Snowed

by Pamela Burford

  Leah couldn’t help contrasting this setting with the shacklike home she grew up in, surrounded by three acres of scraggly land. Her family always kept a couple of dozen chickens, a cow or two, and a vegetable patch. That subsistence farming had helped see them through some pretty lean years.

  Meanwhile her natural father and his wife and sons had lived in the kind of opulence that even her vivid child’s imagination—fueled by Merl and Douglas’s stories—could not do justice to. But she’d grown up in a loving home, she reflected, with two caring parents. Somehow she felt she’d gotten the better deal.

  “You know,” he said slowly, “I thought maybe you knew my father, that he might’ve hurt you somehow.”

  A shiver raced up her spine. “Why do you say that?”

  “Remember the first time we were in the darkroom? I thought you recognized his picture, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had. We always knew, my brothers and I, that we weren’t the only ones whose lives Dad made a living hell. There were stories—nothing more than whispered rumors really—about how he abused his business associates, the servants, his mistresses. Maybe I’m just being neurotic, but it did occur to me that he might’ve been the reason you came to Whitewood. Where my father was concerned, anything was possible.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said, not looking at him.

  He shrugged easily and stretched, folding his arms under his head. “Leah, you have no idea what my father was capable of. I don’t think even I do. All I know is, a man that mean can’t go through life without having left his mark on a lot of people.”

  “Well...your father’s gone now, so even if he had, um, hurt me somehow, what would be the point of my coming here?”

  He looked at her. “You must know I’d do my damnedest to undo any damage he’d done. If it was in my power.”

  They were silent awhile, listening to the whisper of the breeze through the trees. His sense of responsibility touched her—and his instinct to protect her. She’d found out from Kara that on his first trip to the city after the blizzard, James had paid a visit to the Carleton Gallery, a visit the smarmy gallery owner was not likely to forget. Kara had assured her that James had shown restraint—Mike only spent two days in the hospital.

  She asked, “You didn’t come to the orchard only to escape your father, did you?”

  “No, we played here a lot. Cowboys and Indians, that sort of thing. I kissed my first girl here.”

  She grinned. “Tell me about it.”

  He plucked a blade of grass and rolled onto his side, trailing it along Leah’s arm as he spoke. “I was all of eight years old, and she was an ‘older woman’—thirteen.” He chuckled. “We used to play together a lot. Her mom worked at the house.”

  Leah found it hard to breathe, as if an anvil lay on her chest. She sat up with her bare back to James, who seemed not to notice her agitation as he absently stroked her hip.

  He continued, “I’d known Annie...forever, I guess. We’d always been buddies. Anyway, one day we were out here playing and we sat down to take a breather. That’s when I did it, out of curiosity and mischief. Gave her a peck right on the lips.” He chuckled. “Before she could figure out what I was up to.”

  He became quiet, and she turned to see him smiling at the memory. “That was the quickest kiss in the history of the human race, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Annie wiped her mouth and called me a perverted little twerp. But she was laughing. Then we went back to being Peter Pan and Tiger Lily. I was trying to capture her and take her back to Never-Never Land as I recall, but I don’t think I ever did.”

  Leah reached for her clothes and started to dress, wondering how much longer she could continue to deceive James. She wanted so badly to tell him she was Annie’s daughter, and here was the perfect opportunity—but she couldn’t make herself do it. She’d thought their increasing closeness would make it easier for her to confide in him, but instead, each day that passed only made her fear his reaction that much more.

  She didn’t think she could bear his wrath, to have him look at her with contempt as he had in the beginning, when he’d suspected her motives. There was so much more at stake now. She was in love with him, though she’d never said the words aloud.

  “You chilly?” he asked, and she nodded, buttoning her short denim skirt. He dressed and started repacking the picnic hamper. “I guess it’s about time to head back to the house. I’ve gotta be in the city at three for my meeting with that reporter.”

  They ascended the granite steps and started across the sprawling back lawn, with its wealth of mature shade trees and elegantly understated landscaping. They passed a rambling English-style country garden just coming into bloom.

  Leah had been staying with James for eight weeks, on and off. She’d hired an assistant for Miguel, and her folks were well, so there was nothing to keep her from visiting for days at a time. Between e-mail, fax, and overnight courier, long-distance management of her business had proved quite doable.

  As far as Merl and Douglas were concerned, they knew only that she had a boyfriend in New York named Andrew—James’s middle name. Leah tried not to think of how she, always so honest and forthright with everyone, had ended up deceiving the three people she loved most dearly.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he said as they neared the mansion. “What are you thinking about?” When she didn’t answer, he stopped and set the picnic basket down, then put a hand on her arm. “What is it, Leah?”

  She looked up into his remarkable azure eyes and then away. “I’m...going to miss you today. That’s all.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I’ll only be gone a few hours. Then I’ll let you show me how much you missed me. How’s that?” He closed his mouth over hers, his deep kiss warming her more thoroughly than the bright sun beating down on them.

  Finally he relinquished her mouth and held her close, his eyes blazing into hers. “I love you, Leah,” he whispered hoarsely. His declaration rocked her to the core, leaving her breathless with joy. “God, I didn’t even know someone like you existed. Not after...” He pressed kisses to her eyes, her hair. “Do you understand? You’ve given me back my ability to love. To trust. Nothing that came before matters now.”

  She bit her trembling lip and closed her eyes against the confusion welling up within her. He loved her, he trusted her. But she had no right to his love or his trust—not until everything was out in the open. Suddenly it became crystal-clear: The charade must end. Now. Whatever the repercussions. Surely a love this strong could withstand the truth, she reasoned. She saw it so clearly in the way he looked at her, the unquestionable sincerity of his words.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling herself. “James, there’s something I have to tell—”

  “If yer goin’ to stand out there kissin’ all day,” Mary called from the French doors, “ye’ll be late for yer interview.”

  He laughed. “I’d rather kiss all day, Mary,” he answered. “And maybe do a few other things.” He put an arm around Leah and started toward the doors.

  “Yer an old alley cat, no better than Stieglitz,” Mary said as she turned to go back inside, but Leah could see the housekeeper fighting a grin.

  She sighed in frustration as they entered the house and he made hasty preparations to leave. Finally she’d found the courage to unburden herself, to shed the secret she’d been living with for two months, and now she had to wait another few hours until he returned that evening. As she kissed him good-bye and watched him leave the house, she smiled at the sense of peace already beginning to infuse her.

  What a relief it was to know that after tonight, there would be no more secrets.

  Chapter Ten

  “Do you ever make haggis, Mary?”

  The housekeeper paused in her examination of her seedlings—tomato, pepper, eggplant, cucumber, and broccoli—to give Leah a look that spoke volumes. “Lass, I have about as much love for haggis as ye do for chitlins. Course, �
�twould be worth makin’ it just to see the look on young James’s face when he tried a bite. Be a dear and hand me that sprinklin’ can.”

  Leah found the battered aluminum can and watched Mary carefully water her seedlings, nestled in peat pots and arranged in neat rows on black plastic trays. They were near the mansion’s west side and the five-o’clock sun cast long shadows on the neatly groomed lawn. Mary wore a wide-brimmed straw hat with garish, age-faded yellow flowers on the band.

  For over two hours Leah had worked in the third-floor room that had become her second office, reviewing Miguel’s inventory reports and updating mailing lists. Then she’d decided it was time for a break. She’d made a pitcher of lemonade and carried a glass outside to the housekeeper, who was tending her seedlings in preparation for spring planting.

  “In Arkansas my folks have already got their plants in the ground,” Leah observed.

  “Sure, but up here we canna put them in till Mother’s Day. I wouldna want the frost to carry off me babies.”

  She watched Mary fuss with her tiny green charges awhile longer, then straighten up with popping joints and remove her gardening gloves. “I’ll carry these trays inside before dark.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Yer a dear girl. James doesn’t deserve ye. Now, if his brothers can do as well, I’ll die a happy old lady.”

  “You really love them, don’t you?”

  “That I do, lass. I’ve been with this family fifty-one years, and those boys are like my own.”

  Leah hesitated. “Did you feel that way about their father?”

  Mary threw her a shrewd look. “I figure ye probably heard plenty about Mr. Bradburn. Me, I say ’tis best to let some things be. Leave it to others to speak ill of the dead.”

  They started walking toward the door to the mudroom. “I’m curious,” Leah said, “and it’s hard to talk to James about this. But I’ve wondered if Mark and Luke are adopted, too.”

  “Adopted? I dinna understand ye, lass.”

  “I mean, I assume they were if the reason the Bradburns adopted James was that they couldn’t have children of their own. But I know that sometimes after a couple adopts—” She realized Mary had stopped walking, and she turned to look back at the little woman in the preposterous hat.

  Mary started laughing. “I canna think where ye got an idea like that.”

  Leah frowned. “An idea like what? That all the boys—”

  “God Almighty, lass, your James wasna adopted. Whoever put a notion like that in yer head?” She chuckled and started walking again, but Leah halted her progress with a gentle hand.

  “Mary...” She took a deep breath. “James himself told me he was adopted. You’ve known the family for—”

  “Sure, and I saw Mrs. Bradburn carry three babes in her belly, and the first was your lad. All three of those boys were born to Mr. Bradburn and his wife, make no mistake. James was havin’ some fun with ye, lass, if he told ye otherwise. Now, I’ve been chattin’ out here too long—I must get supper started.”

  Leah stood frozen in place as the housekeeper scooted past her and entered the house. She felt the blood drain from her face and wondered distractedly if she was going to pass out. Or throw up. She licked her dry lips and tried to make her brain function.

  It couldn’t be. It was...unthinkable.

  Somehow she made it inside and through to the front hall, where she stopped and took several deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down and review what she knew. Which consisted only of what she’d been told, by James and by Mary. What she needed, she realized, was objective evidence, something in black and white.

  On impulse she raced up the curved staircase to the second floor, then down the hall to James’s office. If she didn’t find what she was looking for there, she’d start on the attic. But one way or another, she’d get an answer.

  After searching through files for fifteen minutes, she finally came to a collection of personal documents—insurance policies, automobile records, deeds, a passport, his birth certificate. With trembling hands she held it and read the words she’d prayed she wouldn’t see.

  First name: James. Middle name: Andrew. Mother: Antonia Ashton Bradburn. Father: James Andrew Bradburn. It was all there—hospital, attending physician, date of birth...

  She closed her eyes and leaned against the file cabinet, listening to her pulse thunder in her ears. She took a deep breath and replaced the birth certificate, only then noticing a snapshot tucked into the same folder. She pulled it out and examined it.

  She recognized Antonia Bradburn—a younger version of the woman whose portrait hung in the ballroom—wearing an exhausted smile, tucked into a hospital bed, cradling a yawning newborn infant with puffy eyes and a head full of black hair. On the back was written, “Antonia and James, Jr., one day old.”

  Tears stung her eyes as bewilderment and pain threatened to overwhelm her. Why would he lie? Why did he lie? For surely this evidence was indisputable. James was her half brother. They’d committed—

  Abruptly, through the haze of tears now streaming down her face, she stuffed the picture back into the folder and slammed the cabinet shut. She tried to calm her sobs as she groped her way out of the office and down the hallway to her room. James’s room. The room she’d shared with him for eight weeks. The room where they’d made love countless times.

  The horror of what she’d done was like an evil entity inside her, something dark and hideous that she couldn’t shake, would never be able to eradicate from her soul. It made no difference to her that the sin was unintentional. With self-disgust she realized that she’d unwittingly managed to live up to the ugliest caricature of a hillbilly, far worse than Mike Carleton’s most insulting parody could ever hope to be.

  When she realized she was throwing her clothes into her suitcase, she paused and sat on the bed. Yes. She must leave. Now, while James was away. If she gave herself a chance to look into her half brother’s blue eyes once more, she didn’t know what she might say or do.

  And he must never know. It was enough that she’d have to live forever with the knowledge of what they’d done. She wouldn’t put him through it as well.

  But the question persisted: Why had he lied? She cradled her head with trembling fingers. Could he have despised his father enough to pretend—or perhaps even fool himself into believing—that he wasn’t the man’s natural son? Ultimately it made no difference why he’d lied. He had. The damage was done.

  And to think she’d fantasized about having his children! The two of them had even talked about kids and child rearing, in a casual way, as if gauging each other’s feelings on the subject. Thank God she’d gone on the Pill. This disaster could have been so much worse.

  Wearily she rose and made her way up the stairs to her office, where she picked up the phone and called the airline and the taxi service. Then she gathered up all her work papers and carried them back down to the bedroom. It was nearly six. If she hurried, she could slip out before he returned—slink out of Whitewood like a thief, she thought bitterly, just as her family had been forced to do twenty-four years before. Commanding herself not to think about it, she concentrated on stuffing her clothes and papers into her suitcase.

  “What are you doing, Leah?”

  Startled, she turned to see James in the doorway, a perplexed frown on his face. She turned back to her task with renewed intensity. “I have to leave. I already called a taxi.”

  “What happened?” He crossed the room and touched her shoulder. “Is it your family?” he asked softly. “Did something happen to your mom or—”

  She shook off the hand. “No. It’s not that. It’s...me. Us.” She latched the suitcase and forced herself to face him. “I won’t be coming back, James.”

  He stood immobile. “Won’t be...? What are you talking about?” He caught her as she tried to pass him, yanking the suitcase out of her grasp and tossing it onto the bed. “What the hell’s going on here, Leah?” Bewilderment had turned into anger. “You
were just going to sneak out without saying anything, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “It would’ve been better that way, believe me, James.”

  He seized her shoulders. “Damn it, you’re going to tell me what got into you! I love you, in case you forgot.” His eyes flicked to the suitcase, his voice softening. “Is that what this is about? Are things just going too fast for you?”

  She held the tears at bay with an effort, knowing there was only one way to make a clean break—and dreading it. She had to make him hate her again. Reluctantly she forced long-ago memories to the surface. His fierce scowl, firelight glittering in his icy eyes as he stared down at her in the Gold Room. A lifetime ago. What were his words?

  You’re a lousy liar....I thought you were different.

  “I deceived you, James. From the beginning.”

  Abruptly he released her, his expression guarded, his voice low and measured. “What are you saying?”

  She dragged in a deep breath. “I’m not the person you think I am. I...tricked Mike Carleton into bringing me here.” She had to turn away from the pain and confusion in his eyes.

  “You told me that before. You did it so you could talk to someone, you said. An old boyfriend.”

  “No. There was no boyfriend.”

  “Then why?” It was a hoarse whisper. “Why did you come here?”

  “I was after something.”

  James’s agitated breathing filled the ensuing silence. Clearly he controlled his temper with an effort of will.

  She said, “If it makes you feel better, I never did get what I came here for.”

  “Which was...?” The voice was that of a stranger.

  She turned to see him standing rigidly, his fists balled at his sides, his eyes like shards of blue glass.

  “I can’t tell you that,” she whispered.

  Every word she’d spoken was the truth. And she knew how he’d misconstrue that truth in his ignorance—how she needed him to misconstrue it. His words of that afternoon swam in her head. I love you, Leah...Nothing that came before matters now.