“Misty Wayfair died in 1851. She was the rumored lover of Fergus Coyle, who married Mathilda Kramer the day before Misty died.”
Heidi frowned. “Kramer? As in Kramer Logging?”
Emma nodded, a proud smile touching her lips. “Dad has worked for Kramer Logging since 1985. Rhett was born a year later.”
Emma’s penchant for recalling dates was remarkable.
Heidi leaned forward, her elbow brushing a few infantrymen on the board, which toppled in their home space of Western Australia. “How is Misty Wayfair linked to the old asylum?”
Officer Tate had alluded to the ghost story the night of the break-in, but Heidi wanted Emma’s factual interpretation of this lore, minus any personal superstition.
Emma thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing. She studied Heidi before reciting what she knew. “Some people say when she died, her spirit was trapped in the asylum and never released. Some say she wandered the forest and danced in the streets at night. But”—Emma’s expression grew serious, stern almost, as if people’s misinterpretation of the legend was offensive to her—“Misty Wayfair was always seen before a Coyle died.”
Heidi frowned. Coyle. Fergus Coyle who’d married Mathilda Kramer.
“Who exactly are the Coyles?”
Emma smiled. “People who lived in Pleasant Valley.”
A literal explanation for a generic question. Heidi tried again. “But, what are the Coyles remembered for?”
Emma’s eyes brightened. “For Misty Wayfair.”
It was a circular conversation. Without knowing what she was trying to uncover exactly, Heidi couldn’t ask questions that would help her to understand more.
“Have you ever been to the asylum ruins?” Heidi ventured.
Emma gave her a long look. “No.”
“Oh.” Heidi readjusted her focus to the Risk board. She needed to drop the subject.
“We could go.” Emma’s suggestion sliced through Heidi. It’d been what she was thinking, but also what she was questioning as a good idea. She’d not mentioned anything to Connie about taking Emma from the house.
“Mmm, probably not wise.” Heidi had a challenging time focusing on the game now.
“Rhett told me he’d take me someday,” Emma stated flatly.
Heidi looked up at the young woman whose pretty eyes were directed at her troops on the board. “And he hasn’t?”
“No.”
Wondering why made it clearer to Heidi she should probably avoid it herself. “Maybe I’ll ask your mom when she comes home. If she says it’s all right, we could go tomorrow.”
“You could text my mom now.”
True. She could. Heidi leaned back in her chair. Emma gave her a direct stare and blinked. Waiting.
Yes. She would text Connie. She and Emma both needed a diversion from the board game.
She hadn’t heard back from Connie, but by the time she’d texted her, Emma had already gone outside and was waiting in the passenger seat of Heidi’s car. Connie would respond, and if she said no, Heidi figured she had enough time to turn the car around and head back to the house.
Now, Heidi’s car crossed the bridge over the river, leaving the boundary of city limits—“city” being an exaggeration—and onto a rural road that curved into the thick forest. A few small homes breezed by, set back into the trees, and then it almost seemed they’d entered something like a state park. Habitation dwindled, and the side roads turned to gravel with small, white signs and arrows in black to guide you in the right direction.
“What road is the asylum on?” Heidi peered ahead with squinted eyes, maintaining her speed of thirty miles per hour so she could read the signs.
“Briar Road,” Emma replied. She kneaded her scarf as she looked out the window.
Heidi glanced at the screen on her phone. No text yet. A part of her thought of turning back, but Emma’s focus was so intense and set on the road ahead of them, she could sense the woman’s interest. Emma would be fine.
Maybe she should have maneuvered Ducie into the car, just for security. Heidi gave Emma a sideways glance. Emma’s hands had dropped to her lap and were calm. She was calm. Heidi warred with the niggling sense of not having heard back from Connie and the desire to keep going. Having Emma with her at the asylum might open a world of information. Information that might help Heidi make sense of . . . whatever there was to make sense of.
A sign for Briar Road was on their left. Heidi slowed and turned the vehicle. The tires rolled onto gravel, and Heidi winced at the deep ruts in the road that appeared wide enough for one vehicle. Apparently the asylum wasn’t the tourist destination Jean from the grocery store had seemed to imply. If this was one of the top three must-sees, they needed better road maintenance.
“What was the name of the asylum, way back when?” Heidi tossed the question in Emma’s direction to keep her occupied.
“Valley Heights Asylum. Founded in 1888 by Reginald Kramer.”
“When did it close?”
“In 1927.”
“Do you know why it closed?” Heidi slowed as an opening seemed to loom ahead. Dark and shadowed, with trees grown so tall and so thick that she couldn’t make out a structure.
Emma didn’t respond.
A nervous twinge bit at Heidi’s stomach. She glanced at Emma. “Are you all right?”
Emma nodded.
Heidi rephrased the question. “Why did the asylum close?”
“It ran out of money.”
Heidi slowed the car as the woods began to give way to a swath of open property. A rectangular building rose from the underbrush and thick overgrowth. Three stories with the eastern side crumbled and diminished to the foundation. Rows of windows, uniform in size, lined the remaining structure, some with glass still in them, but most broken and ragged from time.
An iron fence surrounded the grounds, portions of it bent and sagging inward, ready to collapse to the earth from years of neglect. There was a gap at the front where at one time a gate must have swung. Tall and ornate, Heidi imagined, with a lock perhaps to keep out unwanted visitors and keep in . . .
Well, asylums were their own form of prison after all, weren’t they?
Heidi shifted the car into park and then turned to Emma. “Do you want to come with me?”
Emma had grown quieter. She stared out the passenger window at the asylum.
“Why don’t you stay in the car.” Heidi didn’t want to suggest it for selfish reasons, but now she was full-on second-guessing, since her phone remained dark with no text from Connie. She couldn’t even call her now. No signal was like a bad omen.
Emma shook her head. “No. I’ll come.”
She reached for the door handle and opened the door. Heidi followed suit. Within moments they stood at the asylum’s gaping front entrance, staring up at the dilapidated brick structure.
Heidi entered the grounds silently. Emma followed close behind, her hands buried in her scarf and her eyes wide, taking in every nuance of the place. Beneath their feet, long grasses tangled and twisted. Some flattened by weather and time, others standing and struggling to find sunlight through the thick overgrowth of forest.
Heidi squatted, her hand pushing away the grass to flatten on a cobblestone. She looked up at Emma. “There was a stone walkway here, I’ll bet you anything.”
She stood and craned her neck toward the still-standing portion of the asylum. From here it seemed taller, darker, more Gothic in nature. If she closed her eyes, Heidi could almost imagine the forms of nurses in starched white with triangular caps passing behind the windowpanes. She could recreate the opening of the asylum entrance to a wide hall, with plain wood floors and whitewashed walls. Perhaps to the left, the first room would have been a visiting area, where people would come to see loved ones committed to this place. Or not. Maybe once here, the patient would have been forgotten. Ushered away into seclusion while the world outside carried on as if they no longer existed.
Maybe a person would have stood in the ent
ryway, waiting for an aide to take them to meet with the registrant. To discuss admittance of a loved one, the long-term care options. Perhaps they would sit in a wooden chair with wide arms and a leather cushion. The solemn stillness of the place would be broken by a scream. A wild scream. Splitting the sterile silence with its anguished cry. Wailing . . . Rocking . . .
“Oh my gosh!” Heidi spun, snapping from her trancelike state.
Emma was on her knees behind her, jeans pressed into the grass and on the barely noticeable cobblestone walk. Her arms flailed in a circular motion, her eyes staring up at the third floor, wide and terrified.
“Emma!” Heidi hurried toward her, dropping beside her. Reaching out with her hand to lightly touch Emma’s shoulder.
“No. No, no, no.” Emma twisted away, still fixated on the upper-floor window.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
The more Heidi asked, the stronger Emma rocked, and every question agitated Emma further. She remembered the rubber ball Rhett had given Emma the night Ducie had been injured. She’d squeezed it. Deep breaths. Eye contact.
Oh, she was going to have a thousand penances to pay now!
Avoiding the regret that twisted at her, Heidi positioned herself in front of Emma, commanding her attention.
“Emma, breathe with me,” she insisted. But even measured breaths refused to calm the young woman. A tear trickled down Emma’s face.
Whatever had happened, whatever she’d seen, had petrified her.
“Emma?” Heidi was almost nose to nose with her, and Emma reared back, a wild look in her eyes. “Please, Emma. Do you want to go? We can go. I’ll take you home.”
“Home.” Emma’s voice warbled through tears.
“Yes. I’ll take you home.” Heidi reached for her, but Emma jerked away and skewered Heidi with a stern look.
“My brother. Get me my brother.”
“Yes. Yes, we’ll get Rhett.” God help her, Rhett would hate her for this.
“Get me home,” Emma insisted. “Away from her.”
Heidi paused, not sure she’d heard her right. “Wait. Away from her?”
Emma shook her head, fresh tears trailing down her pretty face. Eyes turned upward again. She rocked back and forth, on her knees, her breaths coming in tight, short gasps.
“I don’t want to see her again.”
“Who, Emma?” Heidi urged, probably harder than she should.
“Misty Wayfair,” Emma whispered, dropping her gaze to Heidi’s, her lower lip trembling. “This is her home. Didn’t you know?”
Chapter 17
This was more than eating humble pie. Heidi had made a mistake, and now it was time to face the full wrath and judgment of Rhett Crawford. He’d ignored her—completely—when she’d turned her car up the Crawford drive. Ignored her when he’d helped Emma from the vehicle, when he led her into the house, and also when he helped Emma snuggle on the floor next to Ducie. Even the dog had ignored Heidi as he nosed his mistress with concern, maneuvering himself so he could lay his head in Emma’s lap, offering the sort of comfort it seemed no one else could.
But now? Now, Rhett Crawford was not ignoring her. With a jerk of his head in the direction of the kitchen, Heidi knew the clenched jaw and steel-gray eyes forecasted an ominous storm headed her way. Her insides curled and twisted. She’d tried calling Connie the moment her phone had a strong enough signal following their frantic exit from the asylum ruins. She should’ve called Connie to begin with—not texted her. Then she would have known it was a wrong number! She’d texted the wrong person for permission to take Emma out! When Heidi entered Connie’s number in her phone’s contacts, she’d made an error—off by one digit. The only option left was to call Rhett. A secondary emergency backup. And Heidi’s judge and jury.
She wished Connie were here. At the moment, facing Emma’s mother seemed far less daunting. Instead, the Hulk turned, drawing in a deep, controlled breath that testified to some very turbulent emotions. He braced his hands on the counter behind him.
Heidi crossed her arms. She could either give in to another anxiety attack or face him. She was used to facing condescension. This was still in her control. She tilted her head and waited him out. There was no way she was going to offer up the first word.
The standoff was entirely visual. Their eyes locked in a tug of war that dared the other to go first. Finally, Rhett blinked. She’d won.
“That was an idiot move.”
Or maybe she hadn’t won. She’d never let him see it, but the words were cruel, and they hurt her. Heidi shrugged, her arms still crossed over her heather-green V-neck tee.
Shrugging was an immature response, but Heidi couldn’t speak. Her throat was choked by tears. Her eyes burned as she blinked fast to push them away.
Rhett studied her for a moment, his hat jammed low over his forehead. He released the counter and matched her stance, crossing his arms. “You don’t take a special-needs person out of their comfort zone. You don’t leave without clearing it with their guardian.”
He was right. Still, she had some defense. “I texted your mom.”
“To the wrong number. And you didn’t call her? Obviously, you weren’t that concerned.” Rhett’s tone stated his doubt.
Heidi pursed her lips, straightening her shoulders. It was unfair to say she wasn’t concerned. She was—she had been—she’d no desire to hurt Emma any worse than she already had. She swallowed back those irritating and pressing tears that were an enemy to her composure. What she intended to say, I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt Emma, did not come out from her lips. Instead, Heidi heard herself defending, building up her wall, insisting on holding her ground.
“So, when she’s home, your mom never takes Emma anywhere? They just stay here, never leave the house? That’s not a realistic expectation.”
“You’re not Emma’s mother.”
The impasse was tense. Her defense was weak and shouldn’t have been given. It was what she had always done. In lieu of the wrongs she believed her parents had bestowed on her with their legalism, she’d used that as justification for her misjudgment. She was doing it again. Only now she saw the truth of it, and it stung. She wasn’t an innocent party to the problem.
The air was saturated with both of their frustration. Rhett’s, rightfully so. Hers, born of the same anxiety a cornered, wild animal felt. Heidi tried again.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have called—I should have . . . but you need to stop treating your sister like a fragile human, Rhett. She’s capable of so much more than you give her credit for.”
Rhett’s jaw muscle twitched. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve known us little more than a week. You’ve not earned the right to coach me on an entire lifetime with Emma.”
Heidi tightened her arms around herself, willing her voice not to shake with feeling. “I realize I still need to learn to understand Emma, but it’s not like her life was in danger. I put her in no danger! I care about her. I did try! And I called you. I brought her home. Give me some credit for good intentions. She even asked to go! I was trying to give her an experience she’d enjoy.”
“She asked to go?” Rhett raised an eyebrow.
“Yes!” Heidi insisted, even as her memory replayed the conversation.
“Really.” He obviously didn’t believe her.
Heidi’s breath caught. Wait. No. Emma had suggested it, not asked. Heidi couldn’t help the way her eyes flew up to meet Rhett’s. “Emma offered the idea,” she corrected weakly.
“Because she knew it was what you wanted.” Rhett shook his head. “Why? Why not wait for my mom to get back to you? Why just go and hope for the best?”
“Because!” Heidi threw her hands in the air and let them fall with slaps against her jean-clad thighs.
“Because why?” Rhett insisted again.
Heidi looked away from his piercing stare. She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. A tear betrayed her and rolled down her cheek. She angrily swiped at it wit
h her tattooed wrist.
Rhett uncrossed his arms and reached up, dragging his hat from his head. Heidi turned back toward him and was momentarily distracted by the thick mass of light brown hair that stuck up in a zillion directions. With a little grooming and that square jaw, the man would be remarkably handsome. But he intimidated her. Plain and simple. Rhett Crawford was an enigma of fierce loyalty and protection, and God save anyone who threatened his own. In a brief flash of irrational thought, Heidi wished she was his—his fiercely protected—instead of the one who threatened what he held close.
“What’s in it for you?” He ran a hand through his hair, this time in an agitated motion, as though irritated by the fact he couldn’t pinpoint Heidi’s motivation for being in the Crawford home, let alone befriending Emma.
Well, she could be honest about one thing—even if it meant leaving out the reason for why she’d wanted to visit the asylum ruins. Heidi bit the inside of her upper lip, eyeing him with an extreme amount of caution. “I really like your sister. She’s unique. I feel awful for hitting Ducie with my car. But, more than that . . .”
Was it wrong to even attempt to claim she related to Emma in a small way? Would that be insulting? That Emma’s anxiety, extreme as it might culminate, was a physical and visual reaction to what Heidi so often internally fought against? What she was warring against right now?
Rhett waited. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t look even a little bit swayed toward understanding.
Heidi drew in a short, shuddered breath. She couldn’t look the man in the eyes. She stared at the floor. “That’s—that’s it,” she muttered. “I just like your sister.”
Rhett shoved off the counter and edged past her toward the door. He opened it and gave her a piercing look. “You’re not being honest. You can leave now.”
Heidi stared at him in disbelief. Not moving. She’d earned no right to be here, to demand acceptance, and yet she knew if she walked out that door she’d never come back. For some reason, the idea sent desperation coursing through her.
The Curse of Misty Wayfair Page 15