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Place of Peace

Page 19

by Debra Diaz


  Malone whirled, racing down the steps. Ethan ran the length of the porch, hurtled the railing and leaped off, flinging himself on top of Malone. Genny saw a confusing flurry across the yard. She watched in horror as Malone’s hand slid to the waistband of his trousers and withdrew a knife. She screamed again, but Ethan kicked the man’s legs out from under him. There was a struggle for the knife. Genny couldn’t see what happened next, but her heart seemed to stop and then Malone was lying still on the grass and Ethan was standing over him, the bloody knife in his hand.

  “Ethan!” Valerie cried. “Ethan, Father’s been shot!”

  Geoff sprawled back against the swing, his face white, blood streaming from the wound in his chest. Myrtle Mae was coming around, trying to lift her head up like a tortoise on its back, but Genny was too dazed to help her.

  Ethan ran up the steps, knelt down and swiftly began to unbutton Geoff’s shirt. “Genny, go in the house please and get — ”

  “No,” said Geoff. “Don’t touch me. Leave me alone.”

  “Don’t be a fool. Genny, I need — ”

  “No! Don’t do anything for me, Ethan. Listen…to me.”

  “Geoff, there isn’t time — ”

  “I’ve hated you,” Geoff said, very clearly, so that at last Ethan stopped and stared into the brown eyes that looked with a strange intensity up at him. He began to talk, haltingly, drawing shallow, quick breaths. “I hated you because you were a good doctor, a good soldier. And before that you were a good…student. Always so good at…everything. I hated you because…God knows why. And because of Valerie, too. All these years I…pretended to be your friend.”

  Ethan was silent. He crumpled the handkerchief Genny had handed him and pushed it firmly against the streaming wound. Valerie had pressed up against the back of the swing and looked at her father with horror, whether because of his wound or his words it was impossible to tell.

  Ethan said finally, “So what do you want me to do? Give you absolution?”

  Blood trickled from Geoff’s mouth. “Go in the house, Valerie.”

  Valerie got to her feet and, stumbling, got as far as the doorway and stopped, clutched Genny’s arm, and kept staring at her father as though she’d never seen him before.

  “You cut off my leg,” Geoff rasped. “You were there, you helped them. But there’s something you don’t know.” He closed his eyes, as if he could no longer bear to look into the gray ones. “Caroline. I was the first, Ethan. My wife had just died. I knew she was engaged to you. I don’t know why — it doesn’t matter now. I suppose — my jealousy…”

  He stopped and coughed and went on doggedly, “That was before — Shiloh. And then, later, when I wanted to see her again, she wouldn’t have me. Because of my leg.”

  No sound came out of the deepening twilight except Geoff’s labored breathing. Genny leaned against the door, shaken and unbelieving. But Valerie was afraid, for she had seen the ghastly whiteness of Ethan’s face, and the way his eyes had turned to blue steel.

  Geoff opened his eyes, saying hoarsely, “You see now why you can’t try to save me. I’m not worth it. Let me die, Ethan.”

  “Dying’s too good for you,” Ethan said. “I’ll see you in hell, Geoff, but it won’t be today.”

  He got to his feet, reached down, and caught Geoff under the arms, then bent his knees and pulled the barely conscious man over his shoulder. He said to the two women, “Get Myrtle Mae inside and then send Matthew for the police. Genny, tell Permelia to come to my office. And both of you stay out.”

  He carried Geoff down the porch steps, rounded the corner, and disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The police arrived, and took away Malone’s body. An ambulance came to transport Geoff to the hospital after Ethan, with Miss Pickel’s assistance, had removed the bullet from his lung. As Genny and Valerie stood watching it leave, they saw Ethan get on his horse and ride away.

  Valerie turned to Genny. “Will you go after him?”

  “Go after him?” Genny repeated. “What for?”

  “Can’t you see what’s happened? I tell you it’s dangerous. Get Finney or Matthew and follow him.”

  “I can’t,” said Genny weakly. “I just can’t.”

  * * * *

  The carriage pulled up to the cemetery and stopped. A half moon cast its rays downward over the dully-glowing headstones, which stretched far and away over the gently rolling grounds. The black shapes of the trees moved and sighed mournfully in the hot breeze.

  Valerie had seen his horse tied to a tree, near the gate that marked the entrance. She could barely see Ethan in the distance; all she could really see was his white shirt. She said, “There he is. Please wait, Finney. I’ll be back after I’ve talked to him.”

  “Yes, Miss Ward.” Finney gave her a long, dubious look as she climbed out of the carriage. He didn’t like cemeteries. In fact, he’d never gotten over the night he’d spent in Mrs. Burchfield’s barn after covering her grave, an admission he’d never make to anyone. He fixed his gaze determinedly on the street ahead.

  She made her way toward the unmoving figure. He simply stood there, his arms folded, and didn’t look up as she approached. The stone before him was a simple one, marking a small grave. It read: Hannah Baxendale, Beloved Daughter, 1871-1877.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she told him. She didn’t ask why he had come here. He probably didn’t know himself. He made no reply, no movement. A gust of wind molded his shirt to his body, blew back his hair so that she could better see his hard and unrelenting profile. She hesitated, and touched his arm.

  “My father was wrong. I — of course, I had no idea. I’m terribly, terribly sorry.”

  He turned then, and looked down into her eyes, as if he were seeing her for the first time. He took a step toward her, one of his hands taking her arm, the other touching one side of her face. His own face was strange to her, one that she’d never seen, one that vaguely frightened her.

  “No,” he said. “Of course you didn’t know. There’s nothing in you of deceit, or — you’re not like either of them. There is no pettiness in you, no jealousy, no imagined slight…”

  She thought, Isn’t there? But he pulled her closer and said, still low and harsh as if he were angry with her, “You’re nothing like her…”

  Somehow she was in his arms and his lips were poised over her own. She had to stop him, but her breath halted and she couldn’t speak. A moment went by and yet time stood still. Ethan looked into her eyes and slowly released her.

  He swore, and groaned, “What am I doing?”

  She saw in his face a dark and desperate self-loathing. He turned away from her, walking toward a magnificent oak tree, bracing a hand against one of its limbs and staring out across the graveyard. He stood as motionless as the great carved angel towering nearby.

  Then he said, over his shoulder. “You should hate me for that. Please forgive me, Valerie. Forget I said any of it.”

  Valerie waited a moment, praying silently for composure, willing her heart to slow its rapid thudding. “Ethan,” she said, trying to make her voice sharp enough to penetrate the blackness of his mood. “Ethan, I don’t know what thoughts have gone through your mind. I don’t know what — what demons you’ve wrestled with. I feel just as betrayed as you do. I don’t know how we could have lived with him, and not known…how he really felt. But I do know one thing. What my father did was unforgivable, but you must forgive him. For if you don’t, you will become my father. You will be full of hatred and discontent, just as he is.”

  The leaves of the enormous tree rustled in the wind, and Valerie shivered in spite of the heat. Ethan bowed his head, saying nothing. At last his voice came to her, softly.

  “What Geoff did isn’t what drove me here. My problems with Genny are not what drove me here.”

  He turned to look at her, but it was as though he looked through her. “It’s me, Valerie. It’s because I’ve lost my faith, and I don’t know how to f
ind it again.”

  She moved forward and took his hand, pulling it to make him look into her eyes. “Real faith can’t be lost, Ethan. You’ve been angry with God, because of all the things you’ve seen — the pain, the sickness, men killing each other. But these are not of God, they are of man!”

  “Valerie, I’ve said those things to myself a hundred times. It doesn’t help…when a child dies, or when an old man or woman lies weeping silently with pain. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. I tell you the world is full of darkness, Valerie, it’s full of evil. I used to see a light…I used to believe — ”

  “You’re seeing through the veil of your emotions, Ethan. You must pray that God will take it away, so you can see clearly again, so that you can find the truth.”

  “ ‘And the truth will set me free’.” Ethan gazed down at her, and smiled a little. “But it’s not that simple, Valerie. You see, I’ve forgotten how to pray.”

  * * * *

  Genny waited to hear Ethan come into the house and go quietly down the hall to his room, but he didn’t come. For once, she would have welcomed his presence, for she didn’t want to be alone.

  Geoff would live, thanks to Ethan’s swift intervention, though at the time she’d been convinced Ethan meant to kill him. Certainly he had dispatched Slade Malone as calmly as she would have slapped a mosquito.

  She put on her nightclothes and bent to turn down the lamp. Not having heard the front door open, she whirled in alarm as her bedroom door swung inward with a resounding crash. Her husband stood framed in the doorway, a towering and awesome figure, his features hard and implacable and quietly raging.

  Terrified, she backed up against the wall, unable to speak.

  He sauntered slowly into the room. His dark hair was as rumpled as his clothes, and his eyes gleamed out of his tanned face with a distinctly unpleasant expression.

  She took a deep breath. “Get out of my room.”

  He approached her soundlessly until he stood close enough to touch her. Genny resisted an impulse to crawl under the bed.

  “Tonight,” he said softly, though his eyes were darkly gray and menacing, “you will explain yourself, Mrs. Carey, and convince me that you no longer want to be my wife.”

  She backed away from him, clutching one of the bedposts. “I won’t talk to you when you’re like this. I want you to leave.”

  “When I’m like what, madam?” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “A little perturbed by your manner? I rather think I’ve been exceedingly patient.”

  Something of his barely contained wrath seeped into her and she began to struggle, twisting to escape his binding hands. “Let me go — you must be out of your mind!”

  Ethan looked into her stormy and indignant eyes and wanted to shake her. But in one, swift, savage movement he caught his long fingers in her hair and kissed her, demanding a response, one way or the other. With a desperate burst of energy she struck him hard in the chest, but he only lifted his head to look at her.

  “I hate you!” she cried, a sob in her voice. “I saw you that night!”

  Ethan still had his fingers in her hair, and now he pulled her head back until she was forced to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said tersely.

  “You liar! I saw you the night Caroline Adams came to this house!”

  Anger and surprise blazed in his eyes, but before he could reply, Genny dropped to her knees so that he would be forced to release her or pull out her hair. He let go. She rolled away from him, and when he bent to snatch her up, she thrust out her foot and struck him squarely in the stomach. He grunted and doubled over.

  She leaped to her feet. Her darting eyes fell upon the crystal vase on the bedside table. She caught it up and hurled it at him. He deflected the missile with his hands, causing it to splinter into the floor. She stumbled against the tall floor lamp with its unlit candles, whirled and pushed it toward him so that it fell with a clang.

  “Stop it, Genny,” he commanded thunderously, advancing upon her with fury in his eyes.

  Panting, she seized a pillow from the bed, threw it into his face, and scrambled over the bed in a race for the door. He caught her by the tail-end of her nightgown, picked up her wriggling form and threw her down on the bed. She jerked up the coverlet, holding it against her, and scrambled backward to press against the headboard, staring at him with wide and fearful eyes.

  Ethan saw that she was truly frightened, that she was full of consternation and bitterness. She looked like a cornered animal. It only added to his sense of outrage, but realizing what he was about to do, he stopped abruptly. Fighting for control, he stalked away from the bed, running his hands distractedly through his hair. He turned and stood looking down at her, his hands thrust hard in his pockets, his tall figure perfectly still. His eyes became hard and bright.

  “Madam,” he said, “I would swear you are demented.”

  Genny sat up straighter, clutching the covers. “You can’t deny it, when I saw you together!”

  He regarded her calmly, and she saw a flicker of something like contempt in his eyes.

  “There is nothing to deny,” he said, and strode with an air of finality from the room.

  * * * *

  Genny stared at the shadowed ceiling until the light of dawn stole into the bedroom. There had been, during the long night, a strong urging to go to him. She didn’t even know for certain that he was still in the house, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so, and the disquieting thought occurred to her that she really was a coward.

  She didn’t fear that Ethan would fly into another rage. She didn’t fear that he would harm her. But she was afraid of looking like a fool.

  And she had a strong suspicion that she had behaved like one.

  There had been something in the way he looked, some element in his voice that declared itself to be truth. If all this time she had believed a lie, and had avenged herself to no purpose…but how could she have been wrong, when she had seen them, had heard the things they said!

  And so she wrestled with herself as the gray hours ticked on, and from down the hall there was no sound. Finally, she sank into a deep and exhausted sleep. It was late when she woke, probably almost noon. She’d just finished dressing when she heard a distant knock at the front door. In a moment Agnes called musically, “Miss Genny, Miss Valerie is waitin’ to see ye in the parlor!”

  “Very well. Tell her I’ll be right down.”

  Genny crept down the hall. Screwing up her courage, she knocked on Ethan’s bedroom door, and when there was no response, quietly turned the knob. He was not there. One of the wardrobe doors hung open and Ethan’s clothes were gone. She hurried down the stairs, glanced in the study, and walked through the corridors to the other wing of the house, and outside to the office. Ethan was not there.

  Miss Pickel, however, was. She eyed Genny nervously and said, in response to Genny’s question, “No, Mrs. Carey, I haven’t seen him. I assumed he was at the hospital. Oh, and by the way, Mrs. Carey. I — something has come up. I will be leaving soon. Please tell Dr. Carey.”

  Genny realized, belatedly, that the woman must have heard everything last night, for her room was on the same floor as hers and Ethan’s. No wonder she looked like an agitated sparrow about to spring into flight.

  She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and said, “Of course. We shall miss you, Miss Pickel. Goodbye.”

  But she wasn’t thinking of Miss Pickel as she went back through the house. Ethan was not at the hospital. He had left her!

  She paused for a moment before the parlor door, to still her pounding heart. She went in to find Valerie standing before the window. She turned as Genny entered.

  “Good morning, Valerie,” Genny said, with feigned brightness. “How is your father this morning?”

  “He’s going to be all right, I think. I came to see how Ethan is.”

  Taken aback, Genny stared at the other woman. “What do you mean?”

  Va
lerie looked at her curiously. “Did you see him when he came in last night?”

  “I — why, of course I did.”

  “When I left him, he looked…there was something…I was afraid for him. Where is he?”

  Genny was composing a plausible lie when she caught herself. Lying had never brought her anything but trouble! She would tell the truth if it killed her. She folded her hands together and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know where he is. We quarreled. He’s gone and taken his clothes. It was about that—that woman.”

  “I don’t understand. What woman?”

  “Oh, Valerie, let’s not pretend anymore. I know Caroline Adams has been Ethan’s mistress for years. I saw them — the night she came here.”

  Valerie froze for a moment, then abruptly sat down. “Genny,” she said. “Oh, Genny.”

  Genny held her head high. The moment of truth had arrived, for she knew Valerie would not lie to her.

  After a long moment, Valerie looked up, meeting her gaze frankly. “I was in the room with Ethan the whole time she was here. Her husband had been dead for years, and she’d gotten herself into trouble with some man. She was going to have a baby and wanted Ethan to…perform an operation. He refused.”

  “But — but — ” Genny stuttered, completely nonplussed by Valerie’s words. “But he gave her a gift. Some pearls. And money. I saw him kiss her!”

  “She had offered him the pearls in payment for the operation. He refused them … he put them around her neck as a way of, well, telling her to keep them. It was obvious she had very little money. He was trying to help her. And although I didn’t see it, I daresay it was Caroline who did the kissing.”

  “But, he said he wanted to see her, he was almost begging — ”

 

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