Through the Mist

by Ferrell, Cece

  One night after watching a dark drama flick, Archer looked over at me and asked, “What do you think your biggest flaw is?”

  It was the first time in a while either of us had brought up a topic more than superficial pleasantries, and while I knew the question would stir up a lot of emotions, I was grateful for it. I wanted to have deep, meaningful conversations with him. My soul craved it and at this moment I realized just how much I missed the way our friendship had been.

  “My inability to talk about my feelings openly. Or at all.”

  “Really? I don’t see it at all, Ros.”

  “I know, you’re the first person I’ve ever been willing to open up to completely. If Dan or Jos had asked the question, I would have made a joke of it and changed the subject. I deny my feelings and bury them deep. It’s so much easier than the alternative.”

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen if you did talk about all the things you bury?” The tenderness in his voice almost undid me.

  “The worst thing is… if I were to feel the full weight of the sadness and despair and grief and couldn’t get out from under it ever again. Now, what is your biggest flaw, Mr. Perfect?”

  I turned the question around on him to shut down any further digging. As much as I was willing to reveal to him, I didn’t want to drown in my emotions right then. I also wanted to know what flaws, if any, he had. The moniker I’d just given him seemed closer to the truth than not. No one was perfect, but I had yet to see anything in him I would consider significantly flawed.

  “Which one do you want, Ros?” he spat out bitterly. When his gaze met mine, I could see it wasn’t directed at me, but I was still taken aback. “I was a flawed man. In my father’s and my brothers’ eyes, I was too sensitive. I felt things too deeply for their liking. I had too much empathy. A man didn’t talk about his feelings, didn’t think about others’ feelings.”

  “But those aren’t bad things to be, Archer.”

  “No, but those qualities made me weak, to them. My father and brothers hated my successes because of it. They believed my emotional nature should have made me a failure, so they set up situations to ensure that outcome. Instead, I excelled at every challenge. Every sector of the business they placed me in, I exceeded expectations. You would think my father would have been proud, right?” He barked out a laugh. I was stunned and before I could think of an appropriate response, he continued.

  “I was being exiled to Seattle, though no one outside the family knew. The rest of society figured my father was sending me to conquer the city. And you know what, Ros? I fucking would have.”

  “Oh, Archer,” I said in understanding. I had no other response.

  “I was what you would call a workaholic when I was alive. I didn’t love the work I did, but I excelled at it. I thrived on the challenges continually thrown at me, and not just because there was some part of me that wanted to find the thing that would make my family proud.”

  “What did Helena think of you? She loved you, right?”

  “Helena hated how much I worked. We fought about it constantly. She hated me for the time I spent away from her, but she loved the things I was able to buy her and the life this work ethic would have afforded her. I would have made a terrible husband, Ros, make no mistake.”

  “Archer, I don’t believe it for a minute.”

  “No, I would have. Ros, I’ve had over a century to think about the life I was living, about the mistakes I made. It took decades for me to realize I hated the life I was living. It was a joyless kind of life, working harder and harder to impress a man who would never love me, to provide for a woman who would never have been happy with me. The constant striving for more wealth, more power, more land. Just more. It was an empty, barren life I lived. There was no joy in it at all. I think it’s part of why I was so eager to come here, why I connected so much to this land. I experienced a sense of peace here. It would have been a simple life, away from all the things I never realized while alive I had grown to detest.”

  “What would have brought you joy, Archer?”

  He tossed a rueful smile my way and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “A woman who understood me and wanted the same life I did. A woman to be my equal, a partner. Creating a family with her. Having a home filled with children, laughter, and happy noise. Those were the things I didn’t realize until it was far too late I needed and craved.”

  We sat silently as I absorbed all he had said. I couldn’t help but imagine him getting to live the kind of life he had deserved, no matter his flaws. I was filled with sorrow over the realization he would never have those things.

  “What is your greatest fear?” He threw the question at me, and I knew he no longer wanted to dwell on the wounds he had revealed.

  “Death,” I replied without thinking. “Oh my God, that must sound so stupid and ridiculous to you,” I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. He laughed, and it warmed me in a way only he was capable of doing.

  “No, Ros, not at all. You’re still living, and it’s perfectly reasonable to be afraid of dying. I think it’s good to have a healthy fear of death. I know it may seem like I’m still living to some degree, but every moment of every day I am reminded of all the ways in which I’m not alive, of all the ways I’m not living. What exactly about death scares you?”

  “So many things. The main thing though? I’m afraid of dying before I have kids. I want to be a mom so badly.”

  “So why don’t you have them?” he asked, as though it were the most logical thing.

  “When Dan and I were having all those big conversations about our relationship dealbreakers, kids wasn’t one of them. But the longer we go without even talking about having children, the more I begin to think maybe he’s changed his mind, or maybe he could live without being a dad. I don’t know.”

  “What else, Ros?”

  “I don’t know. Being a shitty mom. I’m terrified of it. My mom was pretty amazing when she was alive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t perfect, and I hated the way she and my dad handled their divorce. She wasn’t there for me at all. Neither of them was.”

  “How old were you when that happened?”

  “I was ten. But I look at it through the eyes of an adult now, and I understand they were both going through a hard time, they were both hurting so much. Once they got settled into lives as single parents, they were so much happier. My mom was my best friend until she died. I miss her every single day. I can only hope to be half the mom she was if I ever get the chance.”

  I brought my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my head on my knees, looking at Archer.

  “It sounds like your mother died young. How did she die?”

  “Cancer. It seemed to hit out of nowhere. One minute she was fine and healthy. She lost some weight, but she was working more and a little stressed about things at work, so we didn’t think much of it. Little things started happening, but they were so easy just to write off. She collapsed one day at work. They ran a bunch of tests and discovered it was stage four cancer. They gave her three months to live.”

  “Rosalind,” he muttered.

  “She chose to forgo any treatment since it would only buy her time, not cure her, and she said she didn’t want her last days to be spent sick from treatments. She managed to make it six months. We did so much during that time. We traveled, got tattoos together even though I technically wasn’t old enough, read as many books on her never-ending list as we could, watched as many of her favorite movies as we had time for.

  “She lived in her last months, truly, beautifully, bravely. It’s another one of my fears. We never found out if there was a genetic aspect to her cancer. She told me so little about what was going on with her illness and she didn’t spend much time with doctors. Once they diagnosed it as terminal, she said there was nothing more they could do for her and she stopped with her appointments. I’m afraid maybe there is a genetic link, and it may be a matter of time be
fore I have it too. What kind of person would I be to bring kids into this world not knowing? But I’m also too afraid to get tested. I’m a fucking mess.”

  “Rosalind, I’m sorry. And if it’s any consolation, I know any child that has you as a mother would be lucky,” he said, reaching over and caressing my hand.

  “How about you? What are some of your fears?” I asked, eager to get some of the focus off of me, feeling raw from the fears I had never shared with another soul. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully while laughing.

  “I don’t think I have any more fears. Dying has a funny way of neutralizing worries,” he joked.

  “I never looked at it that way. I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen to you? It already happened! What did happen to you anyway? The day you died? Do you remember anything? How it happened?”

  “I don’t know how I died exactly. I remember the weather was terrible. Raining and windy, no visibility. It was no surprise when we ran aground. I remember the collision of the boat with the rocks. It jerked so violently.”

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  “No. I woke up here, on this land. This house wasn’t here at the time, but I was tied to this land nonetheless. She was there on the boat. Helena. Shortly before the crash, she was standing close to a man. I don’t know who he was. I didn’t recognize him. She leaned into him, and it looked as though they were about to embrace, but then the collision happened. I had long suspected she was unfaithful to me, and there were rumors in our circle about it, but I was never certain. It’s why I was on the steamer, you know,” he said, looking up at me. The sharp edge of anger lurked in the depths of his eyes.

  “No, I didn’t know. I only know you weren’t on the passenger manifests, but eyewitnesses, including Helena, attested to you being on board that day.”

  “I barely made it in time. The ship was about to depart. I offered enough money for them to let me on board. They never asked my name and I never even thought about paperwork. Helena with a man, looking far more intimate than they should have. My suspicions were correct. We made eye contact, and I knew she saw me. The collision happened soon after, and I remember nothing else.”

  “Do you think it was foul play? Do you think Helena had something to do with your death?” I asked, thinking through the information I had, reading between the lines of what he was telling me and what his body language was telling me.

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head before leaning over, resting his forearms on his thighs and dropping his head into his hands. “I just don’t know. I only suspected her of infidelity. The crash happened so quickly, it all seemed like a convenient accident. But something has always bothered me about my last day. Yes, the thought that maybe she had something to do with my death has crossed my mind. I live with the anger of what she did to me, how she was so public about her indiscretions. Every time I think of what happened, of what I cannot remember, I keep coming back to her. What was her role, if any, in all this? I suppose I’ll never know.”

  “It still bothers you though.”

  “It angers me. I try not to dwell on that day. Every time I do, I am nearly overcome with rage. Sometimes I think I can move on from this, but it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it’s why I am still tied to this land and why I haven’t moved on to whatever is next.”

  I was lost in thought, trying to fit together the pieces of what I knew from the research Jos had done and what he had just told me. There were some big pieces I was missing. Maybe he was right and he was tied to this land because he didn’t have the closure he needed. Maybe I could provide him with it, give him what he needed to move on and not have to spend his afterlife alone.

  I was moving the information around in my head. I knew then I was going to do what I could to solve this. It would take some work, but there were answers I needed, and I would have to start on the mainland to get them.

  “Ros, did you hear me?” He bumped my shoulder with his.

  “Sorry, yeah, yeah, I’m here. Just a lot on my mind and now I’m here trying to figure out what happened to you.”

  “You don’t have to. It was a long time ago. Let’s just leave it as it is.” We both sat in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other, both of us deep in thought, though likely about much different things.

  “Ask me again. Ask me one last time, Rosalind,” he whispered, the intensity coming off him in waves.

  “Ask what?”

  “Ask me what my greatest fear is.”

  “Okay, Archer. What is your biggest fear?” I said it dramatically like I was playacting. He grabbed my hand tightly in a grip I hadn’t even known he was capable of. He caught my gaze, and I couldn’t look away, even if I had wanted to.

  “You. You are my greatest fear, Ros. I’m afraid one day you will leave and I will never see you again. I fear I will have to live the rest of this afterlife without you in it. All of my fears involve you. My greatest fear is one I’m not ready to talk about, but it is still you.”

  My heart dropped into my stomach. The butterflies that seemed to take residence inside of me since I met him were set loose. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. The fears I hadn’t confessed to Archer? They all revolved around him as well. It was a secret I had to keep.

  Twenty-Six

  I couldn’t get our conversation about fear out of my head. I mostly tried to ignore and avoid thinking about his confession. I couldn’t even go there mentally or emotionally. I also couldn’t stop thinking about his story about his death. The more I considered it, the more I believed it was pretty likely not knowing the truth was his unfinished business keeping him tied to the living, to this land.

  After stewing on the entire situation for a few days, I decided I was going to do what I could to try to get him answers. I first called Jos to ask her where she found the information about Archer and the steamer accident. I also called Scarlett up to get some advice and tips from her on how to go about finding more information.

  I spent the next week researching everything and anything remotely related to the steamer accident, Archer, and Helena. I had never been more grateful to live in the age of technology where the internet and Google were at my fingertips and so many records were now digital and easy to access if you knew where to look.

  I learned a lot about Archer’s family. They were still extremely wealthy and held ownership stakes in many of the businesses they’d owned while he was alive. His parents had never gotten over the loss, sadly. From all accounts, he was an incredibly distinctive and well-liked man during his life. Knowing him now, I did not doubt it, though it saddened me he never believed his father felt that way.

  Helena ended up marrying the man she was on the steamer with when it crashed. Their names had been on the passenger manifests, so it was easy to put those pieces together. Archer was correct in his intuition and concern about her. There wasn’t much said about the life Helena had led after her fiancé died and she married her husband.

  They did end up having three children, and their youngest child, a daughter named Charlotte who was born to them pretty late, was still alive. She lived in the family home near Seattle. I made calls to arrange a meeting with her while I was out of the house. I didn’t want Archer knowing what I was up to, not yet at least. I didn’t want to get his hopes up.

  She was in her early nineties, so there was a good chance her memory wasn’t too good anymore or that she’d never known anything about her mother’s life before marrying her father. I made arrangements with Charlotte’s granddaughter, whom she lived with. She assured me Charlotte was eager to speak with me, and I was looking forward to the conversation as well.

  I finally had a break in my schedule a week later. I let Archer know I was heading to Seattle for a couple of days but was vague about my reasons why. I didn’t owe him an explanation, but if roles were reversed, I would worry and would want to know. I sent Dan a text message letting him know what was going on in case he happened to try to surprise
me at the house while I was gone, though since it had yet to happen, I didn’t think I had much to worry about there.

  I was anxious the entire trip over, running questions I had through my head over and over again. My expectations were all over the place. I prayed I was able to get answers to the questions I had and hoped I could provide Archer with some peace and resolution to the questions running through his head for the better part of a century.

  I drove into the Mount Baker neighborhood of Seattle and was completely stunned. I found myself surrounded by historic homes, several with million-dollar views. I slowly pulled up to a gorgeous Tudor Revival estate and knew this was the home Helena had lived in and raised her family in.

  As I parked where Charlotte’s granddaughter Emily had directed me to in our conversation, a young woman around my age stepped out of the home to greet me. I got out of the car and walked up to meet her, shaking her hand, and introducing myself.

  “I’m in awe of this home, it’s stunning,” I gushed after the introductions were made.

  “It really is something, isn’t it?” she asked with affection. “It was completed in 1915, and my great-grandmother Helena moved in with my great-grandfather and their first two children. My grandmother Charlotte has lived here most of her life. Her sister and brother never wanted to live here—I’m not sure why—so she inherited the home. She is really excited to meet you. I told her you came across Helena’s story and became interested and wanted to learn more. I figured you both could fill each other in on everything else.”

  She led me into the home and through several beautiful and well-kept rooms, almost all with breathtaking views of Lake Washington, and out onto a deck overlooking the rear of the estate, the lake, and the Cascades. Sitting in one of the chairs at the outdoor table was an older, beautiful woman, regal in stature. The woman stood, smiling.

  “Hello, you must be Rosalind,” she said warmly, reaching her hand out for me to shake.