When Night Falls

by Cait London

  Mitchell framed her face with his hands. “I love you, Uma. Don’t do this.”

  She smiled sadly, the wind licking her hair around them in a storm of silk. “Will you love me any less if I do?”

  When he couldn’t speak, torn by fear for her and what she intended, Uma stroked his cheek. “You’ve told me in so many ways that you love me, you know. You’ve shown me in every action, in how you’ve tried to move from the past, because you cared. I won’t start life with you like this, when I could have helped Pearl. I should have tried to help her sooner…I knew she was deeply troubled and at a breaking point. I was so tied up in my own life, in my grief for my baby and in trying to keep safe, that I didn’t act. I won’t have her death on my conscience. Try to understand.”

  “Uma has to go, to help Pearl, Mitchell,” Shelly said quietly as she came to take Uma’s hand. “That’s who she is. Don’t ask less of her.”

  Taking a deep, searing breath and fighting his terror, Mitchell stepped back. “I won’t be happy if you let anything happen to you. And Lauren won’t be happy, either.”

  “I know. Could you just save the lectures until we’re home together?”

  “Uma! I need you,” Pearl cried wildly. “I’m afraid. Help me! Lauren is here. Don’t you feel her? She’s here! She’s come for me. I’ve been a bad girl. She’s going to punish me!”

  She sounded like a frightened child rather than a murderer, small against the blades whirring behind her, the wind whipping at her hair and clothing.

  Uma cupped her hands together and called, “Lauren is not going to punish you, Pearl. She wants you to be safe. She wants you to come down.”

  “I’ll go,” Mitchell said darkly, resenting his own softness for the woman who had caused so much pain.

  Uma stayed him with a hand on his arm. She looked down at the blood staining her fingers. “You’re hurt.”

  “It grazed the skin. I’m fine.” In the present nightmare, he saw Uma skip mentally back to when Lauren was killed, the woman’s blood on her hands. “Lauren, Uma. Think of how Pearl had Lauren killed, of how she tried to kill Shelly. She knows how to use you, how to reach inside and—and it’s a long way down, if she takes you with her.”

  Uma shook her head slowly, sadly. She tore her skirt once, then again to fashion the scrap into a length which she tied around Mitchell’s arm. “She wants me. She’s not in control now. She’s just poor Pearl, and I’ve got to help her. You’ve got to trust me in this, Mitchell.”

  “No. You’re not going up there. It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of reality. She could take you down with her.”

  Mitchell fought the terror inside him as Uma smiled softly. “Lauren wouldn’t want Pearl to die like this, Mitchell. Neither do I. I’m the only one she’ll listen to. And who would take you to the doctor and listen to you cry about the stitches this wound will need? I couldn’t put anyone else through your grumbling and ranting and bullying, could I?”

  She smoothed his face, her expression tender. “Mitchell, I am who I am, and I need to help Pearl. I couldn’t live with myself if I let this happen to her. You see, my mother only found out about how badly Pearl was treated much later. My mother felt that she should have done something, that she should have recognized the signs of abuse. To the day she died, Mother felt badly about Pearl. Those are old ties and debts that others might not honor, but in our family it’s left to me. So I understand why it was so important for your father to try to work this land—because he’d promised someone he loved deeply. In a way, I inherited Pearl, good or bad. I can’t just write her off. I have to do this, Mitchell.”

  Faced with that logic, Mitchell shook his head. “You promise me that you’ll come down safe.”

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “When one begins a journey, one must finish it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Not when you’ve just told me that you love me. Not when we have the rest of our lives to go skinny dipping.”

  Uma gripped the wooden bars leading up to the windmill and stepped up to the first one. Mitchell’s hands on her waist tightened, as if he wouldn’t let her go. “I’ll be fine, Mitchell, but not if I don’t get her down safely.”

  “Just a minute. Your hair could get caught.” He deftly wove her hair into a long braid and secured the tip with the elastic band Roman handed him.

  He bent to her long dress and tore it at her thighs. “You’re not getting tangled up in this thing, either.”

  There was just that brief squeeze of his hands as if he would lift her away from the windmill, and then she was moving upward.

  Uma focused on Pearl, high above her, the windmill’s blades catching the wind. “I’m coming, Pearl,” Uma called, just as Pearl seemed to waver on the edge of the platform. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll have a nice chat? I’ve been wanting to know how you manage those beautiful parties…how you get your ideas for folding those napkins, and where did you find the napkin rings this last time? Then there are the caterers—”

  Uma pushed herself up the wooden bars, fear licking at her stomach, tightening it. She moved onto the old wooden platform and took Pearl’s outstretched hand.

  “I’ve been bad,” Pearl whined.

  She had killed and caused to be killed, and yet Uma saw the child within her that needed love. “I love you, Pearl,” she said above the wind and the whirring of the blades behind them. “Lauren loves you, too. She wants you to come with me, so we can be together, like we’ve always been. Lauren, Shelly, you and I…”

  I’ll always be with you…

  “Mitchell—ah, you’re holding me too tight. I can’t breathe,” Uma said in the doorway of Mitchell’s house, where he stood holding her close against his chest, as if fearing to let her go. “Put me down.”

  “Uh. Sorry.” His voice was uneven, his body tense with the lingering fear that held them both. He eased her to her feet, but gathered her tenderly back against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. He rocked her against him, taking the shaking of her body, her reaction after the nightmare, into his own body. “I keep seeing you crawling up that shaky old windmill, the wind tearing at your clothes. You could have fallen at any minute. I told Lauren to keep you safe. I felt she was with you up there.”

  “She was. I felt her around me. She made me feel safe.” Uma held Mitchell tighter, his body anchoring her from the past hours of nightmare; she took comfort in the gentle soothing of his hands on her hair.

  Uma saw him again, on the ground, looking up at her. Every ridge and plane on his face was edged by fear, catching the dim light, the wind tearing at his clothes.

  She heard again the eerie sound of the windmill blades, churning in the wind, and Pearl’s childish cries.

  “Well, you weren’t safe. You were clinging to the windmill with one hand and holding her hand with the other.”

  “I can’t stop shaking. She was so terrified, and I was, too. She’s so sick, Mitchell. Even sedated, when Lonny took her away, she was raving about her mother, and how she hated roses. She wanted Walter, and I doubt he’ll even visit her in the institution, if that’s where she’s placed.” Uma decided to have a little chat with the man who had pushed Pearl over the brink. Each summer the Whiteford girls came back from their aunt’s like any other vibrant teenagers, then within a week, they were quiet shadows.

  “Walter will manage,” Mitchell said grimly as he kissed her temple. “And she’ll have you.”

  “Yes. She’ll have me.” She wouldn’t desert Pearl, though she had done horrible things. “And nothing is going to happen to Mike. He’s paid enough already. I’ll see to that. Lonny will help.”

  “You’re going after Walter, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m going to research his sister very well, and if she wants those girls, Walter is going to sign off as the father he’d never been.”

  “Walter and I need to have a little chat—”

  Uma stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. “Stop. I can handle Walter. He can�
�t very well play the poor, innocent duped husband, if I tell all I know, and I will if he—”

  Mitchell lifted an eyebrow. “That’s called blackmail.”

  She shrugged and smiled softly. “One must use the elements at hand to complete a necessary task. Walter is that. There are a few outlaws in his ancestry that he doesn’t know about. He wouldn’t want them to come out. I imagine he’ll be relocating. You might not be a yard man there, anymore.”

  The midnight storm crashed and battered the house that had been Lauren’s; rain hurled against it in gray sheets. Then suddenly, it stopped, and a quiet, cleansing rain pattered at the windows. “Lauren is leaving,” Uma whispered quietly. “Do you feel her leaving?”

  Mitchell listened to the stillness of the house, the quiet shadows at peace. “Yes, I do. Her work is done. She’s protected you.”

  I’ll always be with you…

  Mitchell and Uma stood in the quiet barren house, and only the scents of lemon cookies, fresh lumber and paint remained. “Mitchell? Do you smell lemon cookies?”

  He lifted her in his arms, holding her tight against his chest. “I found Lauren’s recipe book, and thought I’d try baking the cookies. They were good.”

  “Mmm. I’m so tired,” she murmured, and then yawned and placed her head on his shoulder. Mitchell would take care of her, his arms strong around her, and she’d come such a long way. She’d come from the shadows where she’d lost a baby and fought living as a woman. She’d come to Mitchell, the man she loved, and who loved her in every touch, every look. Uma had traveled from a lonely, safe life to bond with Mitchell, a man she adored.

  She sighed and cuddled close to him. Everything else could wait until morning.

  “Mom!” Dani and Grace stood on Everett’s front porch as Shelly hurried through the quiet rain to them.

  Roman stood with his hands in his pockets, hunched against the rain and loneliness. Shelly stopped on the sidewalk, poised between her daughter and her lover.

  She hurried back to Roman. “You’re not getting away from me tonight. Come in. Dani needs to know that we’re both safe—her father and her mother.”

  “Grace,” he said flatly, the one word holding the reason he wasn’t coming into the house. “Go on, if that’s what you want to do. I’ll be at the garage. Call me if you need me.”

  “Hardhead.”

  “Hey, Pops, where are you going?” Dani called, and ran through the rain to him, his beautiful, wonderful daughter, a part of him and a part of Shelly.

  And a part of Grace. The thought stunned him as Dani hugged his arm and Shelly pressed against his other side.

  “Coming in, Pops?” Dani asked anxiously, and he knew she needed to know that he was safe, that all of them were safe—her family, the family she’d wanted for so long, the father she’d missed.

  Dressed in a long robe, Grace stood on the porch, her face pale in the layers of mist and gentle rain between them.

  “You two are getting all wet,” he said, delaying leaving…and choosing to go inside. “You’ll catch cold.”

  “Mommm…Grams and I made cookies—gingersnaps with molasses, the old-fashioned kind,” Dani pleaded, inviting Shelly to push him. “Oh, please, please, please, Pops…uh…I mean, Daddy.”

  “You’re giving me a headache, kid,” Roman grumbled, but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. It was clear that neither female was leaving him alone, one on each side of him, their arms wrapped around his. It was a good feeling, his love and his daughter wanting him. He felt warm inside, wallowing in the tingle of love.

  Then he looked at the woman on the porch and knew the time had come to know his mother. Her expression said she feared his rejection; but that wasn’t coming. He looked down at Shelly, her hair flattened to her head as her eyes pleaded with him. He bent to take a brief kiss and watch her eyes darken, because they both knew what would happen later between them—the fierce welcoming of life and their future together. And Dani was right, it was a package deal; he wanted Shelly to be happy. “Man, you’re stubborn.”

  “You’re worth it.”

  “Lonny called and told us everything. Pop is a hero, isn’t he, Mom? Risking his life for you, and that time for me?”

  “We’ll get you a hero medal, if you come in,” Shelly offered, with a smile that said she wasn’t certain of his reaction to the situation.

  Grace helped an elderly woman ease out the screen door. In a warm long robe, Mrs. Craig was smiling. “What’s this?” Roman asked, amused at the four women watching him, waiting to see what he would do. If Shelly married him, he’d have to learn to juggle all of them—including Grace—and that might not be so bad. “A pajama party?”

  Dani grinned in delight, her eyes sparkling. “The rest home heard about tonight and Grandma called Grams. She’s staying just the night. She thought you might need her help. If you come in, I’ll have almost my whole family together.”

  Mrs. Craig waved her thin hand. “Hey! You! Boy! I want my motorcycle ride when you youngsters rest up!”

  If that old woman was game enough to make peace after a hard bitter road, so could he. “Sure. I could do with a few cookies after tonight,” he said. “Take me to them.”

  Later, alone with Shelly in her house, Roman kneeled to unwrap carefully the gauze circling her scraped and bruised wrist. “You fought hard.”

  “There was a lot at stake.” Sitting on the bed, she watched his big hand delicately lather antiseptic cream on her skin before he rewrapped the gauze.

  “What do you need? A shower? Something to drink? An aspirin? Tell me,” he whispered urgently, smoothing her hair with his hands. They flowed over her once again since that awful scene, checking her body, smoothing her arms and her legs. Then he eased his arms around her gently and drew her to him, resting his head on her breast. He spoke humbling, heartbreakingly, a side that no one had seen but her, the tender man. “I thought I’d lost you, Shell. I couldn’t handle that. Everything else, all the old problems between Grace and Dad, fade by comparison. Tell me what you need.”

  She smiled at this loving man, so anxious about her, and trying his best to move into the first stages of a relationship with his mother. Only a hero could bridge the gap from a bitter past into a loving one, and Roman was that hero, her love. “I have everything I need right here, with you. Just hold me tonight—and forever.”

  Uma awoke to the man sleeping beside her, his arm wrapped around her. In the predawn hours, the lines on Mitchell’s face had eased, his eyelashes sweeping shadows across the jut of his cheekbone, a wave of his hair crossing his forehead. He was a part of her, in her heart, a kind, good man, an enduring one, if not exactly sweet at times.

  His eyes opened slowly to meet hers. “Hi,” he whispered, as his hand slowly began to caress her.

  “Hi,” she returned, loving him.

  Mitchell’s kiss lingered and held and brushed gently. “I didn’t think this feeling would ever come to me—peace, feeling like I’ve found what I need, what my life has been about. You’ve given me that.”

  “And you made me see that I need life, to be in it, to be a woman.”

  His hand caressed her breast. “Oh, you’re a woman, all right.”

  She eased against his body, sliding her bare thigh against his. “Show me.”

  Mitchell showed her so well and long and good, that she slept heavily against him, feeling safe and warm and cherished. Mitchell knew how to cherish, to hold her tenderly, and yet to draw everything from her until she bloomed, and climbed and took and gave.

  In the morning, she smiled drowsily, snuggling beneath the sheet in his bed. The scent of brewed coffee enticed, blended with the low, indistinct murmur of a man’s voice and a woman’s. A glance at the bedroom clock told Uma that it was eight o’clock and the sunshine coming softly through the window told her that another clean, bright day had begun.

  Pearl… Uma held Mitchell’s pillow and ached for Pearl, and Lauren. Their lives had been so twined together that she would always
think of them. Today, there would be police reports and details to wind through, but a new beginning needed that cleaning so life could grow sweeter and better.

  She nuzzled Mitchell’s scent, keeping him and the night and their love close to her, wrapping herself in it—and the scent of the roses that were freshly clipped and near their bed. Uma dreamily reached out a hand to smooth them, perfect satiny blooms, a mixture of the old pioneer roses that were a part of her life.

  With a sigh, Uma sat up and stretched and luxuriated in Mitchell’s lovemaking. He’d been tender but possessive, tempering his strength to her…she smiled softly, feeling the heaviness of her breasts, the delicate aching of her muscles, because she’d pushed to the limit, hoarding every sensation that made them one, burning away everything else.

  After a quick shower, she wore Mitchell’s loose cotton shirt and undershorts into the kitchen. Her torn clothing of last night had been thoughtfully removed by Mitchell.

  Seated on bar stools near the counter, Mitchell and Grace were having coffee and sweet rolls, talking quietly, earnestly. They turned to her, and Mitchell quickly rose to come to Uma, kissing her. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  “What’s this?” she asked, snuggling against him.

  “I invited Grace over this morning…I wanted to talk with her. The past is over, and last night—”

  Mitchell inhaled sharply, his body tense as once more he fought the terror of losing Uma. “Last night put everything into perspective. Enough years have been wasted…I’ll try to work through my feelings for Grace, because as a man, I see things differently—as a man who loves a woman deeply and wants the best for her. It isn’t going to be easy. But I’ve told her what Dad said. She should have that, and it was important to me not to wait. I want our life—yours and mine—to start fresh, as it should be, with family. I couldn’t go there, because after a night of talking, Mrs. Craig and Dani are still sleeping. And I wanted to be here, with you.”