Unmending the Veil

by Lisa Heaton

  The wind swept in from the water, blowing her dress, or maybe it was a nightgown at such an hour, causing a silhouette against her small frame. Her hair was blowing lightly behind her. Somehow, all things had gone silent. The sounds of the night were quieted; even the whistle of the wind was hushed. Chris was captivated by her. As if he were watching a scene from a movie, the haunting kind that stays with you hours, or even days afterward, he stood paralyzed by the sight of her. Then unexpectedly, as if snapping out of a trance, she lifted her arms overhead and dove gracefully into the air, entering the water with barely a sound.

  Running toward the dock, he was prepared to jump in after her. All he could think was what a foolish thing to do. Alone in the dark, she could drown. As he reached the end of the pier, he stood helpless, watching her swim farther from the shore. She swam hard and strong, as if she were pushing herself to the utmost limits. Determining he could not catch her if he tried, he stood still, watching her as she stroked arm over arm. What would possess her to do such a thing?

  As he walked back to his cabin, he was relieved he fought the urge to call out to her. If he had, he was quite certain it would have been an invasion of some exceptional moment that was hers alone. Each time he studied her, he found a distinct sadness in her eyes that spoke of distant pain. This night he wondered if he had just caught a glimpse of her therapy. People were known to do stranger things when running from sorrow. It was in that moment the Lord revealed to him that the vacant look in her eyes was deep and debilitating sorrow.

  Emma sat on the porch watching as Robin jumped into the dark water. Hearing the horrific screams, then the sound of Robin’s bedroom door creaking as it opened, she knew where she would go. Since Robin’s arrival, Emma always watched as she swam alone in the darkness. She had feared for years she might swim out and never return. It was a fear that haunted her. At first, when the dreams came, Emma was unable to sleep soundly, always fearing Robin would go to the lake and she would not hear her. In the past few years though, they came much less frequently, but when they did, the sounds of screaming and pleading alerted her without fail.

  When she saw the tall figure run out onto the dock, she stood, prepared to go out there, until she realized it was Chris. He probably thought Robin was crazy for diving into the dark and chilly water. Maybe she was, but it was the only way she could shake the dreams when they came for her, her only place to run.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Covering her face, she tried to shake the horrible images from her mind. It was the memory of Robin’s face after surviving such a brutal attack five years before. Barely recognizable, her face was so swollen and battered it had taken over a month for the swelling and deep purple bruising to fade. But even now, her wounds inside were far from healed. Her own heartbreak of some thirty years before paled in comparison to Robin’s. Often, she wondered how Robin kept on keeping on under such a heavy burden.

  Seeing her climb back onto the dock, Emma stood and quietly made her way back into the house. At the top of the stairway, she met Becky coming out of the restroom.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She will be.” Emma patted her on the cheek, wishing that were really true. “Go back to bed, sweetie. I’m rolling your tail out early in the morning.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  Alone in her room, she waited for Robin’s footsteps. Then, hearing the familiar squeak of her door, Emma switched off her light and began to cry.

  Hours later, still sitting in the dim light of the cabin, Chris worked in front of his easel. With his eyes closed, he pictured Robin standing there in the moonlight. She was burned so vividly into his mind, even down to the whipping of the wind against her gown and hair, but he was unable to trace her image. Though he was able to draw the dock, and the water, and even the moonlight, he could never draw the delicate silhouette he saw when he closed his eyes. Looking at his canvas, he realized the portrait was everything he had seen, everything but her.

  Standing behind the counter in the lobby, Robin braced herself as Mr. Jenkins stormed toward her. The look on his face was already a declaration of war. He and his wife had checked in just a week before, and so far, he had complained about everything from the soap to the fishing. Smiling, she offered, “Good morning, Mr. Jenkins. What can I do for you?”

  Scowling, he insisted, “I would like to be moved to another room.”

  Patiently, she asked, “Is there a problem with the room you are in now?”

  “Yes, I’d say. Last night, in the middle of the night, someone began screaming at the top of their lungs. Even when it stopped, I lay awake for hours. It was the worst sound I have ever heard.”

  Feeling the blood drain from her face, deeply embarrassed, she was prepared to apologize. “I’m sorry, that…”

  “It was either someone playing a horrible joke or…well, I’m not sure what, but I refuse to go through that again. I mean, being woken from a dead sleep like that could give an old man a heart attack.”

  For the first time, she saw what seemed to be a trace of vulnerability in the crotchety old man. “Mr. Jenkins, I apologize, but that was…”

  Emma rounded the corner in time to hear much of her exchange with Mr. Jenkins. “Robin, can you see to Mr. Wheeler? He’s on the back porch and has a question about the shore tour. I told him you would be right out.”

  Turning to Mr. Jenkins, Emma smiled her best smile. Looping her arm through his, she bragged, “Why, Mr. Jenkins, you are looking quite dapper this morning.”

  Slamming through the door, Robin stepped out onto the back porch looking for Chris. There alone, she was puzzled. She quickly looked back inside before starting toward the steps, trying to figure out where he might have gone.

  “I just wanted to get you away from Mr. Jenkins.” Emma walked through the screen door and immediately grabbed Robin into her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t know why it’s happening again, or what to do to make it stop.”

  Emma was rubbing the back of her head softly. When Robin first came there to live, the dreams happened most nights, but eventually they seemed to taper off. “I know you must realize, it’s been almost five years and…”

  Interrupting her, knowing where the conversation would lead, Robin pulled away from her embrace. “Look, I was thinking maybe I should stay in the Birchwood. Since the Taylors canceled, I can stay there until someone else needs it.” Turning, she walked to the edge of the porch and crossed her arms over her chest. Bowing her head, she admitted, “I think I could use the time alone anyway.”

  “Hummingbird, I’ve always told you, you are welcome to stay in one of the cabins, for good if you want.” Her heart broke at the sight before her. Robin’s shoulders slumped under the weight of the load she bore. Reaching out, Emma moved Robin’s hair from her shoulder and smoothed it down her back. “I don’t want to see you turn out like me. There is so much more to life. I hate to see you live like this. Maybe you should talk to someone who would know how to help you.” Frustrated, having always been unsuccessful, she tried over the years to get her to open up, but Robin refused to talk about that dreadful night or even the times before.

  Turning to face her, Robin smiled reassuringly. “Turning out like you would not be all that bad.”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t stop living, Robin. Look at the years I’ve wasted because of a broken heart.”

  “I don’t think you can call what I have a broken heart.” She looked down, wanting to believe her own words. Her case was entirely different. Emma was hanging on to lost love, but she was running from it.

  “I know. You have a broken spirit, and I think maybe that’s worse.” Emma reached out and rubbed her cheek. “We’re damaged goods, you and me. I just want more for you. You know how much I love you. You are all I have in this world, you and your mom.”

  Robin put her arms around Emma, deliberating her words “damaged goods.” Though Emma had used the term for herself, this was the firs
t time she had ever included her in that. But it was true. She was damaged goods, and she had no doubt she would never be whole again.

  Chris was standing at the water’s edge. From his line of vision, he could see Robin and Emma on the porch, embracing. He was not sure what their relationship was, but it was evident they were especially close. Based on how comfortable they seemed together, he wondered if they might be related. Determined to ask the next chance he got, he began to walk toward the inn. When the two women noticed his approach, they disappeared quickly inside. He was beginning to take it personally.

  Having slept but a few hours, he was tired, but no matter how hard he tried to drift off, the image of Robin jumping into the water kept floating through his mind. Something was wrong with her, no doubt. She was troubled, that was what caused her to keep her distance. He would almost rather think it just her personality. Instead, he now knew she was seriously wounded. That made him sad for her, and as usual, eager to help.

  They were in Robin’s room packing her things. Emma felt blue knowing Robin would not be as close, but more than anything, she wanted her to be where she felt most comfortable. What had been troubling her and what she was about to say before Robin changed the subject, was that Mike would likely be getting out of prison soon. With good behavior, he may serve as little as five years. Surly she had been thinking about that possibility, which was likely what brought on the dreams again. Would he come for revenge? It was something they both wondered but never discussed.

  Robin and Tommy each had a handful of clothes and personal items from her room as they passed by Chris. She noticed he was looking at her, but he never spoke. Deeply regretting how she had treated him, she decided she could hardly blame him if he never spoke to her again. Nearly every time she saw him over the past week, she made it a point to go the other way. Having dodged him in every way possible, it must have become obvious to him.

  “Hi Chris.” She smiled apologetically.

  “Hi. Do you need any help with that?” He was surprised by her acknowledgement, as she had clearly avoided any contact with him. Time after time he recounted their earliest conversations, trying to determine if he had said something offensive or insulting. Having come up with nothing, he resigned himself to the fact that maybe she simply did not like him, or maybe maintaining distance from people was her way of dealing with her sorrows.

  “There are some more things on the back porch. If you want to grab a load, that would be great.”

  “Sure.” He headed for the porch with a smile on his face. Maybe she was finally warming up to him. It was not as if he was trying to hit on her or anything. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with someone at this stage of his life. While his only motive was to simply be friends with her, he struggled to understand why she shied away from him. Maybe that was changing now. He grabbed an armload and headed back toward the cabins, then realized he had no idea where he was taking his load. Meeting her on her return trip, he asked, “So, where exactly am I taking this stuff?”

  Purposefully trying to be friendly, she smiled at him. “The Birchwood, just down from you.”

  Her smile knocked him off balance. Just as she passed by, he stumbled over a large rock. Embarrassed, he joked, “I meant to do that.”

  Shaking her head, she kept moving. “Oh, obviously.”

  He took his load into the cabin and looked around. He wondered who was going to be staying there and why nothing was in suitcases. Setting the clothes on the bed, he turned and walked back out onto the small porch. Seeing Robin and Tommy return, he went to her, taking one of the boxes. “Who is going to be staying here? Is it a family?”

  “No. Me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. I’ve decided to stay down here for a while, maybe for good.”

  Recognizing it was none of his business, he refrained from asking any more questions. Whatever distance she maintained was possibly closing, so he certainly was not going to push his luck. Relieved she was even talking to him after a week of silence, he would take it slowly. After observing her the night before, he realized she was much more fragile than she appeared. His mountain woman was not at all what she seemed to be.

  3

  Sitting alone at a table in the dining room, inhaling his second plate of food, Chris noticed Robin and Emma walk into the room. Since that first day, in the week since he had been there, he had not seen Robin eat in the dining room again. He assumed she ate her meals in the kitchen, probably to avoid him. So after she filled her plate, he was truly surprised when she approached his table.

  “Do you mind if we sit here?”

  Smiling, he stammered, “No, not at all.”

  Sitting across from him, she quietly began to eat. She regretted how rude she must seem to him, and wanted to try to make up for it. “Look, I know I haven’t been exactly friendly, and I just wanted to say that I am very sorry about that. It’s not you.”

  “No, that’s quite all right. You were fine.”

  Grinning, she accused, “Liar.”

  “Okay, maybe a little.”

  He laughed this laugh that made her feel better immediately. He was as lighthearted as she first presumed him to be. There was something distinctly different about him. On more than one occasion, she saw him by the water’s edge, reading what appeared to be a Bible. It did not surprise her in the least, as it fit his personality.

  Joining them at the table, Emma was glad to see the two were hitting it off. Though unable to pinpoint why, she had a good feeling about Chris. Somehow, she knew he might be exactly what Robin needed. The conversation was cheerful and easy, and sensing Robin’s comfort with him, she quickly made an excuse to leave them alone. Her hope was that Robin would find some kind of happiness, even if it was in the form of a summer romance. She had to start somewhere.

  After breakfast, and throughout the remainder of the day, Robin pondered her conversation with Chris. Determining he was a nice guy, what made her feel most comfortable was that she never sensed he was hitting on her. He simply talked about various things, asked questions, and surprisingly, really listened to her answers. The nervousness she felt around him early on was gone. Relieved by this new impression, she saw her summer as something more than maintaining a strategy to avoid him. It had become tiring, and honestly, she did not have the energy to keep it up.

  As she did every morning, Robin sat on the stone steps, awaiting the sun’s next appearance. In five years, other than the miserable cold season, rarely had she missed a morning. There was something about the sun rising from behind the trees across the expanse of water. It made her feel almost alive to witness the beginning of another day. Other times, mostly later in the day, she felt as if she merely existed. She longed for the feeling of renewal and possibility the sun brought with it.

  While the sun had not yet come up, there was enough light already to make out a form walking toward the stairs. It was Chris. In the two weeks since his arrival, this was the first morning she saw him out so early. Smiling to herself, she could tell he had not been awake for long. His hair was practically standing on end, and as he drew nearer, she saw that his eyes still had that puffy, half-asleep look about them. Without a word, he took a seat next to her.

  “What are you doing up this time of morning?”

  Yawning, he explained, “I got up early yesterday to paint the sunrise and realized what I’ve been missing all my life. After all these years, I figured out what God does first thing each morning. It’s worth losing sleep over, so I set my clock for this morning too.” He left out the part where he had seen her sitting there on the steps the day before, and this morning, he had hoped he would find her there again.

  “I think this may be where God lives. He’s most real to me when I am here.” There was something about the combination of the sun and water; the two in unison unlocked a door within her that had been closed off for nearly six years. It was only the early morning hours when she experienced such a thing. All other times, even when lookin
g at the very same sight from the very same step, her heart was securely fastened against Him.

  Watching her as the sun rose was a remarkable event, Chris thought. Robin’s expression went from all but lifeless to glowing as brightly as the sun itself; something about it transformed her from the inside out. She smiled brighter and more fully than he had yet to see.

  “Are you officially a morning person now?” She found his presence uplifting. He had this wild, unkempt look about him, like a little boy up early to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Lifting her coffee cup, she offered it to him, and surprisingly, he took it.

  “Maybe not officially.” While his head ached less than the evening before, it hurt still. It was opposite of the usual pattern. Typically, he felt worse in the mornings, but this morning, he was able to fend off the throbbing in his head. Sipping the cool, strong coffee, he asked, “So, how long have you been here.”

  “About half an hour, I guess.”

  Laughing, he clarified, “I mean at the inn.”

  “Oh.” She laughed with him. Taking the coffee cup back, she told him, “Almost five years now.”

  “For some reason, I thought you may have grown up here.” Her Southern brogue was so much less distinct than Emma’s that he considered she might have lived local since childhood.

  “No. I was raised in North Carolina, but I did spend many of my summers here.”

  “Really? I did too when I was a kid.” Grinning, he stated the obvious, “Not here at this inn, but at the lake.”

  “How old were you?”

  “We were here every summer until I was twelve.” The recollection of how happy his family had been then made him feel warm inside. That was what he had come back for, to find that feeling again. “My dad died just a month after we got home that last year. Things were never the same after that.”