The Other Side of Darkness

by Linda Rondeau

  I have come that you may have life, life more abundant.

  “Then why is Styles free and I’m a prisoner? He murdered a child and two innocent men. He deserves to die. Not me.”

  Did your father deserve to die?

  “Yes. He chose to drink. Are you saying I’m supposed to forgive both my father and Styles?” Sam whipped out her ATV keys. “You’re asking too much, God. There’s no comparison. Daddy’s death was an accident. The judge said so.”

  Are you sure?

  God was too big to fight. She’d argue her case another day. Jonathan had parked his ATV parallel to two others. “Which one should I take?”

  He patted the smaller, but still monstrous ATV, which was bigger than Jonathan’s. “Use the Max II for water travel. This baby will get you wherever else you want to go. Climb on.”

  Sam mounted and glanced at the buttons and metal. “You’ll have to give me a crash course.” She laughed. “Not literally, of course.”

  “Like driving a car.”

  “Easy for you to say.” She snapped the helmet in place. “Now how do I start this thing? I was riding before and didn’t pay any attention to what you were doing. Riding and driving are two different matters.”

  Jonathan leaned over and pushed the start button, his pine cologne demanded even more attention than cinnamon.

  “What are the levers for?”

  “Brakes. Like a ten-speed. Or you can use the one on the floorboard.”

  For the next five minutes, Jonathan pushed buttons and shifted gears and rambled on about drive-trains and amphibious ATVs and how they were different from trail blazers. He spouted trivia like a Jeopardy contestant, ending each bit of knowledge in the form of a question. “OK?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Sam engaged the ignition, applied the brake and slipped into reverse. She purred to herself as the engine revved, giddy with the power beneath her, something Lucille II could never give her. Between this ground ATV and the amphibian she could go anywhere on the estate she desired. She flicked the headlights on then off. Day or night. “Let’s go.”

  35

  Jonathan led the way towards Emmanuel’s barn, glancing back every few minutes on Sam’s progress. Amazingly, she’d taken to the ATV as if she’d ridden for years. A ten-point buck appeared at the edge of the stream paralleling the path to the lake. The deer lifted his head as if granting permission to enter his domain, not the least disturbed by motors. Few humans, except Jonathan, came this deep into Dawn’s Hope territory. The buck reared in recognition.

  Jonathan stopped at the barn’s entrance, and Sam pulled up next to him, sitting straight and tall like a bronco rider. She took off her helmet, shaking her red tresses over her shoulders, then slid the helmet onto the handle bar. “Is this where it goes? That’s what they do in the movies.”

  Jonathan put his on the back grid. “Fine, for now.”

  Sam’s eyes widened as she took in the barn’s enormous height and width, half as large as the mansion. “It’s huge. I was expecting something like a closet.”

  “The colonists built small houses, but huge barns. Tom Bordeaux says that they wanted to make a statement. ‘We’re here to stay.’ Follow me.” He opened the front doors, revealing the expanse of stalls. “Grandmother kept prized race horses, but my father sold them after she passed away. Be careful, some of the beams and floorboards are loose.”

  After unloading his supplies, Jonathan directed Sam down a steep trail toward the lake. When they reached the bottom of the hill, he waited to see if she needed help before offering his hand. The woman was too independent for her own good. She used whatever branches she could find to keep herself upright and finally accepted his help at the last drop. He lifted her to level ground. Not a word of complaint.

  At Emmanuel’s inlet, Sam walked brazenly toward the boulders at the water’s edge. “Triune Point. An interesting name.”

  He should warn her to be careful, that the ground could easily give way, and that the water was alarmingly deep, a dangerous place for someone who couldn’t swim. Seemed, though, she scowled with every comment he made. Best to stay in tour guide mode. Lord Protector only brought the ire out of her. “Do you notice anything peculiar about the three boulders next to you?”

  “They resemble a miniature Stonehenge.”

  “Now look into the water.”

  Sam gasped at her reflection. “It is like a mirror, exactly the way you paint it, so clear I can see the scar underneath my chin from when…” she trailed off.

  “Most of the lake is pristine, but this is the purest spot.”

  Jonathan avoided the reflection pool, fearing what he might see. Memories flashed in spite of his resistance.

  Sam gazed at the spot, transfixed, the silence actually awkward. He felt relieved when she finally spoke. “So, this is where Emmanuel struggled with the angel. You told me the story, but I suspect there’s more.”

  “The king’s relative Emmanuel saved might have been an illegitimate son, and that’s why there is no written record of Emmanuel’s heroism. Supposedly, Emmanuel slit the throat of an Iroquois warrior who was about to scalp the lad.”

  “War is hell, they say.”

  Sam’s sarcasm, like a spicy gourmet dinner, soured his stomach. Yet, he hungered for the punishment. “A grateful king knighted Emmanuel, and the rest is history. The irony is that Emmanuel was the son of a merchant, not a very successful one at that, and, as family lore goes, Emmanuel was a bit of a drunkard, too. Some say he killed a man in a barroom brawl, then stowed away on a ship heading towards America.”

  Sam teetered slightly.

  “We should start making our way back to the barn, now.”

  Sam followed Jonathan’s lead.

  “Then Emmanuel wasn’t born a nobleman?”

  “Hardly. Some of the crew wanted to throw him overboard, or hang him from the mainsail when they discovered him. Fortunately, the captain, a God-fearing man, spared Emmanuel’s life and they became friends.”

  “Is that how Emmanuel became a Christian?”

  “No. When Emmanuel arrived in the New World, the captain gave Emmanuel a letter of recommendation for a commission in the King’s army at Ft. Ticonderoga. That much is documented. After The French and Indian War, Emmanuel left military service, built a barn and stocked it with goats and sheep, an inept shepherd according to his journals. One day a ram chased him to this inlet.”

  Sam laughed, and the sound of it filled a hollow. “You’re joking, right?”

  Jonathan held his right arm up. “So help me, Counselor. The ram took off, but Emmanuel saw a reflection that glowed like the morning sun. The clouds were thick overhead. Suddenly, he felt as if arms compressed him and threw him to the ground. He wrestled with whatever had captured him until the moon rose. Then he heard a voice slide over the water. ‘How long will you spurn My love for you? As I saved you from the noose, I want to save your soul. If you will follow Me, I will increase you in this land.’”

  Jonathan stopped. “Going up is tougher than going down. Why don’t we rest a moment?”

  “No argument from me.” Sam leaned against a tree. “Did Emmanuel obey the Voice?”

  “He struggled with the angel until sunrise, finally surrendering, and the angel departed. After that, he named the estate Dawn’s Hope.”

  “Is that when he joined the colonists?”

  She soaked up the story like a child, like he had, at Mother’s knee. “According to family history, Emmanuel felt divided in his heart, loyal to the king, yet understanding of the colonists’ position. Eventually, the crown pressed him into service. During the Battle of Saratoga, he jumped off his horse and ran into the woods. He wrote in his journal that he saw the angel again and followed it. ‘I shed the last of King George’s hold, my uniform.’ He offered himself up to the renegade general, Benedict Arnold, who decided to put Emmanuel’s military expertise to good use.”

  Sam smiled, so much like Mother’s. Memories returned—walks with her along the peri
meter and stories she passed on, embellished for a child’s fantasy, perhaps. “After the Battle of Saratoga, Emmanuel returned to Dawn’s Hope. He spread word that any British soldier who joined the colonist cause would be granted a tract of land to farm when the war ended.”

  Sam gazed at her reflection. “And that’s how he founded Haven?”

  Jonathan felt the disbelief in Sam’s gaze. “A lot to swallow, I know. Some details are probably romanticized. More than likely, Emmanuel realized the colonists fought for land, for the right to be self-governing, unlike the British who had no ties to America. I think he sensed which way the wind would blow, and he wanted to be on the winning side. As for the angel? Who knows? The whole experience could have been a hallucination. I’d like to believe Emmanuel’s account actually happened. Wouldn’t we all like to see an angel? Something changed Emmanuel that night. And there is no medical explanation for his limp.”

  Sam tripped on a jutted rut, and he caught her in his arms, reluctant to let go once she regained her balance. Jonathan looked up at the thickening clouds. “We’d better make a quick run to the house to show you the trail, and then get you to the cabin before it rains. Zack might be worried if you’re not there when he comes.”

  Sam’s gaze met his, her intent confusing. “Yes. We should go. Or not.”

  36

  Zack closed his office door, guzzled a bottle of water then rubbed his cheeks to revitalize his sagging energy. What a day. He had no idea politics could be so exhausting. The school board and the kids he could handle. But the parents…that was a whole different matter. He expected to be a negotiator with the school board, but never in his wildest dreams did he see himself as a complaint department. Maybe he’d misjudged Frank, expected more from him than regulations, parents, and social systems would let him do.

  He thumbed through his stack of phone messages, lining them up like batters.

  Most of them could be deferred to other departments, an overdue library book and a lunch tab that would make the local bar cringe. However, fifteen-year-old Jimmy Hodgekin’s second fight this week could not be ignored. Zack had no choice but to report the kid this time. But what if Jimmy were thrown out of his new foster home, the third in two years? If the trend continued, the kid would graduate from foster care to a division of youth facility, or in another year be sent to an adult prison.

  Zack lifted his eyes toward heaven. Why had God put him here if he could do nothing for the Jimmy Hodgekins of the world, except report his escalating criminal activity? Zack thought he wanted Frank’s job, got it, and now that he had it, he couldn’t wait for Frank to return. Hopefully, Frank would be on the mend soon and behind his desk before graduation

  Zack put on his boulder cap, locked the door, and shuffled to the parking lot, exhausted and not looking forward to primping a cabin to a woman’s specifications, an indecent thing to do to a fisherman’s lair. But, this would be Sam’s home for awhile, and he didn’t blame her for wanting it to be a little more feminine. He’d rather move furniture around all night and be with Sam, than go home and take a nap and miss an opportunity to spend time with her.

  Zack started his engine ,then turned it off, remembering Frank might be transferred to Albany medical center today. Zack walked back to his office and called Tracey. “I’m sorry, Zack,” she said in near sobs. “Frank coded. He passed away an hour ago.”

  ****

  She’d almost let Jonathan kiss her again.

  While Jonathan drove his ATV to the rear of the cabin, Sam parked hers in the front. She opened the padlock, stormed into the cabin and stomped with agitation. Why did she always go headlong into trouble against the good advice of so many? Staying at the cabin felt wrong from the start, yet whatever pulled her here was stronger than good sense.

  She kicked the door with muted frustration. Why have padlocks on the doors but no interior bolt? Everything seemed upside down in this town. Sadie had bolts to her rooms, but no means to lock the doors while a person went out. Now she had a padlock, but no way to secure the cabin while she was in it. She’d set Jonathan straight…insist he provide her with better locks.

  Sam went into the bedroom and changed out of her dusty clothes into the pair of jeans and sneakers she bought at the mall. She rarely wore them in Manhattan, but somehow life in the cabin called for a change of modus operandi. She came out of the bedroom, eyes to the floor. The soft swoosh startled her at first, then she laughed to see Jonathan sweeping.

  He stopped and held the broom like brandishing a weapon. “Afraid of a little broom?”

  “I’m tired. Sorry.”

  Jonathan resumed his housekeeping. “I thought maybe I could help until Zack gets here.”

  “I can sweep, you know.”

  He bulleted the broom back and forth, a juxtaposition of mountain manliness and homey homemaker, his fitted tee outlining every chest muscle. “I managed to wash the cabinets and clean out the refrigerator. You don’t want to know what I found in there. If you need help with the work, my housekeeper’s great.”

  “I do know how to keep house, Jonathan.”

  He shook his head. “Not what I was implying. I thought you might still be sore from your accident.”

  “I’m fine, but thanks for the offer. I thought I’d take another run to Glens Falls tomorrow. I started a list. A vacuum cleaner and mop are at the top.”

  Now he used the broom like a cane, leaning against it. “Why don’t I make a pot of coffee?”

  Jonathan should leave…why was he trying to find things to do? Not that she minded watching him work, but her mind couldn’t handle the image right now. Way too confusing. “That’s all right, I’m sure you’ve got things to do. I’ll start putting these purchases away until Zack gets here.”

  Jonathan stared, his face taut with indecision. “OK. I’ll be honest. Aaron said you shouldn’t be left alone with Styles on the loose. He asked me to keep an eye on you. I said I would and that I’d have the groundskeeper post a vigil while you’re asleep. I didn’t want to tell you because I know how independent you are—”

  “You know nothing about me, Jonathan. I prefer you go on about your business.” Why did everyone in Haven think of her as a damsel in distress, like one of Sadie’s Arthurian women? Even the surly Jonathan Gladstone felt a need to protect her. She preferred the insolent, rude Jonathan over this broom-wielding patsy who hovered over her like a bodyguard. She had thought about calling Abe. But if she asked Jonathan to use the phone now, she would look like a coward, fall right into his superiority.

  He tossed her the broom. “Put it where you want.” This Jonathan she recognized.

  Sam closeted the broom in the cubby by the rear exit. “I’m sorry. It seems no one in this town believes I can take care of myself. Please, forgive my rudeness, and let me make the coffee.”

  “Do you know how?”

  Urgh!

  “There’s a muffin with your name on it if you move that recliner.” She lifted her head towards the fireplace. “Too cramped over there.”

  “I tried to arrange this for optimum viewing of the lake, but if—”

  She scoured the cupboards for mugs that weren’t chipped. Finding none, she opted for the least damaged ones, filled them to the rim, wrote dishes on her list, then, after setting Sadie’s muffins on the counter, she handed a filled mug to Jonathan. Sam pointed towards the far opposite corner. “I’d like the chair over there.”

  Jonathan put down his coffee mug and with a half grunt, saluted, then inched the monstrosity across the room, sweat dripping from his biceps. He stood and stretched, his smile belying his protest. “I thought Zack agreed to help you move things around. That’s all the slave work I’m doing, your highness.”

  Jonathan gulped the rest of his coffee, put on his flannel shirt, jacket and cap and grabbed a cinnamon bun. As he nibbled, he picked up her list. “A lot of stuff for someone who’s determined not to stay here.”

  “For your information, Mr. Gladstone, this cabin could use a makeo
ver.”

  Jonathan grabbed the pencil. “Well, in that case, I have ideas I’d like to add—”

  “That’s my list.” She snatched it away.

  Like a tug of war, they pulled at the paper, until Sam let go and squeezed Jonathan’s side.

  “Cut that out, I’m ticklish.”

  She didn’t expect his giggle, and her gaze fell to his mouth. Before she could object, his lips found hers. Cinnamon melded with hyacinths, a dizzying, confusing mixture. Against what she desired, she pushed herself away, but Jonathan pulled her in again.

  “Don’t, Sam. We both knew this would happen, both wanted it to.” He smothered her cheeks, lips, and neck with fevered lips and this time she surrendered fully to his passion, returning his kisses, her lips opening hungrily in search of his.

  A thud erupted like a fist against the door, then footsteps moving away from them.

  Sam pushed Jonathan aside as Zack’s fleeting form ran outside. “Jonathan, I have to go to him.”

  She called to Zack as he opened his car door. He stopped, but refused to turn around. “Don’t try to explain. It’s pretty evident you’ve changed your mind about us. I’m not surprised.”

  “I’m sorry. I never meant to…I don’t know what happened in there with Jonathan—”

  “You don’t know? Looked pretty clear to me—”

  “I mean…yeah, I’m attrac…but I didn’t think I…well…what you saw…”

  Zack opened his car door, still refusing to look at Sam, and slammed a fist on the hood. “You made no promise to me…I foolishly thought you…liked me a little—”

  “I like you a lot. This with Jonathan…took me by surprise. I’m…sorry.”

  He turned toward her. “It’s obvious you don’t know what you want, Sam, and frankly, I don’t want to be your pin cushion while you’re trying to figure it out.” He got into the car and slammed the door. Tires spit gravel as he sped toward the road.