Promises to Keep

by Maura McGiveny

  'Jon! Are you all right? Answer me! Jon!' What if he was lying hurt somewhere and couldn't answer? Her heart hammered wildly in her throat, but she forced herself to breathe deeply to calm herself. Panic wouldn't help anything. Her panting breaths became whimpers of futility. Methodically sweeping the beam of light through the darkness and picking her way around thick tree trunks, she startled several small animals, their eyes glowing eerily in the light before darting away. Rats? she thought wildly. Did rats live in a forest? Oh God! She stumbled and barely managed to keep from sprawling face forward on the ground. Staring straight ahead, she held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth, trying not to cry.

  The darkness and the rustling silence seemed to press down on her until she was a trembling mass of nerves. Her eyes were wide and blindly peering, straining to see through the thick impenetrable wall of pine trees. A thin film of cold sweat stood out on her brow and upper lip and her hands clenched around the flashlight. She wanted to scream and run as fast and as far as she could, but like her nightmare earlier, her ankles seemed weighted down and her legs curiously boneless. She had to force herself to keep picking her way forward, keep putting one stumbling foot in front of the other. She couldn't stop, not now. She had to find Jon. For a moment she was overcome with a formless, voiceless grief. Stopping abruptly, she closed her eyes and tried to swallow past the fear clutching at her throat and cutting off her breath. Jon's trusting face rose up before her. He needed her and she couldn't get to him.

  A cold breeze began to blow and it sliced right through her, making her shiver. She should have stopped to put on a sweater. Her mouth twisted and shook and a travesty of a sob rattled in her throat. She wasn't dressed for tramping in the woods. Her heels were too high, her dress too elegant, her hair too loose, so it caught on every low-hanging branch no matter how far down she tried to duck. One of her shoes slipped off her foot, so she kicked the other one off too and left them behind and went on barefoot, oblivious to . the rough prickling of pine needles on the bottom of her feet, shredding her pantyhose.

  How could this have happened? How could she have allowed it? Jon must be scared to death. He was only five, too small to be out here alone. Why? Why? The question banged in her head like a broken record. What could Paul have told him to make him come to the woods at night?

  She tried not to think of what Logan would say, but his face rose before her and she could see the angry condemnation written all over him. 'So, I could trust you, eh?' she heard his sarcasm clearly. 'You and my brother planned this. The minute I let Jon out of my sight he gets lost in the woods at night. It's no coincidence!' His eyes would flash a deep and bitter blue, the lines at the sides of his mouth would be white and harshly rigid. He'd never forgive her. She'd never forgive herself.

  'Jon? Can you hear me? Please, please answer me!' Her voice was getting hoarse as her desperation increased. She had to find him. Glancing over her shoulder again to make sure the lights of the house were still behind her, she jerked to a dead stop. They were gone. Only darkness met her frantically searching gaze. Nothing but complete, empty, black, silent darkness. Her eyes darted back and forth, left and right. No matter which way she looked, the lights were gone. That, added to all the terrors of the night-time forest, robbed her of the last vestige of self-control. It was her undoing. She was lost now as well as Jon. Despondency washed over her and, completely unstrung, she sank to her knees, the flashlight rolling drunkenly out of her hands. Sobbing hysterically, she buried her face in her arms and fell full length on the ground, her tears flowing fast and free and burning like bitter acid.

  She had failed. Failed. Failed! It repeated agonisedly over and over in her head. Jon needed her. He was out here somewhere and she failed him.

  Then all at once her heart plunged to a sudden stop and an icy fear clutched at her throat, skidding over her skin with cold wet fingers as she heard something approach, creeping stealthily on the thick carpet of pine needles. She felt the warm moistness of a panting breath near her shoulder and wanted to scream, but even as her mouth opened and a terrified gasp rose from her lungs, sheer horror closed her throat and no sound could emerge.

  A high-pitched whimpering cut through her strangling fear, and Drago let out a short sharp bark and put his paws on her arm and tried to lick her face.

  Shaking uncontrollably, all her breath left her in a rush as she lay stunned, blinking in disbelief, then she shot to her knees and reached for his solid warmth, clutching at him for dear life. 'Drago!' Half sobbing, half laughing, she clung to him. 'Where's Jon?'

  His short quick barks echoed through the darkness and it took her a few minutes to loosen the death grip she had on him.

  'Oh, Drago, where's Jon?' He barked again, and suddenly Kathryn knew Jon was very near. She was certain of it. Most likely he could see her in the dim watery beam of the flashlight lying on the ground near her, but for some reason, he wasn't coming to her.

  'Jon,' she said softly, 'I know you're here. Are you all right?'

  Her heart thumped madly. He could hear, but he wasn't answering. She just knew it. But why? Why? It had to be Paul—something he had said. For some reason Jon wasn't supposed to let her find him. He was hiding from her!

  'Jon,' she said, the tears so thick in her throat they made her voice wobble desperately, 'do you remember when I first came here? That first morning I met you?' She waited. Her voice died away in the silence. 'You told me if I ever got lost you'd find me. Jon, I'm lost now. I don't know how to get home, which way to go. And I'm afraid. Please help me, Jon. I need you!'

  A sudden rustle behind her made her heart stop, and then Jon was running to her, flinging himself into her arms.

  For long minutes they held each other, Kathryn's body absorbing the deep racking shudders of his, her soft incoherent murmurs soothing his anguished sobs, her arms tightening protectively around him giving as well as taking comfort from him.

  'Oh, Jon! Jon! We're lost, but we're together— that's the main thing. Are you all right?'

  His little head bobbed up and down under her chin. He was shaking, shivering with cold as he buried his face in the thin folds of her dress. He wore jeans and a thin cotton shirt and his skin was ice cold to the touch.

  'Why, Jon? Can you tell me why you came out here?' The question wasn't accusing; she simply had to know.

  He tried to burrow deeper into her body and didn't say anything.

  Still kneeling, she held him for long minutes, her arms wrapped tightly around him, then gently eased back into a sitting position on the ground with him in her lap. 'I'm not angry, darling,' she said soothingly, trying to choose her words with care. 'I just can't imagine what would bring you out here at this time of night. Won't you tell me?'

  He shook his head and refused to loosen his choking hold on her.

  'It's Uncle Paul, isn't it?' Kathryn kept her voice steady with an effort. 'He said something to you today, something that made you come out here. Please, Jon—I have to know what it was!'

  The silence stretched for ever. Kathryn felt the little boy's whole body clenched with tension, but she waited. However long it took, she meant to find out why.

  Just when she was sure he wasn't going to answer, he sagged against her and all the stiffness drained out of him. His voice was a dry breathless rustle.

  'Uncle Paul told me—there was a way I could prove I wasn't his son,' he said softly, shuddering again. 'Daddy loves the forest. If I came out here and—stayed all night—' he gulped and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, '—then—then that would mean—I'm not Uncle Paul's. I'm Daddy's.'

  'Oh, Jon!' Her heart went out to him. She felt a tight dry ache in her throat, a burning pressure at the back of her eyes, and for a second there was an awful impulse to burst into tears. How could Paul do that to him? An adult would find it hard to stay here alone at night. How could he expect a five-year-old child to do it? 'He was wrong, Jon,' she said fiercely. 'Staying out here doesn't prove you're Daddy's son. It only proves y
ou're a brave boy—very brave. But I already know that, and so did your daddy.' She clung to him, her voice hardening with sharp cold anger. 'You'll never again have to prove you're Logan Ramsey's son. If Paul wants proof, I'll be the one to give it to him, not you. Carol was my sister. I knew her better than anybody. I'll have a talk with him and that will be the end of it.' There was a bitter twist to her mouth. She closed her eyes and saw again that silvery body entwined with her sister's. It was galling to have to tell Paul she had actually seen them, but if it put an end to Jon's harassment it would be worth any amount of humiliation.

  She looked at Jon and hugged him tightly. 'That is, I'll tell him if we ever find our way out of here!'

  He smiled a white watery smile. 'Drago knows the way.' He reached out to the dog curled up beside him and stroked behind his ears. 'Let's go home, Drago,' he said softly.

  Kathryn had her doubts that he really knew the way but there was no other choice. She had to follow where he led.

  The way out of the woods was just as tortuous as the way in. Her heart pounded unevenly as she stumbled behind them. Jon held tightly to her hand and kept encouraging her as she skirted past vicious pine branches. Smiling in spite of her misgivings, she realised he was seriously taking care of her.

  'Don't worry, Mom,' he reassured her over and over. 'Drago knows where he's going.' Then he pointed straight ahead. 'See?'

  The glimmer of lights through the trees made her widened eyes swim. 'Oh, darling, I never would have made it without you!' Relief swept through her, almost making her collapse. They'd made it after all. She hated to think what Logan would have to say. He must be home by now, waiting for her, probably furious.

  Stumbling, they picked their way out of the thick trees and started across the lawn, meeting Emma half way.

  'Jon!' she cried. 'She found you! Are you all right?'

  'My mom was lost,' he said with quiet dignity. 'She needed me and I found her.'

  Emma looked at Kathryn over his head and her mouth twisted, taking in her cuts and scratches and a long tear in the side of her dress. 'No one's home yet,' she said softly.

  Kathryn's breath was unsteady. She tried to control the helpless shaking of her body, but her voice wobbled on the edge of hysteria. 'Then will you help me get Jon to bed?'

  At once, Emma was brisk and efficient, taking charge without taking over. She listened while Kathryn bathed him and her mouth thinned as she realised she was glossing over Paul's ruthlessness, telling her why Jon had gone out there.

  When Jon was again settled for the night, he smiled up at both women and murmured a sleepy 'Goodnight' before turning over and promptly falling deeply asleep.

  Emma watched him for a minute, then turned to Kathryn. 'If you don't mind, I'd like to stay here tonight, in case he wakes up or has a nightmare. I've got some knitting I want to finish anyway and I'm sure you've got some things you want to finish with Paul. I think I heard him come home a few minutes ago.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kathryn didn't linger in the shower. Washing away the dirt and soot, she looked ruefully at the long angry scratches on her arms and legs, then threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white blouse and dragged a brush through her hair, wishing she could get rid of Paul as easily as she could get rid of the pine needles in it.

  Paul was playing the piano. She heard him as she descended the stairs and she stood for a moment in the hallway outside the door, fighting for control. It wouldn't do to burst in on him, ranting and raving like an outraged mother. She had to remain calm and keep her dignity if nothing else. Forcing back her violent anger and grief and pain, she shuddered, lifting her head, listening as a long rolling chord rushed at her like approaching thunder. It was a discordant sound, wild and leaping, and it struck her into a poised calmness.

  He was unusually bad this evening, as he had been on many other evenings, only she had never realised it before. What he was playing couldn't be called music. The mechanical precision was there, but the heart and soul necessary to make it live was not. It was an empty echo of a composer's dream, and she wondered if Paul was aware of it. If she recognised this about him, surely other people who knew music, who attended his concerts, must know it too. Maybe that was why he needed the money Jon represented. Maybe he couldn't get first-class bookings any more.

  A sudden disconcerting pity for him came welling up, but she crushed it back at once. She didn't want to pity him. He deserved her hatred and anger for what he had done to Jon, not her compassion because he was so lacking in musical genius.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and gave the room a cursory glance. It was empty except for Paul—which was just as well. She didn't think she could stand it if she had to wait any longer to confront him.

  Her steps were rapid and jerky, taking her straight to the piano where Paul sat lost in his wild, toneless noise. He wore black slacks and a white frilled shirt with lace at the collar and cuffs. His eyes were closed, his face twisted and bitter. Never had he looked less like Logan. Kathryn stood without moving, and when he opened his eyes, his fingers jammed the keys and stopped abruptly, making the silence ringing between them thick and heavy.

  Paul must have seen something in her eyes, because all at once he jerked his hands to his chest and held them there as if afraid she might slam the lid on them. It was an exaggerated movement, and all it did was deepen her anger.

  A choking sound of anguish rattled in her throat and scorn dripped from her. 'How dare you?' Huge wet tears stood in her eyes, but she managed to keep her voice even. A restrained manner meant dignity. She wouldn't lose hers now. 'How dare you?' she said again, quietly.

  He blinked uncertainly, then blustered: 'What are you talking about?'

  'Oh, you know what I'm talking about, Paul. But it didn't work. I went after Jon and found him in the forest and now he's asleep upstairs. Safe in his bed. And Emma's with him. We agree he has to be protected from you.'

  All the colour left his face and his jaw started to sag, but he stiffened at once, his eyes darting impulsively past her. He wetted his lips and dragged his gaze back to her again as if suddenly cornered. 'I'm sure I don't know what you mean. He's my son—why should he be protected from me?'

  'Don't you dare call him your son!' she shrieked. Her control slipped, the breath in her throat rattled harshly and her eyes were terrible. 'You're the last person in the world to call yourself a father! No father would deliberately confuse his son. No father would deliberately destroy his son's faith in the only man he's known in that capacity merely for spite.' Her hands curled into white fists on the edge of the piano and her whole body clenched as she leaned forward closer to him. 'No father would deliberately ask his son to spend a night alone in the woods to prove he's his son!'

  Paul's jerky breathing filled the room. Jealousy and anger and fear ran through him as he stared at her. 'There has to be some way to prove he's mine. I've got to have him.'

  'No! You don't want him for himself. It's the money he represents—the bloody Ramsey fortune! You don't care about him as a person. You'll never get near him again, not as long as I'm living in this house!'

  'You can't stop me.'

  A dull red colour ran into her face and she swallowed, controlling herself with difficulty. She didn't want to have to tell him, to have to expose her humiliation and affronted pride to his view but she had no choice. 'But I can, Paul, You're wasting your time trying to convince anyone he's your son. I've always known he wasn't.' A searing pain ran through her, holding her rigid. 'Why do you think I left Logan all those years ago? Why I disappeared without a trace? He betrayed me, Paul. I saw him—with Carol. There was no doubt it was him. They were—so—passionate—' She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered helplessly. 'He couldn't refuse what Carol offered, no man could. I saw them together—on the very day he proposed to me. He had to have one last fling, and Jon was the result of it.'

  Paul's eyes widened and he seemed to shrivel. 'What?' he whispered in outrage. 'Carol told
me he never touched her.'

  'Do you think she wasn't above lying?' said Kathryn in a slow voice, seeing again that haunting silvery picture. 'I saw them, and I couldn't stand it. Logan had betrayed all the love I had for him, so I left. I should have realised I was too tame for a man like him. I think all along I did know, but I was young then and full of illusions.' Her voice was a whisper, and Paul's face blurred before her eyes.

  'The swine,' he muttered, rising from the piano bench, but Kathryn blinked away the sting of tears and impaled him with the blue flash of anger in her eyes.

  'Yes, he's a swine, Paul. But no more than you are. At least I was a grown woman. You tried to hurt an innocent child, and I'll never forgive you for that!'

  'But, Kathryn—'

  'Don't you "but Kathryn" me!' She was livid, shaking, wanting to rake her nails down his face. Her voice wobbled, but she held it steady with a tremendous effort. 'It's done, Paul. It's over. Finished. We both know Jon is Logan's son, and as long as I'm married to him, he's my son too. You'll never get near enough to hurt him again.'

  'All right, so he's not my son. I had my doubts, but it was worth a try. You don't have to make such a big production out of it. You sound as if you're trying to throw me out of my own house!' Paul was indignant, ignoring the angry tears sparkling on her lashes and the tight compression of her mouth.

  'That's exactly what I'm doing, Paul. I want you out of here—now, tonight. And take all your friends with you. I'm sick to death of them!'

  He gaped at her. 'You have no right to say such a thing!'

  'I have every right. I'm Mrs Logan Ramsey and this is my home now. There's nothing here for you any more.'

  He looked at her as if he couldn't believe his ears.

  Kathryn stared back at him without moving, hoping he couldn't see how her mind was churning. Maybe it was wrong to throw her weight around like this. She might not be Mrs Logan Ramsey for very much longer, but Paul didn't need to know that. By the time Logan had installed Margaret here as his wife, Paul would safely be on the other side of the world, and that would give Jon time to get over the trauma without worrying about Paul. 'Logan's given you all the things from this house that matter to you. And you have your music. You could make a lot of money with it if you'd work at putting some feeling into it.'