by Vicki Hinze
“He lied.”
He feared losing you.
“No, Tony.” The sadness in her soul seeped into her voice. “He feared me learning the truth.”
The truth?
A gust of wind tugged at her clothes. She lifted her face to it, welcoming the stinging rain because it she only could feel outside, not within. “He’s ashamed of me.”
No.
“If he weren’t, he wouldn’t separate me from his family,” she insisted, straining to catch one more glimpse at John. The fog swallowed the boat, and it disappeared.
Bess, listen to me. No, just listen. Is sex or control or shame powerful enough to touch a man so deeply at loving a woman that he sheds a tear?
“Don’t, Tony, please. Please. I don’t dare believe. I don’t dare.”
You don’t dare not to believe. The sand has shifted, Doc. Leap. Leap and have faith that an island will appear.
Uncertainty stabbed at her. Was there a chance for them? No. No, there couldn’t be. Even after all they’d been through, still John had refused to let her into his family’s life. But Tony seemed so sure. Once, she’d been sure, but she’d been wrong. And yet, John had cried. He had explained that he’d not put Bess’s needs but her desires second because he trusted her capabilities.
Trusted her capabilities.
A spark of hope ignited in her heart. He trusted her capabilities. A man who trusted a woman capable of caring for her needs wasn’t a man ashamed. He was a man who had faith. And yet . . . he acted ashamed. Why?
The spark grew to a flame. She tried to tamp it. She’d only get hurt. Only be wounded more deeply. “I don’t understand.”
Don’t you? Maybe you don’t want to understand. Maybe it’s emotionally safer not to understand.
Thunder rumbled overhead. No, a boat. Her stomach in knots she watched it break through the fog, slicing through the waves. Aaron. Alone. Her hope died.
Remember what Hattie said about pride, Bess?
Oh, God. “It can’t hold you.”
Neither can fear.
His words cut through her like a sharp knife. Fear? Was that it? She loved John Mystic. Had she succumbed to letting the fear of being hurt again steal the joy of them reuniting? Had she used his lying about the station as an excuse? One to protect herself from pain?
She could leap. Could give them another chance. She could go to him and tell him that she loved him, and then ask again about his family. If he was sure of her love, and he loved her back, then he’d share his reasons for the separation with her. And maybe he’d let her into all those closed parts of his life he’d forbidden anyone to enter.
Aaron pulled up alongside the pier, grabbed the rope, and started tying the boat to the dock.
Decision time, Doc. Do you take one more chance on love? Or do you forfeit it in fear, and mourn?
“Aaron!” She hurried down to the end of the pier. “I need to go to Little Island.”
“But I just got back—”
“I’ll pay you double.” Double should appeal to a boy not yet in his teens. Good grief, she’d stooped to bribing a minor? Awful. Scrap grace, but desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.
“I dunno. It’s storming, Mrs. Mystic.” He shrugged, lifting his slender shoulders.
Mrs. Mystic. It felt right. Comfortable on her shoulders. “Please, Aaron. It’s very important.”
He scratched his head and checked the sky. Bess prayed it wouldn’t be too dangerous to make the crossing. Now that she’d made her decision, she wanted to carry it out immediately. She couldn’t wait. John had looked so devastated. So hopeless.
“All right, Mrs. Mystic. Fish prices at auction being down, I’ll do it. But it’s gonna cost you triple.”
Bess smiled at the boy. Who was taking advantage of whom here? “It won’t put you in any danger, right?”
“Spit, no.” He dropped the rope and pointed to a life vest. “But you put that on. My dad says folks from away have to wear jackets when it’s a little rough.”
Bess pulled on the life jacket. Her clothes were already soaked. Chilled to the bone, she felt sure she looked as miserable as she felt. The rain had to have washed her makeup into streaks down her face and her hair lay plastered to her head. Aaron, bless his heart, had been wise enough to grab a yellow slicker and hat, though he had the brim folded back, which meant his sweet, cocoa-colored face was as soaked as hers. But at least his clothes were dry. He wouldn’t catch cold.
The fifteen-minute ride was rough, the boat rocking and lurching into massive waves. By the time Aaron pulled up to the dilapidated little pier, Bess’s stomach was lodged somewhere between her ribs and throat.
“You all right, Mrs. Mystic? You look a little green around the gills.”
She felt green around the gills, too. “I’m fine.” She stepped onto the dock. “Do you think you should wait before crossing again?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be riding out the storm right here. I should’na come this time. Dad’ll blister my ears, but,” he shrugged, “you said it was important.”
“Thank you, Aaron.” Bess clasped his wet hand in hers. “You wait right here, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bess hurried down the pier. As she passed the last post, she tapped the little sign warning of shifting sand, then rushed on.
When she first glimpsed the little fenced grave site, her instincts shouted danger. Within seconds, the temperature plummeted.
A veil of icy mist gathered on her skin.
And a pressure at the soft hollow in her right clavicle had her stopping dead in her tracks. She was losing her breath, her focus. Her head swam. She pressed her fingertips to her temples and staggered. Her feet seemed to turn to lead. She couldn’t lift them. Couldn’t move anything at all. Staring at John’s broad back, she opened her mouth to scream.
Cold bands of frigid air pressed against her lips. She couldn’t make a sound. Tony! Tony! Help me!
Shh, it’s all right. I’m here, Doc.
Thank God. I thought I was dying.
I had to stop you. You’ve no idea what you were about to do.
Why didn’t you just tell me?
I’m sorry, Bess. I panicked. You can’t interfere.
Tony, please let me go to him. I won’t interfere. I promise. I won’t.
The pressure eased slightly and Bess gulped in air. The rain whipped through the trees and pelted against the rocky sand, muffling her sounds. Holding the doubloon, John stood head bowed at the grave on the left. He clearly had no idea she was here.
Don’t move, Bess. Not an inch. And don’t make a sound. You can’t go to him just now, and I’m trusting you to stay put. You can’t hear anything. Do you understand? You can’t hear a word that’s said or it could ruin everything.
I understand. I won’t move. I swear. I won’t hear, either. She lifted her hands and cupped them over her ears.
The pressure ceased and, shaky inside, Bess did her best to stand shadow still. She glimpsed a flash of gray, then one of dark green, just inside the grave site fence.
Tony.
He looked exactly as he had when last she’d seen him in the Cove Room. Exactly as Maggie MacGregor had described him at Lakeview Gallery. Aged yet ageless, like Miss Hattie. Golden eyes, a gentle expression, wearing an old-fashioned Army uniform and a yellow carnation in his lapel. Unlike before, when he’d seemed more luminescent, more an essence than a human being, now he looked as solid as Jonathan. His brown hair streaked golden, he was tall and handsome, and, having gotten to know him, Bess easily understood how he had captured and held Miss Hattie’s heart.
Jonathan! He’d never before seen Tony! Could he see him now?
It didn’t appear that he could.
Rest easy, Doc. In a minute, you’ll understand.
John held the doubloon and stared down at it. What exactly did he expect to happen?
No idea. If not for his experience with Tony, he’d have thought Hatch had slipped over the e
dge and joined Beaulah Favish. What could happen here that would make exhuming the woman’s body unnecessary?
The possibilities sent cold chills through him that had nothing to do with wet clothes and rain.
Jonathan?
Tony? Is that you? You sound funny.
I’m emotional.
Why?
Because I’m going to materialize. I don’t do it often. It frightens people.
I know you’re a ghost, Tony. And I’m not afraid of you. I understand your message.
You do?
Yes. Though I suspect its meaning is very different for Bess, for me, it was a road map. Here, to the island. You helped me through Elise’s death, and then you led me here to find Dixie.
The doubloon suddenly felt very cool. John closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, a man wearing an old Army uniform and a yellow carnation stood before him, holding the other edge of the coin. “Tony.” John smiled.
Looking more than a little relieved, Tony smiled back. Hi, Jonathan.
“I can’t believe I’m seeing you.”
I can’t believe you’re seeing me and smiling. I was worried I’d still give you the creeps.
“You don’t.”
Tony chuckled. I’m glad. That really bothers me—the initial reaction I get. But enough of that and onto why I’m here—or rather, why you’re here. I know trust doesn’t come easily to you—and I know why, Jonathan. I’m glad you’ve chosen to trust me, though if I had to choose, I’d have chosen for you to trust Bess.
“Telling her about my parents.”
Yes.
“She thinks little enough of me as it is.”
And their actions, in your eyes, make you less loveable to her.
“Don’t they?”
Only Bess can answer that. Her parents weren’t kind to her, Jonathan. You look at Bess and see a cashmere, eel-skin facade. You recognize it as a mask, yet you don’t see the pain that drove her to hide behind it. Haven’t you wondered about that? About why she hides behind that facade?
“Why does she?”
You asked me that once before. I told you then to ask her.
“I intended to, but I got sidetracked.”
Well, maybe one day you’ll get around to asking her and she’ll tell you. I could, but some things are best discovered firsthand. Bess thinks I’m a meddler, and she’s probably right. But meddling by telling you about her past isn’t my purpose here today.
“What is your purpose?”
Tony reached into his pocket. To give you this.
John’s muscles all clenched at once. “Dixie’s amulet!”
Actually, it isn’t.
“Tony,” John insisted. “I’ve seen her mother’s every day for years. It’s Dixie’s amulet.” He stared past Tony’s shoulder to the grave, relieved and happy and sad, so very sad—all at once. He’d found Dixie. Dead. Not from murder, but from drowning.
It isn’t Dixie’s, dear heart.
Dear heart? John’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t be hearing what he thought he was. He couldn’t! Only one woman in his entire life had called him dear heart. Only . . . He lifted his gaze from the dirt. “Elise!”
She stood not three feet behind Tony, dressed in dove gray, as she had been when last John had seen her—at her funeral. But she didn’t look like the frail and wan woman she’d been at her death. She looked radiant. Vibrant and healthy. Like the woman she’d been before her illness. Tears surged to his eyes and ran down his cheeks, his chest squeezed into a vise. Thirsty, he drank in the sight of her. “Oh, God, Elise.”
I knew you wouldn’t give up.
John tried to move, to go to her, but Tony raised a hand and stopped him. Don’t cross the fence, Jonathan.
Feeling certain if he did, he’d never return, John nodded. “Tony, you were there in the hospital to help me, but to help Elise, too. That’s why she held the yellow carnation petal.”
He’s clever, Tony. Elise grunted and slid Tony an I-told-you-so-smile. She looked back at John and her expression softened. Tony came to guide me here. To my baby, John.
John’s chest throbbed with a pain so intense he couldn’t tell where it began or ended. For six years, he’d dreaded having to say these words to her. And now, God help him, the time had come. “Dixie’s dead, Elise.”
Yes. A wistful smile touched the curve of her generous mouth. But so am I, dear heart, and thanks to Tony, we’re together again. Me, and Clayton, and Dixie.
The rain slowed to a drizzle. “I’m glad you found them.”
I had to come. In the hospital, Tony promised he had a wonderful surprise for me. When I arrived here, Dixie and Clayton were waiting. Her smile faded. I couldn’t bear to be so happy, knowing you weren’t yet at peace.
“I love you, Elise,” the words tumbled out of John’s mouth. “I never told you that, and I’ve regretted it more than I can say.”
Oh, John. I know you do. I’ve always known. You didn’t give me the words, but you showed me in many, many ways.
“Bess said you did.”
She was right. I’m delighted you and she are reuniting. I can truly be at peace now, knowing you won’t be alone.
He shouldn’t rob her of peace, but he couldn’t be dishonest with her. Not again. Not ever again. “I can’t lie to you. I’m sorry I did when you were . . . passing. I tried with Bess, but I failed.”
Oh, but you didn’t try because of my deathbed promise. Though, knowing you as I do, you’ve surely spent considerable time trying to convince yourself of that fact. I thought I was pretty clever, giving you that crutch—making you promise—to soothe your conscience.
“My conscience?”
Well, she shrugged, your ego.
He smiled. She had been clever. Very clever, in making him swear it on his mother’s grave. “No, I didn’t follow through for you, though I did tell myself that for a long time. I tried because I love her.”
Of course you do, dear heart. You always have. Which is why you must try again. The third time is a charm, they say.
Bess would never again give him the chance. He knew it and, deep in her heart, Elise had to know it, too. Rather than be put in the position of leaving something unsettled, he changed the topic. “Why did you buy the station?”
Millicent was in dire financial straits—though she didn’t know it. Her husband liked the ponies. They faced disaster, and I couldn’t see me standing by and doing nothing. What kind of person would that have made me?
“How could Millicent not know it?”
She’s too socially oriented to be bothered with piddling financial matters. Still, like everyone else, she has her redeeming qualities. But she doesn’t know how to struggle, John, and being poor would have destroyed her. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.
A flash of insight had it all making sense. “You owned the ponies.”
A substantial share in the track, actually, which I sold when I saw how it nearly destroyed Millicent.
“I see.”
Yes, and I hope you’ll keep your insight private. I don’t want Millicent to be embarrassed by this, John—not unless she insists on being uncooperative. I’ve taken great pains to protect her, and I’d like for you to continue doing so.
“I will.”
But I won’t have her treating Bess shabbily either. I feared she would, which is why I insisted on the station rather than other Fairgate assets. I thought that if all else failed, with Bess working for you, you two would at least be forced together short-term. I hoped short-term would be long enough for you to realize you still loved each other and to get pride out of the way. Of course, I didn’t know about Tony then, or about Seascape, or I could have saved myself considerable worry and money.
The money. Elise’s fortune. “What should I do with it, now that Dixie is . . .?” He couldn’t say it again.
The word is dead, dear heart. Truly, it’s not so bad. We’re together and happy. And I don’t hurt anymore. That relief from pain is such a
treasure, John. Don’t waste a breath mourning us, or fearing joining us—though don’t be in a hurry—I’m hoping to watch over you until you and your children grow old.
She stared off into space for a moment, as if listening, then looked back at John.
As for the money, your sister Selena’s business is a worthy one, dear heart. The money is yours to do with as you wish, with the exception of a million dollars per year. That I wish you to donate to Selena so that she and her partners can carry on with their work. She glanced at Tony. Do you approve?
Most definitely. Children and seniors are most vulnerable.
Clayton agrees—Dixie, too. Wonderful! Elise giggled. It’s unanimous, then.
It’d been a long time since John had heard Elise laugh. The sound warmed his heart. “One more question,” John said. “Who is in the other grave?”
Another lost soul, dear heart.
“I thought it might be Thomas Boudreaux.”
No, he’s still alive.
“But the wreckage—”
Was faked. Elise pursed her lips into a tight little line. He did kidnap Dixie, John. They were caught in a storm here, and she sighted the island. She thought she could swim to it and dove overboard. Dear child didn’t count on the undertow. Thomas Boudreaux was a terrible swimmer, and a coward too fearful to assist her. And too fearful of being jailed, as well, I expect. The wreckage actually was no more than a few things he tossed overboard to make it appear as though she’d been in a ship that had gone down.
“I’ll hunt him down,” John vowed. “He’ll pay for this, Elise. I give you my word.”
Don’t bother, dear heart. Thomas Boudreaux has paid. He’s gone quite mad—literally. He’ll be institutionalized for the rest of his life. Some people react rather strangely to seeing spirits. The greater the burden on the conscience, the greater the fear. Naturally, Thomas Boudreaux was terrified. When riled, Clayton always has been rather formidable.
A part of John felt cheated that Thomas Boudreaux had caused so much pain and hurt and that he’d eased into insanity and escaped retribution. But insanity forfeited life; John really shouldn’t feel that way. And once he got over the shock, and accepted the truth by talking through all this with Bess, he knew he wouldn’t.