He set down his mug. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make this easier. “I am hedging.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t separate my feelings about the church from my feelings about you. And I thought I needed to be able to do that before I could make a decision.”
“You think I’m pushing you? That’s the problem?”
He met her eyes. “You
are
pushing me, but that’s not it.” He reached for her hand, taking and placing her mug on the table beside his. He waited, hoping some easy way of saying this would occur to him, but clearly that was futile.
He squeezed her hand. “Chrissy, we love each other and probably always will, but we fell out of love a while ago. I’m not sure when it happened, but I do know why.”
She slipped her hand out of his. “You’re speaking for both of us?”
He backed up. “I’ll just speak for myself, then. Being honest about our feelings isn’t as hard as we’ve made it, but this is still hard to say. I think it comes down to this. We were never right for each other. I knew it, and I think you knew it, too. But we were so attracted, we ignored it. I loved being with you. You made me laugh. You made me take myself less seriously. And you stuck by me when nobody expected you to.”
She didn’t speak. For a long moment he waited, but she said nothing.
He tried to clarify. “We’re two people who took different forks in the road. I glimpse you every once in a while walking your path, and you glimpse me. We wave, blow kisses.” He shrugged. “The paths aren’t going to converge again. We both know it.”
“You’re so sure?”
He gave a short nod.
“Pete Deaver asked my father to vouch for you, to assure him that you’d learned your lesson after prison.” Her voice caught. “I made Daddy say yes. I was so sure you’d agree, so pleased. I thought we’d found the perfect compromise.”
He refused to accept guilt. “You thought a church like Capital Chapel was what I wanted, too?”
She looked away. “It could have been.”
“If I’d cooperated, you mean? At what price?”
“I hoped having me happy at your side would be enough.”
“It would have meant a lot. But enough? Knowing that I’d had to move there or you wouldn’t marry me? That it was an ultimatum?”
“I thought I could make you want it.”
“Even you aren’t that powerful.”
She didn’t speak for a while. He wondered if she was gathering forces for the next round. He wondered what he could say that he hadn’t said already.
She was still staring at the wall when she finally spoke. “I thought if I came tonight, I could talk you into that final interview, that you’d see how important it was for both of us. At least at first…”
“At first?”
She seemed to struggle, then she looked back at him. “On the plane up here, I realized what I was doing.”
He was surprised, and his face must have shown it, because she grimaced.
“I know I always find a way to get what I want, Sam. I learned it at my daddy’s knee. If I watched and waited and dove in at just the right time with just the right weapon, I could have anything. That’s why he was such a good politician and I was so badly spoiled. And from the moment I met you, I wanted you.”
He couldn’t disagree or soften her words. “I’m not sure you always realize what you’re doing.”
“Well, I did this time. I was trying to manipulate you into doing what I needed you to do. And even though I was fighting it, I guess I knew all along that if my plan worked, I’d have to live with the consequences. You would resent moving before you were ready, and you would resent me. Because somehow this is all tied up with your vision of yourself and who you’re meant to be.”
He tried to be just as honest. “For the record, I’ve tried not to make a quick judgment about Capital Chapel, but I guess my decision was clear right at the beginning.”
“I guess.” She said it with only the faintest touch of irony.
“I don’t want the church. I need a ministry where I can do what I’ve been called to do, and I don’t care if it’s big or small, influential or a dot on the map. I’m happy here right now, but if I found another church that suited me better, would you come with me? To a working-class Chicago neighborhood or a small town in Iowa? Could you come willingly?”
“Then it’s about churches and not about us?”
“It’s entirely about us. It’s about both of us being happy with our lives. And that’s not going to happen if we’re together, is it?”
She sat back and closed her eyes. He waited, letting her consider everything he’d said. When she opened them, they glistened with unshed tears.
“I know why you’ve held on to me, to
us,
so long. Do you?” she asked.
He didn’t know how to answer. “Why do you think?”
“Because I represented the life you worked so hard to achieve. And no matter what you say, until now, you haven’t been sure you wanted to let go of it. I was the dream of a big church, a powerful ministry, maybe a career in government service.”
He knew she was right, although not completely. “It was always a lot more than that. I loved you. Don’t discount that. I still love you. But it’s not a love that can sustain either of us in the years to come. Just the way that other dream doesn’t sustain me anymore.”
She released a long breath, as if she had been holding it for eons. “Haven’t you wondered why I stuck by you when everybody thought I should leave?”
“I guess I’m not really sure.”
“I held on because you bring out the best in me. When I’m with you, I’m not as self-centered, as shallow….” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “I didn’t know I could be anything more than Daddy’s little girl until you came along, Sam. I learned that from you. You saw something in me that nobody else bothered to look for. Now I’ve just got to decide what to do with it.”
He was touched and even sadder than he had expected—and he had expected to feel devastated. “Maybe that will be easier if we’re not together. You’re a good person—you’ve always been a good person. But you need to find
your
way. Not mine.”
“You’ve mixed loyalty with love for a very long time now. And you’ve finally seen the difference, haven’t you? Because you’ve fallen in love with somebody else.”
He didn’t know how Christine knew he was in love with Elisa, except that she had always been more sensitive, more astute, than—as she had said herself—anyone had ever given her credit for. He could not deny it, although the impulse was there. But he owed Christine the truth, if not the details.
“Even if I wasn’t, Chrissy, our relationship would have ended. It was time.”
She nodded.
“And you? The man you mentioned to me when you were in Atlanta? Was that his plane you flew up on?”
“I don’t know if that relationship will go anywhere. I don’t even know if I want it to. You were too good for me, but I’m not sure he’s good enough. You raised the bar.” She forced a laugh. “Not that you’re a saint. You’re stubborn, and way too sure you’re right, and lately you don’t smile enough. You need a woman in your life. And I think I’ll always be sorry it couldn’t be me.”
She held out her hand and looked down at the little diamond he had given her. She slipped it off her finger and held it out to him. When he put out his hand, she placed it in his palm and closed his fingers around it.
“I’m going to go now,” she said.
“You have a place to stay tonight?”
She gave a half smile, and her voice was husky. “I’ll drive over to Middleburg. I could use some time on the road to think.” She got to her feet, and so did he.
He walked her to the door, searching for something to say to make this easier. Relief would come later, along with hope for a better and different future for both of them. But right now all he could feel was years of intimacy turning to stone.
She opened the door, then turned to face him. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. They stood that way for a long moment, her head against his shoulder, her arms around his waist.
Then she turned and left. He waited at the door until her taillights were no longer visible.
S
am’s need to sleep vanished with Christine’s taillights. He was alone now, with no promise of a relationship with the woman he loved. He was still as far from Elisa as he had ever been.
A lonely howl from the dog run reminded him that he wasn’t completely alone. He circled the house to release Shad and Shack, who threw themselves at him as if he had been away for years. He was sorry that love between human beings was so much more complicated than the love of a dog for its master. All he had to do to encourage his dogs’ endless devotion was feed them. There were no other expectations. They loved him unconditionally.
Did he love Elisa unconditionally?
The thought was new. His relationship with Christine had failed because there had been too many conditions on both their parts. But what were the conditions Elisa demanded? Secrecy was one. She was not willing to tell him who she was and where she came from. He was fairly certain she had lied to him when she said she was from Mexico. He was also fairly certain she had purposely given him clues that she was lying. Had she wanted him to check her story of kites and
fiambre?
Had she hoped he would find out more so she could tell him the truth?
Or had she merely been pointing out that nothing about her was what it seemed, so he could not hope for the truth, not ever?
The dogs raced around his small backyard, as if making endless circles would cure them of a day of being cooped up. Bed wandered out to see what was up, and Sam realized he had left the front door open. He whistled, and the dogs reluctantly joined him for the walk around front, as if by going inside they were on their way to the “big house” for a life sentence.
They needed to run. He realized
he
needed to run, too. He considered routes and decided he didn’t want to confine the dogs, that tonight they needed to be leash free and able to set their own pace. They needed a quiet road with few cars traveling it. They needed Fitch Crossing Road.
Fitch Crossing. Helen’s road.
Elisa’s
road. At night there was no traffic to speak of, and the road was too rough and narrow to speed. All the dogs had reflectors on their collars. They would be safe.
He was tired of fooling himself. If he saw lights at Helen’s house, if he thought anyone was still up, he would stop. He would try to talk to Elisa. He wasn’t sure what he would say, but he knew that somehow he had to make her understand that, conditions or not, he wanted her in his life. If she demanded secrecy, he would have to accept that. But he would not accept being shut out entirely. Whatever she was running from, whatever she had done or had been done to her, he would stand by her.
Inside, he decided to stay in the jeans he’d worn to his meeting. He changed into a sweatshirt that was more appropriate for a run, then fished for his keys. The dogs waited beside him while he locked the house, then followed him to the car. He lifted Bed in after the others had made the leap; then he got into the driver’s side and started toward Helen’s.
He parked off the road about a quarter mile away. Bed was happily asleep, so he cracked a window before he let the big dogs out. The night was chilly, but Bed, who was deeply snuggled into an old fleece blanket, would be warm and content. He locked the car and started down the road.
As he’d expected, there was no traffic. There was also very little light, so he ran in the middle of the road to avoid unseen ruts and ditches under at least a foot of dried leaves along the edges. As they passed their first farm, watchdogs howled a canine overture but did not run out to protect their turf. Sam had hoped the locals penned their dogs close to the house for protection, and so far, he was correct.
He slowed a little as he reached what he thought was the edge of Helen’s property. As he drew closer to the house, he found himself questioning a late-night visit. He had acted on impulse, and now he wondered what he’d been thinking. If he was going to talk to Elisa, he needed to do it when he was rested.
As if to affirm this foray back into logic, he saw no lights inside the Henry house and only a dim light shining on the porch. As he neared the turn into the driveway, he also noted that the Honda was not in sight. He was surprised, since unless she was taking extra shifts to help out for the holiday, it wasn’t Elisa’s night to work at the nursing home.
He wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. Disappointment quickly won out. Apparently logic was a small wedge in a larger whole.
The dogs were panting beside him, but keeping up well. He decided to run to the Claiborne farm and turn around. He could feel the effects of a day that had been too long and too difficult. By the time they got back to the car, he would be ready to sleep it off. And tomorrow he would talk to Elisa.
If he could find her. For the first time he realized it was possible she might be gone for good. Was that the reason the car wasn’t there? Was it parked at the church with a note telling him she was leaving Shenandoah County forever? Had he waited too long for this conversation?
He ran to the edge of the Claiborne property and turned back toward his car. As he ran, he reminded himself there were many places Elisa could be. She had friends here. She could be with Adoncia, or off at a movie with one of the other women from the park, or even having a late-night dinner. But the realization that he might have lost her forever underscored what he was only now able to admit to himself. He hardly knew Elisa, didn’t know even the most basic facts, yet if he lost her now, he would feel the loss in ways that his farewell to Christine hadn’t touched.
By the time he reached his car again, he knew—although it was foolish—that he couldn’t go home until he had checked the church parking lot. Out of breath because he had sprinted too fast, he sat behind the steering wheel and gulped oxygen for a moment. He made a futile attempt to convince himself to wait until morning. Then he started the engine, turned around in the nearest driveway and headed back toward the church.
A meeting was just letting out, a rental group of single parents. Tonight they had gathered to watch and discuss the film
Father of the Bride.
People were leaving in small groups, heads together, one couple arm in arm. He wondered if any romances had begun as they discussed letting go of their children. He envied them their problems, as difficult as they were. They had lost at love, but they had children to show for the effort and hope for their futures.
And he was being excessively maudlin.
He swung into the lot and circled slowly to the back, where the staff parked. He was relieved to see that Elisa’s space was empty. He made a wide circle to turn around and go home, silently excusing himself for giving in to irrational fear.
Then he saw a familiar white Honda, hidden under the overhanging branches at the lot’s edge. He wheeled around and parked in his space. As the dogs watched through the side windows, he went inside and did a quick check of the building. The sexton’s closet was locked up tight. And Elisa was nowhere to be found.
Back in the car, he pulled up beside the little hatchback and looked over to be sure Elisa was not inside. When he saw that she wasn’t, he parked and got out.
Light from the lampposts set at wide intervals throughout the lot did not reach this far. The car was in deep shadow, and he peered in the side window, nose against the glass, to glimpse the interior, until he realized the car wasn’t locked. He opened the door and looked inside. The car was clean and empty. Not a piece of paper, not an empty can or bottle. His gaze drifted to the ignition, but no keys hung there.
He started to close the door; then he leaned down and felt beneath the seat until his fingertips touched metal. In a moment he was gazing at the key ring he had given Elisa the day he had turned the car over to her. There were two keys on it. Both to the car. No house key. No keys to a locker at work. No church keys.
He clenched the keys against his chest and stared out into the night.
He had lost her.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there when a different scenario occurred to him. He was afraid to hope, but at the very least the misery he felt was best postponed. He got out of the car; then he opened the door to his SUV and invited the dogs to come with him. With the three of them at his heels, he walked across the grass, over a slight rise and through the grove of trees that bordered one side of the gravel drive leading up to
La Casa.
Paco was in Harrisonburg visiting a friend for the rest of the week, and the house should be deserted.
He was nearly there before he saw her. Elisa was sitting on the next-to-the-last step, leaning back against the top one and gazing out at the night. He stopped, something like a prayer rising in his heart.
“Hey.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded.
She raised a hand in greeting. “What are you doing here?”
The dogs were overjoyed to see her. They ran up the steps and nudged her playfully. Bed jumped into her lap.
He decided not to pretend the meeting was accidental. “I was looking for you.”
“Here?” She put an arm around each dog, but whether from affection or in self-defense he wasn’t sure.
“I had this awful feeling you’d left town.”
She cocked her head. He moved closer to see her expression.
“Why did you think that?”
“Because you’ve made it clear you will one day. I went jogging by Helen’s, the car was gone….” He shrugged.
“So you came to
La Casa?
”
“At first I thought maybe you’d left the car in the lot for me to find. The keys were under the seat.”
“I don’t have pockets in these pants.”
He joined her on the steps, one dog body away from her. He waited.
“You were checking up on me?” she said.
He wasn’t sure what emotion matched those words. Concern? Fear? Anger, perhaps? She was keeping whatever she felt out of her voice.
“For the record, this is the first time I’ve done anything like this. I’m not keeping track of your movements. I just—”
“You just what?”
“I just need to be with you tonight.”
He heard her expel a breath. “You don’t.”
“Afraid so.”
Shack took that moment to explore, leaving a space between them. He could see Elisa’s face, although not clearly. “Christine made a surprise visit to see me. We had a long talk. We’ve ended the engagement.”
“And you came just to tell me this?”
“That’s a part of it. And I didn’t end my relationship with her because of you. So no disclaimers, okay? It was over a long time ago in every way that mattered.”
“It can’t change anything, Sam.”
He leaned against the step and angled his body so he could see her better. “What are you doing here?”
“I knew Paco was gone. I came to check and do some thinking.”
“About what?”
“A woman named Dorie Beaumont and a man named Jeremiah Miller. There’s a lot I haven’t told you.”
“That comes as no surprise.”
“Not about me. Not really, anyway. I told you I hadn’t learned anything interesting from Martha Wisner about the house, but it isn’t true. She’s had a lot to say.”
“Are you so in the habit of keeping secrets that you kept that a secret, too?”
“I wasn’t sure what to do. The house probably has some historic importance. I think it was a stop on the Underground Railroad. At least for one slave, and probably more in the years I haven’t heard about.”
He considered this, not seeing the point at first. Then he realized what she was saying. “You didn’t want anyone to know because people would begin poking around. You didn’t want them here asking questions about anything.”
“Bingo. That’s what you say, right?”
“We’ve been known to.”
“Dorie Beaumont was a slave from farther south. I’ve done some research at the library. There were more slaves in the valley than anyone wants to admit, although not so many in this county as in others. But Dorie escaped after her young daughter was sold to a farm in Maryland. And she ended up here because she believed this was a safe house.”
“Go on,” he encouraged her after she remained silent a while.
“I don’t know much more. Sarah and Jeremiah were brother and sister, and they lived here together. They belonged to a church that spoke out against slavery, and they were opposed to it. They found Dorie and harbored her, nursed her back to health. And while she was here, Jeremiah built the safe room you and I found that day. He was an angry man, distraught over the loss of his wife and children the previous year in some kind of epidemic. But having Dorie living here changed him.”
She turned to see him better. “I think they fell in love.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of this. Stories like this one never turned out well. Where would the two lovers go where they could both be free? Who would accept them as husband and wife in a time when slaves were thought to be little more than animals?
“Martha hasn’t told me the ending,” she said, as if she had heard his thoughts. “But it can’t be good, can it?”
He shook his head. He was touched, more than he wanted to be.