by Неизвестный
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
He had to be Jenny's father. He had the same fine blond hair and blue-gray eyes. He must once have been muscular and handsome, but now he had the look of a stray dog, half- starved and savage. In one hand he held a stubby black pistol pointed at the floor, his fist clenched, knuckles bone-white, on the grip.
I wet my lips and gulped and stammered twice before I forced the words out. "Mr. Rayne? I just heard you'd moved in here. I'm your neighbor, Beth Hawthorne, from the little cabin about a mile from here."
An expression of distaste flickered over his face. "This house is not fit for visitors, Ms. Hawthorne, and neither am I. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."
I indicated the gun. "Were you expecting trouble?"
"I was cleaning it,"he said curtly.
"Were you?"
I hadn't meant to sound so accusing. He looked at me sharply.
"Look, Mr. Rayne--"I began, but he cut me off.
"You look, Ms. Hawthorne. I don't care what you've heard or where you heard it. I came here to get away from the neighbors and the do-gooders, and all the other nosy, interfering folks who think they know what's best for me."His chin jerked up and his voice rose almost to a shout. "Well, you don't know a damn thing. You don't know what it's like to lose your love, your reason for living."
There was no answer for that, but I tried. "I know how much it hurts when a marriage fails. It's happened to me. It's happened to a lot of people."
He snorted and shot me a scornful look, his mouth twisting into a travesty of a smile.
I said gently, "Mr. Rayne, were you planning to shoot yourself with that gun?"
"That's none of your business. Just get out of my house and leave me alone."
"What about Jenny?"I blurted. "Don't you care what it would do to her?"
He strode toward me. "What do you know about Jenny?"
I flinched, expecting a blow. It didn't come. His face went utterly blank.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to kill myself. You made sure of that with your very obliging reminder of what I owe my daughter."
He hurled the gun away from him and it skittered across the floor past my feet to slam into the bottom of the stove. I jumped back and he laughed, then he pulled a handful of bullets out of his pocket and tossed them after the gun. They rolled crazily over the warped linoleum, and with a sense of unreality, I realized the weapon hadn't been loaded.
When he spoke again, his voice was low and deadly. "Now get the hell away from me. And don't even think of coming back. Next time you might not be so lucky."
* * *
I fled across the meadow, my gaze fixed on the fence as if it were the Holy Grail. Halfway there, my foot caught in a tangle of weeds and shaggy grass, and I went sprawling. For a long moment I lay winded and sobbing for breath with the scent of mud and bitter vegetation in my nose. Then I dragged myself up. My hands smarted and my knees felt bruised, but I forced myself into a jog, desperate to reach the sanctuary of the woods.
There was no sign of Jenny. I called out, waited, called again, but she was gone. Perhaps she'd walked across to the house during the shattering interview I'd had with her father. His bitter words hadn't been fit for a child to hear, but if she had been listening, she would at least know he wasn't going to kill himself. Well, I'd done my best. It was out of my hands.
Jinx came to meet me when I reached the cabin. I picked him up and buried my nose in the soft fur of his back. For once, he didn't struggle out of my arms; he purred and pushed his head against my face.
I brewed a cup of chamomile tea, but it stood untouched while I paced and fretted about Jim Rayne. He was so hurt, so bitter. Was his wife dead? Was that why he'd planned to kill himself? I couldn't believe he'd be so cruel as to leave Jenny an orphan. I recalled the pain of my husband's betrayal--so fierce, so unrelenting, that I'd run away and buried myself in the cabin. Maybe I wasn't so different from the tortured man who'd rather die than go on living without his wife.
But he had so much to live for in his daughter. I pictured the two of them, grieving in the ugly old house, and I knew I had to go back. Somehow, I had to help them.
I put my jacket on and went out into the garden. The afternoon was calm and bright, and I took time to gather a handful of daffodils. The perky yellow flowers might bring a little sunshine into that dingy kitchen. Jinx ran ahead of me as far as the tree line, then he disappeared into the brush and I was on my own.
At first I walked the trail briskly, but gradually my steps slowed. I reached the fence and stood looking toward the house. The roof humped up against the sky and windows gleamed dully like hooded eyes. The place was as eerie and forbidding as a witch's lair. And who knew what would happen when I approached the grief-crazed man who lurked inside it.
A cloud passed over the sun and a chill little wind riffled the grass and died away. I shivered and hunched deeper in my jacket. The woods were utterly still. No bird called, no small creature rustled in the undergrowth. But something was watching me. I had a wild fancy that the trees were dryad-haunted, and I spun around, eyes wide. There was a flash of color in the shadow of a giant oak, and my pulse leapt. But it wasn't a wood sprite, just a little girl playing hide-and- seek.
"Jenny!"I blew out a breath. "Lord, you made me jump."
"I didn't mean to scare you,"she said. "Are you going to see my daddy again?"
"Yes, honey, but I'm not sure if I should. I think he wants to be left alone."
She put her toy rabbit into my hand. "Give him this. He won't be mad if he knows I sent you this time."
I put the little toy into my pocket. "Will you come with me? You shouldn't be out here all alone."
"Oh, I'm all right, ma'am. I love the woods."
I smiled at her. "So do I, but don't stay out too long."
"Only till the sun goes down,"she said. "I promised to be back before it gets dark."
I brushed the soft hair off her face and kissed her smooth forehead, then I stepped over the fence for the second time that day and went on my way.
* * *
Jim Rayne wasn't holding a gun when he came to the door, and the rage had gone out of him. He looked beaten and haggard, and he led me into the kitchen without a word. I set the daffodils down on the table and stood there, uncertain what to do. He was so dejected it broke my heart. I held out my arms to him. For a moment, he just looked at me. Then he took a hesitant step, and a harsh groan tore him. He came into my arms and buried his face against my neck, and I stroked his hair and whispered endearments, until gradually the tension went out of him. His arms tightened around me, and we held each other quietly as the old house creaked and settled, and the sun tracked down toward the west.
* * *
The kitchen was very quiet. While I searched through cupboards full of old crockery for a jar to put the daffodils in, Jim sat at the table watching me. His face was tranquil in the soft light filtering through the dirt-streaked windows. He still looked pale and tired, but he seemed content. A skinny spider, all long, hair-fine legs with a tiny, speckled body, scuttled from under a pile of dishes, dropped to the floor, and dashed across my feet. I let out a small shriek and jumped. Jim grinned.
"My wife would have screamed bloody murder if she so much as set eyes on a critter like that,"he said.
"What happened to her?"I no longer felt any fear of him, and the question had been nagging at me since our first meeting.
"She was killed in a riding accident. Her horse fell trying to jump a wall."
"Oh, it must have been awful for you,"I murmured, feeling inadequate in the face of such a loss.
I went on with my search and in back of one of the cupboards I found a crystal jug. It must have been beautiful, but now it was fogged, its facets dull. I carried it to the sink and filled it with water. It would do nicely for the daffodils.
Jim leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the flowers as I arranged them in the jug. "I thought I'd go crazy without her. But having my
girl, my little Jenny, saved me."
"How old was Jenny when it happened?"
"Just turned three."
It must have been almost five years ago, I thought, surprised. So long, yet his grief is as raw as if it happened yesterday. How he must have loved her.
The mention of Jenny made me hope she would be home soon. I didn't like her being out alone with dusk coming on, but perhaps she'd come in already. She was as quiet on her feet as a little mouse, and she might have crept in while I was talking to her father. She would be hungry after all that time in the fresh air. Was there anything for her supper? I thought of the casserole sitting in the fridge back at my cabin, plenty of food for three people.
Jim's chair creaked, breaking in on my thoughts. He rose and pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
"Would you like to see a picture of her?"he asked.
I expected to see his wife's face, but he handed me a photo of Jenny in her pink coat, holding her shabby rabbit and grinning at the camera.
"She's such a love,"I said, smiling. I remembered the toy in my pocket and pulled it out. "She said to give you this, so you wouldn't be mad at me for coming back."
Jim looked from the rabbit to me, then back again, and his face turned ashen. He opened his mouth, but no sound came. He sank back onto the chair as if his legs had lost all their strength.
"Jim!"I said. "What's wrong?"
"Jenny... she said she'd send someone to love me,"he whispered.
And suddenly, I knew. He'd never had any intention of leaving Jenny. He'd been going to join her.
I said, "Oh, Jim,"and I put my arms around him again.
"I've lived with this for months. It seems like an eternity,"he said. "Jenny and I were on our way to this house. My grandparents lived here and I spent all my summers with them when I was a boy. The place has been shut up for years, but Jenny was so eager to see it."
He sighed and shook his head. "She never got here. There was an accident--my fault. I'd been driving all night, and I was tired. I must have dozed and the car went off the road. Jenny was terribly injured, but by some fluke I was barely bruised. Oh God, Beth, I have never felt so guilty. At the hospital, when my precious child was dying, her only thought was that I'd be lonely without her."
I felt tears welling in my eyes, but I kept them back. He didn't need any more tears. I held him close and rested my chin on the top of his blond head.
"Where was she?"he asked.
"In the woods. She was at the boundary fence when I came here this evening."
"If I could just see her one more time...know that she's happy."
I drew in a sharp breath. "She said she promised to be back before dark."
He shot from the chair and grabbed my hand, and in seconds we were racing across the meadow. The sun was almost down, just a crescent of gold glinting through the trees, making the woods a place of slanting, shafted light and pools of shadow. For an instant, we saw a dazzle of pink coat and shining blond hair, and a small hand waving. Then she was gone.
We stood at the rusted fence for a long time. Jim gazed at the place where she'd been, then he let out a ragged breath and murmured, "Thank you, my little love."
He turned to me and took my face in his hands. "Is there a chance she was right? Are you the one who will love me, Beth?"
I looked at him, my eyes widening with the joy of sudden realization. Maybe it was too soon to say that what I felt for him was love, but there was something warm and tender budding deep down inside me.
"Perhaps we could take the time to find out,"I said.
And the sound of a little girl's laughter echoed softly through the woods.
Smoke and Mirrors
by Donna MacMeans
Donna MacMeans is by day a mild-mannered accountant, at night, an impassioned writer of romantic suspense, historicals, and paranormals. Although she is unpublished in novel- length fiction at present, she hopes that situation will soon reverse.
"Hey Tom, we're all heading over to the Blue Moon after work. Join us?"
Jealousy burned in Amber Wilson's stomach. Pretending not to hear the friendly banter outside her office door, she stuffed papers into her satchel for later review. Don't invite the fat girl, she thought to herself. She doesn't have any feelings.
Laughter and hurried footfalls of the five o'clock exit shook her office walls. At one point, Amber thought someone had hesitated outside her door. Her spirits lifted in hopes that one person, just one, might stop and ask her about her plans for the weekend, maybe care enough to invite her to join the others.
But the footsteps continued past, the hallway fell silent, and she remained alone. An all too familiar lump of anguish settled in her throat. Tears threatened. One would think she'd be used to rejection by now. She'd certainly had enough practice. She silently packed up work to finish at home.
July heat radiated off the wide downtown sidewalks, making the short walk to the parking garage a stroll through Hell. Hesitant to merge into the crowd of perspiration-soaked workers, Amber sought the path where the pavement joined the buildings and a thin line of shade lingered.
Just as a rivulet of sweat slipped down her back, an unexpected current of chill air wisped over her shoulder, luring her toward an antiquities store's open doorway. Basking in the escaping air conditioning, Amber studied the contents of the display window.
"You see something you like?"
She glanced over to a withered old man leaning heavily on a cane just inside the doorway. At least, she thought it was a man. The body had no womanly attributes but the voice carried a husky feminine note, lending it a strange, seductive quality. He wore a faded turban that in another lifetime might have been a brilliant red.
"I was just looking at the rings,"Amber said with a quick glance back to the window. The man had to be a hundred, if he was a day.
"These rings, not for you,"he said, gesturing her inside the shop. "Come in. Come in. I show you something special."
She hesitated, trying to remember if she had ever passed this window display before. Stores like this didn't just appear overnight. Eventually, curiosity and the promise of relief from the heat carried her across the store threshold.
"Gaudy rings not for fine young fingers."The strange man wove a path through dusty display cases filled with odd crystals and twisted figurines. His cane bumped several teetering stacks of leather-bound books. Amber, following the circuitous route behind the old man, dragged her finger across one of the books, uncovering gilded lettering and liberating a tiny cloud of dust. She sneezed, sending more dust into the air. So much for the overnight theory, she sniffed, searching for a tissue. Dust like that takes years to accumulate.
The old man rummaged beneath a glass counter. His faded turban bobbed erratically with his search. Amber paused to admire a collection of clear glass orbs of various sizes. Paperweights, she supposed. The jumbled eclectic collection in this place could take hours to explore. "Lynn would love this stuff,"she murmured, deciding to bring her best friend back for a visit.
"I found it."He called, barely straightening his rounded spine. The edge of a flat wooden box poked from beneath his arm. "This is your namesake,"he said, with a reverent smile. "Come see."
The box opened with a stubborn creak. Amber stepped closer. There, on an inviting bed of black velvet, lay an amber amulet encircled by deep burnished gold.
"How did you know my name was Amber?"Her fingers darted out to touch the semi- precious stone.
"The necklace told me. Try it on."Before she could press for details, the heavy pendant dangled before her, light dancing in the deep golden shadows.
"Something's trapped in there."She peered closer in the dim light. "A bug or something."
"Or magic,"the little old man whispered, drawing out the word. "Try it on."
She slipped the chain over her head. The pendant settled between her breasts, resting on the thin linen of her blouse.
A sparkle lit the man's eyes. "It feels right. Ye
s? Like it belongs?"
"Like it belongs,"she repeated softly. A faint light shimmered within the heart of the stone, not unlike the recently revealed gilded lettering. She sensed the stone was awakening, as if it had a life of its own. "How much?"She asked, bracing for the inevitable haggling.
The old man stared at her, his eyes two bright specks in a creased and worn face. She shifted uncomfortably.
"Twenty-eight dollars,"he declared.
Surprised and delighted with the unexpected low figure, she immediately fished for her wallet. "Do you accept credit?"
"Cash."
"I'm not sure I have that much."She opened her billfold. "I haven't made it to the bank yet."She counted out the green bills on the counter. "Twenty. Five. Six. Seven . . ."Her billfold was as empty as her social calendar. "I'm sorry...unless you can take a check, I don't think..."
He pursed his lips then pointed to the purse hanging on her shoulder. "This?"she asked, lifting the straw bag. A distinctive jingling rolled to the lowest corner. She scooped up the loose change. Three quarters, four nickels, and exactly five pennies.
"How did you know?"
The old man gathered the coins from her hand and swept the bills from the counter. "The necklace told me."
* * *
Back in her apartment, Amber flipped on the television for noise, then posed in front of her bedroom mirror. Her new necklace captured the light from a nearby lamp, making it dance within the stone. An excellent purchase, she decided with pride. Wait till she wore it to work. For once, the other ladies would be green with envy. Her gaze swept up to her smiling face and died. Who was she kidding? Who would be jealous of her? Little piggy eyes buried in a fat, fat face stared back from the mirror.
"I wish I was thinner."Her words tumbled out on a breath of longing.