Sunshine and the Shadowmaster

by Christine Rimmer

  She knew Lucas, who sat next to her, was watching her. She made herself turn to him and she made herself smile.

  He looked back at her, one of those deep, incomprehensible looks of his.

  She was marrying a stranger. A stranger who owned her heart.

  * * *

  Four hours later, Heather stood at a window in an upstairs bedroom at her aunt Regina’s house, wearing her grandmother’s wedding gown and peering between lace curtains at the crowd in the backyard below.

  “Standing room only,” Eden said from behind her.

  Heather turned. “Yes.” She forced a smile. “There’s barely room to move down there.”

  Eden reached out a careful hand and smoothed a stray hair into place beneath Heather’s headpiece. “There. Beautiful.” She bent closer. “Did you tell him?”

  Heather took in a steadying breath. Her emotions, which had been touch and go all day, were hanging by a thread at that moment. “No,” she whispered in reply.

  Eden fiddled with Heather’s veil, smoothing out a few wrinkles. “It’s all right. You will. Tonight. On your wedding night. That will be the perfect time.”

  “I don’t know, Eden. I just don’t know.”

  Eden touched her arm. “Listen. Believe me. Love finds a way.”

  Heather had no reply for her stepmother. She honestly felt there was nothing to say. “Eden, if you don’t mind, I’d like a few minutes alone.”

  “Of course. I’ll be back up to collect you. When it’s time.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Eden, Heather turned to the window again to study the scene below.

  The window was closed, but even through the glass, Heather could hear the buzz of a hundred voices. All the family was assembled. And so many friends, too. Heather saw Lily talking to Rocky, who had a drink in his hand, as usual. Even Nellie Anderson and Linda Lou Beardsly were there, huddled together, whispering secrets that wouldn’t be secrets for long.

  And there was music. In a corner of the big yard, Aunt Regina sat at her piano, which the men had rolled outside for the occasion. Regina’s slim fingers flew over the keys, conjuring a melody both haunting and sweet.

  Not far from the piano stood an arbor of roses, which Heather’s aunts had set up at the edge of the lawn near the redwood fence. It was under that arbor that Heather and Lucas were to exchange their vows just minutes from now. Reverend Johnson, now standing stiffly near the arbor waiting for the proceedings to get under way, would perform the ceremony.

  Heather scanned the yard for Lucas and found him over by the refreshment table not far from the kitchen door. She couldn’t get over how handsome he looked, with his hair shining as black as a crow’s wing in the afternoon sun, wearing a tux that probably cost more than she could make at Lily’s in a year. He was talking to Grandpa Oggie, the dark head and the grizzled one bent close together. As she watched, her grandpa threw back his head and guffawed at some remark Lucas had made.

  By the look of things, Lucas was getting along just fine with her relatives. She supposed she should be pleased to see that.

  But it was hard to be pleased. There was just too much unsaid between herself and Lucas. There were too many mysteries. This should have been the happiest day of her life—and yet she felt nothing but bitterness and the burning of angry tears at the back of her throat.

  Lucas simply would not talk to her. He would not let her close, except to make love with her. And there was no reason for her to believe that it would be any different once they’d exchanged marriage vows.

  Her future stretched before her, grim and lonely. She’d be married to a man who kept her at a distance, miles away from her home and the people she loved. Mark—and eventually the baby—would bring some solace. But could they make up for a loveless marriage to a man who held himself aloof from her?

  The answer came, plain and simple: no.

  She’d had a happy, caring marriage. And settling for less now, no matter if she was pregnant or not, just wasn’t something she could do, after all.

  Admitting to herself that she loved Lucas had changed everything. It put everything into perspective somehow. She was a woman with a heart full of love to give. And the man she married had to be capable of loving her right back. That was why she had to tell him, had to see his face when she told him. She had to know if there was even a chance he might someday love her in return.

  But what could she do? How could she get through to Lucas, get close to Lucas? He was such a stubborn man, and nearly impossible to reach.

  Look at poor Mark. The boy had finally resorted to disappearing for three whole days to get the man to pay attention....

  The knock came at the door. It was Eden. “Ready? It’s time.”

  “Yes. All right.”

  Eden entered the room and helped to lift Heather’s veil and smooth it in place.

  “There.” Eden smiled.

  Heather smiled back at her through a cloud of white tulle and a mist of unshed tears. Eden went to the dresser and collected two bouquets: a small spray of sweet peas and daisies for herself and a beribboned creation of white roses, yellow freesias and baby’s breath for Heather.

  Down in the yard, Aunt Regina began playing “As Time Goes By,” the song they’d agreed would precede the wedding march. Both women turned, listening. Eden handed Heather her bouquet.

  “Let’s go,” Eden said, and went ahead out the door.

  Heather followed behind, moving slowly, mindful of her long skirt and the short train that brushed the floor behind her. Down the stairs she went, through the hall to the dining room and then through the dining room into the kitchen where the back door stood open onto the yard.

  It was a sunny day, but mild for August. Perfect weather, people had been telling Heather since morning, for an outdoor wedding. To Heather, standing in the cool dimness of her aunt Regina’s kitchen, the world beyond the threshold seemed preternaturally bright. The crowd of people appeared to glow with the sunlight reflecting off white shirts and summer cottons.

  The guests stood in two groups, leaving a swatch of lawn leading up to the arbor for an aisle. At the arbor, Lucas and Mark, who was dressed in a tux just like his father’s, waited a little to the side. Reverend Johnson held pride of place front and center.

  Heather’s father was standing by the kitchen door. Eden, Heather’s only attendant, had already stepped just beyond the door to wait for the wedding march.

  Heather approached her father and took his outstretched arm.

  The wedding march began. Eden started slowly down the aisle. When she reached the arbor and took her place on the opposite side from Lucas and Mark, Heather and her father stepped out into the light.

  A collective sigh rose from the guests at the sight of the bride in her grandmother’s wedding gown.

  Heather knew everyone was looking at her, but she stared straight ahead as she covered the distance between the kitchen door and the arbor. In no time, she was there. Her father stepped back. Heather felt, rather than saw, Lucas take his place.

  Reverend Johnson coughed officiously. And then he opened his black bible and began, “Dearly beloved—”

  And that was it. It was all Heather could bear.

  “No!” The word erupted from the depths of her.

  There was a silence the likes of which Heather had never known. Then, from the crowd, there seemed to come the sound of one long, indrawn breath.

  Heather whirled to face them all, as behind her she heard Reverend Johnson start to sputter. “Miz Conley, I don’t believe this is—”

  “Quiet, Reverend,” she muttered over her shoulder, then faced front again. She lifted her veil, quickly, to get it out of her way, almost ripping it in the process.

  She looked out on a sea of stunned, wide-eyed faces. She didn’t dare glance to the side yet, where Lucas was standing.

  “I can’t,” she heard her own voice say. “I won’t. And that is that.”

  “Miz Conley. Miz Conley, please...” Poor Rev
erend Johnson sounded distressed. But then, she knew he’d always loathed officiating at ceremonies involving the Joneses. Things never went as planned. “Miz Conley, we must—”

  “No!” Heather whirled on the Reverend. “Do you hear me, no!” The Reverend shrank back.

  Heather sucked in a breath and forced herself to turn to Lucas. “I can’t, Lucas.” Her voice was tortured, torn from her. She scanned the unknowable face she’d come to love in spite of herself. “Not like this. Not this way. Oh, Lucas. I just can’t!”

  She tossed her bouquet back over her shoulder, not caring in the least if anyone caught it. And then, as swift as the wind, Heather lifted her heavy skirts, kicked off her satin shoes and sprinted back up the grass aisle the way she had come, through the back door of her aunt Regina’s house, into the kitchen, the dining room, the living room—and right out the front door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Heather was halfway to the woods that began at the end of the street, yards of satin hiked up around her knees, her veil flying behind her, before pandemonium broke loose in her aunt’s backyard.

  The guests, who’d stood stunned as Heather fled, finally could no longer hold that collective breath they’d sucked in.

  They let it out, then they started to whisper, and then mutter. And within seconds, Tim Brown shouted out loud, “She’s gone!”

  “She’s run away!” Nellie Anderson exclaimed.

  “Who woulda dreamed it?” Rocky Collins cried. “Sunshine ran out on her wedding to the Shadowmaster!”

  Oggie, not far from the arbor, turned to bark at Lucas. “You better hightail it after her...” But then his gravelly voice trailed off.

  “Yeah, Dad, hurry, she’s getting away! You’ve got to—” Mark stopped in midsentence and looked all around. “Dad?”

  Oggie put his arm around the boy. “We might as well save our breath, son. Looks to me like your dad is one step ahead of us.”

  * * *

  Out on the street, Heather made the cover of the woods. But she didn’t slow down. She continued to run, though branches tore her veil, pebbles cut her stockings to shreds and she tripped more than once on the trailing hem of her gown. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, but to escape her aunt Regina’s backyard and all the stunned faces and Lucas, her dark love, who would not share his secret heart or allow her to share hers.

  Escape, get away, the words pounded in her blood as she ran on, tears streaming down her face, her breath coming into her lungs in great, gulping pants, until she was so exhausted she could run no more.

  Finally she tripped on a tree root, and went sprawling on the ground. And since she was there, she just stayed there, her face in the dirt, sobbing, sucking in air frantically, until her heart slowed a little, she caught her breath and she got the tears under control.

  After that, she pushed herself to a sitting position and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Right then, her pearl headpiece slid down over one eye. She realized she had sat up on her veil.

  With a small, “Oomph,” she managed to lift up enough to yank the veil out from under herself. Then, with the veil freed, she dropped to the ground again and shoved the headpiece, more or less, back into place.

  At last, with her vision unobstructed, Heather looked around her, trying to decide where she was.

  About two miles into the woods east of town, she judged. From a cedar tree nearby, a squirrel berated her, hanging on upside down, tipping its gray head from side to side. Heather looked down at her grandmother’s beautiful dress, which was now wrinkled and torn at bodice and hem, not to mention liberally streaked with red dirt.

  “Yes, I know,” she said to the squirrel, “I’m a mess. You don’t have to rub it in.” The headpiece threatened to slide over her eye again. She took a moment to find a hairpin in her tumbled coiffure and anchor the thing a little more firmly to the crown of her head.

  Then, with a great deal of grunting and groaning due to her trailing skirts, Heather struggled to her feet. The squirrel grew agitated as she stood. It squealed at her a few more times, slid around on the tree trunk until it was headed up instead of down, and scampered skyward, quickly disappearing into the thick branches above.

  Gamely, Heather saluted the animal. Then she gathered up her tattered skirts and started walking—or perhaps limping was more the word for it now—farther along the trail she’d come down.

  Soon enough, as she knew she would, she came to another trail that branched off to the right. She limped down that trail for a good half hour, then turned right again at a trail that she knew would take her to the highway just south of town.

  When she reached the highway, she hid behind a clump of sapling oaks until she was sure there was no traffic coming either way. Then she bolted across, holding her torn skirts high. Once she was on the other side she used the sun as her guide and went north again.

  An hour and a half after she’d run away from her wedding, her feet aching and her ruined dress now stained beneath the arms with sweat, Heather reached the old house where her grandpa had raised his family, the house where Mark had hidden from his father two months before. After all, she reasoned wearily, if it was good enough for Mark to hide from Lucas, it was certainly good enough for her.

  The front door was locked when she tried it, so she trudged through the dry weeds to the back. The back door was locked, too. But it had glass panes in the top and two of them were broken. It was easy to reach in and turn the bolt.

  Inside the house was cool and dusty. The cracked linoleum floor of the kitchen was marginally soothing to her hot, scratched feet. Heather shuffled through the kitchen, feeling just about as miserable as she’d ever felt in her life.

  When she reached the living room, Heather let her dress fall around her ankles, where it sent a thousand dust balls flying. Then, with a tired little groan, she set about removing her headpiece and veil.

  Her head, at least, felt lighter, once it was off. She laid it across an old easy chair in a corner.

  Then she padded over to the ancient couch, held her train to the side and sank to a sitting position, stirring up enough dust to burn her eyes and make her cough. When the coughing fit passed, she leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes.

  In the moments of stillness that followed, Heather remembered the baby. She put her hands on her stomach, her head still rested back and her eyes still closed.

  No problem there, she thought, smiling to herself in spite of the awfulness of her situation. She felt a little queasy, as usual. But the baby, she knew in her heart, was just fine. It was a strong baby, she knew that, too. She would not lose it as she had the other one.

  Heather sighed. She had no idea what she was going to do next. So she kept her eyes closed and just drifted for a while, trying not to think, trying only to make her mind a blank.

  And then she heard something. A rustling so slight it was barely a sound. She lifted her head.

  Lucas was there, standing in the shadows of the tiny hall between the kitchen and the front door. Dust, disturbed by his entry, swirled around him.

  Heather felt no surprise to see him. There was only the yearning that she always felt now. She longed to reach out her tired arms to him.

  But what good would it do? He truly was the Shadowmaster in more than just name. It was the way he lived. He kept his heart hidden.

  Slowly, not speaking, he emerged from the hall. He came to stand looking down at her. His fine tux and silk shirt were every bit as wrinkled and ripped as her wedding gown, though he seemed to have managed to stay on his feet—at least, he wasn’t smeared with red dirt as she was.

  Heather stared up the lean length of him and had to swallow before she could speak. “You followed me.”

  One of those faraway smiles curved his mouth. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  She fiddled with her satin skirt. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess I...didn’t think.”

  He gave a sigh that sounded as weary as she felt. Then he mo
ved down the couch a little, far enough to get past the ruined splendor of her train, and sat. He leaned back, then forward. Then he raked his hair with both hands. Finally he was still, his elbows on his spread knees, staring down at the buckled floor between his scuffed Italian shoes.

  Heather gathered her courage and tried to explain. “I just...couldn’t go through with it. You’re just...”

  Lucas turned to look at her and she thought she saw anger in his eyes. “What? I’m just what?”

  “You won’t...open up to me. You keep yourself apart from me. You won’t even really talk to me. You’re just not—”

  He rose then, so swiftly that she gasped. He stood over her again and his eyes were as hard as black stones. “I know. I get it. You don’t have to say one more damn word. I’m not Jason Lee. I know it. And I never will be.”

  She gaped at him. “But I...I don’t want you to be Jason Lee.”

  He let out a disbelieving snort and whirled away from her.

  She staggered upright, took a step, then faltered, wanting to approach him, but afraid to. “Lucas, please. I—”

  He spun back, pointed a finger at her. “Do you want me to talk to you? Now that it’s all over, do you want it all out in the open? Do you want to know all my...secrets? Is that what you want?”

  Heather stepped back, but came up against the couch. She almost collapsed into it, but managed to steady herself. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “All right, then. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Now she did sit, barely managing to reach behind her and scoop her train to the side. She watched him, waiting, hardly daring to move a muscle lest he back out on her now.

  But he didn’t back out.

  “I loved my little brother,” Lucas said. “But I hated him, too.” He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

  She couldn’t help prompting, “But why?”

  He dropped his hands and regarded her bleakly. “Life was so damn easy for him. Without half trying, Jason Lee had everything. He never left his hometown and he spent his working life on a county road crew. But he had a father and a mother who loved him, a place where he belonged—and you.”