Through the Mist

by Ferrell, Cece

  “And you must be Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  A box sat on the table, along with cookies and coffee. While there was a chill in the air, it felt warm and cozy at the table. I looked up to see built-in heaters above us pumping full force. We both sat down at the table, and she offered me the coffee carafe. Once we were settled with refreshments, I turned to her and smiled.

  Charlotte was in her early nineties but didn’t look a day over sixty-five. She was tall, slender, and moved with fluid, graceful movements. Her back was straight with better posture than I had. Intelligence was evident in her eyes, and any concerns I had about how present or able she was to have this conversation were unfounded. There was an air of kindness and humor about her.

  “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me, I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s my pleasure. The older you get, the fewer visitors you tend to get, though I do have a lot of social engagements that keep me busy, and Emily’s friends seem to enjoy hanging out with an old lady when they stop by too. I think it’s because I mix strong drinks and tell wild stories about my youth,” she said with laughter in her voice. “Emily mentioned you wanted to talk about my mother, Helena.”

  “Yes. I live in a home built on the land Archer Breckenridge once owned. I moved there recently and became interested in the history of the land, and its former inhabitants. It led me to Archer and Helena. I wanted to learn as much as I could about Helena, so anything you can share with me, I would love to know.”

  “Very interesting,” she said as she lifted the lid off the box and pulled a photo out. “This was my mother.” It was the same woman in the photo Jos had shown me. I picked the picture up and studied it before looking up at Charlotte.

  “You look just like her,” I said in awe.

  “Yes, I heard it a lot growing up. It created a lot of issues between my mother and me, especially as I became a teenager.” She took a sip of her coffee and looked down at the photo in my hands.

  “What kind of issues?”

  “My mother wasn’t what you would call warm or kind. She was good at hiding her true self from people, but to the people who truly knew her, we knew how she really was. She was jealous of my youth and my looks. She was in her late thirties when she had me. I wasn’t planned, and my mother always let me know how displeased she was that she was ruining her body over me, never mind the fact that she had had other children. The shaming and jealousy got worse the older we both got.”

  “What about your father?”

  Warmth and affection softened her face. “My father, Richard, on the other hand, was a fine man. He was loving and funny but tortured. I never fully understood the dynamic between him and my mother, what drew them together. He sincerely loved her though, there was no doubt about it. He stayed with her to the very end.”

  She pulled out another photo and handed it to me. It was a picture of a very handsome man. Light hair, dark eyes, tall and well built. He had a warm smile and his eyes crinkled. Charlotte pulled out another photo, and it was a candid one of her parents together. They made a stunning couple.

  “Dad was also from a well-connected, wealthy family. Not as rich as the Breckenridges, but he would have been deemed an acceptable match for my mother if the Averys hadn’t been so close to the Breckenridges. I heard whispers here and there about Archer growing up. Initially, my mother was infatuated with Archer. I used to eavesdrop quite a bit as a child, and she was a boastful woman, proud of sharing her wicked exploits with her close friends. I’m not sure if you are aware, but Archer was previously engaged.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know anything about her.”

  “Her name was Lucinda, and according to my mother, they were very much in love. Lucinda’s family ended up sending her to Europe where she married someone else. Archer was quite upset. I overheard my mother tell some friends once she was responsible for it. She claimed she had arranged a meeting with Lucinda’s aunt, where she gossiped about Archer and Lucinda having intimate relations. Neither family supported the engagement, so once an heir between the two was imminent if they didn’t act, she was sent away and a more desirable union was arranged. That was the kind of woman my mother was. She saw something she wanted and went for it, with no concern for the people she hurt.”

  I sat silent and shocked. While I trusted Archer’s intuition, I wasn’t necessarily sold on the idea of Helena being directly responsible for his death, but after what Charlotte had just told me, I reconsidered. I sat back and considered how I would ask the next question. There was no PC way to do it.

  “It looks like there is something on your mind, Ros. Go ahead and ask. If I know, I’ll be as honest as I can.” She smiled at me encouragingly.

  “Okay. In my research, I came across an account that maybe hinted at some foul play in Archer’s death. Had your parents ever talked about that day?”

  I was satisfied with how I’d managed to ask. I didn’t want to outright accuse her parents of being involved, and I hoped she read between the lines and had the information I was looking for. She sighed deeply, a furrow appearing between her brows as she laced her fingers together. I patiently waited for her to be ready to talk.

  “My parents argued over Archer a lot. I don’t know if they thought we couldn’t hear or weren’t listening, but I did. I was always listening. My dad held a lot of guilt in his life. It weighed him down. He was never able to be completely happy because of it—well, guilt and the poison that was my mother. As a child and teen, I knew the guilt revolved around Archer, but I never knew why. As a young woman, I came to believe it was over their infidelity. My parents began their relationship while she was still engaged to Archer. I knew it was something my dad wouldn’t have been comfortable with. But again, he loved my mother, enough to stay with her through all her antics.

  “One day when I was in my early twenties, I came home while my parents were in the middle of an intense argument. They didn’t know I was there. My mother was screaming about Archer, about how she married the wrong man, how she should have stayed with him, how much she regretted marrying my father. He said, and I will never forget, ‘How can you say that, Helena, when I risked everything for you when I killed for you?’ He sounded so broken. Her response? ‘If I couldn’t have him, no one could. I wish I hadn’t let you have me. If it weren’t for Rebecca, I could have married Archer.’ My father cried that day. Sobbed. It was then I realized my mother had forced my father to kill Archer. His appearance on the ship and the collision of the steamer worked in her favor, but I believe she would have had him killed no matter what.

  “In her eyes, he belonged to her. She didn’t want anyone else having what was hers, even if she didn’t want him anymore. It was also the day I found out the only reason my mother married my father was because she had gotten pregnant with my sister, Rebecca. I don’t believe she would have married him otherwise. I think she would have gone on to marry Archer. The guilt slowly killed my dad. He was the sweetest, gentlest man. I don’t know how he did it, but I know it killed him. His love for my mother destroyed him.”

  I was stunned. She didn’t continue for a while, which I was grateful for. I needed a moment to absorb what she’d just said. I had hoped to get answers, but never had I expected to find validation to Archer’s beliefs so quickly. I looked up at Charlotte and she looked sad and a little broken herself.

  “I didn’t realize I was living with some guilt this whole time too. I never asked either of my parents about what happened, and I never shared this information with anyone. The guilt of just knowing a secret like this can weigh you down too,” she said. “I know you don’t have to, but I would appreciate if you kept this between us. All the involved parties are long gone, but it could still hurt all the families involved if it got out. I hope you understand.” I could see the worry written all over her face.

  “Oh, Charlotte,” I said, reaching over and covering her hand with mine in a calming gesture, “I wanted to satisfy my own curios
ity. I never planned on sharing this information with anyone.” She smiled warmly at me, relief in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Ros, I really appreciate it.” We sat for a few minutes, eating our cookies and drinking our coffee. “Have you ever seen a picture of Archer?” she asked me suddenly, changing the subject.

  “Yes, just one during some research.”

  She reached into her box and pulled out a few photographs. “Here you go,” she said as she handed them over to me. “He was handsome, wasn’t he? As good-looking as my dad was, I have to say, Archer Breckenridge was more attractive.”

  I looked down at the photos. One was the photo Jos had shown me. One of the others was a portrait and another one a candid.

  “My mother held on to these in secret. I discovered them after her death, and I couldn’t bear to part with them either. He is a part of our family history now.”

  I picked up the candid of him. It looked like he had been sitting for a photo session but happened to be caught laughing when he didn’t know a picture was being taken. I subconsciously caressed the picture, taking in his smile, thinking about how good it felt to have the smile directed at me. Charlotte made a sound and I glanced up quickly to find her with her neck crooked to the side, looking at me curiously.

  “You look as though you know him, love him even,” she said.

  “He resembles someone I once knew,” was all I could give as an explanation. There was no way to tell her I indeed had come to care for him more than I should.

  We continued to talk about her parents, her family, including her husband and children. Before I knew it, hours had passed and it was time for me to head to my hotel. I thanked Charlotte for a wonderful and unforgettable day, and she invited me back anytime I was in the area.

  As I drove off, I thought about how I’d share this information with Archer, whether he would believe it or not. How did you tell someone long dead they had been murdered? By the time I headed back to Orcas Island the next afternoon, I still didn’t have an answer to that question.

  Twenty-Seven

  “What do you want to watch tonight? It’s your turn to pick,” Archer said as he got settled on the couch next to me.

  I had gotten back from Seattle and my meeting with Charlotte a few days ago, but I still couldn’t find a way to tell Archer what I had learned. I could tell he knew something was going on with me, that I was acting differently. I was cracking under the weight of the secret, but he didn’t ask or push me for answers. He gave me the time and space I needed to figure it out on my own. It was one of the things I loved about him.

  “Tonight, we are going to watch one of my all-time favorites. Dirty Dancing. Have you ever seen it, Archer?”

  “No, I can’t say I have,” he replied, chuckling at me.

  “You will love it, I promise!”

  * * *

  “So it’s one of your favorite movies?” he asked incredulously once it was over.

  “It’s a classic!” I protested.

  “No, Ros, Casablanca is a classic, Roman Holiday is a classic. What we just watched? It was not a classic.”

  “Fine, it’s what we call a new classic. Did you not like it?”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about it. It was silly and overly dramatic. That’s what you call dancing now?”

  “First off, it’s emotional and a little dramatic. But it’s sweet. Hello, ‘nobody puts Baby in a corner!’ You can’t get more romantic. He loved her and stood up to her family for her! Another thing, it was the movie director’s version of dancing in the 1960s. Dancing today is much dirtier.”

  “What do you mean by dirty?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “Well, in the movie, they considered the dancing the kids were doing ‘dirty’ because it wasn’t like the dancing people were doing before. They danced with their bodies close together, grinding together, almost mimicking sex in some cases, but on the dance floor. That’s why it’s called dirty dancing. The dancing in the movie? It’s nothing compared to how dirty dancing can be now.”

  “Show me,” he demanded.

  “Wait, what?”

  “I want to see what dances are popular right now.”

  “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.”

  I grabbed the remote and opened up the apps menu. I pulled up YouTube so I could choose a few music videos to show him. We watched some, including one showing twerking in all its bizarre and explicit glory. After the fifth video, Archer asked me to stop.

  “Enough, enough. I think I’ve seen enough,” Archer said, waving his arms and covering his eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh at his antics and his faux outrage and disgust.

  “When is the last time you danced, Archer?”

  “It’s been over one hundred years, Ros, duh,” he said in a serious voice.

  One look at his face showed he was anything but. I burst out laughing again. The more time we spent together, the less formal he sounded and the more modern idioms he picked up. Never in a million years would I have expected to hear the word “duh” come out of his mouth.

  “Okay, here we go. Stand up.” I reached out for his hand, beckoning him to join me.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked as he came to stand beside me.

  “We’re going to dance. Like in the videos we just watched.”

  I smiled a huge, bright smile at him, excited by my idea. He looked much less thrilled.

  “Look, just stand there and follow my lead. I’ll even turn one on for you to watch if you need guidance.”

  I pressed play and danced around him, making sure I never made contact with him, while he stood still, looking at me and the TV. After the second song, he finally started to move with me.

  He was a pretty decent dancer, finding the rhythm of the songs quickly, becoming more comfortable with fluidly moving his body as more songs played. I reached out to him, surprised when my hand made contact with his very solid body. There was never any telling when he would have enough energy to be more than air, but it was happening with much more frequency and for longer periods of time.

  The minute he realized it too, he grabbed my hips and pulled them up against his. We danced close together, our bodies brushing against each other. He looked down into my eyes, his gaze so intense I couldn’t look away. It was heated with barely contained lust.

  Our bodies were connected, moving in sync, and desire rose up inside of me, threatening to take me over. My heartbeat raced, and I placed my hand against his chest, where his heart would beat if he were alive. I opened my mouth to say something, but there were no words.

  “I feel it too,” Archer stated simply.

  We continued to stare at each other, our bodies joined from the chest down, barely moving now. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, letting the tension build around us, threatening to light us both on fire with its fierce intensity. The playlist I had set up ended, and silence surrounded us. It worked like a bucket of ice on me, waking me up from the trance desire had put me under, and forced me to take a step away from Archer and out of his grip.

  He also took a step back and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked away, deep consideration on his face. When he turned back to me, his stance was more relaxed and the lines beside his mouth deepened into a smile.

  “So we’ve tried your version of dancing, which was interesting. Are you willing to try what we called dancing during my time?”

  His smile and enthusiasm were contagious, and while I was still filled with nervous, electric energy from our last round of dancing, I was eager to have him show me something from his past. The other truth, one I wasn’t willing to admit even to myself, was that I wanted an excuse to get close to him again.

  “Sure, why not. But just know, you may have quite a bit of teaching to do for us to get to the dancing part.”

  He told me a few songs to put on a playlist, and the music began. He took hold of my hand, wrapped his other arm around my waist, and pulled me closer to him, but not s
o close that we were touching anywhere else.

  “Just follow my lead, and you’ll be okay,” he said with his natural confidence.

  Two songs in, and I could see his faith in my ability start to wane. I’d taken ballet and contemporary dance classes growing up, so I had a sense of grace and rhythm, but anything like ballroom dancing and I was a lost cause. I was too stuck in my head, trying to count steps and anticipate moves.

  We stopped for the third time and Archer attempted to tell me again what we were supposed to be doing and implored me just to let him lead. He was so patient, and he tried so hard, but I thought even he was starting to see his efforts might have been in vain.

  “Let’s try just one more song, and I will teach you a different dance. This one should be easier for you.”

  A new song began, and we started again. The look of concentration and determination on his face and my utter inability to get any of the steps correct or let him lead caused hysterical laughter to well up in my body, bursting out. I couldn’t hold it in.

  His shock at my sudden and loud chuckling caused him to stumble during a semi-tricky move, causing my leg to get caught at a weird angle around his, and with the momentum we both went down, landing in a heap on the ground. All was silent after our fall for a moment, but one look at his face and I dissolved into a fit of giggles again. It only took a moment for him to join me.

  We sat there, a tangle of limbs, laughing until we could barely breathe—well, until I could barely breathe. We both quieted down, and I looked up at Archer as I caught my breath.

  I continued to stare at him, and then I blurted out, “You were right, you know. About Helena. You were right about it all.”

  I threw my hands over my mouth to keep any other words from spilling out. I hadn’t planned on saying anything tonight, but my mouth had other plans, and now the words were out and I couldn’t take them back. I knew our fun and happy night was about to take a nosedive into the deep and heavy.