“I didn’t know you were dyslexic, too.”
Mom entered the dining room, the scent of freshly brewing coffee following her. “Your pop never wanted to say anything. He didn’t think it would make much difference to you.”
“Of course it would have.” All these years he’d struggled in school, and his mother had been the one to go to the special meetings for his IEP in the Special Education Department. An “individualized education plan,” which had helped him graduate, just barely. He wouldn’t have felt so alone. But Tom didn’t bother saying these things aloud.
“I’m ashamed, Tom. Ashamed I passed this to you. Which is why I wanted you to go beyond what I did and not let it hold you back. Then when you got hurt in the Army—” Pop’s voice cut off. Mom reached for his hand.
“Pop, it’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.” Tom cleared his throat. “I’ve been asking God what’s going on, what His purpose is in all this, and what I’m supposed to do. I don’t hold you responsible at all.”
“But still, I know learning disabilities get passed down in the family.”
“That’s true,” Mom said. “But Tom can do a great many things. Can’t you, Tommy?”
“Pretty much.” Tom shrugged. “All except drive, for now.”
“Have you had any more headaches?” His mother’s forehead wrinkled.
“Nah, not really. Only if I get overtired. But I’ve been okay.”
“Well, you need to take good care of yourself. I think it’s awfully sweet, too, that Kelly is helping you out.”
“She’s a . . . neat person” was all he could manage to say.
“A ‘neat person’?” Mom shook her head. “Really, you can do better than that. I think you should keep her around. I like her a lot. Seems like a lost, sad soul who’s finding her way back from wherever she’s been.”
Tom nodded. He should be grateful that the focus was off him. He hadn’t intended his own issues to be the topic of conversation, but at least it wasn’t with the rest of the family around. That, and the topic of Kelly Frost. How to keep her around, he didn’t know.
The other night at the harbor, he’d fought to restrain himself and managed to not give her a quick kiss, which had almost occurred the night he’d brought her home for dinner. Watching her face, lit by a glow from the twilight reflected on the water, as she talked about some of the places she’d traveled in her work, well, he almost couldn’t pay attention to her stories. When she dropped the self-conscious shell, Kelly Frost glowed.
What had life done to her to scar her so much, living in a foster home aside? It sounded like the last home she’d lived in had almost become the family she never had.
“Son, you okay?” Mom patted him on the arm and offered him a cup of coffee. “You were off somewhere for a bit.”
“I’m okay.” He accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. “I was just thinking. Pop, I’m looking into some horticulture or woodworking classes at the community college. They have a good program that helps veterans, so this fall you might be looking at a college student.”
“Is that so?” Pop’s voice brightened as he closed the folder labeled Pereira genealogy.
12
Kelly opened her eyes, fabric inches away from her eyelashes. Somehow, during the afternoon she’d drifted off while working on the quilt. She shifted her arms to push herself upright, but the sensation of knives slicing through her neck and upper shoulders made her stop. She forced herself to move and moaned at the pain, reaching for the quilt top fabric with her gloved hands. Good. She hadn’t drooled on it or laid her bare skin on the piece. What had happened to her energy?
The light outside had faded at last. Another muscle spasm shot through her right shoulder as she glanced toward the hallway. Somehow, she had to get herself out of the chair, away from the ballroom, then up the stairs to her bathroom and the deep claw foot tub.
She’d overdone it. She squinted at the stitches she’d worked on this afternoon. No good. The new threads had already started unraveling the weakened fibers. Just what she hadn’t wanted to happen.
Today’s work, all nine hours or so of it, had been for nothing.
That knowledge didn’t help the lancing pain that made her gasp for breath when she stood. She should have known better. Take her time. She wasn’t about to call Jonna for help, or anyone else.
When Kelly reached the ballroom doorway, she leaned on the pocket door frame, taking slow deep breaths.
One step at a time. She could do this. As she walked, fresh pain sliced down her back in spasms, toward her knees. Maybe raising her arms up over her head would help.
She paused again and tried the maneuver. Bolts of pain struck her shoulders and she lowered her arms. She’d gone and done it good, this time. A whimper escaped her lips before she could bite it back.
Finally, she reached the stairs and tried the first step. One at a time, she could do it as long as she could stand hunched over the railing as she made her way to the top. With her phone finally tucked onto the bureau beside Mary Gray’s journal, Kelly hobbled to the bathroom and managed to get a hot bath started. She didn’t have any salts, but figured the hot water alone would help.
She found her pajamas and a fresh towel and laid them aside for later, then sank into the hot water, hissing as she did so. Bringing medicines hadn’t been on her mind when moving into Gray House. She doubted the place had a first aid kit, although she hadn’t taken the time to explore for things like that. She’d been too busy.
Kelly slowly worked her muscles, still wincing at the dull ache that shot through her shoulders. Her hands cramped as well. Carpal tunnel syndrome wouldn’t be too far away if she didn’t keep up with her exercises.
Maybe today’s overdoing it would be a minor setback. The fraying threads of the old quilt pattern told her she still had plenty of work ahead of her. She’d never walked away from a job and wasn’t about to with this one, foolhardy as it was to try to restore the quilt. If she’d really thought about it, she should have rejected the bid request and held out for something else.
But someone had wanted her here. A door slammed somewhere below. The noise made her jump involuntarily, causing another gasp.
That was it. She crawled from the tub and pulled on her robe. No weapon, but her phone. Kelly didn’t know what or who made this particular noise, but she was ready.
She called directory assistance for the non-emergency 911 number for the New Bedford Police. “Yes, I’m at 248 County Street, alone. I heard a noise, and I’m afraid someone was trying to get into the house.” The dispatcher assured her they’d send a car to patrol by the house and check the yard for her.
Maybe she should have called 911, but then, if it were nothing she’d feel mighty foolish. Her feet leaving damp footprints on the floor, she descended the main staircase. Another bang, from the rear of the house. Kelly tightened her grip on the phone and padded as silently as possible toward the kitchen. Tomorrow, she was going to find a baseball bat or something to keep on hand. Or pepper spray.
The back door was ajar, with the breeze banging the screen door against the rear of the house. Kelly opened the back door and pulled the screen door shut, locking it from the inside, then doing the same with the main door.
Had someone been in the house with her? Tom had come and gone already with his other job, his father giving him a ride. She’d remembered to check the sprinkler timer, and it was correctly set for six a.m. Maybe that was it. She was to blame for not making sure the old kitchen door latched.
Firm pounding sounded toward the front of the house. Kelly moved that direction as quickly as she could with aching shoulders, back, and neck. She unlatched the front door to see a New Bedford police officer on the front steps with a patrol car at the curb. She could glimpse a rear fender through the iron gate.
“Miss, you called about the noise?” The young officer strained to look over her shoulder. “I need to see some identification, please.”
Kelly presented him
with her driver’s license, as the dispatcher had suggested she have it ready. “Yes, I did. It seems silly now that I called, but like I said, I’m staying here alone and heard some noises.” She felt like an idiot now, playing the proverbial helpless female scaredy-cat.
“That’s quite all right, Ms. Frost.” The officer nodded. “I’m going to go around the side of the house and look through the back yard, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“I’m on until eleven p.m., so I’ll try to swing by once more before my shift is over.”
“Thanks, officer . . .”
“Dudden.”
“Officer Dudden, I appreciate it.” She smiled and nodded at the man, then relatched the front door and checked the back door once more. It had never occurred to her to check the windows for locks. She shuddered as she headed upstairs.
Kelly winced as before while hauling herself upstairs. If this was what getting old felt like, she was in no hurry. She reached her bedroom and stopped at the bureau.
Something was off about Mary Gray’s journal. She hadn’t moved it, but she knew she’d set it directly on the lace doily without any hanging off the edge of the fabric. Now one whole corner of the journal hung over the wood.
Had it been moved?
Her arms prickled as if she suddenly stood in a full breeze. Ridiculous. She’d been in a hurry to get downstairs, and she hadn’t even paid much attention to the journal. Maybe she’d even bumped it when grabbing her phone on the way downstairs.
Either way, she didn’t like it. She’d call Mrs. Acres in the morning and share her concerns about the house’s security.
After a light supper, she settled down to read Mary Gray’s story once again. She winced as she sat down on the upholstered cushion. If this pain and the muscle spasms didn’t quit, she’d hunt down a massage therapist.
August 5, 1851
Esteban returned to the house for another lesson, he said. At last, after a long absence. But it is he who has taught me a new language, the language of love for the past three days. While I was once the teacher, I have become his pupil. I sent the help to their homes and we have scarcely left my room, but to care for little Hiram. I am doomed. When Hiram returns from the sea, I shall leave him. Scandal or no. Esteban is my love, my world. May God have mercy on us.
Kelly’s cheeks burned as she closed the journal. She almost wanted to take another bath after reading Mary’s entry. The woman had said plenty without sharing details. Her remark about asking for God’s mercy sounded hollow.
“You can never beg God to have mercy on sin, but only on the repentant sinner,” Lottie had said once upon a time, when Kelly had called during graduate school.
Kelly put the journal away, this time in a nightstand drawer near the bed. She had earned the right to hear Mary’s story by working on her quilt, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep reading.
Mary didn’t sound exactly repentant, but more as if she couldn’t help herself. Rationalizing. Didn’t everyone do that from time to time? When does wrong become right, when does the “these are my feelings and I can’t help myself” make things wrong in the sight of the law and of God, the Lawgiver?
Kelly’s own indiscretions came back to her mind, although they were never far away. She should have known something wasn’t quite right with the whole relationship with Peyton. The way it was always the two of them, never anyone else. Only calling him on his cell phone, never the office. She had assumed it would keep things from getting into a professional snarl for both of them.
Oh, it had avoided a snarl all right. Avoided his wife and their colleagues from knowing until Jonna had stumbled onto the truth.
Lord, I should have known, should have realized. But she’d been naive and giddy with the prospect of a future with Peyton.
She’d even asked him once about when they could go public with their relationship.
“Soon,” he’d told her. “I’m waiting for the right time for both of us.” Then he’d whisked her to Martha’s Vineyard for a weekend, and she’d put the idea out of her mind.
Mary, Mary. Kelly patted the nightstand. She decided to drag herself to the nearest drugstore to get some ibuprofen. Maybe the medication would soothe her muscles so she could sleep tonight. Sleep, without thoughts of Mary Gray inside her head.
A blue service van marked A-1 Security Systems was parked in front of Gray House, with William Chandler’s car behind it.
“Oh good, they’re here,” Kelly said from the driver’s seat.
“You don’t sound like that’s good.” Tom wished she’d have called him the other night. He would have camped out on the front steps, or something, just to ensure her safety.
She maneuvered her car into the space at the back entrance of the property. “Good, as in I’ll sleep better with a security system in place.”
“What?”
Kelly didn’t answer, but parked the car and got out.
William Chandler appeared near the driver’s side door and was already talking when Tom closed his own door. “—overreacting.”
“What’s your supervisor’s number, or your boss’s number?” Kelly stood beside the car, her hands on her hips. “Surely you have a boss. I’d think he or she would want to protect what’s inside the house, and I’m honestly surprised they don’t have a security system in place already. There are thousands of dollars of valuable antiques and textiles in that house.”
Chandler stood there, looking like he was about to say a few choice words himself. Then Tom caught his eye and he backed down. “My ‘supervisor or boss’ can’t be bothered. He’s a very busy man. This house is only one of his interests and is hardly at the top of his real estate list.”
“I would think if you had someone living here in a house that had been empty for so long, you’d want to take a few precautions,” Tom said, giving Kelly a nod. “Haven’t you heard of real estate squatters who take over abandoned or empty houses? Except this one’s not empty anymore.”
“I can’t believe you phoned the police over noises.” Chandler shook his head.
Didn’t the guy have a clue? Tom opened his mouth to say something, but Kelly beat him to it.
“Who should I have called? You? Would you have come out and checked the house for me?” Kelly shook her head, then took a deep breath. “Look, honestly, I’m not trying to cause problems. I’m just here to work on the quilt. Which is coming along, in case you were wondering.”
Footsteps on the lawn made them look toward the house. The serviceman approached, holding a clipboard. “Mr. Chandler?”
With that, Kelly headed toward the house, Tom following.
“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside her.
“I’m a little cranky this morning, I’m warning you. I think someone was in the house last night, my neck and shoulders are killing me, and I’ve hardly slept.” She paused at the back steps and faced him.
“You should have called me last night,” he said.
“But how would you have gotten over here?”
“I would have figured something out. Either that, or had someone come for you. My parents have an extra room you could have crashed in.”
“Thanks, that’s really nice of you.” She gave him half a smile.
He couldn’t figure out what was with her. Sometimes she opened up like the morning sun coming from behind the clouds and it made him stop and stare. Other times like now, she acted as if they’d only just met.
“If it helps you to know, I’m not a fan of Chandler, either. But I have a job and I like it. I want to keep it.” His words surprised him, about liking the job. But the realization was true.
“Me too, me too.” She opened the back door, and winced.
“Are you okay?”
“I overdid it a little, sat too long without stretching.” She stood in the doorway, looking down at him.
“Ah.” He took the plunge. “There’s a jazz fest tonight at the harbor park. I need a ride.”
�
�Oh. You do?”
“Think you can take a night off from this big old house?”
Now a full smile crept across her face. “I think I can.”
“Pick me up at seven?” He never imagined he’d be glad to be the one waiting on a ride.
“I’ll be there.”
13
December 1851
One year ago, I cradled an infant. Little Hiram walks the floors of Gray House now as the child inside me grows. Esteban’s child. No one else knows and that is as it should be. I shall tell Esteban soon, if he has not surmised my state already. He stays at the house now, away from the eyes of the servants. I have let all but one couple go. My funds are short and the others’ prying eyes I could not risk betraying us.
Mrs. Walter Woodhouse came calling, telling me she has missed seeing me these many weeks at a church service. It used to be that I would walk to the house of God with my neighbors on the block, or we would proceed carriage by carriage. Those holy halls have no place for me now. Others may enter with clean attire and sin-filled hearts inside, but I know better. At least I am honest with my state as an adulteress. I have taken to heading to the lookout to see if Hiram’s ship is returning. At one time he said spring, he hoped.
Kelly set the journal down and covered her mouth with her hand. Oh, Mary. She shouldn’t have been surprised at this turn in the lady’s story. Maybe it wasn’t fair. Times were different back then, and people didn’t marry for love, but for money, convenience, companionship, or part of a business transaction. And then, were you to meet someone that you “connected with . . .”
She shoved the thought aside. It was modern thinking, “connecting with” someone. But Mary and Esteban had definitely connected. Call it the hormones of youth spurred on by loneliness. Still, Mary had taken vows. She should have known better. Generations were affected by her and Esteban’s actions.
Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series Page 11