Raquel Byrnes

  Something poked my back, and I felt behind me, my hand closing around a door knob. A second door.

  “Please open,” I whispered and turned the knob.

  The handle clicked, and I rushed out of the room. Desperate not to be discovered, I scurried down a dark corridor searching the walls on either side for doors, and finding none. The sensation of sliding down threw me off balance, and I stumbled along the hallway. A few feet in front of me, I spotted a slit of light on the floor. I reached out, pushed on the wall in front of me and toppled out into the foyer of the house. Panting, I blinked with confusion. Behind me, the grandfather clock stood next to an open panel. The passage led out here? I staggered around the foyer, confused. I was back on the first floor of the house.

  A thought occurred to me. If the storage room had two entrances, then perhaps the room behind the library wall had two, also. I made a mental note to visit the room again in the daylight. Remembering the moans, I decided I was done exploring for tonight.

  I rubbed my eyes, exhausted and overwhelmed. Heading for my room, I realized I still had the picture of Simon in my hand and shoved it in the front pocket of my sweatshirt.

  “Daddy!” Lavender’s terrified scream warbled through the floor.

  I ran for her room, the echoes of my dream still rattling through my head. I burst through her door. She stood on her bed, huddled in the corner under the large canopy, hugging her arms. Candles on her mantel cast the room in an eerie flickering glow.

  “Daddy!” Eyes wild, she screamed again. “They’re coming!”

  “Shh, it’s OK, Lavender.” I ran to her, scooped her into my arms, and held her close.

  She buried her face against my neck, trembling. “Did you hear it? Did you hear the monster?”

  “It’s OK, sweetie,” I murmured.

  She shook her head vehemently, her face wet with tears.

  “How about a song?” I asked and started a Sunday school song.

  She listened for a moment, but her lip quivered again. “I want my daddy.”

  “I’m here, Lala.” Simon’s deep voice brought on relief I hadn’t expected. “Come here.”

  She dove for his chest and clung to him with her arms around his neck. She sobbed into his shoulder, and he stroked her hair soothingly, murmuring softly as he walked with her around the room. His compassion touched me, and I sat, watching the two of them. After a few minutes he stopped, tried to see her face.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked her, but she shook her head, not raising her eyes to look at him.

  “She was screaming about monsters,” I said.

  “Monsters, Lala?” Simon tried, but Lavender said nothing.

  He sighed. “This has been going on for almost two years. I don’t know how to help her. Night terrors, the doctor said, but…” He shook his head, worry etched under his tired eyes.

  “She said she was having bad dreams,” I whispered. “She looked so scared.”

  Simon reached out, ran his hand along my arm. “Thank you for getting to her so quickly.”

  I nodded, my breath caught in my chest. “I was up.”

  “Been walking around, have you?”

  The question seemed innocent on the surface, but the knowing look on Simon’s face gave me pause.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re covered in dust and spider webs, Rosetta. Where have you been?”

  The photograph of him still in my pocket, I couldn’t tell him the truth—that I’d been sneaking around his home and poking into his life without permission. I flashed on the argument with my mother in courthouse hall. Angry words reverberating along the marble walls as the consequences of my choices tore my life apart.

  Would finding out what I’d been up to prompt Simon to send me packing? How could I risk losing the only place I had to live?

  Simon watched me intently, as if waiting for my answer.

  I ran my gaze along his perfect lips and jaw, the feel of his hand on mine still fresh. My stomach fluttered.

  What if he didn’t believe me?

  It wouldn’t be the first time I was accused of lying. It wouldn’t be the first time I lost everything because of my words.

  12

  “Can’t we talk about this later?” I whispered and pointed to Lavender.

  Simon sat down with Lavender in the overstuffed chair by her fireplace. He patted her back, and she settled into him, relaxing despite sniffles coming in hitches.

  “For now,” Simon intoned, a curious look on his face. “But you’re not off the hook. As soon as Lala falls asleep, I want to know.”

  I crossed my heart with my finger and sat on the bed watching them for a while, his head tilted toward hers, cheek resting on her forehead. He held the delicate child, and I was struck with the duality of his character: the gentle father and the warrior with the spear in the photograph. So tender and so dangerous, at the same time.

  My throat ached with the thought of him raising her alone.

  He closed his eyes, humming softly to Lavender.

  Not wanting to disturb them by getting up, I looked around the room in the dim candlelight. A white iron canopy bed swathed in gauzy pink frills towered in the corner. The room’s walls flanked it with cheerful murals of rolling hills dotted with jumping white bunnies. A yellow sun cast its rays over an ideal land of blooming trees and multi-colored butterflies. I knew what it was to be surrounded with fake frivolity and still feel the chill of loneliness. I thought of her frightened face, and the memory of her terrified screams ripped at my heart.

  Lavender’s breathing slowed and eventually deepened.

  Simon put her in bed.

  We walked out to the hall, candles in hand.

  Simon looked at me, puzzled, as he shut her door.

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Why were you up?” Simon asked. He nodded down the hall, and I walked, wondering where we were going. He was silent, waiting for my answer.

  “I left my window open and nearly drowned with the rain coming in.” I tried to make light of the terrible feeling of dread I’d experienced, but my smile must have seemed forced because Simon stopped and regarded me silently, his eyes holding mine.

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s more. I can see it in your eyes, Rosetta. What happened?”

  “I had a bad dream.” I shifted. “No big deal.”

  “That’s not all, I think.” Eyes narrowed, Simon shook his head after a few seconds. “If you don’t want to say, that’s fine.”

  My throat closed, aching with the words, but too scared to share. How did I explain the state I was in? Alarm and attraction mingled, crashing together in a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I looked at him, helpless and without words.

  He nodded, a grim cast to his face. We followed the curve of the hall, down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “I heard that Tuttle mentioned a picnic,” he said and searched through the fridge. “Your suggestion?”

  Remembering her ire at my lunch outside with Davenport, I cringed.

  “She isn’t happy with me again.”

  “Don’t worry about her.” He placed the platter of cut-up fruit on the table and sat down. “She’s crusty on the outside, but very loving under all of her dour English looks.”

  I chose the seat opposite and leaned on my elbows, watching the candle’s flame waver with our breathing. Outside, the wind tore through the trees, the branches slapping their wet leaves against the kitchen window. My heart raced, nerves prickling. Picking up a slice of kiwi, I inspected its tiny seeds in the candlelight. I didn’t want to lie to him. I didn’t want to keep secrets. Not after I’d seen the destruction they could cause.

  “I thought I heard…a noise.” I kept my gaze on the candle. “A moan. That’s why I was out and about. I tried to follow it, but I couldn’t.”

  When he didn’t answer me, I looked up. He was staring at me with a strange, u
nsettled look on his face.

  “It was probably the wind.” His face didn’t reflect confidence in his own words.

  “It sounded like someone in pain,” I said. “And there were footsteps.”

  Simon put his hand over mine. His face changed, shifted to a look of resolve. “You’d just had a nightmare. Maybe you were disoriented. The wind can sound ominous in this old house. The cracks—”

  “No…I know what I heard.” I withdrew my hand from his and shook my head. How could I imagine all of it? “What about this?” I showed him the smears of dust on my clothes. “I didn’t dream this.”

  “Did you find a secret passage?” He leaned back, his look not surprised. “This place has quite a few. They were built into the house by my great grandfather. There are passageways that snake all through the interior of this house.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “Moonshine. Davenport, Sr., my great-grandfather, was paranoid the sheriff would find the stash he served to his guests. When my grandfather inherited the lodge, he converted it to the family home, but my father remembers playing in the passageways as a child.” Simon popped a grape into his mouth. He smiled. “I used to play in them, too. I thought I had them all sealed when Lala got old enough to explore, but it seems they missed a couple.”

  How could he be so nonchalant about this? His body language said one thing, but the wariness in his eyes told me something else.

  “And the footsteps?” I sat back, pushed the plate away from me, and twisted a lock of my hair.

  “Probably O’Shay. He’s always walking about. He can’t sleep. Never could.” Simon shrugged, his brows furrowed. “I thought you’d be happy to have your phantom explained.”

  “I never said it was a ghost, Simon.” My cheeks burned that he thought me silly. And then even more so when I realized I cared what he thought of me at all.

  “Why do you call her Lala?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “That’s what she used to say her name was when she was learning to talk. It just stuck.” The wistful smile faded to a concerned frown. “I don’t know how to help her.”

  “She’s afraid of something.” Did he know about the dreams of her mother falling? Surely he did. He’d sought help for her before. I decided not to bring it up.

  “Thank you again for comforting her,” Simon said and held my gaze. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “She’s a sweet girl.”

  “She likes you.”

  “That’s because I gave her cream puffs for lunch,” I said and shrugged, trying to control the way he made my breath catch.

  “It’s more than that. You know what it is to miss your mother.”

  His words cut through me, and I blinked, surprised at the onslaught of sorrow that pooled. I stood abruptly, causing the chair to scrape on the floor. Walking to the fridge, I felt wooden, stiff with fear of what might happen if I let go of my emotions.

  “Why won’t you talk about your family?”

  “There’s nothing left to say. They aren’t my family anymore.”

  I heard him move and then he was next to me at the sink, his voice low and thick at my ear. “What you did, Rosetta,” he said and turned me to face him. “It was the right thing to do. You kept an innocent man from going to prison.”

  “And sent my father there, instead.” I choked on the words. “I got death threats. My mother disowned me. It doesn’t feel like I did the right thing. It feels like I…” The tears threatened. Fighting for control, I turned back to the sink.

  “How do you do it, then?”

  “Do what?” I looked at him, confused.

  “That song you sang to Lala, it was Psalms,” he uttered, a frown on his full lips. “Aren’t you angry?”

  “At who?”

  “At God,” Simon said and a shadow of anger crossed his features

  “It was my choice to do it,” I said over the lump in my throat. “I did it because it was right.”

  “But the price you paid—”

  “It’s…hard.” I swallowed back tears. “But, I believe in His promises. I know I’m not alone.”

  “How do you know that?” His brow furrowed. “To strip you of all you loved…it’s impossible to forgive that. To believe God cares at all.”

  “Are we talking about me or you?” I studied his face, the anger there. “What happened?”

  “God and I just have very little to do with one another anymore.” He sat and held his head in his hands. “There’s nothing more to say on the subject, Rosetta.” His sorrow and anger were palpable. He seemed so tired. Like he’d been wrestling with whatever haunted him for so long it left a physical mark.

  “What is going on with you, Simon?” I wiped my face. “You said you aren’t sleeping, either. Why not?”

  Did he hear the noises, too? Wouldn’t he have confirmed my worries instead of waving them away with weak explanations? It must be something else. Something he seemed to want to tell me. I watched him, waited for him to answer.

  “We better get you to bed,” he said instead and stood. Grabbing the candle, he held the swinging door open, his eyes downcast. “You must be exhausted.”

  We walked without speaking back to my room and stood in the hallway, a torrent of what was unsaid rushing between us.

  “I understand you not wanting to talk about what happened with your family,” Simon said. “I won’t push again. You have a right to your privacy.”

  I thought about the photo of him in my pocket and felt a pang of guilt. He was the first person who’d seemed concerned for me in a very long time. I needed to touch him, to make sure this was real. I reached up, ran the back of my fingers along the line of his jaw.

  He sucked in a breath and closed his hand around mine, his eyes boring into me, intense.

  “Don’t stay angry with me,” he murmured. “I don’t…want that.”

  Stomach fluttering, I pulled my hand from his and tried to quell the emotions bubbling in my chest. Desire and worry, attraction and fear crowded my thoughts. What was I doing? I took a step back, putting space between us.

  “I’m not angry. I’m just so tired, Simon,” I whispered finally. “I’m tired of being afraid.”

  “I know what you mean,” he rasped.

  I looked at him, surprised. Remembering his fearless gaze, I shook my head.

  “What could you be afraid of?”

  “You don’t think men can be afraid?”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  He reached around my waist, leaning in close as he turned the door knob to my room.

  I tried to act like his closeness didn’t make a deep yearning rip through me. Why did I react to him like this? I cleared my throat. “What would frighten you in your own home?”

  “Things I don’t understand.” He looked at me, his hand still on the door, so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “Something that took me by surprise.”

  “Simon,” I began, but the words wouldn’t come. I stood there, back against the door, my pulse racing.

  He reached up, slipped his hand to the nape of my neck, tilting my head back. His touch sent waves of heat over me, and I gasped. He ran the pad of his thumb along my jaw from my ear to my chin, caressing. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

  My lip trembled, and I struggled with wanting him so much and fearing for my heart. I knew something was wrong. I knew it and didn’t care. If he chose to kiss me, I wouldn’t be able to resist.

  “Please,” I whispered. “I…can’t.”

  Simon held me a moment longer, his gaze brushing my lips. He took in a ragged breath and then stepped back, his hand sliding away.

  “I’m sorry, Rosetta,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have done that. You deserve more than a man like me. You don’t deserve pain.”

  “No, I…” I began, but he was already walking away.

  What did he mean by causing pain?

  The shadows engulfed him as he strode down the hall
, and I swallowed back the ache in my throat. A rush of regret and relief rose, and I touched my lips with shaking fingers.

  I couldn’t stay at Shadow Bay Hall.

  Not unless I was willing to risk more than I had left.

  13

  The morning came with a rush of golden rays against the pale sky. I watched the sunrise from the settee, the worn Bible in my hands. Even the songs of a king could not ease the worry in my heart. I felt so alone, so unsure of my decision to come here. Where I used to be so confident in my Christian walk, I now felt as if my prayers blew away like vapor in a storm.

  I didn’t think I could stay here. Not after what happened with Simon. Though Shadow Bay Estate was quite large, I wouldn’t be able to avoid him altogether. I could just imagine how awkward our next meeting would be. How had I made such a mess of things in such a short amount of time? This had to be a record even for me.

  The clock on the bedside table chimed five times, and I sighed, knowing I wasn’t going to get any sleep at this hour. Deciding I might as well start my day by checking on Davenport, I showered and dressed. I opened the door and found a box on the floor just outside my room. I picked it up by the red bow and carried it to the desk, my stomach fluttering.

  Peering inside, I gasped. An antique magnifying glass framed in brass sat at the bottom. I’d seen this type of lens in a museum. A tool of botanists and naturalists a hundred years ago, the glass fit in the palm of my hand. I felt the weight of it, letting the brass chain dangle between my fingers. It was beautiful. Pulling out the note, I read the masculine script.

  There are things here worth a deeper look. I hope you give yourself a chance to discover what Noble Island has to offer. ~ Simon

  Tracing his signature, I stared at Simon’s note. I’d tossed and turned all night on the settee worried about what to do, troubled over my growing attraction to him. I couldn’t trust myself around Simon. Last night proved that. When I should be protecting my heart, I was falling under his spell, despite the consequences. The letter I’d written last night remained on the desk ready to be mailed. But to just leave, without a word? That wouldn’t be right, either.