He rested his elbows on his knees and stared down the hill, seeing little but the memories of the last few days. He'd watched her with his brother and realized that the two seemed to delight in each other's company. He'd seen them walk outside, watched her point at some silly thing like a bird or a flower, and heard their laughter. He wondered if it was easier for Stephen to see fairies, and diamonds in snow and crystal.
Alec had felt foolish even talking about such things. He had boasted over and over that he refused to be made a fool of, yet his father had made him the biggest fool. And still he knew that having his pride pricked was nothing compared to what Stephen must have gone through in his twenty-five or so years. He would have given anything to get his hands on those fishermen. Their cruelty made him ashamed to be part of the human race.
He could feel the angry tension swell in him again. His stomach tightened with it. He took deep calming breaths to fight away the image of his brother, a huge man who was forced by nature to go through life with his head and shoulders bent as if in shame. A man with the features of a Castlemaine—twisted and yet the same. But instead of cruelty or coldness or anger, those sadly drooping eyes reflected need and shame.
Alec raised his head and looked upward, wanting to fight with the God who had made both him and Stephen, the God who had made their father. Yet he knew it was a useless fight. The damage was done, some twenty-odd years' worth. But no more. If there was one thing he had gained out of all this confusion it was a determination that never, as long as he lived, would he allow anyone to make a fool of Stephen again.
Chapter 26
"Look what you've done, you clumsy fool! Look!" Mrs. Watley's harsh voice echoed up the wide stairwell in the front hall.
Stephen backed away, his head bowed in shame, his shoes crunching on broken pieces of porcelain.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break it."
"That vase was over two hundred years old and worth a fortune. Bah!" she spat in disgust. "Idiots don't know the worth of anything."
Stephen stared in horror at the fragments of the vase scattered on the marble floor, then hunkered down and began to pick up the broken pieces. "Here," he said, stammering as he worked his mouth to get the words out. "I—I'll try to—to paste it back to-together."
"You stupid fool! You can't fix it!"
"But see." He held up two pieces together like a puzzle and moved on his knees toward her. "They fit."
"Get away!" Stepping back, Mrs. Watley held up her hands as if to ward off a monster, not seeing the group of servants who stood back watching in horror and blocking Joy from getting through. "You're nothing but an animal! A beast! You should be in an asylum! Look at you! You don't belong here!"
Stephen began to sob, the porcelain pieces clenched in his hands. "I didn't mean to . . . I didn't mean to . . . I'll fix it."
Furious, Joy raised her hands to zap Mrs. Watley clear to the devil.
"I believe it's you, Mrs. Watley, who doesn't belong here." Alec's seething voice stopped Joy midspell and made the angry housekeeper turn her head.
Her face still held its revulsion, her arrogance, but her sharp eyes showed fear when she met his dead, cold stare. "Your Grace."
"Get out." He stood in front of the open front doors, slapping his riding glove against a hand, his predatory stance that of a man who would let nothing stop his need to avenge. "You have one hour. If you are not gone, I will bloody well throw you out myself. And count yourself lucky that's all I'm doing."
The woman turned her hate-filled eyes toward Stephen and gave him a look of pure disgust. "Gladly." She raised her head and marched up the stairs, ignoring the mutterings of the huge crowd of servants that thinned enough for Joy to get through.
She rushed to Stephen's side and knelt with him, her arm around his hunched and shaking shoulders calming his silent shaking. "Stephen. It's all right. Come, stand up. You and I will go outside. I have something special to show you." He stood awkwardly and shuffled with her into the salon and toward the terrace. She had just opened the doors when she heard her husband speak to the servants.
"The same goes for any of you. He is my brother and will be treated with respect by everyone I employ. Is that understood?"
She took a deep breath of relief and led Stephen outside, where they walked in silence. A few minutes later they sat on the bench in front of that old elm tree. She saw his hand still clutched into a fist around the fragments of porcelain. "Stephen?"
He appeared lost in thought, so she patted his leg to get his attention.
"What?" he asked without looking at her.
She touched his fist. "Here, give me those."
He looked down and opened his hand. His face said everything—shame, embarrassment, frustration. "I would have fixed it."
She took the pieces. "Mrs. Watley has shouted at you before, hasn't she?"
He nodded, his eyes locked on the stones that flagged the garden. "Whenever she saw me she said I was stupid. She was right. I am stupid. I broke that vase."
"I've broken things, too. That doesn't mean I'm stupid. The vase doesn't matter, Stephen."
"It does to me."
She sat there, searching for something to say to make him feel better. Unable to find the right words, she just began to talk about anything, everything, about things she knew, about feeling hurt inside and how to help the hurt go away. Five minutes later they stood on either side of the old elm, gazing up at its crown.
"It's so big." Stephen frowned.
"That's because it's old." Joy smiled at him. "But that's good, because the older the tree, the stronger the magic. Now press your head against the bark and hold on tight. Then close your eyes and take slow, deep breaths."
"There's ants on my side."
"Oh, sorry. Come over on this side." She waved him over and adjusted his arms around the tree, then she went to the other side and studied the trail of ants traveling up the tree bark. She peeked at Stephen.
"Are your eyes closed yet?"
"Uh-huh. Very tight."
"Good." She glanced around, scanning the area, and a wicked grin lit her face. She flicked her hand and zapped the ants straight into Mrs. Watley's bags, which were being loaded onto a wagon near the carriage house. She looked back at the tree. The ants were gone. A smile of satisfaction curved her lips, and she brushed her hands together.
"Joy?"
"I'm right here." She reached around her side of the tree. "Wrap your arms tightly around the trunk. Then just relax and let the tree make you feel better."
A few moments later the click of boot heels on the flagstones broke her concentration. She opened her eyes. Alec stood there, a look of absolute bewilderment on his face. "What are you two doing?"
"Hugging a tree," they answered in unison.
"I see." He was quiet for a moment and when no explanation followed, he said, "May I ask why?"
Joy peeked around the giant tree trunk. Her gaze met Stephen's. "Shall I tell him or do you want to?"
Stephen appeared to think about that for a few minutes, then shrugged. "I don't think I can pronounce it."
"Then I guess I'll have—"
"Somebody
tell me, please."
"Rejuvenescence."
"What in the devil is that?"
Joy sighed and stepped back from the tree. Dusting the bark from her hands, she walked over to Alec and looked up at him, then mouthed the word "witches" and said aloud, "They believe that the wonder of life flows through nature, especially trees. I told Stephen it was nature's magic. It's very strong in old trees like this one. If you feel sad, you hug a tree and its magic will flow into you and make you feel better." She saw her husband's skeptical look and asked his brother, "Do you feel better yet, Stephen?"
He opened his eyes and stood back, taking his time to answer. Then he grinned and nodded vigorously.
Alec was silent while he studied his brother, then his pleased look met hers. They stood there, neither speaking. Finally she averted her eyes. He reached out and tilted her chin up. "Thank you, Scottish."
She took a deep breath and smiled.
Stephen pointed at the tree and tapped his brother's arm. "You try."
Alec broke into a choked cough.
"Oh, Stephen, that's a wonderful idea. What a shame we do not have a eucalyptus tree. Those are particularly good for coughs."
Alec scowled at her and cleared his throat. "I do not need to hug a tree."
Stephen moved closer and searched Alec's face. "His face is twisted up, not forever ugly like mine, but he feels bad, see? He needs a tree. Come. Try my side."
Joy watched the play of emotions on Alec's face. Then he looked at Stephen for a long moment and the hardness in his face melted away. He gave Joy a wry look but turned to his brother and said kindly,
"What do I have to do?"
"Come here." Stephen waved him over and helped him place his arms around the tree just as she had helped him. "Are your eyes closed yet?" He was repeating her exact words. "Wrap your arms tightly around the trunk. Then just relax and let the tree make you feel better."
She couldn't hold back her giggle.
Stephen looked at her, his face suddenly worried. "Aren't I doing it right?"
"You're doing a fine job. Just perfect."
Stephen beamed and Alec opened one eye, pinning her with it. She hadn't known a person could scowl with only one eye. That made her laugh harder.
"Your eyes aren't closed," Stephen told him, and Alec closed his eye. Stephen shuffled over to the stone bench and sat down next to Joy. "I wish I'd known about tree magic before."
"Why?"
"Because there was lots of times when I was little that I felt bad. Just like when Mrs. Watley yelled at me. Like when I asked the other children if I could play hide-and-go-seek with them. Sometimes they said yes, but they always made me 'it.' I could never find them. Sometimes I'd look and look but they weren't there." He looked up, staring at nothing in particular but his face showing every bit of puzzlement and every bit of shame he had felt.
"Finally when it was cold and dark outside I'd go home. The next day they said I was dumb. Sometimes they'd look at me and yell 'Stephen, Stephen, God got even.' I felt bad because I didn't know why God was angry that I couldn't find them. I didn't know God got angry about games. Roddy told me I didn't do nothing wrong, but I still worried about it."
Joy looked past Stephen's head, bent in abjection, to where Alec stood against the tree. She knew Stephen was hurt, but Alec's face told her that he took the blame for that hurt. She wished her magic could take away all the hurt and pain and disillusionment suffered by both these men.
All three were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. After a few more minutes Stephen said, "I didn't want to make God mad. I read about what happens when God gets angry. He sends lots of rain and floods and balls of fire and plagues and pes . . . pestal ants."
Stephen turned to Joy, his expression suddenly speculative. "Those ants on the tree—were they pestal ants?"
"What ants?" Alec stiffened and quickly stepped away from the tree, frowning and brushing off his sleeves.
"Those ants." Stephen stood up and pointed. Then he looked closer, almost pressing his nose to the tree trunk. "What happened to the ants?"