Katya nodded. “Thank you, Quinn.” She seemed more at peace somehow.
They chatted for a while longer, and then Katya called to Vanessa. “Come, Vannie. Time to go home.”
“No!” Vanessa moaned. “I want to stay!”
“Daddy will be home soon,” Katya said. Vanessa’s face instantly transformed, as if Katya had just told her Father Christmas was coming. Vanessa slid down the slide and ran over to Katya, ready to go.
“Bye,” she called out to Mia and Alex.
“She’s going through a daddy phase,” Katya confided to Quinn quietly.
“Hey, whatever works,” Quinn replied, amused.
Chapter 19
November 1777
Long Island
The waves rolled onto the shore with increasing frequency, the surf foaming as it saturated the sand and claimed more and more of the beach, the tide coming in fast and hard. The water was a charcoal gray, nearly the same color as the sky that seemed to hang so low it pressed on Alice’s aching head. Seagulls perched on the rocks jutting out of the water, some taking flight just long enough to dive into the waves in search of fish. They didn’t appear to be successful and returned to their perches, eyes watchful, feathers ruffled.
Alice drew the shawl closer about her shoulders. She was freezing, the sand beneath her skirts cold and damp. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She sat staring out over the churning water, her face turned into the wind as storm clouds gathered on the horizon, their underbellies an ominous shade of violet. She placed her hand on her stomach, still unable to believe there was life within.
Half the seeds had sprouted, leaving Alice to deal with the knowledge that she was indeed with child. Now her symptoms made sense. The pulling sensation in her growing womb, the nausea, the tender breasts, and the frequent urge to use the chamber pot were all easily explained. The smell of bacon turned her stomach inside out, but the nausea was quickly replaced by a gnawing hunger that seemed to come out of nowhere and sometimes shortly after she’d eaten.
Alice got to her feet and ran toward the water’s edge. The wind whipped her hair about her face, its intensity stealing her breath, but she hardly noticed. She’d lain with a man and now carried his child but had no idea who he might have been or where he was. Did he lie at the bottom of the sea? Had he waited for her at the end of a journey she’d now never complete? Had she left him behind when she’d boarded the ship, promising to return?
She wrapped her arms around her middle, sheltering her unborn baby from the incoming storm, but the wind had a life all its own, the gusts strong enough to push her backward, making her stagger. She wished the tempest had the power to make her forget her troubles, but the questions kept coming, their relentless assault on her memory making her want to howl with frustration. Had the child’s father been her husband? Had she loved him? Had he loved her? Was he grieving for her even now, or was he dead, torn from her like a healthy limb, the amputation leaving her bleeding and broken? Had he known about their child? Had she? Dr. Rosings couldn’t tell her how far along she was so early in the pregnancy, when he couldn’t feel the child within her womb and assess its size. How much time did she have before her condition became obvious? What would she do once the baby was born? So many unanswered questions. So many gaping holes in the fabric of her life.
“Who am I?” Alice hollered into the raging wind. “Who am I?”
And then a voice, quiet and gentle, a voice she’d heard before, spoke from somewhere deep inside her damaged mind. Her own voice. “Jocelyn Sinclair.”
“Jocelyn,” she repeated, stunned by the revelation. “Jocelyn.” Now she understood why Alice had felt so wrong. It sounded nothing like Jocelyn. Had it been Jesse, or Lynn, she might have warmed to it, but it had grated on her like a strike of tinder on flint. Not Alice—Jocelyn. The name felt so right, so true. It slotted neatly into one of the gaping holes, filling it perfectly.
“Jocelyn!” she cried into the wind. “My name is Jocelyn.”
She beat a retreat as a rogue wave came at her, reaching the tips of her toes and nearly soaking her shoes. Fat drops of rain fell from the leaden sky, the icy tears of the stormy heavens making her shiver.
“You’re going to catch your death out here,” Ben yelled over the wind as he ran toward her. There was genuine fear in his eyes as he grabbed for her, pulling her away from the hungry tide.
“I wasn’t going to…” she began. Why would he think that? Did she seem that desperate to him?
Ben took her face in his big, warm hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Alice, please, don’t do anything foolish. It will be all right. I will make it all right.”
“What will be all right?” she snapped, annoyed by his naivete.
How could anything truly be all right? At least seventeen people were dead, buried in graves that would never bear their names. More probably rested at the bottom of the sea, their remains picked over by fish and whatever creatures made their home beneath the frigid waves. Their families would never know what had become of them, would never have a grave to visit, their farewells left unsaid. And she was here, on Long Island, alone and pregnant, and utterly dependent on the Wilders, who bore no obligation to her. They were kindly strangers, but how long could she abuse their hospitality?
“I don’t know where I come from, Ben. I don’t know where I was going,” she cried, his ridiculous chivalry having unleashed something feral in her. “I may have been traveling with someone, but I can’t even recall their name. It might have been one of the men buried in the churchyard, or someone who went down with the ship. It may have been my mother, or sister, or friend,” she wailed, now nearly hysterical. She was shaking from both cold and emotion, desperate to release some of the feelings bubbling away inside her, but she couldn’t tell Ben about the child, not yet. She couldn’t share her secret with anyone, not until she clearly recalled its father and the circumstances that had led her to the doomed ship. Peregrine, her mind supplied helpfully.
Ben drew her to him and held her close as she wept, her fists pressed into his chest. His body was warm, his tone soothing as he tried to reassure her again and again that he’d look after her and keep her safe. After a time, she stopped shivering, her tears drying as the storm of emotion passed and hope began to raise its head, like a lone crocus pushing through the snow. She had recalled her name. She supposed that was a huge step toward regaining her memory, but nothing more had come with the knowledge, at least nothing concrete. Peregrine might be the name of a ship she’d seen before, or a vessel her impaired memory associated with the man who’d fathered her child. He might have been a sailor, a man of business, or even a soldier, for all she knew. Or maybe her father had gone to sea on a similarly named ship. The Peregrine could even be the name of a tavern. The name by itself meant nothing without the context in which she’d known it.
“Come, let’s get you home. You are soaked through,” Ben said gently, as though sensing that the worst of her grief had passed. He took her hand and pulled her along, their feet sinking into the damp sand and leaving deep footprints. “Ma was worried about you,” Ben said. “She thought you looked upset when you left the house. Has something happened?” he asked carefully.
“No. I suppose it all got to be too much,” Jocelyn replied.
“You can’t give in to despair,” Ben said. “I won’t let you.”
Jocelyn forced a smile to her lips. Ben was so kind, so steady. Her heart instinctively warmed to him.
“It was just a moment of weakness,” she said. “I’m glad you were there.”
“I’ll always be there for you, if you let me,” he replied, his voice husky, his eyes pleading with her to let him in.
“Ben, I—” she began, pulling away from him.
“Don’t say it. I understand. I’m a patient man, Alice,” he said gently, but she could see she’d wounded his pride. What was she supposed to have done? Jocelyn fumed inwardly. She was in no position to make promises, and he had no right to ask anything of
her, not when she couldn’t recall anything of her past. Surely he understood that she might not be free, or did he think the shipwreck had erased all her previous commitments and she could simply start over? Oh, if only it were that easy, Jocelyn thought as she trudged after Ben.
By the time they returned to the house, thunder clapped in the distance and flashes of lightning split the sky. Jocelyn’s teeth chattered with cold, and her feet were wet and muddy, her hair hanging in wet sheets.
“Get out of those wet clothes and get warm,” Ben ordered, his tone gruff, then turned on his heel and walked toward the barn.
Jocelyn walked into the house and ran up the stairs before anyone could ask her any awkward questions. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she felt as if she’d let Ben down somehow, had disappointed his hopes. She’d have to tread even more carefully now that he’d made his feelings clear.
Chapter 20
Having seen Alice safely home, Ben made a dash for the barn to make sure the animals weren’t spooked by the storm. The cows hardly seemed to notice, but the horses were restless, snorting and neighing miserably. Ace, in particular, hated storms and was pawing at the floor with his front leg, breathing hard and shivering as if terrified. He’d bolt given half a chance and would probably knock himself silly if he tried to headbutt the door. Ben entered the stall and laid a hand on Ace’s neck, talking to him softly until the horse began to calm down, its nostrils no longer flaring or its eyes rolling in fear.
“There you go,” Ben said softly, almost murmuring. “Nothing to fear. Just a bit of weather. Not nearly as bad as that last one.”
Ben finally left the horse and settled himself on a bale of hay. He knew he should go inside, change into dry clothes, and join the family for supper, but he needed a few minutes to himself. The thunder crashed outside, and flashes of lightning lit up the sky, suffusing the barn in an unnatural glow before growing dark again. Ben leaned against the wall and exhaled deeply, suddenly tired, his mind reliving the moment he’d seen Alice running toward the waves, her hair flying in the wind as it tore at her shawl. She’d looked wild, like a witch running from a mob. What had she been screaming? He wished he’d heard, but her words had been lost on the wind. Had she been calling for her dead love? Had she meant to join him?
Gut-wrenching pity bloomed in Ben’s chest, nearly stealing his breath. He could understand how she felt. He’d been so angry and lost after Kira’s death, so despondent. The loss of one person could make all the difference, change one’s life irrevocably, mercilessly. Alice must have had someone special in her life. She was so lovely, her manner so pleasant and demure. There had to have been a man, and he was either dead or searching for her, probably in all the wrong places.
Ben had felt a fool, running across the fields as the wind picked up and the first rumbles of thunder echoed across the darkening horizon, but he didn’t care. He’d wanted to save her, again, if only from getting drenched. He’d wanted to envelop Alice in his arms and hold her tight, to promise her she’d never be alone, and he’d given in to the urge, doing exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time. He’d wanted to assure her that he’d never question her about her past, even if she managed to recall it. He’d never reproach her, never be unkind, but Alice wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say. She couldn’t look to the future until she clearly saw her past. As usual, he’d rushed things and made a fool of himself, and now he’d have to wait and hope that he hadn’t put her off permanently with his ill-timed promises and earnest declarations.
“What’s the matter with you?” Derek’s voice came to him on the wind as his brother walked into the barn, his hair dripping, his coat soaking wet.
“Nothing. What are you doing here?”
“Came to check on Ace. You know how he fears thunder and lightning. I take it you’re here for the same reason.”
“Ace is fine. I talked him down.”
“So, why are you sitting here looking glum?” Derek asked, his tone softening.
“I was just thinking about Alice.”
“What about her?” Derek removed his coat and hung it on a nail protruding from a beam, then sat down next to Ben and shook out his hair, spraying water like a dog.
“She walked down to the shore. I think she meant to do away with herself.”
“What? What makes you think that?” Derek asked, clearly alarmed.
“I saw her, Derek. She was running toward the water, this odd look on her face. And just before that, she’d been shouting something. She looked wild, unhinged.”
“That doesn’t mean she wants to die.”
“Maybe she does. She’s all alone in the world.”
Derek turned to face Ben, who was staring straight ahead. “Look at me,” Derek said forcefully.
Ben reluctantly turned to face his brother. “What?”
“Ben, don’t get ideas. I know you want to help, but Alice is not yours for the taking. There are people out there who care for her. She just has to remember who and where they are.”
“I found her,” Ben replied stubbornly, knowing how ridiculous he sounded.
“She’s not a stray puppy. She’s a woman who had a life before all this, and she will wish to return to her people once she remembers them.”
“What if she has no people?” Ben asked, refusing to acknowledge that Derek was probably right. “She might be all alone.”
“Ben, everyone has someone. Parents, siblings, friends, her husband’s people, if she was married,” Derek said. “I know you still mourn Kira, but Alice is not Kira. She’s not some wounded bird you can nurse back to health and keep locked in a cage.”
“She needs me.”
“You need her,” Derek snapped. “Don’t be a fool.”
“I’m not the fool,” Ben spat, truly angry now. “I’m not the one sniffing around Lydia Blackwell. You think it’s you she wants? She was seen leaving Lieutenant Reynold’s lodgings the other night.”
Derek stilled, his brows knitting together in anger. “Seen by whom?” Derek demanded.
“By Josh. He’s taken it upon himself to keep an eye on her. For your sake.”
“Stay out of my affairs, you two,” Derek said, his voice dangerously low. “I can look after myself.”
“So can I. Alice is mine,” Ben hissed.
“Is she, indeed?”
“You heard me,” Ben said. He jumped to his feet and faced Derek, his hands balled into fits.
“Oh, I heard you,” Derek retorted. “I heard you loud and clear.”
He stood, grabbed his coat, and strode from the barn, a gust of wind slamming the door in his wake.
Chapter 21
Jocelyn did not go down for supper. Instead, she peeled off her wet garments and climbed into bed in her chemise, pulling the blanket over her head. It did little to muffle the sound of thunder and rain lashing against the shutters, but she did feel warm and relatively safe. She’d nearly admitted to Ben that she had remembered her name, but something had stopped her from telling him the truth. Perhaps it was an innate sense of self-preservation. As soon as she made mention of recalling something of her past, the questions would start, and possibly the hints. The Wilders owed her nothing, and if she recalled her life before the shipwreck, she’d be expected to figure out where she’d come from and return there with all due haste. She hoped that the knowledge would come in time, but tonight, the secrets of her past were just as indecipherable as they had been that morning. Only now everything had changed. She knew her name, and she had a child to think of.
Had she wanted a baby? Had it been conceived in love? She shut her eyes and loosened her limbs in an effort to relax, then tried again to conjure the face of its father, but nothing came. It was like being in a stone cellar with no candle. Pitch black, not even the faint outline of a window or a sliver of light beneath the door. But there was something in that darkness, and if she stared at it long enough, her eyes would adjust and shapes would begin to emerge, until the faint light grew brighter, like a
torch igniting from the smoldering embers of memory, illuminating every murky alcove in the dungeon of her mind.
Eventually, the house grew quiet. Everyone had gone to bed, but the storm outside continued to rage, the wind howling in the rafters as Jocelyn courted sleep. Tomorrow was a new day in which some small but important tidbit might come to her, she reassured herself. She just had to have patience and keep her own counsel.
She sucked in her breath when she heard stealthy steps coming up the stairs and moving toward her room. The door opened, the well-oiled hinges making nary a sound as her visitor entered the room and shut the door behind him. She was in no doubt it was Ben. Hannah wouldn’t be creeping around at night, and neither Derek nor Josh would have any reason to come to her at night. Perhaps Ben meant to return to their earlier conversation, now that he’d had time to see her reply for what it was and understand that she hadn’t meant to hurt him.
Jocelyn sat up and pulled the covers to her chin, the thick wool of the blanket her only protection, should she need it. With the shutters closed, she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear his even breathing. He wasn’t nervous, then—always a good sign. Whatever had brought him to her room hadn’t been precipitated by impulse or desire. The mattress sank as he sat down, leaning forward until she could feel his warm breath on her face. A gentle hand rested on her hand, the strong fingers brushing against her wrist.
“What do you want, Ben?” Jocelyn asked, unnerved by his silence. Did he think this was what she wanted? Had she unwittingly given him the wrong idea when she’d allowed him to hold her down at the beach?
“Take all the time you need to recover, but don’t toy with my brother.”
She didn’t need a light to recognize who it was, and the note of warning in his tone left her trembling.
An involuntary gasp escaped her lips. “Why would you think I’m toying with your brother?” she demanded. She meant to sound indignant, but her voice was reedy with apprehension.
The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) Page 9