Somewhere Between

by Patty Wiseman

  Still, no answer.

  She tried again. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

  The breeze lifted the dark locks on his brow, his eyes lost a bit of their luster, and his step slowed. “No, of course not.” He stopped and faced her. “There are secrets in this family, Phebe. Secrets we are reluctant to discuss. I understand you are anxious to fit in, but in this case, I advise you to keep your curious nature to yourself. I’m not trying to be rude, but where Elizabet is concerned, I am highly protective. The truth will come to light, one day, when she’s older, but for now, she needs to simply be a child.”

  She stared into his eyes, saw the pain, the deep concern. “I’m sorry, I…”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. You are a smart lady. You notice things and naturally you’re curious. It’s better we don’t discuss this any further.” He took her arm again and walked on.

  “You’re not the first one, you know,” she said.

  “The first one? What do you mean?”

  “Myrtle. Tells me I ask too many questions. Winston, too.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are talking about.”

  She looked at him, wide-eyed. “The Powell’s staff. Myrtle, the cook. Winston, the butler.”

  “Oh, of course, I remember the names, now, but I’ve never met them.”

  This time, she stopped. “What? How could you not? They are long-time servants. Been employed with the family for years.”

  He urged her to walk on. “I never go there, neither does Mother. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the house.”

  “Surely, you don’t just stay here on this property? Don’t you go into town?”

  He laughed. “Once in a while. Don’t care much for town. People stare, ask questions. I don’t like it. I’m a writer. Spend my days writing for the newspapers, other publications, novels. It keeps me very busy. The only time I look up is when the children come.”

  “So, you are what they call a recluse.”

  Again, he threw back his head and laughed. “I suppose. If that’s how you want to label it. I love the countryside and nature. Don’t have much use for people. Of course, you are an exception.”

  They arrived at the front door.

  “Here we are, safe and sound. I suggest you rest for the next hour. Mother will have dinner at six.”

  Phebe nodded. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure what to call you now. Uncle Zig or Anthony.”

  “Zig will do just fine, Phebe. Everyone calls me Zig.”

  “Will you be at dinner?”

  “Of course, Mother would have my head if I didn’t show. Go on, now. Get some rest.”

  She leaned against the front door and watched him walk back toward the cabin.

  In her room, the window drew her. Just one more glance.

  Martha joined him on the path. They spoke a moment and in tandem looked up at her window. She jerked back, afraid they saw her peering down at them. When she looked again, the path was empty.

  WEARY, PHEBE TURNED FROM THE window and settled on the bed. The whole experience at the lake unnerved her. The resemblance between Zig and Edmund was undeniable, but she overstepped by asking too many questions.

  My big mouth. Asking questions at the wrong time, to the wrong people.

  She closed her eyes and drifted off.

  A light tap at the door woke her.

  “Ms. Phebe. Dinner is in ten minutes. How’s your ankle?”

  It was Maggie.

  She sat up and tried to get her bearings. “I’m fine. I guess I fell asleep.”

  Through the door, Maggie said, “If you like, I can wait for you and help you downstairs. Wouldn’t want you to injure the ankle again.”

  “That will be a big help. I’ll be out in a moment.”

  Maggie’s footsteps faded away.

  As she changed her dress, she concentrated on the encounter with Zig. The initial shock of his likeness to Edmund faded a bit. He was pleasant, a real gentleman, and she wanted to know more about him.

  There’s no doubt in my mind he’s Edmund’s son. But how did he come to live with Martha?

  Maggie eyed the injured ankle as Phebe walked toward her. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ll hold onto the rail and follow you down. The ankle doesn’t hurt, but it does feel a bit weak.”

  Dinner was set up in a large glassed-in porch. Even though it was almost six o’clock, the room was bathed in a soft, warm light from the setting sun. Mr. and Mrs. Powell sat at the end of a long table. The children occupied one side. She didn’t see Zig.

  Mr. Powell rose to pull out a chair for her, opposite the children. “There you are, Phebe. Elizabet told us about your unfortunate accident. I hope it isn’t serious.”

  “Oh, not at all. It’s fine now. I was a bit clumsy I fear.”

  Mrs. Powell leaned forward and patted her hand. “That’s good to hear, my dear. You must take it easy for the rest of the visit. Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor?”

  “No, no need for a doctor. Elizabet did a proper job of wrapping it down by the lake. Kept the swelling down. Really, it was simply a tweak. I wouldn’t say it was twisted.”

  “Nevertheless, I order you to rest. No more wandering about for the rest of the trip.” Mrs. Powell withdrew her hand and smiled.

  “As you say, Mrs. Powell. My mouth is watering at the wonderful aroma drifting into the room. Where are Martha and, uh, Zig?”

  Martha swept into the room carrying a large tray. “Here we are, my lovelies. My famous pot roast.”

  Maggie came behind carrying a soup tureen.

  “Oh my, it smells heavenly. I’m starved.” Phebe smiled at her host.

  “I imagine you are after an afternoon by the lake.” Martha set the tray in the middle of the table. “Robert, you may begin.”

  As Mr. Powell took each plate and filled it, Maggie dipped the ladle into the soup bowls. A lovely loaf of sourdough bread was sliced and ready to butter.

  The group chatted merrily as they ate, but Phebe noticed Zig was not among the dinner guests.

  Naturally, unable to squelch her curiosity, she posed the question. “May I ask where Zig is? He mentioned he would make it for dinner.”

  Martha smiled at her. “He came up with a great idea for the novel he’s working on. Said he must get it down before it left him. I’ll send him a plate later.”

  The pang of disappointment seared through her heart. Why his absence caused such a reaction surprised her. His face, of course, was so like Edmund’s it was astonishing, but his bearing and demeanor were more relaxed and jovial. She liked him and hoped she could talk more with him.

  The sun set, darkening the windows and signaling the end of the meal.

  Martha led the group from the room. “Let’s have our dessert on the veranda. It’s lovely this time of evening.”

  As Maggie served the lemon cake and poured coffee, the conversation bounced around from horse riding, fishing, and the benefits of country living.

  But, Phebe wasn’t listening. Instead, she trained her eyes on a small beam of light piercing the trees in the distance. It was barely visible, but she saw it.

  It’s the cabin. Where Zig is working.

  She wanted to take a lantern and walk through the woods, but she didn’t move.

  Finally, Martha stretched and yawned. “I fear Zig is fair starving out there. Knowing him, he doesn’t even realize he’s hungry.” She turned to Maggie. “Help me clean up, dear. I need to pack a basket for him.”

  “I can help, Martha,” Phebe said.

  Before her host could answer, Mr. Powell interrupted. “You need to help prepare the children for bed, Phebe, if your ankle can handle it. It drains Emma’s strength to deal with all three.”

  “Of course, right away, Mr. Powell.”

  Martha and Maggie disappeared into the sunroom.

  Phebe gathered the children and headed upstairs.

  An hour later, Benjamin, Charle
y, and Elizabet were tucked tightly into bed.

  She was exhausted, but took a moment to stand at the window and study the light from the cabin.

  He’s still awake. I’d love to know what he is writing about.

  The tiny beacon continued to intrigue her. All thoughts of sleep vanished.

  How I want to talk with him again.

  Time passed as she kept vigil, hoping he might appear and beckon to her.

  But he didn’t.

  As she was about to turn away, the light changed. It started to bob, coming closer.

  Her heart beat faster.

  Could it be him?

  But disappointment stabbed at her as she made out the shadowy figures of Martha and Maggie emerging from the trees. Maggie carried a lantern, the light bouncing up and down as they walked along the uneven path.

  Thankful the candle was already extinguished, she knew they couldn’t see her and watched until the light disappeared around the back of the house.

  She turned back to the trees. The pinpoint of light from the cabin still pierced the dark night.

  Zig Evans. Anthony McAdams. Which is it? Will I ever find out?

  BREAKFAST CONSISTED OF BISCUITS AND gravy along with bacon cooked to perfection. Martha presided over a wood burning stove stirring the simmering gravy and checking the biscuits.

  “Ah, good morning Phebe. I trust you slept well.” Martha’s friendly smile warmed the room.

  “Yes, very well, thank you.” She surveyed the room. “Am I late for breakfast?”

  “Oh no. The children ate earlier. Robert and Emma won’t rise for another hour. Sit down, we’ll have our morning meal together.”

  Phebe pulled out a chair, but hesitated. “May I help you?”

  “No, no. It’s finished. Just need to serve it up.”

  Martha set a plate of biscuits on the table and turned to retrieve the rest.

  A large pitcher of orange juice graced the middle of the table.

  Martha glanced at Phebe as she dished up the savory fare. “You may pour the juice if you like.”

  The biscuits, so light and flaky, melted in her mouth. The perfectly seasoned gravy was smooth and rich.

  “The children tell me you are the best cook around these parts. I think they’re right. This is wonderful.”

  “Why, thank you, Phebe. I love to cook. Taught by my mama when I was a small girl standing on a step stool trying to see what she was doing. I’ve always had a love for cooking.”

  “Well, I thought Myrtle was the best cook around, but I believe you beat even her in that area. I wish I could learn all your secrets. I’m afraid I’m not much in the kitchen. Teaching suits me much better.”

  The light in Martha’s blue eyes faded. “Yes, Myrtle…”

  Phebe pounced on Martha’s hesitation. “So, you know her?”

  “Why…yes. I know her.”

  “I ask because I mentioned her to Zig last night. He said he’d never met her. It’s odd to me, I guess. You know, since you are Robert’s sister.”

  Martha sighed. “Zig told me you are a curious one. Asking questions, making pointed remarks.”

  Phebe jumped to her feet. “Oh, Ms. Martha, I am sorry. I have a curious nature, for sure, but I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just, well, there are so many secrets in the family. Even the children ask me questions, things I can’t answer. Strange occurrences in the house, everyone so unwilling to talk about anything. I want to fit into this family. I’m getting older and would like to make sure I enjoy a bit of security. I love working for the Powell’s. I do apologize.”

  Martha rose, as well. “No need to apologize. Would you like to take a walk in the garden?”

  The sudden shift in conversation caught her off guard. “Why, yes, of course. I was hoping I could see it before I left.”

  “Come.” Martha reached out a hand.

  Gingerly, she wound her arm through Martha’s, who tightened her grip and led her through the door.

  The garden was lush, well-cared for, and very colorful. Flowers, greenery, vegetables, all kinds of things grew here.

  Martha guided her down the rows. “The season is coming to an end, I’m afraid. Soon, the frost will claim the color. My sanctuary will settle into its night’s sleep, and I will have to find another way to count the days.”

  Phebe noticed the wistful look in Martha’s eyes. “But surely, there are things you can grow in the winter, as well.”

  “Yes, but there’s nothing like the sun-warmed earth between your fingers to wash away sorrow.”

  “You talk as if someone died.”

  Martha didn’t answer as they strolled along in silence.

  A stone bench graced the end of the last row of roses.

  “Let’s sit for a bit, Phebe.”

  After several moments of quiet, Martha slipped her arm from hers. “If you truly want a place in this family you must know certain things. But, at the same time, there are things you simply cannot ask about. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You won’t see Zig for the rest of this visit. He’s withdrawn, except for the children. They’re the only ones who can prod a smile from him.”

  Phebe stared at her. “Is that my fault? I brought up the wrong subject, didn’t I?”

  Martha continued. “You didn’t know. We don’t blame you. I’m going to tell you what I think you already know. Maybe then you can put things to rest in your mind.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  Martha brushed her aside and blurted, “Elizabet is Zig’s child.”

  Phebe held her breath. Am I finally going to hear the truth?

  “You see, Zig married a local girl six years ago. I didn’t approve the marriage, but he was determined. I never could tell him no. We had a small ceremony here, in the garden. Robert and Emma came.” Martha paused, staring into space.

  Phebe whispered, “What happened?”

  “They were about to welcome their first child into the world. Clara, Zig’s wife, came down with a terrible cold. It worsened. She couldn’t shake it. The doctors tried everything. Elizabet came early. Clara died in child birth.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Phebe said.

  “Yes, it was a hard time. Zig lost all interest in everything. Started brooding. Blamed himself. Said he should never have married her at such a young age. I cared for the baby because Zig couldn’t even look at her for a time. He suffered such guilt. Eventually, he came out of it some, but he still has bouts of melancholy.”

  “I surmise your brother took her to raise?”

  “Yes, it was Emma’s idea. She had the two boys and wanted a girl so much. Her boys drained her of strength. Robert didn’t want her to try again. When they saw how much Zig suffered, they made the offer and Emma got her little girl.”

  Phebe asked another question. “But, Elizabet doesn’t know?”

  “No. It isn’t the right time to tell her. She loves him so, but only knows him as uncle.”

  “But, she will figure it out, eventually. One only has to look at their eyes to see it.”

  “Yes,” Martha whispered.

  Silence settled over the two women. They sat together holding hands.

  Phebe was reluctant to break the quiet contemplation, but wanted so much to ask about Edmund.

  She didn’t.

  It took a lot for Martha to tell her this much, she dare not push it.

  “Well, I have told you about Elizabet. I trust you’ll keep our little secret for now. Zig is the one who must tell her. And Emma, of course. It is up to them as to when.”

  “Of course. I won’t say a word. I do apologize for my curiosity. It won’t happen again.”

  Martha stood. “Time to get back. Emma and Robert will want their breakfast. Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee with me while I prepare the biscuits?”

  Together, they strolled the path to the house.

  To learn about Zig and Elizabet exceeded her expectations, but Martha didn’t m
ention anything about Edmund or the possibility Zig was his son. The opportunity presented itself, for sure, but slipped away when Martha declared secrets were best kept hidden. And so, one mystery was solved, but two questions still burned in her soul. Who killed Edmund? And could she find proof Zig is Edmund’s son?

  The kitchen was empty when they arrived, and Martha hurried to the stove to prepare fresh biscuits. “Please, pour us each a cup of coffee. Sit and keep me company. The boys are walking the horses, and the girls are fishing with Zig. You can tell me about yourself.”

  Through the course of the morning, the Powell’s ate breakfast, the boys returned, dirty and disheveled, and Phebe helped clean up the kitchen.

  The day passed pleasantly.

  The girls returned late that afternoon, full of stories of the fish they caught. A pang of disappointment shivered through her. She hoped to see Zig again, but her unbridled curiosity ruined any chance of that.

  The next day, they rose early for the trip home. Hugs and smooches abounded between the children and Martha. Everyone said goodbye and the long trip home was underway.

  She attempted one look back, hoping to see Zig emerge from the trees.

  He did not.

  THE TRIP WAS OVER. PHEBE struggled to put Zig, out of her mind. Not so easy when each time she looked at Elizabet—his face appeared.

  Martha’s warning was clear. No more questions. Leave the family secrets to the family.

  However, there was the matter of the disarray in the sky-parlor she discovered before leaving for Aunt Martha’s. Whoever cleaned Mary’s room on a regular basis might discover her if she went back upstairs. On the other hand, those books lying on the floor meant Edmund was back. She must find out for sure.

  Exhausted from the trip home, it proved difficult to stay awake, so she paced until the house grew quiet.

  At half past midnight, she tip-toed up the third-floor stairs.

  The door to the parlor opened with only a touch. She gasped at the scene before her. The floor was empty, not one book out of place.

  Someone has been here. I know it couldn’t be Edmund. He throws books. He never picks them up.

  The room appeared freshly dusted, everything in order, even the wine carafe and sherry glasses. Where there were five before, now six completed the circle, each gleamed as if newly washed.