by Diane Guest
She was so relieved that on impulse she moved toward him to touch his arm and then, startled by his closeness, moved back. He was unaware, lost in his own unquiet thoughts.
"Matthew," she called from the door. He appeared instantly, followed by Ethan and Aaron. His eyes grew wide and wary when he saw Sylvanus Morgan. "It's all right, Matt," she said softly. She put her arm around his shoulders. "Mr. Morgan wants to see Boy."
Matthew said nothing. He wanted to run, but the pressure of Susannah's hand stopped him and the tenderness in her voice calmed him. "We'll help each other not to be sad, Matthew," she said, and Sylvanus was startled by the quality of concern she showed the child. The force of her tenderness unnerved him. She hugged Matthew to her and said in the softest voice, "Remember, we're best friends, you and I. Now go get Boy."
Matthew did as he was told because, though his heart was breaking, he loved Susannah far more than he loved the colt.
Sylvanus became aware that it was this gentleness of spirit in Susannah that kept bringing back to him those long-buried echoes of another life, another time. He pushed the pain away from his mind and when he spoke his voice was harsh. "Did Matthew Shepherd bring the colt here?" he asked.
Susannah was confused by his sudden sharpness. What had she done now to offend him? "Yes," she said. "He found him last spring up by the north road."
"Has he been here ever since?" His voice softened.
"No. Just since Friday," she said, and told him about Matthew's experience with the fire.
It was taking the boys an unconscionable length of time to bring Boy the few steps from the stable. Sylvanus and Susannah walked to the door and looked in.
Ethan and Aaron were standing to one side, silent, long-faced, like mourners at a wake. Matthew stood with his arms around the colt's neck, talking softly.
They couldn't hear clearly what he was saying, but it was obvious to anyone who knew children that Matthew Shepherd was choking with pain.
Before Susannah could go to him, Sylvanus stepped into the stable and crossed the short space to where Matt Stood with Boy. "Well, Dr. Meade was right. He certainly is a handsome little horse. Reminds me of his father." He spoke low, running his hand over the soft muzzle. "I understand you found him." He looked down at Matthew.
"Yes, sir." Matthew nudged a clod of dirt with his shoe.
"Well, it certainly was his lucky day, if I don't miss my guess. A little fellow this young would never have survived out there alone."
That was the truth and Matthew knew it, but he also knew that Boy belonged to Sylvanus Morgan and always had. "When are you going to take Boy away?" he asked.
Sylvanus put his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I know he's my horse, Matthew, but he means more to you than he ever will to me. I'm not taking him back. He's yours." Without waiting for a word from anyone, he turned and strode out of the table and toward the house, leaving a speechless Susannah staring at his back, thinking he was by far the strangest man she had ever met.
The Meades with Susannah and all the children followed in the buckboard close behind Sylvanus, who rode ahead on Uncle Arch. The ravages of the fire of the night before were evident on both sides of the road, but the sporadic flashes in the partially burned forest floor served as grim reminders that the danger was far from over. The stark, blackened pines towered up like blind sentinels, Susannah thought, not able to see who approached, nor caring either.
The forest disappeared suddenly to reveal Morgan House in all its pristine faultlessness; the velvet-smooth lawns and gardens seemed to stretch as endlessly as did the forests around them. As breathless as the first view of the house left her, Susannah couldn't escape feeling that somehow the lawns were too smooth, the gardens too luscious. Overripe. Just on the verge of being rotten.
Sylvanus led them up to the door and stood aside as they entered the front hall. The children were properly in awe and hung back behind Susannah until Sylvanus motioned them toward the wide doorway leading to the drawing room. "Take them in there, John, while I see what arrangements Mrs. Deidrick has made."
Susannah had never seen such a room before in all her life. It gave her the strangest impression of not being real, of being nothing more than an echo. Something that only pretended to exist.
The windows were hung from ceiling to floor with draperies of palest blue, all blending endlessly into one another. The walls were painted the same misty shade, giving a feeling of eternally cool pastel that went on forever and ever. The sense of never-ending blueness would have been complete had it not been for the silver-framed mirrors that hung everywhere, some over six feet tall, positioned in such a way that Susannah could see herself reflected, coming and going and then going and coming again in smaller version, on and on, until she had the feeling that she was diminishing into nothingness.
"There's no way to get away from yourself in this room," Kate whispered to Susannah, adjusting her skirt self-consciously.
"It is a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" she said.
"It certainly is."
"Why are you two whispering?" John asked.
"It just seems like the thing to do," his wife answered.
Susannah was spellbound. This room is winter, she thought, trying to rid herself of the feeling that there could never be any tears here, or laughter, or joy. Never any emotion. It wouldn't be allowed. She shivered. If the rest of the house is anything like this, she thought, I can understand why Sylvanus Morgan drinks so heavily.
Jenny and Hester both stood awkwardly in front of a fragile Queen Anne sofa, covered in the same pale blue that hung at the windows. "May we sit, Momma?" Hester asked.
"If you're not afraid it will vanish into smoke," Kate said.
"I'm sure no one will mind," Susannah told them, trying to imagine how anyone could have managed to create such an illusion of perfect lifelessness.
"I don't think you ladies appreciate the expense Caroline went to in having all of this," John waved his hand around the room, "shipped out here from New York."
"It is Caroline," Kate said as Susannah moved across the room to stand beside the boys, who were positioning themselves before the mirrors in such a way that she could see Aarons and Matthews and Ethans reflected over and over and over. The boys were fascinated, but Susannah couldn't help but wonder whether she was like the Susannahs in the mirrors—that with each passing day she was getting smaller and smaller, that with each passing day there was a little less of herself.
"I hope you are all duly impressed," Sylvanus said from the doorway. "No one will ever know the anguish Caroline endured to get just the right touch in this room. Now if you'll follow me, luncheon is served. And just in time, too, I'll bet," he said to the boys. "Breakfast was so long ago, I'll wager you can't even remember eating it."
Lunch passed without incident, Caroline declining to put in an appearance. "Mrs. Morgan begs your indulgence," Mrs. Deidrick announced, "but she is feeling a touch of the vapors this morning and hopes you'll visit again when she is feeling more herself." She threw an exasperated glance at Sylvanus, who breathed an audible sigh of relief from his end of the table. "Poor Caroline," he said. "She's so delicate."
When the meal was over, Sylvanus instructed Mrs. Deidrick to show the children to their rooms. "I've had the servants prepare the third floor," he said to Susannah . "I think they'll be comfortable up there and they'll have an unparalleled view of the fireworks we've been having outside every night for the past week."
"What are your men saying about the fires?" asked John.
"A few are talking with a good deal of bravado—that we have a lot of burned-out land between us and the forest. But the men who've lived through the biggest burns aren't talking. They're just waiting and watching. When you think about it, what else is there to do? We'll take what measures we can to protect our property, but when it comes right down to fighting a major fire, we're helpless. There's nothing we can do but hope it will rain."
"Do you suppose I'll be able to take Jenny home to th
e deWeerts?" Susannah asked.
"I think you'd better keep her with you, at least until it rains," John said.
Susannah didn't answer. John was probably right. Besides, what possible harm could Edwin do to Jenny? He had hardly been aware that she lived with them even before he cut his arm off. And she would make sure Jenny didn't go near him alone. Looking down at her hands, she noticed a jagged edge on her index finger that begged to be bitten smooth. She had her hand halfway to her mouth when she remembered Sylvanus's remark. She put her hand back in her lap and glanced across the table to see if he had noticed, but he was talking to John.
"Have you heard anything about Jake Shepherd?" he asked. The name made her forget about her nail.
"No," John said. "As far as I know, he's long gone."
"I doubt it," Sylvanus said after a moment's hesitation.
Kate shuddered. "You really think he's still around Penobscot Landing?"
Sylvanus nodded, and Susannah went back to studying her nail, still not daring to bite it for fear he would say something.
"Well, if he hasn't left, where is he?" Kate asked.
"He could be anywhere," Sylvanus said. "There are hundreds of abandoned lumber camps in these woods."
John turned to Susannah. "I'd advise you not to go anywhere alone. And the same applies to Matthew."
"But John," Susannah said, "who's going to bring the children to school and back every day? I can't let Hester drive the buckboard while these fires are still so dangerous."
"I'll take care of bringing them down with me in the morning," Sylvanus said. "We'll work something out for the afternoon. I can always send one of the men down to get them."
"I can't have you do that," Susannah said. "You've been too kind already. If you could have seen Matthew…"
A faint smile twisted his mouth, but Susannah had the strongest feeling that it had no connection to his brain at all, that he smiled simply because he had trained himself to perform the function at certain intervals.
"What's this all about?" John asked.
"Mr. Morgan has told Matthew that he may keep Boy," Susannah said.
"What do you have to do with it?" John asked Sylvanus.
"The horse was mine. I gave him to Matthew."
Susannah could tell by the look on John's face that he knew he had missed something somewhere along the way, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. She looked over at Sylvanus. Like it or not, she was going to tell him what she thought. "I don't know how much you know about Matthew, Mr. Morgan," she said softly, "but he has known more pain in his ten years than most of us do in a lifetime. And still, because of some unquenchable spirit in his soul, he doesn't hate. He should. I would." She swallowed the lump that always came in her throat when she thought about Matthew. "What you did for him today has no name. It was that good."
She flushed and Sylvanus changed the subject abruptly. "Why do you keep calling me Mr. Morgan?" he said.
Susannah took a breath. "Because I don't know what else to call you," she said. "Sylvanus is an uncomfortable name."
"You could call me Maximus." His voice had an unmistakable hint of humor in it. "That's my middle name. Sylvanus Maximus Morgan. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? My mother had a passion for things Latin."
Susannah took a deep breath and began to relax. "I think I'll call you Sylvanus," she said. "Maximus sounds like a circus."
"His brother's name is Marcus Aurelius Morgan," John said.
"And his mother wanted the first grandchild to be named Augustus, but they called him David instead," Kate said.
Sylvanus stood abruptly, his face suddenly void, revealing nothing, reflecting nothing. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll see how Mrs. Deidrick is doing."
As soon as he had left the room, Kate turned to her husband. "I did it, didn't I? I should know how he hates anyone to mention them. But wouldn't you think he'd get over it? Sometime?"
"In any case, it's time for us to be getting back. I have patients to see."
Susannah stood, walked to the window, and looked down the lawn toward the thirty-foot trench they were digging around the house to act as a fire barrier. It looked like a giant mole had plowed its way across the face of the lawn.
She wondered why she felt so flushed when Sylvanus was near. Granted he was a powerfully attractive man but, after all, she was no foolish young girl gawking and mooning over some magazine hero. Maybe you are, Susannah, she told herself. Maybe at heart you are nothing more than a foolish young girl, in spite of all your precious sensibility. In spite of all your protestations to the contrary.
She pressed her forehead against the cool of the windowpane. I wonder what it is I do to offend him so often, she thought, and began to bite at the piece of fingernail that had been tormenting her. I wonder what she was like to have him still hurt so badly after all this time? She must have been very special.
Sylvanus appeared at the door. "Before you leave," he said, remote, indifferent now to their presence, "your children would like you to see their rooms."
"Of course," Susannah said and crossed to the door.
"You go up," John said. "We'll get ourselves together and wait for you outside."
Susannah followed Sylvanus up the stairway and down the long, silent hall, past rows of closed doors. No sound betrayed the presence of any other human being. Susannah found herself wondering where the second Mrs. Morgan was hiding.
The stairway to the third floor was narrow, turning up midway at a sharp angle. "Watch your step," Sylvanus said, and Susannah promptly tumbled. He caught her arm.
She was embarrassed by her clumsiness and tried to hide her confusion by hurrying ahead, but he was close to her now, still holding her arm. They stood for a minute, looking at each other, and Susannah was shocked to feel a trembling in her legs that threatened to consume her. She pulled away and moved up the last of the steps. This is nonsense, she thought. I'm behaving like a schoolgirl. But she couldn't rid herself of the knowledge that, for one single minute, she had wanted him to kiss her.
He followed, and with an exaggerated bow said, "Madam, you never fail to astound me. Not only do you bite your nails to nubs with a passion unsurpassed by humankind, but you execute a flight of stairs as well as any I've had the pleasure of seeing." A light tone was in his voice now, and her concern about her own feelings was displaced by an awareness that perhaps he didn't dislike her as much as she had first thought. "Come along," he said.
He took her by the arm and led her down the hall. He opened the first of a series of doors, and she stepped into the most comfortable bedroom she had ever seen. Hester and Jenny sat on the edge of a small spool bed, covered by a soft, white crocheted spread. In perfect contrast to the palest of gold wallpaper, filmy white-gauze curtains rippled at the open window. There was a colorful needlepoint rug in the middle of the floor.
"Oh, Hester," she turned to her daughter. "Don't you just love it?"
"It's beautiful, isn't it, Momma?" Hester said. "It's so…so unchurchy."
"Indeed it is," she said. The room was unchurchy, and Edwin would have hated it. "But it's so different from downstairs," she said to Sylvanus. "I mean… well, it really is. It's so…" she groped for the right word. "It's so friendly."
Sylvanus smiled. "Caroline wanted no part of the third floor. This is where she allowed me to store my furniture."
"But this is a youngster's room," Susannah said, and wished that she had bitten her tongue off when she saw his features freeze.
"John and Kate are waiting," he said, impatient now to be done with all of this.
Well, he doesn't have to behave so badly, she thought. It's not my fault his wife died. For some reason it made her angry that he still cared. She turned to Jenny. "You go downstairs and wait with the Meades, dear. I'll be right along." She put Sylvanus out of her mind and sat down and put her arms around Hester. "I 'm counting on you, my darling, to take care of your brothers. Don't get impatient with them, will you?" Hester shook her hea
d. "Promise?"
"Promise."
"Give me a kiss and I'll see you tomorrow." It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first time in her children's lives that they had been away from her, and worse, she from them.
Hester anticipated her mother's mood and said softly, "Don't start to cry, Momma. We'll be fine. I'll watch the boys."
This is just wonderful, Susannah thought as she hugged her daughter to her. I'm supposed to be a pillar of strength in the family and I'm the one who is behaving like a child. She got up and crossed to the door where Sylvanus stood watching. It made her furious that he had witnessed her weakness. "Sorry," she said stiffly and walked past him, out the door and down the hall.
"Do you know where you're going?" he asked.
She stopped in her tracks and brushed a tear away. "Of course I don't. I don't live here, do I?" She was angry now not just because he had seen her with Hester, but because she was behaving like a fool and couldn't help it. didn't he know how hard this was for her? Oh, Susannah, she thought in the next instant, you are an ass. How could he know? He hardly knows you. How could he know what these children mean to you? And besides, why should he give a damn?
He was still standing outside Hester's room, watching Susannah with a curious smile. She bit her lip and walked back. "I'm sorry," she said.
"That's the second time you've said that in less than a minute."
"Well, I am sorry. I have no reason to be angry with you." A tear trickled down her cheek. Damn, she thought.
He lifted her chin with his finger and brushed the tear away. Had she not been too embarrassed to raise her eyes, she would have seen that he was looking at her as if he were trying to absorb her image, hold it fast. There was no hostility in his face now, only puzzlement. What is it about you? he wondered and was filled again with the compelling desire to protect her that only one other woman in the world had ever aroused in him.
"Come along," he said softly. "Let's take leave of your children, before John and Kate turn to stone."
Dinner was a ghastly quiet affair. Jenny was lost in thought about what she had heard up at Morgan House—that the road out to her father's farm was impassable, blocked by dozens of giant pines that had fallen across the way, their roots burned away by the fires smoldering under the ground until a mere whisper of wind had sent them crashing down.