Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2)

by Stephenia H. McGee

  I looked up at Officer Davis. She stared down at her notepad. “Then what happened?”

  “I finally found my key and got into the car. He pounded on my window. There was blood all over his shirt, but otherwise he seemed fine. I drove out of there as fast as I could. Then I went to a hotel and spent the night.”

  She wrote down a few things in her book. “Why didn’t you contact the police?”

  Why hadn’t I? “I don’t know. I was scared, and I just wanted to get away from there.”

  Buford cleared his throat. “Clearly Miss Burns is the victim here. This is obviously self-defense.”

  Davis studied me. “What makes you so sure he was going to harm you?”

  I crossed my arms. “You mean other than the fact he grabbed me and physically dragged me across the parking lot?”

  “There is no evidence of that. The witness only states a suspect matching your description was seen driving away from a bleeding man.”

  “Just because no one saw it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I knew exactly what he intended to do to me.”

  She pressed harder. “How?”

  I slammed my fist on the table. “Because it’s happened twice before.”

  The room grew quiet. I tried to control my erratic breathing.

  “I have to look at all the facts,” Davis finally said. “You have established you have an aggressive temper. You are already under charges for assault. With no witnesses, who’s to say you didn’t have some type of argument with this man and then decide to stab him when you got angry?”

  Buford held up his hand. “That’s enough. Cheryl, you have no grounds for that accusation.”

  “I’m only trying to point out the possibility. These are things a judge is going to look at.”

  “I didn’t even know him,” I nearly screeched. “He came out of nowhere!” Desperation hung on my words and I could feel myself slipping.

  “Don’t say anything else, Emily. I’ll handle it from here.” Buford hefted his bulk from the metal chair. “We are done here, Cheryl.”

  “Very well, but we are going to have to detain her until this matter is settled.”

  “Without proper evidence you can’t detain her for more than twenty-four hours.”

  She looked at her watch. “There’s twenty-three more left to go.”

  Buford placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll be back.”

  When he’d gone, Officer Davis led me to another area where she patted me down for weapons and took all of my personal things and put them in a plastic bag. They’d already gotten my fingerprints, so I got to skip that step.

  Another officer, a man with thinning blond hair and a wide brow, put me in a stark cell with no windows and nothing but a plain wooden bench. I sat and rubbed my shoulders, the chill having nothing to do with the room’s temperature. The silence weighed heavily on me, leaving me alone in the cell where no distractions remained to provide me an escape from the millions of thoughts warring for attention in my head. With no other options, I’d have to deal with them.

  I might be going to go to jail for defending myself against an attacker. Or maybe I’d go for hitting Gloria. Probably for both. Double the charges, stack them on. No doubt I deserved it. I did both atrocities. I wasn’t innocent.

  It looked like I would be staying in Oakville whether I wanted to or not. Great. Maybe I should give Dee a little more credit. She might be right about me being destined to be here. Something certainly seemed to keep preventing me from leaving. In any event, I was literally detained in Oakville, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  My mind drifted to the diary and the strange last pages. What were the odds Lydia experienced my dreams? Or did I relive hers? Had we really seen each other through some odd connection? I had no way of knowing for sure, but my heart believed it. For now, that would have to be enough.

  An ache settled deep in my chest when I thought about Ironwood. Even if I couldn’t stay in Oakville, I now knew the truth I’d so long refused to recognize. I couldn’t sell that place any more than I could sell my own kidney. Crazy as it sounded, I couldn’t betray Lydia. She trusted me to keep her legacy alive. It was my destiny to do so.

  As soon as I got out, I would make it right. And I would patch things up with Kristin. I rarely make friends. I didn’t want to squelch what could be a meaningful friendship because of my pride and anger. I couldn’t leave things like they were when I left.

  What if I don’t leave at all?

  The thought swelled and I pushed aside my fear and allowed myself to think about it rationally. I would have to make a new life now regardless. Too much had changed. If I returned to Jersey or even if I found somewhere a little more southern to live, I’d still have to start over. Starting over again, alone, left a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  At least there were people here I cared about. People who actually cared about me. Dee didn’t technically count as family, but she was the closest thing I’d had in a really long time. She was kind to me, took care of me and treated me like one of her own. Just as she did for my father. And for Luke.

  Luke—another reason to stay. I admit it. Even though terrifying barely describes the feeling of falling for Luke, the way he could hold me captive in his gaze and the way he made my breath catch when he grinned were worth the vulnerability. Feelings I tried to push down bubbled to the surface. No sense in denying it. I’d fallen in love with a man way out of my league.

  It seemed impossible. How could he ever feel the same? Yet, looking back I could see he tried to show me those feelings on several occasions, despite my incessant stubbornness. I let my head fall back on the cool surface of the brick wall. I’d been so stupid. He’d exposed his heart on the balcony, willing to risk so much to show me his feelings.

  Dee’s prediction troubled me. What if I looked around one day and realized I’d run away from something that could have been real? What if Luke and I could have built a life like she’d had with Douglass and I threw it away because I was too afraid? Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, but I would never know for sure if I left. I would always wonder.

  On a hard bench with my back pressed against a cold wall, with nowhere to run and no way to escape the thoughts and feelings I had spent weeks trying to avoid, I made my decision.

  I am often prone to rash decisions, too quickly jumping into something only to realize I had not afforded the situation nearly enough consideration. Despite this tendency, this particular decision did not fall under precedence. This resolution was hard fought, replayed and analyzed. It carried with it a weight of responsibility I became determined to bear.

  No more running.

  I might not stay in Oakville forever, but I would stay long enough to get the messes straightened out. I would finish this chapter before I started a new one.

  I lay back, one foot drawn up underneath me and stared at the stained drop-tile ceiling.

  Well, there was nothing more I could do. It was out of my hands, and I’d have to trust that whatever God had planned for me, it was for my own good. Letting go scared me, but I’d given my word to follow him. Now seemed like the right time to start.

  I closed my eyes and let weariness overtake me.

  Sometime later yet another officer came to get me. He moved me over to another cell. One with a cot and a metal toilet. That didn’t bode well.

  “Guess I’m spending the night, huh?”

  The officer shrugged beefy shoulders. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

  The mention of food reminded me I’d slept past breakfast and missed lunch. My stomach grumbled. After maybe a half hour or so (how can one tell in a room with no clocks or windows?) Officer Beefy returned, opened the door without a word and handed me my nourishment.

  “Thanks,” I said. He didn’t answer.

  Alone yet again, I picked at my fair with a plastic fork. Just the same drab fare you usually found in hospitals. A piece of dry chicken, some watery instant mash
ed potatoes and a scant portion of canned corn with no seasoning. I ate all of it.

  After the officer took my plate, I checked three times to be absolutely sure I remained the soul dweller of my dingy domain. Finding no one, I used the open toilet as quickly as possible and slid under the coarse sheet on my cot.

  I tried not to cry. Everything would be better in the morning. Despite the harsh florescent lights, I quickly slipped into a fitful sleep.

  “Hello?” A familiar voice tugged me into consciousness.

  I breathed in fresh, outdoor air. My eyes popped open and I found myself sitting on the front steps of Ironwood. The sun dropped below the trees, painting the sky in rich red and gold streaks.

  I scanned the front lawn but found no one. Everything remained still. With no breeze to disturb my surrounding, I felt like I’d sat in the middle of an oil painting.

  “Hello? Are you here?” the voice came from inside the house, drifting lazily through the open window.

  “I’m here.” I called, not bothering to rise from my position on the brick steps.

  The front door creaked open behind me. I didn’t turn around. Why should I? I knew who called to me in the strange land of impossibility. She sat beside me and looked out over the lawn.

  “It looks different now, but not much.”

  Lydia laughed. “I’d hoped for that.”

  “I know. I read your diary.”

  We looked at each other. If I didn’t know the bizarre truth, I might think we were separated sisters. I found it unnerving, but not any more so than the rest of my situation.

  “How are we here like this, Lydia?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her narrow shoulders. “It is just a dream.”

  “Is it?”

  “I suppose. But that’s not what’s important.”

  “You’re worried about what I’m going to do with Ironwood?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “No. I trust that will be handled just as it should be. What is most important is you let go of the darkness that has invaded you.”

  With everything else we could have talked about, the future or what would happen with Ironwood, she chose to worry about me. I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over my shoulder and offered her a conspirator’s smile. “I did.”

  She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tightly into her very solid-feeling embrace. “Oh, I am so very glad to hear it! Then when the dreams are done and our time is finished, we shall see each other again.”

  With that, she vanished, and I was left alone sitting on the front steps of Ironwood. The sun set, and then as if the world were set on fast-forward, it quickly rose and set again, the trees rapidly changing their seasonal cycle. The paint around me faded and cracked, finally replaced with the fresh new green I’d applied myself—effectively depositing me in my own time. I doubted I would ever return to the Ironwood of the past.

  At least not like this.

  I got up and walked into the fading light. I turned to look up at the house, the catalyst of so many changes, the ever-present soldier guarding over generations. “I wonder if you have a mind of your own?”

  Peace settled on me, and I knew I couldn’t deny it anymore or run away from it.

  I belonged at Ironwood. I felt a subtle shift, and the darkening night descended into ebony until I could no longer see the estate.

  Metal rattled, and a heavy door swung inward with a mild protest. My eyes popped open, thrusting me out of my dream world and into harsh reality. Cheryl Davis and Buford stepped inside my poignant lodging.

  “Good morning, Emily.”

  “Hello, Buford.” I glanced at the woman beside him. “Deputy Davis.”

  She dipped her chin. “You are still in holding, but it’s time for your court appearance for the assault charges.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair and followed them out of the cell. I touched Buford’s arm. “Can I have a mint or some gum or something? It’s been awhile since I got to brush my teeth,” I whispered. “I could also do with a change of clothes.”

  Davis glanced back at us but didn’t say anything. Buford pulled a wrapped peppermint from his pocket. “Already got you covered. Just try to finish it before you talk to the judge.”

  I popped the candy in my mouth and rolled it around, shoving the wrapper in my pocket. We wound our way through the halls and into the connected courthouse. As I expected, Oakville had no need for more than a single courtroom.

  Several people sat in the courtroom and Davis pointed in that direction. “You’re not on trial. Just sit out there until your name and case is called. I think there are a few people in front of you. Mr. Cornwall and I will be seated up here.” She pointed to a short row of chairs pushed against the wall to the judge’s left, just behind the dividing half wall and opposite the area where a jury would sit. Thankfully, I didn’t need the forced service of locals who would rather be about their normal business and would surely lack any sympathy for a wayward woman who’d caused their inconvenient duty.

  “Please rise for the honorable Judge Gordon,” said Deputy Beefy, whom I hadn’t noticed standing stiffly by the judge’s bench.

  The judge entered the room, and everyone followed Beefy’s orders and gave him his due respect. He settled in and banged the gavel. As I returned to my seat, apprehension gnawed at my insides.

  Intimidating would probably be the best word to describe the large man looming over the room. I don’t mean large in the sense he was fat, but large like this man could have played professional football. He had to be well over six feet, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. He looked to be in his mid-fifties with a heavy brow and wide-set steely eyes. How had such a man ended up here? Maybe he lacked hand-eye coordination.

  “This court session is now in order,” Judge Gordon said, his voice every bit as deep as I expected. The crowd silenced as he looked down at the stack of papers. “First up, John Fordyce, parking violation.”

  A bald man on the front row got up and slowly approached, his aging hips protesting the advance. He looked to be in his late seventies, maybe older. Parking violations? It was a wonder the man could drive at all.

  “John, this is your fourth parking ticket.” The judge frowned at him. “You can’t park in a fire lane. You know that.”

  The old man made a humph sound. “Ain’t no decent parking ’round this town no more. In the old days you just pulled right up to the store. In my daddy’s day you tied a horse to the post right there out front.”

  I tried not to giggle.

  The judge pressed his lips into a tight line. “Mr. Fordyce, I know you know the law. You have to park in a designated place.” He looked down at the old man. I sat too far away to be sure, but I imagined he suppressed the humor that wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “Go pay the clerk.”

  “All right, Judge.” He turned to hobble away.

  “But the next time you get a ticket,” the judge warned, “I’m going to have to take your license.”

  The old man shrugged. “If I live that long.” He stepped over to the clerk and pulled out his wallet.

  There were a few other cases, mild infractions, nothing major. One guy got a speeding ticket, another case involved two neighbors bickering over a pear tree on the property line. No drug busts, gang raids, or murders in sunny Oakville.

  One young guy was stupid enough to admit that he saw the blockade and turned around because he’d been drinking. He tripped over his story, rambling about only having one beer and then turning around because he forgot his girlfriend. I willed the youth to quit lying, knowing he dug his own grave deeper with every word. No humor in Judge Gordon’s eyes for that guy. The gavel slammed.

  “Assault charges brought up by Gloria McCrae against Emily Burns. Are both parties present?” Great. Thanks for warming him up, kid.

  I rose from my seat and glanced around. Gloria sat two rows behind me. She stood and gave me a disapproving glare. I offered her a weak smile, my defiance held on retainer
for the moment.

  We both approached the judge. I looked up at him, feeling awfully small. Gloria was too short to be seen, so she stopped one pace behind me. I took a step backward to stand next to her, my hands clasped behind my back.

  The judge looked down at his file and then glanced at us. “Looks here like you hit Ms. McCrae outside the Baptist church last Sunday. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir. That is true.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “And why did you do that?”

  I chewed my lip. “I lost my temper.”

  “And why was that?”

  I opened my mouth to speak but Gloria cut me off. “There’s no reason for it. No reason at all for her to—”

  “Ms. McCrae, you will have your chance to speak.” He glared at her. “This is not your time.”

  Gloria snapped her mouth shut. The judge looked back at me.

  “She said some things that… weren’t very nice.” I drew a cleansing breath and squared my shoulders. “But that didn’t give me the excuse to hit her. What I did was wrong.”

  The judge considered me for an excruciatingly long time, and then focused his stony gaze on Gloria. “Did you provoke Miss Burns?”

  Gloria put her hands on her hips. “I only said the truth. She doesn’t deserve that house. It wasn’t what Adela really wanted. I should know. I was her best friend.”

  “And what was Miss Burns doing prior to this conversation?”

  Gloria frowned. “Standing on the lawn outside the church.”

  “And you approached her?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “And then you commenced to antagonize her verbally?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that. I only stated the facts.”

  The judge looked at me. “Have you made any attempts at reconciliation?”