

by Linda Rondeau

  “She should have told you, Leon—trusted your love for her.”

  Sam had done it again, jumped to closing remarks before the jury heard every side. She reminded herself that the world was different for Mazie and Leon, than the jump-in-the-sack, let’s-have-a-hook-up lifestyle her generation followed.

  “I tell you, I was one shocked man when Sadie found me. Said she’d been cleaning out Mazie’s apartment. Her memory was getting bad and she couldn’t live alone anymore. Sadie said she was packing up Mazie’s things and found her journal. In it, Mazie mentioned me, how sad she was to break off our engagement, but didn’t see any other way out of her trouble. Mazie’s Alzheimer’s was too advanced, so after some digging, Sadie found me. Turns out she was my daughter, all right. So we arranged for me to move in with Sadie and Aaron, along with Mazie, so I could help them take care of her.”

  “And you weren’t angry because she kept her pregnancy from you?”

  Leon blew his nose. “Now Sam, don’t be too hard on Mazie. She didn’t see any other way. The supposedly premature birth didn’t fool anybody, but Mazie’s husband claimed Sadie as his, and that kept folks’ tongues from wagging after awhile.”

  Leon talked, sometimes through tears, sometimes with smiles.

  Sam sensed no remorse, but rather an account of wrongs long ago forgiven. “You still love her, even after she hurt you like that?”

  “I was angry when I first got the letter—the hurt went powerful deep. I even thought about walking right into the line of fire and ending the misery. Instead, I prayed for the will to go on.”

  Sam saw peace in Leon’s eyes, a peace with a life that had worked out far differently than he imagined. Would her life be different now? Her five-year goal had been to move up to a supervising attorney in the Special Victims Unit. Those hopes were falling flat with the Styles case in shambles. People continued to refer to the peculiarities of her accident, made jokes, but what if God had sent that moose not simply to get her attention, but as a road block, making her turn a different direction? Her head spun. How she hated analyzing situations. Life had lots of twists and turns, but that didn’t mean God was behind every one of them.

  “So what did you do, after the war, I mean.”

  “I went to college on the GI bill, became a teacher, and helped shape young lives. I’ll admit I wrestled with resentment off and on over the years. When Sadie explained everything, I could see God’s hand in it all. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to heal from a hurt.”

  “How could you forgive her so easily? You were denied your own child?”

  Leon took Sam’s hand into his. “The way I figure, God worked it all out the way it was meant to be, and I had to learn to trust it. Mazie’s husband raised Sadie like his own. He did a good job of it, too. Besides, why let anger over a past I can’t change get in the way of the good time I have with Mazie, now?”

  Would it take her a lifetime of hurt before she found peace with her past? Her thoughts veered toward Jonathan, how his brows drooped with pain. Leon might be right. Some hurts take years to heal, but eventually healing did take place—faith and time the best medicine for gaping wounds. But why was God so slow about it? How long for me, Lord? How long for Jonathan?

  Sam picked up the mound of wet napkins, muffin plates, and empty coffee cups. “Ready to keep walking? Think I’d like to go to the library next.”

  Leon followed her to the trash bin. “For what?”

  “Your story got me thinking.”

  He nudged Sam with his elbow. “About that Gladstone boy?”

  “More like the Gladstone boy’s father.”

  “Why?”

  “A hunch. Besides, dinner won’t be for another couple of hours. Want to join me?”

  “To the library, then. I like reading the newspapers and talking to Tom. He’s got more stories to tell than a king’s cook.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  ****

  Zack held his breath, clutched the get-well card he’d bought at the gift shop, then entered Frank Simmons’s hospital room.

  Frank looked up, his face still pasty gray, but a little rosier than when Zack saw him on the gurney. “Hey, Zack. Good of you to stop by.”

  “Well, you sound pretty chipper for a sick man.”

  “I’m alive. Thanks to you. Hey, if the ticker had to give out, I’m glad it fizzled when you were handy.”

  In all the years Zack had known Frank, this was the most civil he’d ever been. Could be near death experiences tenderized the human spirit in some way. Zack tossed Frank the card. “I hope your heart can take a good laugh. I wouldn’t want you to have another infarction.”

  Frank smiled. “No. Next one might do me in for sure. This isn’t my first, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Last one happened before I came to Haven. About ten years ago. I’m afraid this time I wasn’t so lucky, there’s a lot of muscle damage.”

  “Anything you need? Something I can do?” Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to offer.

  “No. Not really.” He sat forward an inch or two. “I take that back. Might be one thing you could do for me.”

  Zack readied for mission impossible. “Anything. You name it.”

  “Doc doesn’t want me back to work until the fall. I expect you’ll be getting a call from the school board since you’re the only faculty qualified to take over. I know we don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but I know you’d do what’s right by all concerned. That’s what I told the board.”

  No surprise on that bit of news. “What’ll they do with my classes?”

  “I thought maybe your father could sub.”

  “Dad would like that.”

  “I’ll put in a word for him, then.” Frank pushed the control to elevate the head of his bed. “There’s a chair against the wall. Have a seat.”

  Zack hesitated. Frank only offered a chair when dishing out bad news, or asking for a hefty favor.

  “I want you to be our team captain in my place. Pete wants to do it, but…well…you know Pete.” Frank winced.

  Worried about Pete, or a twinge of pain? “You OK?”

  “A little indigestion…they gave me Mexican food for supper…go figure. My chart says liquid diet.”

  Zack smiled. “And you didn’t bother to correct them?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Are they shipping you over to the cardiac unit in Albany?”

  “As soon as a bed becomes available. Might need a valve or two bypassed. Doc says there’s a lot of blockage.”

  Another bit of news Zack expected to hear.

  “You know, you’ve got one heck of a fastball, Zack.”

  They harmonized their laughter. “You accused me of using unwarranted deadly force with a lethal weapon. Maybe I should be a cop.”

  “Don’t go beating yourself up over this heart attack. I was a ticking bomb, and you had the uncanny luck of pulling the pin with that pitch of yours. I knew I shouldn’t try for it. Doc warned me to stop playing strenuous sports, stick to golf, riding a bike, and walking. I didn’t listen and, well, here I am.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t know you had a heart condition, or—”

  “First one was at age forty-two.”

  Zack pulled up a bedside chair. “That is young.”

  “Bad tickers run in the Simmons family. My pop died of heart disease when I was only thirteen, and my brother died last year from heart trouble. On the golf course, though. Right after he made a hole in one. What a way to go.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Whatever faults Frank had, his sense of humor almost made up for them.

  “I haven’t been taking care of myself the way I should. If I don’t straighten up, I won’t live to see my oldest daughter get married next year. She’s engaged, you know.”

  “No. I didn’t know.”

  “Why should you? Not like we hang out that much. But I like you Zack, and I hope you accept the offer if the bo
ard calls. You’d be a good principal. Maybe you’ll stick around Haven a little longer, too.”

  Zack felt his cheeks heat. “You knew I’ve been sending resumes out?”

  “It’s a small town, Zack.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like teaching…I do.”

  “Although, for your sake, it might be a good idea if you didn’t take my job. Stick to teaching, you’ll live longer.”

  Frank got high scores for directness if not for administration.

  “Frank, I appreciate the advice, but…well…you know I’m a Christian.”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “So, it’s not about what’s convenient. It’s about what God wants me to do with my life.”

  “Well…now…that’s an interesting way of looking at things. But, maybe God’s will is all about what He’s gifted us with. Ever think of that?”

  Zack laughed. Far as anyone knew, Frank never stepped foot in a church except for family baptisms, weddings, and funerals, not the sort of man associated with theological expertise. Yet, what he said made sense.

  “Here’s the thing. I was a better teacher than administrator. I miss teaching, Zack. I ended up doing a job I hated because the money was better. Nothing like coming close to death, though, to help a man think about his priorities.” Frank pointed toward the ceiling. “Me and the Big Guy have been doing some talking.” Frank belched. “Sorry. Gas is building up to almost intolerable.”

  “Want me to buzz Tracey for you?”

  “I’ll be fine. Mind getting some water in that pitcher for me?”

  Zack got up and filled the pitcher with water from the sink in the patient bathroom. As Frank jabbered on about his goals when he got out of the hospital, how he wouldn’t take life for granted anymore, Zack filled the glass on Frank’s tray. Zack had worked for Frank for years, and this was probably the most they’d talked outside the school in all that time.

  “So you really think I’m a good teacher? That’s high praise coming from you, Frank.”

  Frank gulped the water, then leaned back against his pillow. “What I’m saying is that I know you’ll be a good principal. I have to wonder, though. Would you be as good a principal as you are a teacher?”

  “Won’t know unless I try.”

  Frank belched again, and tucked his chin against his chest. “Probably better take something for this, I guess. Anyway, what I’m trying to tell you, is that it occurs to me, you still haven’t figured out whether you should get out of Dodge or stay put. Don’t rush things. Maybe God wants you to stay here until you figure out what it is you really want.”

  “Right now, I think I’d like my supper. Hopefully, there’s a pretty girl waiting for me at Sadie’s, too.”

  Frank smiled. “The moose lady?”

  Poor Sam. Would she ever lose the moniker? “We’re friends—nothing more.”

  Frank broke out in a hearty laugh. “Yet?”

  Zack grinned. “Yet.”

  23

  Lillian Bordeaux greeted them with a wide smile. “Hello, Sam, Leon. Anything I can help you with?”

  “Tom around?” Leon asked.

  Lillian perked like the lead gossip at a quilting party. “No, he’s a guest lecturer tonight at Albany University. He’ll be home later tonight. Zack might need him to substitute for his history class—Zack’s been offered a promotion as acting principal while Frank is recovering from his heart attack. Zack hasn’t made up his mind, yet, though we’re fairly sure he’ll take it.” Lillian leaned in as if sharing classified information. “Tracey said she wouldn’t be surprised if Frank had to have a quadruple bypass.”

  Leon whispered into Sam’s ear. “Woman’s going to die of asphyxiation if she doesn’t take a breath pretty quick.” Then he looked to Lillian. “Sam wants to look something up. I’ll go in the other room and read the New York Times.”

  Sam had spent the last ten years daily devouring not only New York papers, but the Washington Post. Since she left Manhattan, she hadn’t so much as glanced at the headlines. The only television she’d watched was that horrible one-minute clip, the harbinger that three years of hard work had gone down the tubes. She squeezed Leon’s hand. “I’ve been a bit out of touch lately. You can catch me up on all the news when we leave. I don’t want to stay long. I think I’d like a nap before supper.”

  He cackled all the way to the newspaper racks. Sam turned to Lillian. “Actually, I wanted to read older papers. I’d like to know what you have on Jonathan’s father.”

  “Henry the Eighth?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “His real name was Richard Henry Gladstone. Henry the Eighth is our nickname for him—Tom’s and mine—because he had six wives. Jonathan was Richard’s only child, born to Richard’s first wife.”

  Sam gulped. No wonder Jonathan seemed so distant—a cold father and revolving stepmothers, a dearth of stability for sure. “What happened to his wives?”

  Lillian straightened and spewed every which way like a fully-opened faucet. “Wife one died of ovarian cancer when Jonathan was twelve. Wife two fell off a cliff during a hiking trip with her lover. Wives three and four were gold diggers—young, pretty things, Vegas showgirls—neither marriage lasted more than a year and both of them received hefty divorce settlements. Wife five seemed to promise a little happiness, and life seeped back into Dawn’s Hope with extravagant parties and renovations.”

  Since there was a wife six, wife number five’s day in the sun must have been short lived. Josiah had mentioned a family curse. Richard’s string of bad marriages did little to quell the myth—maybe why Jonathan believed himself to be the victim of some malignant, cosmic rain.

  “What happened to wife number five?”

  Lillian leaned in, gazed around, as if to whisper, but spoke one decibel above normal. “Day after Jonathan’s college graduation wife five took off with Richard’s accountant and a few million dollars that the bean counter managed to embezzle. Instead of pressing charges, Richard hired a different accountant. At least, he finally showed Jonathan some attention, especially after Angelica spent the summers at Dawn’s Hope.”

  “And wife six?”

  “She’s still living. Richard married her right after Jonathan and Angelica’s wedding. They traveled all over the world together. Some say there was no pre-nup agreement since she could buy out the Gladstones twice and still have money left over. Estelle was a refined woman, an art connoisseur, and probably the biggest reason behind Jonathan’s success.”

  Sam did a mental recall of the Ladies of Dawn’s Hope wall-of-fame. She couldn’t remember seeing a portrait of any of Richard’s wives. Jonathan’s dourly grandmother’s portrait stood out as the last of the matrons before Angelica’s, and hers had been set slightly apart from the others.

  “Does Jonathan keep in touch with his stepmother?”

  Lillian grunted, scanned another book then tossed it into a bin. “Richard’s widow moved to Greece after he died. She wrote to Jonathan, even after Angelica’s death, although Zack doesn’t think Jonathan ever answered her letters. His stepmother asked Sadie to keep her informed. You know Sadie. You can go to the bank on her promises, and she writes Estelle faithfully once a week.”

  Sam followed Lillian into a large room filled with video tapes, computers, a microfiche machine and a file cabinet marked The Haven Gazette. “The drawers are labeled by years, starting from 1798, the year the Gazette was founded and ending in 1989, the last year of its daily publication before it became a weekly release.” She pointed toward the computer. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do most of your digging on the Internet for more recent info. Although we do have The Times Union, the Albany paper, on microfiche. Probably the best coverage would be The Post-Star, the Glens Falls newspaper. They cover most of the events for Lake George and southern Lake Champlain region.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lillian turned, and left Sam to her research without another word, but hovered nearby.

  Not certain what to l
ook for, Sam stood in the room alone. “Why do you even care,” she asked herself aloud. She’d made up her mind to go back to Manhattan. Why waste her time drudging up dirt on a family, up until a few days ago, she never knew existed? As far as a computer search, she could do that in Manhattan, on her own computer, or with the full resource of a law library. She glanced at her watch, already four o’clock. Sam found Leon in the other room, reading the headlines. “Murder Case Takes On A New Twist.”

  Sam veered her gaze. She couldn’t take any more bad news right now. Whatever the new twist, she’d find out soon enough. “Come on, Leon. Let’s go back to the Lighthouse. If you don’t mind, I’ll stop at one of the boutiques. Trendy or not, I desperately need a change of clothes. This outfit bordered on musty when I rescued it from my pilot case. After today’s deluge, it’ll rank worse than a football locker room.”

  Leon smiled. “Are you staying for a few days more, then?”

  “I still plan on leaving Thursday.” Anger soured her stomach. How could a sharpshooter like Abe let her case go so awry? She’d show Justine around tomorrow, have her say in Aaron’s court on Thursday, then head to Manhattan to undo Abe’s mess and forget Haven—forget the moose accident—and forget Jonathan Gladstone.

  ****

  Jonathan stormed through the mansion, his prison, his non-inheritance. He paced from one room to another until he stopped in his studio where he nestled a fresh canvas on the easel. He thought he’d try a new portrait of Angelica, one from early memory, like the first summer she came to Dawn’s Hope. Instead, an insolent red-head’s face loomed in his visions. She’d left in a hurry, too repulsed to let him kiss her again.

  She’d accused him of using Angelica’s death as self-recrimination, a malignant tether to keep him from leaving Dawn’s Hope, Angelica’s wooing a figment keeping him moored to Mirror Lake. Angelica was dead. How could she hold him here against his will? Something else, something hidden from himself kept him in this limbo—a detached lily pad tangled in rooted vines, unable to float free.