“What would you know about it? You got what you wanted! Queen bee, married to Mr. Moneybags. Cock of the walk, and you the prize peahen. And you begrudged my happiness with Brigit because you were such a god-damned snob. You told him not to let her have the baby,” he sobbed. “You’re the reason he killed her. You’re the reason Brigit died along with my child!”
Baby? I glanced at Murray. Brigit had been pregnant? By Brent? And then I remembered the journal. The entries about a shameful secret, one she couldn’t let the Brunswicks find out about. It was all falling into place. Brent hadn’t killed Brigit. He’d been in love with her, and he was the father of her unborn child. And then, either Edward Brunswick had killed her in a fit of rage, or she died in some sort of accident for which Brent blamed his father. Either way, Brigit had been stripped out of his life and her death sent him over the edge.
Irena fell to her knees, crying. “You’re right—I didn’t love Thomas. He was a good catch and Mother said I should be grateful, so I married him. But none of that matters anymore. Brent, you loved Brigit in a way I can never understand. I’ve never felt that kind of love. Do you understand? Even for a short time, you had something I’ll never have.”
I felt someone by my side and jumped, but it was just White Deer. She leaned close to me. “Brigit’s awfully stirred up down there. I wasn’t feeling altogether safe. And Samantha disappeared.”
My heart sank as Brent spoke again, his voice cracking. “Why did you do it? Why did you let Father get away with murder?”
Frustrated, Irena lost her temper. “Damn it, Brent, you know perfectly well that our father didn’t murder Brigit. Her death was an accident! You know that. She fell down the stairs and hit her head—you were there! You were the first to reach her side.”
“You’re lying! He shoved her!” And then, Brent whirled sharply as a voice echoed from the basement.
“Brent? Brent? Brent! Where are you?”
Everyone froze, and then slowly turned toward the stairs. There, clad in a nimbus of pale ivory light, stood Brigit. A living statue, and yet vibrant and beautiful and so terribly aware. She was gazing at Brent, and the look on her face was the happiest I’d ever seen.
“Brigit!” Brent backed away from Irena as the yew tree sighed and the heaviness in the lot began to expand. The Will o’ the Wisps went into a dance, darting through the air over to Brigit’s side, faerie sparkles against the velvet night.
“Brigit,” whispered Irena as she stared with horror at the ghostly image of the red-haired spirit.
And Brigit, she had eyes only for Brent, a look of utter devotion filling her face. The power of their love was tangible, still alive through fifty years of separation, through the veil of death itself. Brent stumbled forward, his longing echoing through the air, through the waves of energy that pulsed like breakers on the shore.
Overwhelmed, I could hear the beating of his heart, the ache of her desire. A terrifyingly fragile link had remained between them despite her long years among the dead, and it shimmered—a thin cord glowing in the night. I understood then that they’d never been truly separated. They’d been bound to one another since the day they met. With a love so strong, how could anyone deny their reunion?
As Brent approached Brigit, Mab fell in by his side, leading him forward. The ghostly calico mewed loudly as they approached the basement where Brigit waited. Then the cat let out a yowl and raced over to coil behind Brigit’s skirt, where Brigit caught her up in her arms and buried her face in the cat’s fur.
“Brent! Brent? Stay away—she’s dangerous!” Irena’s voice quavered. Brent ignored her.
“Brigit. Is it really you? Forgive me, please forgive me. I couldn’t save you. I tried, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. Can you ever forgive me? I love you. It’s always been you—only ever been you.” His voice cracked and the flicker of tears shimmered on his cheeks.
“I’ve died a thousand deaths every day, every time I remember your face.” He held out his hands, beseeching. “When you looked at me, that moment right before you fell, I knew then that my world had ended.”
“Brent! Stop, please stop. She’s dead. Leave it alone, let her spirit rest. Come home with me. You can live with me and I’ll take care of you.” Irena’s voice spiraled into the night.
The scene played out like an old movie flickering on a scratched screen in a theater long closed to the public. In my heart, I knew Brent was already dead. He had long been linked to another world and there was nothing we could do to reclaim him, to save him from his destiny.
Brent’s eyes flashed, shining as he spoke to Irena. He was poised on the very brink and something had to give. If he went back to the hospital, he’d never again touch the world with a clear mind. “Let me go. Let me be happy.”
“No! Brent! Don’t!” Irena raced forward.
“Irena! You’ll startle him!” Murray shouted, racing after her, but she slipped in the mud and fell face first into a small pile of brambles, letting out a shout as the thorns drove deep. As she struggled to extricate herself, Irena stopped, as if suddenly aware of how close to the edge of the stairs Brent was standing.
She held her hands out to him. “Brent, I’m begging you, come home with me. Everything will be okay. You’ll be okay and live with me. We can be brother and sister again.”
He gazed at her, then silently turned back to Brigit. She smiled softly and let Mab jump to the ground, holding her arms wide, reaching for him. As he stepped toward her, she slowly moved back, hovering over the basement, glorious and brilliant, no longer a lost soul.
And then, Brent stumbled toward her almost like a child toward his mother. In his haste, his foot caught on one of the brambles rooted by the side of the foundation and he wavered, flailing for just a moment before he tumbled headfirst down the stairs, a single cry echoing as he fell. Brigit looked directly at me, relief and peace flooding her face. Then she, Mab, and the Will o’ the Wisps faded into the night.
Sixteen
MUR IMMEDIATELY TOOK charge. “Emerald, you and White Deer go check on him. I’ll call 911.” While she pulled open her cell phone, White Deer and I hit the stairs. Brent’s unmoving figure lay below in the muck. A wave of vertigo flooded over me and everything seemed to shift as I found myself staring down at Brigit’s body. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was once again Brent at the foot of the steps. My feet slipped and I almost went headfirst down after him but White Deer, who was right on my heels, grabbed me by the arm.
I fell back against the stairs and, breathless, wiped my eyes. “Oh God, I’ll be glad when this night is over.”
After making sure I hadn’t broken anything, I lit off down the stairs again. White Deer was already checking his pulse by the time I joined her. She looked up at me and shook her head. “Dead.”
Dead was right. Brent’s neck was turned in an unnatural position, but the look on his face was that of a gloriously happy man. There was nothing to be done for him—his long wait was over. I glanced over at the bedroom door and wandered inside, but it felt empty, as if Brigit was well and truly gone. There was no sign of Samantha, either. Just an empty room in a burnt-out house on an empty lot. That about summed it up.
The woo-woo of sirens came whirring up on the street. White Deer and I looked at each other. There wasn’t much to say. We waited in silence as the paramedics came filing down the dark stairs, Joe hot on their heels.
“The kids—” I started to say but he cut me off.
“They’re okay, I left them with my aunt. I heard on the scanner that there had been an accident here and thought … I thought …” He broke off, unable to finish his sentence. I saw the terror lurking in his eyes.
“You thought it was me.”
He pulled me into his arms so tight I couldn’t breathe and buried his face in my hair. “Don’t you ever leave me, Emerald O’Brien. Don’t you ever leave me. Whatever happens, don’t leave me alone.”
“Hey, Captain, can we get a hand here?” one of the medics called over to Joe.
He searched my face, staring deeply into my eyes before he went over to help them. I watched the men work on Brent for a moment, then headed upstairs. I craved the light, craved noise and laughter and the joy of having my family gathered around me.
“
I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott,
” I whispered to no one in particular. Only the wind heard; it swept up my words and carried them away.
MURRAY FILLED DEACON and Greg in on what had happened. She told them that Brent and Irena had come to visit what had once been their home. Brent lost control, he got loose from Irena’s side, tripped and fell down into the basement before any of us could stop him.
White Deer, Irena, and I verified her story—it seemed easiest all the way around. And that, was that. Nobody put up a fuss and I realized that Brent was one of so many people who fell through the cracks of society. Forgotten, mentally ill … nobody would pay much attention to the death of an old man. Oh, someone here or there who remembered his name might blink over the obituary notice, but other than that, Brent would fade into history, as obscured by time as Brigit had been.
Irena leaned on White Deer’s arm and we made our way over to my house. We gathered around the table, exhausted.
Joe peeked in. “I’m off to round up the kids and cats,” he said, then headed out.
I put the kettle on for a pot of peppermint tea. Our spirits needed warming as much as our bodies. White Deer struck up a fire in the fireplace. When the flames were good and crackling, we gathered around the hearth with our tea.
Irena settled into the recliner and stared at the flames. Her eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying and I had the feeling the shock of the whole situation hadn’t hit home yet. I sat on the ottoman next to her.
“Irena, do you want to tell us about it now? There’s no use in keeping quiet anymore.”
Her gaze flickered over my face, then to Murray. “I suppose I should. You’ll need to know for your report and it will put things to rest. Once and for all.” She took a sip of tea while Mur pulled out her notebook and flipped it open.
“Brigit was your maid, correct?” Murray asked.
Irena nodded. “My mother hired her from an employment agency. Brigit was fresh off the boat and so full of hope. Her mother and father were dead, and her sister ran away a few years before that. So Brigit packed her suitcase and came to America, hoping for a new life. She wanted to go to school, to become a teacher. But she didn’t have enough money, so she went to work as a housekeeper instead.”
“Times were tough,” White Deer said.
“For some people,” Irena murmured. “Not for my family. I just wish she’d picked another house to work in. Maybe she would have actually been able to live her life all the way through, then.” She hung her head for a moment. We didn’t pressure her. She would talk when she felt like it.
After a pause, she tried again. “From the start, Brent fell in love with Brigit. They were two of a kind—dreamers, romantics. He’d just returned home from another failed attempt at college and was so emotionally vulnerable. Brent was a poet, an artist. Father wanted him to be a ‘real man’—you know, make good on the game, make good in a job. ‘Follow in my footsteps, son.’ That sort of thing. But Brent wasn’t cut out to be a carbon copy of Father.”
“Those were the days when men were expected to be strong,” Murray said and Irena nodded.
“Yes. When Brent couldn’t live up to Father’s expectations, it caused a rift in our family. Our mother always tried to stand up for him, but she was drunk a good share of the time. And Father … whew, when he got angry, the house shook. I have to admit, I sided with Father. I was such a little snob. All I could think about was how Brent’s behavior would reflect on me. And, when he told us that he’d fallen in love with Brigit, it destroyed the family.”
I poured more tea all around. It must be terribly difficult for her to dredge up the dirty laundry that had remained hidden for so many years. Secrets that had buried a death for so long. The fire popped and White Deer added another log. Grateful for the warmth, I soaked in the light.
“I had just become engaged to my husband—he was the son of William Finch, one of Chiqetaw’s finest lawyers,” Irena continued. “Thomas had his degree from Princeton. He was hired to a good job at the Rutherford Savings & Loan. You see, my husband always has had a wonderful nose for business, and it was clear from the start that he’d be heading right up the ranks. Father wanted the match to go through. With the Finch family at the top of the social register, anybody who married Thomas would be set for life, and it would reflect well on our own family.”
She blinked, looking lost for a moment. “The day that Brent told us Brigit was pregnant and that he wanted to marry her was horrible. I was there, and remember begging Father to put an end to it. If my brother married a servant, I knew Thomas would find some excuse to break off our engagement. His family wouldn’t stand for it. They considered the Irish poor white trash.”
I began to have an inkling of the household dynamics that must have raged through the family. Poor Brent. A father ashamed of his son’s sensitivities, a sister who put her own desire for prestige above the happiness of her brother.
“What happened?” I asked.
“All hell broke loose.”
White Deer broke in. “What did your mother think?”
Irena shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Nobody ever paid any attention to her. I think she might have taken Brigit under her wing and welcomed her into the family. She liked Brigit, even though she could be harsh on the girl at times. But it wasn’t to happen. That morning … that horrible morning …” She covered her face with her hands. “Do I have to say?”
Murray rested one hand on Irena’s arm. “Irena, you need to tell me everything. Please?”
Irena blew her nose and sighed. “Father blew up. So did I. We got into a huge argument with Brent. He insisted that he was going to marry her and legitimize their child. Father threatened to cut him out of the will, and Brent told him to go to hell. Mother was crying and I was screaming at Brent for being so stupid. About that time, Brigit appeared at the top of the stairs—her room was the one in the basement that you found.”