“Why doesn’t Milo come to me?” she asked, feeling an aching in her heart, a strange poignancy.
“Let’s cut to the chase here,” Shelley said. “You and Milo were friends, right? Really good friends. You married him to give him access to the Llewellyn money, right?”
Jillian sucked in her breath. “Well…his HMO sucked! The cancer ward was like a zoo.”
Shelley smiled. “That’s understandable. But he was your friend. Never really your lover.”
“I loved Milo. I loved him with my whole heart.”
“That isn’t exactly the same, is it?” Shelley said softly. “Your husband is coming,” she added suddenly.
“Your husband?” Connie gasped. “You mean he’s here now? Milo’s ghost is with us? I don’t feel cold or anything.”
“Not Milo’s ghost. Robert Marston is here.”
“You married him?” Connie said incredulously, staring at Jillian as if she’d been stabbed in the back.
“Shush. We’re not telling anyone yet.”
“Yes, well, I can see you not telling anyone—but you didn’t tell me!”
“Do you tell me everything that’s going on with you?” Jillian demanded.
Connie stared at her, biting her lip. As Shelley had said, Robert was on his way in. He stared at her almost as accusingly as Connie had as he slid into the booth next to Madame Zena.
“Hi,” Jillian murmured weakly.
He nodded curtly to her, then turned to Shelley. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“My pleasure. But there’s something you all have to understand. I can only tell you what I see, what I believe, then you have to take it from there.”
“So why am I dreaming about burning?” Jillian asked.
“It’s from your past life,” Shelley said.
“A past life?” Robert repeated.
“You said your mind was going to be open.” Shelley hesitated. “You said that Milo Anderson was haunting your dreams.”
“Yeah. But only at the house in Connecticut. Only in the room where he died. Except that—” He broke off, as if he didn’t believe what he was saying himself. “I think he was in Florida.”
“What?” Jillian and Connie cried in unison.
“A branch fell, nearly crushing Jillian. I ran to push her out of the way. I made it, but I still think…I don’t know. It looked as if she was being pushed out of the way even before I reached her.”
He looked away, shaking his head. He was saying these things, but he couldn’t accept them.
Shelley Millet raised her hands, forming a circle with her long fingers. “Energy,” she said softly. “All life is energy. Energy doesn’t die. There is, in my mind, in my being, in my soul, no doubt that there is a supreme being. To us, he is God, to others he is Allah, to some he is the very spirit of the earth. The Vikings called him Odin; the ancient Romans named him Jupiter; the Greeks called him Zeus. Study mythology, the Old Testament, the battles of the angels, and it will shock you just how much of what we believe is similar to what we call legend, ancient stories, far too archaic for our modern sophistication. Christmas, Jillian. Think about it. A virgin birth, the son of God among men—nailed to a cross. But we believe, and our beliefs do not make us foolish, they make us rise above both the evil and the ordinary. The point is, I believe that the world is full of old souls. I think we get many chances. You knew one another before. You were in love with one another before. Something happened. Something horrible, to do with fire. Maybe someone back then was out to hurt you, Jillian, and perhaps Robert failed you.”
“I will not fail her!”
Shelley smiled. “Maybe you had that same arrogance centuries ago, Mr. Marston. Maybe you’re being given a second chance. Seize it. Don’t throw it away. History may well be repeating itself.”
“I don’t understand,” Connie said. “Just because someone hurt Jillian in another life—”
“I’m not a specialist on this particular subject,” Shelley said. “But those who do study reincarnation believe that we come back most often with the same groups of souls around us. Perhaps they take on different relationships. Mrs. Murphy, perhaps you were a sister in another life, a mother, even a brother.”
“I was a boy?” Connie said indignantly.
“Maybe,” Shelley said with a shrug, then looked at Robert and Jillian in turn. “I do think you had a chance before, that your lives were cut short, and so you’re getting a chance to try again. You may take that for what it’s worth.” She looked at Robert. “What does Milo tell you?”
Robert made an impatient sound. “Why is Milo in on all of this? I never met the man.”
“Souls may pass at different times, like ships in the night. In another time, another place, he might have been your best friend.”
“And I might have been a boy,” Connie moaned.
“What does Milo say in your dreams?” Shelley persisted.
“That Jillian’s in danger. That I…”
“What?”
“That I should read the book. And I did read the book. Well, some of it.”
“And what was it?”
“An old volume on the English Civil War.”
“May I suggest you finish it?”
Jillian stared at Robert. He looked haggard, and when his eyes touched hers, they still held reproach. But he loved her. Really loved her. She was certain that she saw that in his eyes, as well.
“I read part of the book, too,” she said. “It was all about the secret affair between one of the king’s soldiers and a lady.”
“Did you finish it?”
“Well, no.”
“Finish it. Maybe you’ll find your answers,” Shelley told them.
“I will finish it,” Jillian said, staring at Robert. She leaned forward, her hands covering Shelley’s. “Thank you. Really. Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything else you see?”
“Just one thing.”
“Yes?” Jillian said anxiously.
“I see that Mr. Marston should pick up the check. Teachers don’t make much money.” She smiled. “I also see that you’re both good people. And that either of you is welcome to call me at any time.” She rose. “Finish that book.”
“We’re heading back to Connecticut for Thanksgiving.”
Shelley’s eyes suddenly seemed to haze over, taking on a greater glitter of copper. “That’s good.”
“Will Milo be there?” Robert asked. Jillian couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or asking a sincere question.
“Maybe,” Shelley said, smiling. “But he’s on your side.”
“Then, who is against me?” Jillian whispered.
“We don’t get to see everything,” Shelley replied.
“We’re conveniently missing what’s most important,” Robert said.
“Maybe it’s most important to put your faith to the test,” Shelley told him. “But it’s good that you’re going to the house. Whatever is happening, you need to find out. You need to solve this. Before Christmas.”
“Before Christmas?” Jillian murmured.
“You must.”
“Why?” Robert demanded tensely. He reached out, taking her wrist.
Shelley shook her head. “Just believe, Mr. Marston. Believe in yourself. No matter what barrier lies before you, believe in yourself.”
She freed herself from his grip, and hurried out of the luncheonette.
CHAPTER 14
“This is absolutely insane,” Robert murmured.
They were back in the library in Connecticut. The household was even fuller than it had been last time, since Joe and Connie’s children were there, along with Connie’s mother. But for now Robert and Jillian were alone in the library, dinner eaten. Connie and Joe were tucking their children into bed. Eileen was wrapping gifts. Gracie was in the den, calling a distant cousin in Chicago. Since she had no immediate family of her own, she had been invited for the holiday, even though Thanksgiving was traditionally just for family and lon
gtime friends. As Daniel’s ever-faithful shadow, Gracie had been elated by the invitation. In fact, Jillian wasn’t sure that there really was a cousin in Ohio, but she would never suggest that to anyone. Gracie seemed too alone in the world.
Most of the rest of the household was stuffed to the gills, entirely lazy, little more than a group of couch potatoes stretched out on every available piece of furniture and watching a movie.
With everyone else settled, Jillian and Robert had seized the first free time they’d been able to take to go to the library.
“Shelley said to finish the book,” Jillian reminded him firmly.
He lifted his hands. “Shelley is a tarot card reader. I’m reading a book about events that occurred hundreds of years ago—because of a tarot card reader. This is absolutely insane.”
“You made a point of seeing her,” Jillian pointed out.
Robert shrugged, easing down into the overstuffed chair facing the desk. She was perched on the swivel chair behind it, the book in her hands.
“There are a number of letters in here, and diary entries—I read those the last time I was here,” she said.
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Why what?”
“Why were you reading the book?”
“Because you had been reading it.”
“Ah,” he murmured, and smiled, settling more comfortably into his chair.
“The majority of the story was written by someone named Justin. He was the one who grouped the diary entries and the letters together.”
“Yeah, I know. I was reading the parts Justin had written. Go toward the end. See if we can find out what actually happened. I think maybe she was executed—burned at the stake.”
“Burned at the stake?” Jillian repeated, feeling a cold draft sweep over her.
Robert leaned forward. “Jillian, do you think that you might have read this book before? Maybe you started dreaming about burning because of the book, because what happened to this girl was so horrible.”
She looked at him, shaking her head. “Robert, I never saw this book before you left it on the desk the last time we were here.”
He didn’t say anything, so she turned her attention to the book. “This part is written by Justin. It’s near the end.” She began to read.
It was nearing the Christmas season when last we came home, when last there was still what a man could call a home. We remained in the woods, hiding, for it was no longer safe to be among the King’s men in Cromwell’s England. Messages were sent to the house through Jane, our Lady’s maid, and she came in the night, slipping away like a wraith to the forest. She laughed with the captain, walked among the trees with him, and stayed with him by the river until morning. The captain was concerned, telling her she must come away with us. But she told him that her father still lived. Sir Walter had taken all control; he ran the village as if he were king in his own right. Across England, there was talk again that devils walked. That in a lawless land, torn by war, Satan had taken hold. She swore herself strong and safe; she had but contempt for Sir Walter.
I heard them talking, down by the river, when dawn came. She had the ability to make light of the most serious situation; she was afraid for her captain, certain that it was time for him to fly to Scotland, where the King was still respected as the King. “Go, flee,” she told him, and teasingly reminded him that Edward I had managed to murder most of the Welsh, while many a Scot had taken to the Highlands where no man could find them. They spun a tale that night between them, pretending that they both left the place they had once loved so much but that was now so torn by bloodshed. He said that there were beautiful green hills in Ireland, as well, and islands where even a man such as he might believe in magic. But Lord Alfred, stricken, taken to his bed, seldom even conscious of those around him, still breathed. She would not leave, and she swore that she was safe.
But I knew Jane, knew her well, and she told me that Morwenna lied, that her every day with Sir Walter was a fight and a threat, and that one day Sir Walter would seize her. He had threatened to take legal action against her many times. She laughed at his accusations of heresy, saying surely anyone’s pact with God could be construed as heresy these days, that the Catholic Church had departed England and the Inquisition was no longer in effect. He spoke to her of treason, as well, and she asked how she could be guilty of treason when she had honored her King but could do nothing to save his life against the sham of a battle he now waged in court.
Old Jeremy, who had served Lord Alfred so loyally for so many years, came with the dawn, warning that Sir Walter was searching for Morwenna. So she fled. But not before the captain held her in his arms, not before he vowed that he would always be there for her in her time of need.
That night, we rode away, hearing that there would be a meeting to the south, of those last cavaliers who had sworn loyalty to the King. There was a plan being circulated to rescue him from the grip of his persecutors. It was night, we heard later, when Sir Walter went all but mad, telling Morwenna that she would marry him, she must, he was a Godly man and she had bewitched him, and it was her one chance to save her soul. In anger, she told him that she could not marry him, for she was already wed to another. And when he touched her, she showed him such repulsion that he went into a tantrum, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. He didn’t call for the guards but took her himself, by the hair, dragging her, hurling her deep down into the dungeon, where the old women had been prodded and poked, tortured into admitting their pacts with Satan. She defied him still, telling him that Michael would come for her. Then she was afraid, for he wanted Michael to come, and she knew that he would kill Michael if he could.
Jillian paused in her reading for a moment, looked up at Robert. He was no longer slouched in the chair. He was sitting straight, as if suddenly jolted into perfect posture.
“Robert?”
“What?” He looked at her, tearing his gaze from the corner of the desk.
“This is what she was telling us, right? Shelley Millet. That we lived the events in this book. That our lives ended in tragedy and somehow we have to keep it from happening again.”
“I imagine so,” he said, his attention still not all there. “She said the same souls tend to come back together. So we need to figure out who around us was Sir Walter, who was Justin, and all the rest.”
“I suppose.”
Robert was dead silent for a moment. Then his eyes touched hers. He cleared his throat. “Milo says that he was Justin.”
“What?” A chill fell over her, colder than a blanket of ice. “What?”
He lifted his hands, dropped them, cleared his throat again. “Milo says that he was Justin.”
“Milo?” she whispered.
He nodded.
“Milo is here?” she asked. There was nothing in the room.
Except the cold.
“I thought you dreamed about Milo?”
“I did.” He looked at her for a moment. “I’m not sleeping, am I?”
“No. You swear that you—you who believe in nothing—see a ghost.”
He swallowed, gritting his teeth, his gaze unmoving.
“Where?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes, then looked at her again. “Perched on the edge of the desk.”
“You can see Milo? My deceased husband.”
He nodded.
“Why can’t I see him?” she whispered.
“He says that I need help far more than you, but other than that, he doesn’t really know. He says he’s been with you. You were taking a subway somewhere, and you were too close to the tracks. He shoved you back. And…he was in Miami the day the branch fell.”
Jillian sat dead still for a moment, wondering if he was tormenting her, or trying to humor her through the situation.
“Why won’t he let me see him?” she whispered.
“He isn’t stopping you. It’s just the way things are. I’m able to see him because I have to help you.”
“How do
es he know I’m in so much danger?”
“Because the cat was poisoned.”
“We’re not going on about the cat again, are we?”
Robert looked at her. “I took the ashes from the furnace and had them analyzed, Jillian. There was rat poison in them.”
“We’ve had rats in the office,” she informed him defensively. “And Jeeves had been an alley cat. I’m sure instinct made him eat a rat.”
“Jillian, he died on your desk. On the tray with your Halloween cookies and tea. The poison was probably on your tray.”
“Robert, that is reaching.”
“Is it?” He leaned forward. “Douglas has been seeing his lawyers in his office lately. He’s also been arguing repeatedly with Daniel over something. Eileen watches you constantly with razors in her eyes, and Griff…well, God knows what Griff is really thinking. Then there’s Theo, who’s never really appreciated for being a good old grunt, an intelligent, middle-management kind of a guy.”
“And what does Milo say?”
“Milo says you’re in danger.”
She sat back, folding her arms over her chest. “You bastard,” she whispered. “You’re using Milo to try to convince me that someone in my family is after me.”
Robert rose with an impatient oath. “I don’t believe any of this.”
“You’re the one who called the tarot card reader!”
“I called Shelley because I was trying to help you stop screaming in the middle of the night,” he lashed out angrily. “And,” he added more quietly, “I am not using Milo for anything. I don’t want to see a ghost, especially the ghost of your last husband—sorry, Milo, nothing personal there,” he told the corner of the desk.
She jumped away from the desk suddenly, totally freaked out. “And what does Milo say to that?”
“He said he didn’t take it personally at all.”
She clenched her fists by her sides. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t do this anymore.”
She fled the room.
“Jillian!”
Robert ran after her. She ignored him, racing to join the others in front of the TV. Douglas was seated in one of the large wing chairs facing the television. Jillian curled up at her grandfather’s feet, aware that Robert had followed her. She didn’t look at him.
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