Amber's head snapped up. "What did you say?"
"The birth certificate," Diedre repeated. "It lists my mother as Cecilia McAlister, and my father as 'unknown.'"
"Jack," Amber muttered, shutting her eyes tightly.
A thrill shot through Diedre as her sister uttered the name. "That was my guess," she whispered. "He always doted on Mama so . . ."
But Amber wasn't listening. Without warning, she leaped to her feet. "Diedre, you—you have to excuse me," she stammered and fled the room.
Diedre sat there, stunned, as she watched Amber's back retreating through the doorway that led through the dining room to the kitchen. She didn't know what to do—or what to think.
Was it possible she could have offended her sister by suggesting that Mama had an affair with Uncle Jack? But the letters were pretty clear: Amber knew the circumstances of Diedre's birth and understood—or at least did not condemn—her mother.
Maybe Amber was angry that Diedre had come in the first place, dredging up old unpleasant memories that were best forgotten. But Amber hadn't forgotten—she had created the sculpture of the Two Sisters from her memory of Diedre as a child. And unless the statue lied, it was a happy memory, a welcome one.
Against her will, tears sprang to Diedre's eyes. Maybe—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. She heard the clicking of Sugarbear's toenails across the hardwood floor, and the dog barreled into the room and leaped onto the sofa. Within seconds Carlene followed, shrugging off her jacket and tossing Sugarbear's leash onto an empty chair.
"It's absolutely beautiful here!" she said, her face flushed pink by the night air. "You should see the moon over the canal. What a view—"
Then she caught sight of the expression on Diedre's face. "What happened?" Her eyes flitted around the room. "Where's your sister?"
"She left." Diedre could only manage the two words before her throat clogged with tears. She swallowed hard. "I said something wrong—I don't know—"
Carlene sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "What did you say?"
"I was just telling her about the stuff Mama gave me before she died—you know, the birth certificate and letters." Diedre gulped and fought for air. "When I said I knew Daddy wasn't my real father, she just jumped up and ran out of the room."
"Did she say anything—anything at all—before she left?"
Diedre nodded. "She said, 'Jack.'"
Carlene leaned against the back of the sofa and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Whew. Well, that answers one question."
"Yes." Diedre regained control of herself now and cleared her throat. "I guess I always suspected it was Uncle Jack. Now I know—but I don't have the faintest idea what to do with the information."
"Go home, throw yourself into his arms, and yell, 'Daddy!'?"
"I don't think so." Diedre managed a halfhearted smile. "But thanks for the laugh."
"So what do we do now? Do you want me to go get her?"
Diedre shook her head. "I don't want to push her if she's not ready to talk. I'm sure this is painful for her, as well. I've had some time to prepare, but my appearing out of the blue must be a real shock to her."
"Maybe we should just go back to the Houstons, get a good night's sleep, and try again tomorrow."
"That sounds like a sensible plan." Diedre shut her eyes tightly and buried her face in her hands. "I don't know what else to do."
Carlene snapped the leash onto Sugarbear's collar, held out a hand to Diedre, and pulled her up from the couch. "Come on."
"You're not leaving, are you?"
Diedre looked up to see Twojoe standing in the doorway. He stared around the room and frowned. "Where's Amber?"
Diedre pointed toward the kitchen. "I must have said something that upset her, but I'm not quite sure what it was. Carlene and I—well, I think we should go for now. Thank Meg for the dinner, will you? And tell my sister we'll be at the Houstons' at least until tomorrow. If she wants to see me—"
Twojoe took two strides across the room and laid a hand on her arm. "Please, stay for a minute." He cut a worried glance toward the dining room. "I'll be right back."
"So, should we stay or should we go?" Carlene asked when he had left the room.
Diedre sank back down on the couch. "Let's stay, at least for a few more minutes." She leaned over and retrieved the photograph from the floor, where it had fallen when Amber had made her escape. For a few seconds she looked at it longingly—the loving picture of father and daughter, an image trapped in time. "What's a few more minutes when I've waited twenty years?"
34
The Brutal Truth
Amber rushed into the kitchen and whirled Susan around to face her. "I know who's after me—and why. At least I think I do."
Susan whirled around to face Amber. "What are you talking about?"
"It's her—Diedre," Amber said, her words coming in staccato bursts. "He knows she's here, knows she's found me. He probably had her followed. The man who set the fire—the one who attacked me in the hospital. He hired him, don't you see? He's got too much to lose. But now she's found me. And if I tell her the truth—"
"If you don't get back in there, you won't be telling her anything," Twojoe said, coming in on the tail end of the conversation. "She thinks she's upset you, and she's going home."
Amber whirled on him. "Maybe I should let her go. Maybe it's for the best."
Susan frowned and shook her head. "Amber, think. You've come so far, and you've waited so long—"
"Don't you understand? I have to protect her! I have to—" Her breath came in gasps, and she couldn't continue.
Susan drew Amber into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, caught her gaze, and held it. "Amber, what are you feeling—right now?"
The question took Amber off guard, but she didn't have to delve very deep to know the answer. "Fear," she responded truthfully. "But it's not irrational fear, Susan. I know what he could do to her."
"What did you tell me the other day in the hospital?" Susan asked quietly. "About giving in?"
A wrench in her gut told Amber that Susan had struck a nerve. "I told you that I had given in not to fear, but to love." She closed her eyes and winced against the pain. "That no fear is worth the loss of my soul. And that silence doesn't protect anyone but the perpetrator."
"Does somebody want to tell me what's going on?" Twojoe interrupted.
Amber looked up at him and felt an amazing rush of love and strength. The terror was still there—fear of Diedre's reaction, fear of what might happen if she told the truth, fear that Twojoe might not love her enough after all. But for the first time in her life, the love was stronger.
She stood up and, summoning all her courage, laid a hand gently on his cheek. "Yes," she said softly. "I do want to tell you. I want to tell all of you."
Diedre and Carlene were just about to slip out the front door when Amber returned to the living room.
"Please," she said, "sit down. I'm sorry I ran out on you like that." She slanted a glance at Susan, who smiled encouragingly. "It's not the first time, but I hope it will be the last."
She perched on the edge of a high-backed chair and waited while everyone settled. Diedre, Carlene, and Sugarbear took the couch; Susan and Meg claimed the two chairs next to the fireplace; and Twojoe sat on the floor facing her.
Her pulse was pounding like a sledgehammer, but Amber tried her best to ignore it. "There are some things that I—well, that I've been afraid to say for a very long time. But you all deserve the truth. Especially you, Diedre." She gazed at Diedre, who stared back with a pensive expression on her face. A few unshed tears glistened on the girl's lashes.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to tell this from start to finish. It may hurt, but it's important that we all get the whole truth. Is that all right?"
"The truth can't possibly hurt more than the lies Daddy told me," Diedre murmured. "I want to know everything."
"You may not feel t
hat way when you've heard it," she said, "but I'll have to take that chance. You know that for a long time I was in a hospital—a mental institution. I was there for five years."
Diedre nodded. "Because you tried to kidnap me. That's what Daddy said."
"That's true. I did try to take you away with me, but it wasn't because I was crazy or unbalanced. But that was why he had me committed, and then when I was finally released from the hospital, I came out here, at Meg's invitation. I was running from a lot of things—not the least of which was my own fear. But of course it didn't work." She lifted an eyebrow in Susan's direction. "Everything I was running from followed me."
"Except me," Diedre put in.
A stab of pain pierced Amber's heart. "I was never running from you," she said. "I loved you. I've always loved you. I just—well, I didn't know how to love you." She shifted her gaze to Twojoe. "I didn't know how to love anybody."
She caught a glimpse of a smile passing between Meg and Susan.
"The night of the fire, we had been celebrating my commission of the new sculpture, and I couldn't sleep. I was out on the deck, and something happened. It's hard to explain, but for the first time in my life, I knew that some power greater than myself was at work in my life. Prayers had been answered. Miracles had happened—or at least I perceived them as miracles. The family I had left behind so long ago had been restored in all of you—" she waved a hand toward Meg and Susan and Twojoe, "and in the Colonel and Sam and Emmaline."
Amber took a deep breath and looked around. Everybody was listening, waiting for her to continue. "I gave in that night—as I told Susan, not to fear, but to love. I gave in to God. I surrendered. And somehow I knew that no matter what happened, I would be strong enough to handle it, as long as God's presence was with me."
"But then everything fell apart," Twojoe interjected. "The fire, your injuries. It didn't look much like God was with us then."
"No, it didn't. But I believe now that it was all part of the process—for me, at least. The fire wasn't a random act, Twojoe. It wasn't set to drive you to sell the farm so that some real estate tycoon could get his hands on this land. I was the target."
An expression of anger and loathing filled Twojoe's eyes. "You think the guy was after you? But why?"
"Because I know something that could destroy some very influential people." She turned in Diedre's direction. "I'm not sure I can prove it, but I'm certain that the man who set that fire—the same one who came after me in the hospital and warned me to keep quiet—was hired by Uncle Jack."
All the color drained out of Diedre's face. "I don't understand."
"I know you don't, honey. But bear with me—you will. Years ago, back in North Carolina—" A lump rose to her throat and she couldn't go on.
"You can do this," Susan whispered. "You can."
"I know I can. I have to." Resolutely, Amber squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "From the time I was eleven or so until the time I left home at fifteen, I was sexually abused, Diedre. Daddy and Uncle Jack had it all hushed up, because if anybody had known, it could have destroyed both their careers."
Amber had avoided looking in Twojoe's direction while she spoke the words, but now she couldn't help herself. Her eyes went to his face as if drawn by a magnetic force. "I was afraid to tell you, Twojoe. I didn't even tell Meg. I think, deep down, I knew all along that I loved you, but I was pretty fragile emotionally, and if you hadn't been able to handle this, it might have been the last straw." She broke his gaze and looked away. "Besides, I had to come to grips with it myself before I could deal with your reaction."
His hands were shaking, and his face contorted in a mask of fury. For a minute Amber thought his anger might be directed at her, and her heart quailed. Then he growled, "I'll kill him, I swear. I'll—"
Before Twojoe could finish, Diedre interrupted. "Uncle Jack? How could he do such a thing?"
Amber held a hand up for silence and looked frantically toward Susan for help.
"Let her finish, please," Susan interjected.
When the room had quieted again, Amber turned back toward Diedre.
"It wasn't Jack," she said.
Diedre blinked. "What did you say?"
"I said, it wasn't Jack."
A silence filled the room, so profound that it seemed as if no one was breathing.
"It wasn't Jack," she repeated. "It was Daddy."
At first Diedre was certain she had heard wrong. Daddy? It couldn't be. Daddy loved her sister, doted on her. It was all there, in the picture.
Then Amber was speaking again. "When Jack found out about it, he should have turned Daddy in. But he didn't. He had too much invested in Daddy's career. I suspect, too, that there were too many secrets between the two of them—unethical business deals, bribes, things like that. Jack had to protect his own interests, and that meant protecting Daddy. They had to get rid of me, and aside from killing me, the only way to keep me quiet was to have me committed."
Diedre stared at her sister. This was all too incredible. But in an odd way, it made sense. No wonder Mama and Uncle Jack found each other—
"My guess is, Mama didn't know about it, or had her suspicions but couldn't confirm them," Amber went on. "And I expect that part of the deal was the agreement that Daddy would keep his distance from you, Diedre."
Yes, Diedre thought. Daddy kept his distance, all right. But there were other reasons for that. . .
"Then when Mama let you know I was still alive and you came looking for me, Daddy and Uncle Jack knew they could lose everything. I had kept silent for years, but they couldn't be sure that once I saw you again, I wouldn't tell you the truth." She smiled grimly. "And they were right."
"So you think your Uncle Jack sent someone out here to follow Diedre and Carlene and keep them from finding you?" Twojoe asked.
"Yes, and failing that, to do something—whatever was necessary—to ensure that I disappeared again. And it almost worked. When he came to the hospital, he threatened to hurt you or Meg next time. I was almost convinced that my only option was to run."
"There's one thing I don't understand," Twojoe said. "It's been years since this happened. Why would your father still be afraid of the repercussions? Wouldn't the statute of limitations keep him from being prosecuted by now?"
Amber shrugged. "Probably. I don't know what the statute is on child rape."
The word rape sliced over Diedre's nerves like a razor.
"But it wouldn't matter," Amber continued. "If the slightest hint of an accusation got out about what he did, his reputation would be ruined whether he was prosecuted or not. His career would be history—and for Daddy, that was too big a risk. He had too much to lose."
Diedre had kept quiet for just about as long as she could stand. "I thought he loved you so much!" she raged. "I was even jealous of the way he loved you!" A sudden thought struck her, and she went silent. "That's why you did it," she whispered. "That's why you tried to kidnap me. You were trying to protect me . . . from him." The reality washed over her like cold water, and she shivered.
"Yes," Amber said softly. "At least partly."
Amber watched as a caravan of emotions paraded across Diedre's face—horror and disbelief, fear and despair, confusion, and at last, comprehension tinged with utter rage. Her soul swelled with pride and admiration. She marveled at the courage the girl demonstrated—certainly more strength than she had possessed at that age.
Part of her still wished to spare Diedre from this pain. But Diedre was no longer a child depending upon Amber not to let her fall. She was a grown woman, capable of handling whatever curves life threw at her. And Amber was learning the hard way that true freedom only comes by speaking the truth.
She had been silent long enough.
Amber glanced over toward Susan, who sat in front of the fireplace with her hands in her lap. She could read the look of affirmation and confidence in Susan's eyes, almost feel the urging in her soul. Keep going, the expression said. You're almost done.
"Diedre," Amber said, "may I see that birth certificate?"
Diedre handed it over. "You can have it. It just reminds me of what Daddy did—of all his deception—and Uncle Jack's. I don't suppose Uncle Jack's any better, if he helped Daddy cover all this up and send you away, but anyone who would do such a thing to a little girl is not a man—he's a monster! I'm glad Duncan McAlister is not my father!"
Amber heaved a deep sigh. "Unfortunately, he is your father."
Diedre's heart sank like lead.
"He can't be! This is my real birth certificate. The one I had early on—the one that has both his and Mama's names on it—that was the fake!"
"Yes, the one you have is the real one—although it doesn't have all the pertinent information on it."
Diedre furrowed her brow into a frown and held out her hand for the document. "It says Mother: Cecilia McAlister. Father: Unknown."
"Yes, so it does."
"So that means that Mama had an affair with Uncle Jack, and—"
Amber shook her head. "Diedre, what was Mama's name?"
"Cecilia McAlister," Diedre answered.
"Cecilia Marie Chaney McAlister," Amber corrected. "How does the birth certificate read?"
"Cecilia . . . " Diedre squinted at the paper. "Cecilia A. McAlister."
"And what did you call me when you were little?"
"Sissy. I always called you Sissy. So did Mama and Daddy."
"No, they didn't. They called me CeCe."
Sissy. CeCe. As a little child it would be easy enough for her to get it wrong, to distort the name into something she recognized more readily. But what did it mean?
Then she looked again. Mother: Cecilia A. McAlister. When the truth descended upon Diedre, it came not as light, but as a blinding darkness, a shadow on the sun, a sudden, terrifying eclipse at midday.
Her sister's middle name was Amber.
The Amber Photograph Page 23