When Claire reached the second floor, she peered around the corner and saw him. Jimmy was standing with his back to her. He wore gunmetal-gray trousers, a black belt that cinched tightly at his waist, and the scuffed boots he had always worn. He’d stripped off his coat and wore only a collarless cotton shirt that showed off broad shoulders her hands had caressed as he’d made love to her. His thick blond hair had grown out and now dipped below his shoulders.
He raised his right muscled arm and drove it down onto an oar hook that she could see now was bent.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
She fancied those arms wrapping around her. God, if only word of his survival had returned to her sooner. She’d have waited and taken him.
The raised hammer stilled as he sensed her presence. He slowly lowered the hammer, and the muscles in his back bunched with tension.
“What do you want?” Jimmy said without turning.
His voice was rough, harsh, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if this was Jimmy.
“Jimmy,” she said. “It’s Claire.”
He gripped the handle of the hammer tighter. “Go away, Claire.”
The rejection was so out of place she assumed she’d heard wrong. “Jimmy, it’s me, Claire.”
“I heard you the first time.” He didn’t turn, and a fresh tautness rippled through his shoulders as he straightened.
Boards under her feet creaked as she stepped closer. This close, she could smell his scent mingling with the salt air. To the right was a small cot, which he’d made years ago. It was the cot where’d they’d made love and huddled together until just before dawn. Beside it was an old, worn trunk with a stack of books upon it as well as a leather-bound journal.
“Go away, Claire.”
Her hand slid to her belly. “You’ve heard about my marriage.”
“Aye.”
“I thought you were dead.”
He stared ahead, silent, not turning toward her. His long, thick hair curled, hiding his face from her. “It’s for the best.”
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t even close to the best. It was a tragic mistake, and she feared her growing hate for her husband would poison the child inside her. As if the baby read her thoughts, it just then kicked hard in her belly. But shame more than loyalty kept her silent. She didn’t want him to know how much she despised and feared her husband.
“Won’t you even look at me?” she asked.
“No.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Am I such a horrible person, Jimmy, that you can’t even look at me?”
“Go away, Claire.”
All that they’d shared. She’d given him her innocence. She’d protected secrets for him. Even when Robert pressed, even when he hit her, she’d not betrayed Jimmy.
Frustration crowded its way past the sadness and guilt. She crossed the room toward him and laid her hand on his shoulder. He flinched and stepped away.
“I won’t let you just toss me aside as if I were nothing. We loved each other!”
He carefully laid his hammer on the table by his side and, fingers curling into fists, turned slowly to face her.
Anticipation grew to the point of bursting. How many nights had she dreamed of his stern, handsome face?
But all those dreams exploded in a rush of fear and disgust as he now faced her. The entire right side of his face was an angry pink scar. Half his nose and his right eye were missing.
She stepped back, unable to swallow the startled scream. She could feel his pain. This was a man she’d dreamed of touching again. Shivers of revulsion and terror cut through her. She was ashamed by her reaction, but fear gripped her completely.
As Claire backed up, she tripped. Reflex had him reaching for her, but she drew in her arms as she righted herself. The walls of the room shrank. The air grew heavy and putrid.
Clutching her belly with one hand, her other hand barely skimmed the wall as she took the stairs two at a time. She rushed out into the sunshine and sucked in fresh air as she tried to shove the image of Jimmy’s devastation and destruction from her mind. Her Jimmy. What she’d seen in the boathouse was more demon than human.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lucy
January 19, 2018
Natasha could barely stand still as Hank carefully raised the lid from the chest and set it aside. Lucy’s own excitement built as she edged closer and peered inside. On top was a neatly folded blue wool blanket that smelled musty. Moths had chewed away at the outer edges, leaving them frayed.
Lucy knelt in front of the chest. The wool fabric was scratchy to the touch, and she carefully set it aside. Underneath was an odd collection of items. There was a compass, a straight razor, a shaving cream bowl, an ivory comb, and a collection of chess pieces carved from whale ivory. There were books, including A Boy’s Will by Robert Frost and Tom Swift and His Air Glider by Victor Appleton.
Lucy picked up one of the chess pieces, marveling at the minute detailing of scrolls and patterns. “There’s a hairbrush and comb set in my room with markings like this.”
“It’s called scrimshaw,” Hank said. “Sailors carved whale ivory in their spare time and sold it when they were in port. It looks like Jimmy had a talent for this.”
Natasha held up a white horse. “This is a rook.”
“Do you play chess?” Lucy asked.
“Not a lot, but I like it.”
“I play too. Used to be my thing when I tended bar. Beat me in a game of chess, and your next drink was free.”
“How many free rounds did you give away?” Hank asked.
“Not many,” she said.
“I believe you have many hidden talents,” he said.
The silkiness under the words glided over her skin, making her feel restless. “Natasha, I’ll play you sometime.”
“Cool.”
Next from the chest was a macramé bracelet made of a thin rope braided in an intricate pattern. “That’s a seaman’s bracelet. It can be unwound if the sailor needs a rope,” Hank said.
“What kind of downtime would this guy have?” Lucy asked.
“As a captain, not much. He was accountable for the ship, the cargo, and the men, in that order,” he said.
Under three neatly folded shirts, she found a small picture frame featuring a woman surrounded by her five boys. The oldest three boys, who appeared to be in their late teens, were tall and gangly with splashes of freckles across their faces. A young boy with black hair and dark eyes leaned against his mother, who cradled a toddler with a thick shock of blond hair. The woman was smiling. Her sturdy face could never be considered classically beautiful, but there was a kindness and vibrancy in her eyes that was compelling.
Lucy turned the picture over and saw Sally Jessup and her boys, 1920. “The three older boys are the Hedrick children. The boy with the dark hair is Aaron, and the littlest one must be my grandfather, Samuel.” She handed Hank the picture.
“The timing would be about right. He was almost hundred and one years old when he died this past September. He was a seaman, a captain in the merchant marines,” Hank said. “Couldn’t settle down until well into his fifties, when he finally married and had your mom. Even then, he kept mostly to the sea and was gone most of the time.”
“Beth said she was on her own a lot as a child. I guess that’s why she was never bothered about being by herself. In her mind, she could take care of herself.” Lucy cocked her head. “Samuel looks like the picture I saw of Jimmy Latimer in the local paper,” she said. There’d been so many years of not knowing where she’d come from. How many family-tree assignments in school had she fabricated to spare herself the embarrassment?
“So this James dude might be your great-grandfather?” Natasha asked.
“Maybe.”
“Do you think Mrs. B was Samuel’s real mother?” Natasha asked.
“She couldn’t have been,” Lucy said. “Mrs. B was married just days before he was born, and I’ve seen the photographs taken on her wedding day. The dre
ss hugs her slim waist.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the little boy’s striking eyes. “Samuel was born here the fall of 1916. The same time Mrs. B was at Winter Cottage with Victoria.”
“Victoria was Samuel’s mother?” Hank asked.
It all made sense. “And James was his father. The baby’s birth would have been the kind of secret a rich family would want to hide,” Lucy said.
“Victoria went on to marry my great-grandfather, Edward Garrison, a wealthy New York financier. She also never returned to the cottage,” Hank said.
Natasha took the picture of Samuel, studying his face and then Lucy’s. “So this means Lucy’s related to James Latimer?”
“I suppose I am.” And then to Hank, “Were there any whispers of a child’s birth in your family?”
“There was never a word about Victoria giving birth out of wedlock, but then, that’s the kind of thing families didn’t talk about,” Hank said.
Dolly rose, stretched, and walked toward the door. She glanced over her shoulder with a wistful “who notices me?” glance.
Natasha rose. “I got this.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy asked. “Your arm.”
Natasha wiggled her fingers. “I’m getting better. And Dolly is a pretty good listener.”
“If she takes off after a rabbit, call one of us,” Hank said. “And stay close to the house. Really close.”
“Will do.” The girl scrambled to her feet and vanished out the door with the dog.
“So if I’m descended from Jimmy and Victoria, and you’re descended from Victoria and Edward, what does that make us? Very distant cousins?” She rose and stared out the window. “Any other excitement for today?”
“There is Brian. He’s lying low, but he can’t forever.”
“And then what?”
“His parole will be revoked, and likely he’ll do prison time. He was drunk on public-school property, and the judge was very clear that if Brian got into any more trouble, even jaywalking, he was going back inside.”
Through the window, Lucy could see Natasha pick up a stick and toss it for Dolly to chase. The dog ran up to the stick, sniffed it, and kept running. Natasha chased after her.
“Dolly doesn’t fetch,” Lucy said, more to herself.
“Natasha will teach her,” he said.
Lucy changed the direction of the conversation and asked, “How did your meeting go today in Norfolk?”
“We need to talk about that.”
“Why?”
His face was angled, and the dimming light cast shadows. “They’ll give me the loan provided you sign as well.”
“Me?”
“You own the house and the land. I’m merely a tenant. Both are worth a lot. They want the collateral.”
“So you want me to risk the only home I have ever owned.”
“It’s a big ask. I know that. I’ve put everything on the line to bring this town back.”
She didn’t think he’d meant to corner her, but she felt as if her back was to the wall. “And you expect me to do the same?” Her chest felt tight. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t think it would be that big of a stretch. Lucy, I’m asking you to risk a place you’re not even sure you want.”
She was growing to love Winter Cottage, and the thought of putting down roots scared her. “You should have talked to me before you met with the bank.”
Annoyance flashed in his gaze. “I’m talking to you now.”
“You’ve implied promises on my behalf you had no right to. We’ve made no promises.”
He closed his eyes a moment. “I thought we were further along in trusting one another.”
It had been amazing. And that was what scared her. “It’s interesting you mentioned that. Remember when I said working in a bar attuned my skills to spotting BS? I think you know who my birth father is.”
He was silent for a moment.
She bored into him. “You do know.” She shook her head. “It’s Brian, isn’t it?”
He held her gaze. “I never knew for sure, but I think he might be Brian.”
Sadness mingled with frustration, hurt, and anger. “How long have you known?”
“When I spoke to your mother in September. She mentioned Brian’s name, but she sounded so confused by the pain medicine. There were moments when she seemed to think she was back in high school.”
Something deep in her ached. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I really didn’t know anything for sure. And honestly, I was worried what he’d do to you when he figured out the truth.”
Seeing his logic didn’t soften the rush of sadness. “It would have been the perfect way to scare me off.”
“That would have been a cheap shot. Mrs. B left you Winter Cottage, and you deserved to decide how to handle it without Brian breathing down your neck.” He reached for her, but she pulled away.
“You should have talked to me about Brian before you dragged me into your loan.”
“You said you wished you could have done more to help. I took you at your word.”
“It’s not fair.” Outside Dolly barked and chased Natasha in circles.
“If you’re looking for fair, then you’re out of luck, Lucy. Megan buried a fiancé when she was barely two months pregnant. I was a pallbearer at his funeral. Rick’s picking up the pieces of his own life, and Claire spent a lifetime living with unfair. Life isn’t fair.”
He grabbed his jacket and stormed out the front door.
She stood in the house alone, listening to the wheels of his truck drive away. She raised a trembling hand to her head, irritated with him but more with herself. The phone rang, and she crossed to answer it. “Hello?”
“Lucy, this is the sheriff. I have news about Brian Willard. He just turned himself in. He’s in a cell now.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Sheriff.”
“He wants to talk to you.”
With an effort, she shifted her thoughts from Hank to Brian. “When?”
“Give him a couple of days to sober up. Can you come in on Monday morning?”
As much as she didn’t want to deal with Brian, she had no choice. “I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Beth
June 19, 1988
Beth threw up this morning. That was bad enough, but the guy she’s dating asked her to steal something from Mrs. B. He went to Maryland, bet big at the tables, and lost ten grand. There are men who are demanding money from him, and he needs her to steal from Mrs. B. When she refused, he shoved her into the shed behind his parents’ trailer and set fire to the door. She kicked out a board in the back and crawled out, coughing and struggling to breathe. He was waiting for her. Smiling, he insisted she wouldn’t escape the next time.
Now as her fingers curl around the antique box and tuck it in her pocket, she knows she could get several hundred dollars for it in Norfolk.
As she sets up the camera equipment for the last interview, Mrs. B sits calmly in her chair as she’s done every other time. However, when the old woman looks at Beth now, she senses the old woman is on to her.
“You’re pregnant,” Mrs. B deadpans.
Beth thinks about the box in her pocket and is almost relieved the old woman doesn’t know about that. “Do you have X-ray vision or something?”
“Once a woman has had a child, she can see the signs in another woman.” When Beth readies to toss out a lie, Mrs. B holds up her lined, bent hand. “Who is the father?”
The lies fall away, and she is left with nothing but fear and worry. “Does it matter? I’m not even sure I’m going to keep it.”
Mrs. B fusses with the folds of her dress before folding her hands in her lap. “Why wouldn’t you keep it?”
“Then he’d have a hold over me. He’s talking about getting married and being a family. He has no idea what he’s talking about. If we lasted a year together, it would be a miracle.”
With steel in her voice, Mrs. B asks, “Who is
he?”
“Brian Willard.”
“His father worked for me many years ago. The father was lazy and a drunk.”
“He’s in trouble with guys he owes money to.” She thinks about the ivory box.
“That’s why you stole the box?”
“What?”
“I’ve been in this room for so many years, I know when a tassel on those drapes is out of place. I see that one of my boxes is missing.”
Desperation kept her from confessing. “I’ve got to get out of town, Mrs. B. I need to be as far from him as I can because the men chasing him are really bad. One of them threatened me. Said he’d kill me if I didn’t call when I saw him.”
“And you’re going to get rid of the baby?”
Tears flow unchecked down her cheeks. “It’s not like I want to. This kid is doomed if we stay in town.”
“I’ll give you money to leave.”
“What?”
“I’ll give you the money to move to Nashville and chase your dreams. Raise your baby. I’ll make sure Brian or these men do not know how to find you.”
“You’d do that? Why?”
“A woman should be allowed to raise her child in peace. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
Beth reached into her pocket, removed the box, and set it on the table.
“Fitting you’d choose the compass. It was always one of my favorites. Keep it. Bring it back to me when you’re ready to return. Or tell your child to bring it back when she returns.”
“My child won’t come back.”
Claire
May 17, 1917
Claire’s labor pains began in the predawn hours the day after she saw Jimmy. Mrs. Latimer summoned a local midwife who’d delivered most of the babies on the shore, including hers. Robert was still in Norfolk, and a boy was dispatched to town to send a telegram.
The labor pains crushed through her, tearing and washing her body in agony. Mrs. Latimer held on to her hand as a housemaid fetched blankets. She knew she deserved the agony as the next contraction arrived. She had been cruel to the one man who had saved her life and loved her. He had needed her kindness, and she’d abandoned him.
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