by Karen Welch
Unable to find any other witnesses to Stani's movements, John could only speculate on what might have happened. Stani must have gone to the party at Betsy's last-minute invitation. Jana had been able to tell him that yes, she recalled now that Stani had dated Betsy briefly. John had easily found press photographs from a year or more ago, showing the two making the rounds of clubs and parties together.
His meeting with the county sheriff, Jack Deem, had been helpful, if somewhat surprising. He had found Deem guarded, although he had told John in detail of Stani's condition when he had discovered him in the farmhouse. As it turned out, the woman who had taken Stani in from the storm was a mere girl of nineteen. Sheriff Deem was her guardian, and he had gone initially to check on what he believed to be an empty house. He had been completely surprised to find the two of them there.
The sheriff had been reluctant to release the girl's name, saying she had no desire for publicity. Even when John had told him there would be a substantial reward for her efforts, he had refused to give out her address.
Milo drafted a check, instructing John to forward it to the Sheriff's office. He was wary of this girl, who must by now realize the potential of her contact with Stani. He enclosed a note, stating in broad terms how grateful he was for her efforts on Stani's behalf and the value of her discretion in the matter. He was fully prepared to hear more from this young woman in the future. Perhaps she felt she had more to gain in exchange for her silence than from the brief sensational press exposure. He was sure he could deal with her when the time came.
Chapter Nineteen
On New Year's Eve, Emily packed away the Christmas decorations and gave the house one last cleaning. She was just spreading the dust cover over the piano when a late model car, sleek and shiny, drove through the gate. From the window, she watched as Peter McConnell emerged and walked toward the house. Taken by surprise, Emily wondered what could have prompted this visit. They had talked briefly at the parsonage, and she was sure she hadn't said anything to encourage him. Quite the opposite, she had responded to his suggestion that they might see more of one another in the summer with a cool, “I'm sure we'll see each other in church.”
Blonde, well-built and much more self-confident than she remembered from high school, Peter was on a full football scholarship at a college in Georgia. With his hair grown longer, and a winter tan bronzing his good-looking face, he was very much the golden boy. For a brief instant, Emily considered pretending to be in the shower, or the barn, or anywhere she would not hear his knock and have to answer the door. But in the end her curiosity and good manners won out.
Peter grinned as she opened the door to him. “Hi, Em. Hope I haven't come at a bad time. I just wanted to see you again before I head back to school. Can I come in?” She realized she'd been holding the screen door handle.
“Sure. I'm just cleaning house.” As if he couldn't tell by the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the floor. And the bandana she'd tied over her hair. She reached up and pulled it off, stuffing it in her pocket.
Peter held out a long white envelope. “Before I forget, Sheriff Deem asked me to bring this out to you. He had a call over to Mason and since I was coming. . .”
She took the envelope, turning it over in her hands. It was addressed simply with her name, “Miss Emily Haynes” in a large, bold hand. On the back, the flap was embossed with a Manhattan street address. Her throat tightened. Whatever it was, she wanted to be alone when she opened it.
Peter had already seated himself on the couch, but she stood over him, anxious that he not settle in for a visit. “How's school? Do you like it down South?” That might be a safe topic. Peter had always been a man of few words. She hoped sincerely that hadn't changed.
Indeed, although he seemed to want to linger, he had little to say. After a few moments' discussion of warm winters and winning football teams, he rose as if to leave.
“Emily, I meant what I said about wanting to see you this summer. And not just in church.” He had stopped in front of her, putting a hand on her arm. When she stared at him, one brow slightly arched, waiting for him to go on, he blushed. “Dang, it, Em. Why won't you give me a chance?”
“A chance at what?”
“You know I've always had feelings for you. And not just friendly feelings. Couldn't you at least try to like me a little? Other girls don't seem to find me so repulsive.”
She smiled, in spite of herself. “You're not repulsive, Peter. I'm just not interested. Not in you or any other boy. I have enough to keep me busy now with nursing school and with the farm.”
He grimaced. “So there's no chance, is that what you're saying?”
“We can be friends, like we've always been. I need friends. I just don't want to be in love. It would make life much too complicated.”
He looked at her with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Does that mean you could love me, if you'd let yourself?” His hand tightened on her arm.
She shook her head. “No, Peter. It means I don't intend to fall in love with anyone. Especially not you. We've known each other all our lives. You're the boy who pushed me in the pond when I was wearing my Sunday clothes, remember? And you're the one who tied my braids together with fishing line.” She grinned, hoping to break his mood before it became any more serious.
“And you're the first girl I tried to kiss. That didn't go so great, either.” Finally, he smiled. “Okay, so we can be friends. Good friends?” His eyes twinkled.
“Like brother and sister.”
“Ugh! Now you're just being hard. But at least I can still see you. And I'll be there to offer a shoulder to cry on, when some medical student breaks your heart.”
She turned toward the door, laughing. “Dream on, Peter. Now I have work to do, and I'm sure there's some nice girl back in Georgia, just waiting to fall in love with you.”
When he was finally gone, turning more than once to wave goodbye, she closed the door and stood staring at the letter on the table. Picking it up, she ran one finger under the seal, aware that her heart was pounding. As she unfolded the single sheet of heavy vellum, something dropped to the floor. Bending down to retrieve the slip of paper, she began to read.
Dear Miss Haynes,
On behalf of Stani Moss and all of us who love and admire him, I wish to express sincerest gratitude. Without your heroic efforts following his unfortunate accident, his doctors assure us, the outcome might have been tragic indeed. As it is, although he faces a lengthy recuperation, we have every reason to look forward to the day when he is restored to health and able to resume his career.
We are certain that you understand the importance of protecting his privacy during this difficult time. It would be most unfortunate if he were to become the focus of the exploitative press. We trust that we can depend upon your discretion should you be approached by these unscrupulous journalists.
Please accept the enclosed as a small token of our gratitude.
Yours,
Milo Scheider
She examined the paper that had fallen to the floor. It was a check, made out to her for two thousand dollars. She stared at it, trying to grasp the meaning of such a large sum. What was he paying her for, saving Stani's life or not telling her story to the tabloid press? As if she would tell anyone, even those closest to her, what had happened in this room. She had made a pact with Stani that no one would ever know her name. Not that this Milo, whoever he was, would know that. Still, it felt as if she were being warned, if not threatened, against doing something ugly and self-serving, by a man who had never even met her.
She stuffed the letter and the check back into the envelope and dropped it in her open purse. She wouldn't take the money, wouldn't cash the check, she resolved angrily. Surely that would tell him what kind of person she was.
Savagely dusting the mantel, she fought the overwhelming sense of disappointment that someone so close to Stani would think she wanted payment for trying to keep him alive until he could be safely returned to them. She wondered
if Stani himself knew about this letter. Maybe he had even asked this man to write to her. After all, what did she really know about him, other than the fact that he was talented and famous? Those things didn't necessarily mean that he was a nice person. On the contrary, maybe Jack had been right in saying he was a “bad boy.” He could well be the spoiled, temperamental, self-important sort of person so often associated with such a meteoric rise to fame.
Sinking into the armchair nearest the fire, she sat staring into the flames. She would never know what sort of man he was. She was here and he was somewhere being pampered and petted back to health. What he thought of her, or didn't think of her, didn't change a thing. She had promised to let him go and prayed that he would recover, and the letter at least assured her of that. She would look forward to the time when she stopped thinking about him, where he was and how he was. Surely with so many things to occupy her mind, she would start to forget him.
They had spent less than twenty-four hours together, and he had been unconscious virtually all of that time. She had never even heard his voice. Why did she feel she knew him, shared some bond with him? She had never been inclined to be romantic, to fantasize over film stars or devour those silly romance novels. Surely, she hadn't developed a case of idol worship. No, even she had to admit, her emotions ran much deeper than that. The best thing to do, she decided, was just what Jack had said, give herself time. One day, Stani Moss would be just someone she'd had the opportunity to shelter from a storm, and she would forget those few shared moments when she believed he had tried to comfort her in return.
Chapter Twenty
When Stani woke on New Year's Day, he had no memory of the past ten days. He thought he recalled waking up, or trying to, several times before. But each time a burning sensation had rushed up his right arm, followed by a shower of sparks behind his eyelids. In just seconds, he was floating above the bed, freed of the pain that seared his left shoulder and pounded in his skull. He thought he remembered trying to raise his left arm once, but it wasn't there by his side. Instead, he could see a tube draining bright red liquid from his shoulder into a bag nearby. The more he searched for his arm, the more frantic he became, until finally he thought he heard a scream. For a few terrified minutes, he'd been certain his arm was missing. Had he only imagined himself being held in the strong comforting arms of his old friend John? When he'd finally located his left hand, lying limp across his midsection, he'd held on tightly, as the shower of sparks lifted him above the pain again.
He thought he had seen Jana beside him each time he'd tried to open his eyes. The worry and fatigue on her face told him it was bad, whatever was happening to him. Now that he was fully awake, he could see her there above him, watching him closely, tears in her eyes. She spoke to him, assuring him that he was going to be all right now. He knew he was hurt, his head, his arm, what else? He wanted to ask, but couldn't find words. So he listened, hoping to hear the answers.
Jana told him to wait, as if he could do otherwise. She was going to find Milo. When they stood, one on either side of the bed, Stani knew they were going to tell him what had happened. As he looked from one tired face to the other, he was suddenly very afraid. They explained to him—each finishing the other's careful sentences—that he had been in an accident ten days ago. He was in a hospital now in New York. He'd had surgery on his shoulder, and his arm was strapped to his body while his shoulder began to heal. He had suffered a concussion and a bad cut over his ear. It would take some time, but he would be fine they promised. Now he just needed to rest and let them take care of everything.
It never occurred to Stani to ask questions. The little they had told him, he found overwhelming. He clung to the thought that nothing more was expected of him. Just rest. He needed to rest now. He learned that John Kimble had indeed come all the way from London to stand outside his door. And Peg was there, sleeping in the room at night so that Jana could get some rest. He never questioned how they came to be there. It was comfort enough to know that they were, as they had always done, taking care of everything for him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Emily had decided she would use the hours it took to drive back to Williamsburg for sorting her thoughts and planning what she would say about her holiday. She had promised herself not to tell any more lies, so she'd just tell anyone who asked that she'd had a last-minute change of plans and gone home for Christmas. The only person she knew she'd have to tell the whole truth, or at least most of the truth, was Penny. Penny would know the minute she set foot in the room they shared that something life changing had occurred over the past two weeks.
Since almost the beginning of Emily's freshman year, they had been roommates and best friends. Initially, Emily had been assigned to room with a girl who was much more interested in studying life on campus than anything contained between the covers of a textbook. Their room was the scene of nightly coed gatherings, and one weekend Emily was asked if she'd mind finding another place to stay while her roommate's boyfriend slept over. She spent all of her time outside of classes in the library, where at least she could study in peace. She was thoroughly miserable, far from home and worrying about her father, without a friend or even the comfort of her own room. After several late nights in the library, she’d been approached by one of the students who worked there for extra cash. Penny Riley was two years older, a pre-law student on scholarship. A tiny girl with a big voice and a bigger heart, she was always quick to detect a soul in need. She had noticed the pretty, sad young girl sitting alone night after night, and never one to be shy, slipped her an invitation to join her for coffee later.
Once Penny offered a sympathetic ear, Emily had told her the problem, with the result that Penny suggested they try to switch rooms and bunk together. Secretly, the older girl was concerned that the atmosphere in the dorm might drive Emily to abandon school altogether. With the help of an understanding dorm supervisor, they had made the switch and been together ever since.
Emily smiled to herself as she acknowledged that Penny, of all people, would forgive her deception. Penny knew the value of a lie when used for a good reason. It was Penny who had made up that outrageous tale to put an end to the gossip that had circulated the dorm. When Emily had refused to discuss her family or her home, for fear of being pitied, rumors had started. They had evolved into a broad fantasy, in which Emily was an orphan, a real orphan, who had grown up in an orphanage. A wealthy benefactor was paying her way through school, providing her with her nice clothes and her much-envied car. As with all rumors, this one eventually found its way back to Emily. She had confronted the first person she could find who would repeat the story, unfortunately in the company of a dozen other students in the dorm's lounge. As the details unfolded, she had been devastated. But with as much dignity as she could muster, she’d walked out of the lounge with her head held high, declaring that she had never heard anything so ridiculous. Penny had stayed behind, returning to their room later with a wickedly self-satisfied grin on her face.
Closing the door and leaning against it, she had proclaimed, “I guess I fixed them.”
Emily, curled on her bed with her face turned to the wall, had been wondering how much worse her life could get. Now she feared she was about to find out. “What do you mean?”
“I told them your secret.” When Emily didn't respond, Penny prodded, “Don't you want to know what I said?”
“Do I?”
“Yes! It’s brilliant, and I thought it all up on the spur of the moment.” Taking a deep breath, she proceeded, her eyes gleaming. “I told them your father's in the diplomatic corps, somewhere on a top-secret assignment, so secret even you don't know where he is. I told them the only way I could room with you was if I let them do a background check on me. The administration is sworn to secrecy and there are agents on campus to keep an eye on you so you aren't kidnapped or something.” Penny was positively glowing with pride, watching expectantly for Emily’s reaction.
“You didn't! You lied to the
m all? Oh, my gosh, Penny, what if they go to the super? We'll both get expelled!” Rolling off her bed, Emily jumped to her feet in panic.
“But they won't. They bought it, hook, line and sinker. They loved it! It fed right into their 'big brother is watching' paranoia. And look at yourself, Emily. You could be somebody like that, with the way you dress and that car of yours. Your father obviously made a lot of money, why not give him a glamorous job. I just wish you could have seen their faces.”
Dropping back on the bed, Emily had stared at Penny in amazement. “I can't believe you would lie for me like that.”
Penny grinned. “It wasn't a lie. It was a bluff. It's up to the prosecution to prove otherwise. I'm just honing my defense attorney skills. Now cheer up. Next time they see you, they'll all be looking around for your bodyguards.”
They had laughed later at the change in the way Emily was treated. It was as if the other students were sharing some deep secret, greeting her with knowing smiles and, just as Penny had predicted, trying to detect the Secret Service agents on her trail. But Emily had felt guilty. It was a lie, no matter what Penny said, and it had only been necessary because she'd been secretive in the first place. Her father would have been ashamed of her, she knew. She had been raised to know better, he would remind her, and family came first, no matter the circumstances.