Secrets

by Kristen Heitzmann

“May I come in? I won’t stay long.”

  “Why not? It’s been a regular circus. People bringing meals, sending cards.”

  He held up the soup he’d brought. She started to laugh, and it became a cough that sounded like more than a sore throat.

  “Have you had that checked?”

  She nodded. “I have the nurses across the way nagging at me.”

  So he wasn’t the only one to notice, but if she had medical professionals checking in, it might not be as bad as it seemed.

  She stepped back. “I’m glad you came. I have something to give you.”

  He followed her in.

  Evvy sank to her chair, looking exhausted. “Rese might like the little birds on the table.”

  He reached down and picked up a wooden bird with its head cocked to the side.

  Evvy said, “Ralph carved them. Whittled, I guess.”

  He studied them. “She’ll appreciate the workmanship.” Or at least the gesture.

  “He would have loved what she did for the house. The old place meant a lot to him.” She leaned but couldn’t reach what she wanted. “Get that envelope, Lance.”

  He started to hand it over, but she stopped him, saying, “Open it.”

  He sat back and looked in the envelope. It held two things and one looked much older than the other. “What’s this?”

  “Read the letter.”

  He took out the smaller, newer paper, though the sight of the other had charged him for no reason he could tell. But as he unfolded and read, it became clear. He could hardly draw breath, and speech was out of the question. He looked at Evvy.

  She murmured, “I’m not sure I have the energy to hold onto that. You and Rese are making the place a home, even if it does house strangers and rock my windows with music.” She smiled as she said it. “I don’t know who Antonia is, but if she hasn’t come yet, I can’t see the harm in letting you have that deed.”

  His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might rock her windows. If he didn’t say something, she’d wonder. “Thank you, Evvy. I understand the charge, and I’m sure if Antonia comes, something can be done.”

  She sank back with a soft smile. “Somehow I knew you’d understand.”

  Much more than she knew. He was humbled and shaken by her trust, but if this wasn’t God’s hand, then he’d never seen it in his life. He stood.“Will you be all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” she murmured.

  And he sensed that she would.

  Strange how peaceful she felt as she watched him leave, as though the weight had left her chest. She knew nothing about Lance Michelli except what he’d told her and what she’d seen. And yet…

  She closed her eyes. I hope I did right, Ralph. You can scold me if I didn’t. Not that you ever would. She took the gold ring from the pocket where she’d tucked it, and closed it into her palm. Life was a circle for those who believed, the end only the beginning.

  “Open for me the gates of righteousness; I will enter and give thanks to the Lord. This is the gate of the Lord through which the righteous may enter. I will give you thanks, for you answered me; you have become my salvation.”

  Her chest was too heavy to cough, her eyes too heavy to raise. But inside she felt light as air.

  Lance all but staggered to the carriage house, more thankful than he could say that the guys were out with Star. He couldn’t face them right now, couldn’t face anyone. It might be the Lord’s hand, but it had fallen so heavily he couldn’t stand. He closed the door behind him and dropped to his knees.Lord!

  He held Nonna’s deed and the letter naming her the heir, and it both thrilled and devastated him. “What am I supposed to do?” He bent over and groaned. If he laid it all out, he’d destroy what Rese had dreamed and accomplished. She might fight him in court, but that would be worse than he could imagine. It couldn’t be what Nonna wanted, couldn’t be what God wanted.

  And yet the house had impacted him from the moment he saw it, calling to him to right the wrongs committed inside. How? He pressed his fists to his face. He could turn it all over to a lawyer, hit the road and put miles between his heart and Rese. He could go back and tell Nonna he’d done it, that without even knowing what she wanted, he had taken back what she’d lost.

  His chin sagged to his chest. Please. Show me your will. I can’t do this alone. What were his motives, the motives God would expose? To score one for the family who lost Tony? To get back what was wrongfully taken long before that? His breath came sharp and tight. To make Rese love and need him enough to give it over without a fight?

  He groaned again. It was all so wrong. But Quillan lay unburied, Vito was shot down, Nonna forced out, and two generations of friends had held the property for her in trust. He took it out and stared at the deed that had quickened his heart. His inheritance. His birthright. More precious to him for that reason than the escalated value of the property. The wine, the cash, none of it mattered as much as the lives that had made this place. Yes, he wanted it. But was he willing to hurt Rese for it?

  CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT

  I dream of Papa with holes in him like lace.

  Lance tries to put his fingers in the holes.

  No use. There is only one thing he can do.

  One thing.

  Does he know?

  Antonia opened her eyes. There was no blood, no bullet holes. That was only in her mind. She’d heard, but not seen it. She swallowed, recalling the fear, the haste, the terrible sound. Nonno’s hand in hers. She imagined, but she’d never seen Papa dead.

  Only Nonno.

  A wave of grief. Why had she left him lying in a tunnel, no headstone, no epitaph, nothing to mark his grave. He would have wanted to lie beside Nonna Carina. His heart had joined her in the graveyard when he laid her there, and his place was with her. Instead he’d lain alone in the dark, secret tunnel. Barricaded, hidden, but not forgotten.

  Tears stung. What had she been thinking? Even Papa had been buried. Joseph Martino would have seen to that, she knew. But in her frenzy, all she could think was to hide her Nonno, to keep them from finding him and the cellar and whatever Papa had down there.

  She didn’t want to remember that night, but the past came now and sat heavily on her mind. The darkness of the night with no moon. The dampness in the air. Car doors closing outside when no one should be there. The glimpse of figures in the yard, then rushing to get Nonno, to hide in the cellar.

  Papa had told her to be ready if trouble came. He had shown her the tunnel, the cellar under the carriage house that she had not known was there. Then he had gone away. Why did he have to sneak off in the middle of the night? What could he be doing at that hour? Something to do with Arthur Tremaine Jackson. How she despised that man. He was cold as the finger of death, and Papa should have seen it.

  But he hadn’t, and they were all in danger because of it. Rousing Nonno, she took him down, down into the cellar. Was it waking him like that, hurrying him, or the shock of what they heard overhead as they slunk away to save themselves? All of it, maybe, had stopped his heart. She didn’t know.

  But Arthur Jackson had killed Nonno as surely as he’d killed her Papa. And she had left them there. Her hand trembled, clutched up against her like a broken wing, stiff and useless. She felt the helplessness she’d known that night. Nothing she could do to change what was happening, no way to make it right.

  The wardrobe had a finish Drexel Heritage would envy. The drawers moved like silk, the doors hung straight and fitted together perfectly. Except that it wasn’t in place.

  It belonged in Lance’s bedroom, and Rese didn’t for the life of her want to get it in there. She could ask Chaz and Rico to help move it, but they were in the kitchen with Lance, cleaning up from breakfast. She had snuck in while he did his thing with the guests, grabbed a fruit-filled pastry and escaped back to the shed, but there was nothing left to do. Even the scraps from her project were accounted for, the sawdust vacuumed and surfaces wiped.

  Only the wardrobe was ou
t of place, Lance’s wardrobe. The closet for his skeletons, as he so humorously put it. He’d been kind over dishes last night, pretending she hadn’t made an utter fool of herself, and had left her alone after that. She couldn’t avoid him forever, but she might manage a year or two, just to let the hurt and humiliation settle. She had never let Brad see how she felt, but she’d laid it all out with Lance. Here I am; take me. Instead he’d made new rules.

  The whole thing had kept her awake all night, producing a wonderful freestanding closet and raccoon circles under her eyes. That wouldn’t matter as long as he didn’t see her, and he wouldn’t see her if she just had something to do. Evvy. She had said she’d visit Evvy and if she did it now, while he was cleaning up, Lance wouldn’t try to come along.

  Rese left the shed and took the driveway to the street, then headed for Evvy’s house, but her steps jammed. The ambulance parked in the driveway made no sound, but the lights … Her throat closed up. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move. Waves of terror; Mom swaying like a branch in the wind. “Go to sleep, Theresa.”

  She started to shake. Her feet had sunk into the concrete, were concrete themselves. Her neighbors stood outside the door, the two night nurses. They must have called for the ambulance. They must have checked on Evvy when they’d come home from their shift. As she watched, the medics came out with the stretcher, the form on it covered completely.

  Rese staggered, groped for something, then felt the hand on her back. She turned, and Lance took hold of her. They weren’t supposed to touch, but she was not reminding him. “Everything will be different in the morning.” She closed her eyes as memories surfaced so powerfully she felt herself lifted and borne, the oxygen mask pressed to her face.

  She drew hard, shallow breaths, fighting for control, hating the helplessness. Even then she had fought it, swearing she would never be helpless again. She tried to pull back, but inertia had claimed her limbs.

  “It’s all right,” Lance murmured.

  It wasn’t, and it never would be. She couldn’t just put away the experience as though no one had tried to kill her. It was embedded deep inside.“Poison gas. Breathe in. Breathe in.”

  His arms closed tighter. “It’s okay, Rese.”

  She fought to come out of herself. She wasn’t the one on the stretcher. It was Evvy. And that brought a sorrow of its own. “She’s gone.”

  “She was ready. I sensed it last night.”

  “I should have gone with you.”

  He rubbed her back. “There’s no place for should-haves.”

  Wasn’t there? It seemed like that was all she had.

  “She gave you something.” He eased her away and took a carved bird from his pocket. “There are four of them. Ralph did the carving. She thought you’d appreciate them.”

  She took the bird and stroked the whittled lines. Not a masterful job, but he’d captured the essence. She looked into Lance’s face. “I wish I could have thanked her.”

  “That’s why I tried to catch you. I was going to give them to you before you went over, but you slipped out.”

  She looked away, sorry for the reminder.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t know. Seeing the ambulance…” Panic seized her again, but she fought it down.

  “I guessed as much.”

  He would have. “Will it ever go away?”

  “It’ll get better. Especially now that you’re dealing with it.”

  Was she? Did freaking out at the sight of an ambulance and accosting him yesterday mean she was dealing with it?

  He eased her into motion and she made her legs work. They went in through the gate but not up to the door. Instead he cut over to the side of the house, around the almond tree and behind the sweet bushy honeysuckle.“This’ll do.”

  “For what?”

  He didn’t answer, just kissed her long and deep.

  What was he trying to do, keep her so off-balance she couldn’t find her feet? “I thought we weren’t doing that.”

  “That was yesterday.” He clamped her head between his palms. “New rules.”

  She rolled her eyes. What good were rules that changed for every situation?

  “Kissing and hugging only. Oh, and neck rubs—you need them.”

  “Does it do any good to say no?”

  “Only if you mean it.”

  Did she? “How good is your memory?”

  “If you’re referring to yesterday against the truck…”

  She grimaced.

  “It’s stupendous.” He tipped her face up. “I’ll just consider that your bid.”

  She frowned. “Will you be taking others?”

  “As I recall, you rejected my counter offer.”

  And there went her legs again. “You weren’t serious.”

  “Wasn’t I?”

  Rese stiffened as the ambulance drove by from Evvy’s, but the paralysis was passing. Maybe she was facing it, taking hold of what happened and dealing with it. Just as she had with the pranks and struggles she’d handled before. Affliction causing endurance causing character causing hope. Maybe, just maybe…

  Lance had spent the early morning hours in prayer, begging the Lord for answers. He had searched out and denounced every selfish desire connected to the situation: his attachment to the property, his sense of family entitlement, his sense of injustice, his longing for rectitude, his craving for Rese, his fear for Nonna. Just give me a sign!

  He’d come back from church and made breakfast, still uncertain in his mind. But watching Rese stagger at the sight of the ambulance was sign enough. No wonder she’d panicked when he threatened to call one for her. It wasn’t a conveyance of life and hope; it was part of a nightmare. People had hurt her, but he wouldn’t be one of them.

  Evvy was gone. The thought brought a slow, seeping sadness, even though he had sensed her peace last night, her readiness. It would have been a quiet step from this world to the next, and a pretty good time at the other end. He would miss her wit, her spunk, even her scolding.

  She had trusted him with something important to her, and he didn’t take that lightly. He couldn’t give back the deed, couldn’t tell her it compromised Rese, or that he knew Antonia. All he could do was handle it as he saw best. Rese had bought the place on good faith. And Nonna had all those years, while people held the deed, to go back if she’d wanted.

  How he’d tell Nonna that, he wasn’t sure. And how he’d explain it all to Rese was even less clear. That was the problem with departing from the truth to start with. Chaz would agree. But he’d made a commitment to Rese. They were partners in the business, a responsibility he intended to fulfill. And Rese might not believe it, but he wouldn’t have asked her what he did yesterday if it wasn’t a possibility taking greater hold of him every day.

  He would try to understand what Nonna needed, but she would have to see Rese’s side as well. He hadn’t expected it to line up that way, and he didn’t want to fail Nonna, but the time had come to choose from the possibilities. And the hammer-wielding woman making the best of a traumatic past and a daunting future paled every other choice.

  Rese Barrett was brave and determined, frustrating, amusing, and in need of everything he offered. He didn’t care how long it took for her to come to the same conclusion. This time he would see it through.

  He went into the carriage house and nodded at Vittorio. “I’ll introduce you soon.” He would have to communicate with Nonna, go there maybe, during a gap in the reservations that seemed to be coming in spurts and bunches so far. He could show Nonna what he had and hope it was enough.

  He took out the box that held the things from the attic, the book and letter from Conchessa, and the deed. He laid it all out on the table. It wasn’t much to offer, except for the deed, the one thing he’d fight her on if he had to; the property belonged to Rese.

  He started to gather it all up, then remembered the briefcase from the cache in the cellar. He had shoved it against a rack as they scrambled to close thin
gs up when Star came down. In the panic of it all, he’d left it there. He shook his head, exasperated. It could hold all the answers he hadn’t found, and he’d left it lying in the cellar.

  Rese was napping after her all-nighter finishing the wardrobe he and Chaz had carried in earlier. It was beautiful, and she had drawn plans for a real table and chairs, but she didn’t put up much of a fight when he told her to sleep first. They would lick that insomnia somehow, but right now he was glad she slept. The guys were in the attic teaching Star songs, and once Rico got going he wouldn’t stop.

  Flashlight in hand, Lance opened the hatch and went down, stopping at Quillan’s side, not to explain exactly—it was only bones after all, bones that had lain undisturbed for over seventy years—but to confirm the sense that it was almost over.

  The air was cool and still, not chilly or damp, but he felt a shiver up his spine. What did the briefcase hold? Proof of misdeeds? The reason for Vito’s murder? Answers, or more questions?

  He got through the racks to the one they had pushed aside. The briefcase listed against the next rack over. Let it be the answer, Lord. He squatted down and propped the light up. The clasp was the sort that could be locked, but it wasn’t. Pulse quickening, he opened the briefcase.

  There were brown envelopes inside with little cardboard disks and string to hold them closed. He unfastened one and removed the papers inside. A photograph of a man and a couple of handwritten pages that seemed to be a dossier: name, age, marital status, employer. Then it got more detailed: who he talked to and when, dates, times, and money amounts.

  Lance slid the papers back and opened another. Probably more of the same. But the name jumped out at him. Jackson, Arthur Tremaine. The name Jackson struck him for obvious reasons, but where had he heard Arthur? It had to be from Sybil, but what had she said?

  He racked his brain back to their early conversations. Banking. Her family was in banking and … her great-grandfather. Didn’t she say Arthur? Or was he just trying to make it fit? He sat back on his heels. This one read like a who’s who of American families. A prominent banker would be expected to meet with such people, but at four A.M.?