Authors: Emilie Richards
Christian rubbed the puppy’s ears, and the dog sidled closer. “I’ve seen this before. I’ll give him some extra attention, and we’ll see if we can build his confidence.”
“Come here, Clover.” Peter squatted and held out his hand to a group of puppies several yards away. Three of the four came to investigate. One stayed where she was, scratching idly and losing her balance after two haphazard strokes.
“I’m guessing this one’s Clover.” Christian moved closer to the puppy, who instead of righting herself had taken to wiggling back and forth on her back, all four legs waving ecstatically.
“Either she’s the dumbest animal ever bred in Virginia or she’s too smart to subjugate herself to a human.”
“I wouldn’t bet on the latter.” Christian scratched the puppy’s belly, and she quivered in ecstasy. She was a pretty thing, tricolored like the others, with prominent brown markings and, from what he could tell at this angle, well formed. “How old is she?”
“Over a year.”
“Has she been out with the others?”
“Uh-huh, and I’m afraid she’s particularly fond of horses. Fond enough to put herself directly in their path whenever she gets the chance. I coupled her with an older hound every day for two weeks to see what would happen, and she tripped him up every time he tried to move. He couldn’t do anything with her. I don’t know how long she’ll last on a quiet walk, much less a hunt.”
“I’ll watch her for a while and see what I come up with.”
“Do whatever you think best. I spent a lot on her, but I don’t want to fool with a dog that has no real future with the pack.”
Christian gave the puppy one last scratch before he got to his feet.
Peter stood, too, and joined him. “You look good here, son. Right, somehow. And more relaxed.”
“I understand dogs better than I understand people.”
“And trust them more.”
“Maybe.”
“You can count on a dog to stand by you.”
Christian had spent a fair portion of the day thinking about the two people who had stood beside him during his years in prison. He had thanked Peter for his support, but he hadn’t said a word to Maisy Fletcher. He realized now that part of coming home and beginning a new life was setting that right. He was never going to feel comfortable in his own skin again unless he made amends and moved on.
“I’m going to stay here for a while, but don’t let me keep you if you have plans for the evening,” Peter said.
Christian shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought I’d go see Maisy tonight.”
“Maisy?”
“She wrote me every month while I was in Ludwell. I never answered her.”
“Maisy’s a real piece of work, but of all people, she would understand why you didn’t write back.”
“Couldn’t,” Christian said. “There was nothing I could say.”
“You’re sure you feel up to seeing her?”
“I don’t feel up to sitting around tonight. And I owe her a thank you.”
“Well, you know you have the use of any vehicle on the property.”
“I appreciate it. But I’m going to walk over. I guess my license has expired.”
“I could drive you. You’re sure you want to walk to the Fletchers’?”
“It’ll do me good.”
“Then give Jake and Maisy my regards.”
“I’ll do that.”
They parted at the kennel door. Peter stayed to tend to the watering system, and Christian left for the hike to Ashbourne.
He had made this trip a thousand times with Robby on bikes or horseback, or on foot with fishing rods so they could stop at their favorite fishing hole on Jeb Stuart Creek. Christian had mapped out shortcuts for rainy days, the prettiest routes for lazy days when he just wanted to think. The best paths if he wanted to ride his horse hard or take the highest jumps.
Now he felt a moment of panic as he looked for the straightest route, the one he’d used as a young man who couldn’t bear to be separated from the young woman he loved. He had forgotten his way, or the landmarks had changed so drastically that what should have been an easy, straightforward trip now seemed like a maze.
Twilight was deepening, and for a moment he stood absolutely still, his body tense and his breath coming in short spurts. Then, little by little, he forced himself to look around and plot another, foolproof course. What did it matter if he had forgotten his favorite path to Julia’s house? After tonight, he doubted he would need it again.
In the end, with a dozen possible routes to Ashbourne, he gave up and chose the road.
“When I was a little girl I came out here to catch fireflies.” Julia had her arm around Callie, who was snuggled close against the evening chill. They were in Maisy’s garden, and Callie had just finished describing every flower.
“Did you put them in jars? I think that’s mean.”
“I put them in jars, but I always let them go before I went inside for the night. I had a party here once. My girlfriend and I caught dozens and made lanterns out of them to light the garden. Then the boys came and let them go and chased us in the dark.”
“Was that the girl who died?”
Julia understood her daughter’s fascination with this subject, although she wished it weren’t so. “Uh-huh. Fidelity.”
“Who were the boys?”
Julia wondered what had made her tell Callie this story.
“You don’t remember their names, do you?” Callie sounded as if she couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“One of the boys was named Robby. He was Peter Claymore’s son. I’m afraid he’s dead, too. He died in an automobile accident just after you were born.”
“You have bad luck with friends.”
Julia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. “I guess I do.”
“Who else came to the party? Did Daddy come?”
For one stunned moment Julia didn’t know how to answer, then she pulled herself together. “Not your daddy. Just a boy named Christian. He lived at Claymore Park, too. His daddy worked there.”
“Did he die, too?”
Julia considered how to answer. Callie had been the one to tell the family that Karl Zandoff had confessed to Fidelity’s murder. If she hadn’t heard Christian’s name, she would soon. Soon all of Ridge’s Race would be discussing his release from prison.
“Callie, do you remember how confused I was when you told me about the bad man who killed Fidelity?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, that’s because, for a long time, everybody believed that Christian had killed her.”
“They thought a boy killed her?”
“No, he was a man by then, honey. And he went to jail for it, even though now we know he didn’t do it.”
“He was in jail and he didn’t kill anybody? That’s not fair.”
“Well, no. It’s not.”
“Did you try to get him out?”
Julia was silent.
“Somebody should have tried,” Callie said when her mother didn’t answer. “I would have.”
“Most people really thought he’d done it.”
“Did you think so?”
Julia considered lying, but in the end she thought it might come back to haunt her. “I didn’t, but I wasn’t always sure.”
“Is he mad?”
“Mad?”
“Mad that he went to jail when he didn’t kill anybody.”
“I’m sure he’s very mad.”
“I would be.”
Julia figured the time had come to end this conversation. “I think it’s probably time for you to go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”
“How are you going to get inside? It’s dark.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. Remember?”
“You might fall.”
“Tell you what, you go on in and get your nightgown on, and if I’m not in the house by the time you’ve brushed your teeth and washed your face, you can come out and look for me.”
“Don’t I have to take a bath?”
“Not if you promise you’ll take a shower before school tomorrow.”
“Yes!”
Julia felt her daughter leap to her feet, then a brief childish hug. Finally she heard the tapping of Callie’s shoes on the flagstone path.
She was grateful for the silence. The day had seemed one hundred hours long. The trip to Warrenton and her session with Yvonne Claxton had taken a surprising amount of energy. She had described the day of the accident and its aftermath. She had explained why she left the clinic and Dr. Jeffers’ care, and her reasons for moving back in with Maisy and Jake.
“Do you think your marriage is a good one?” Yvonne had asked.
“I don’t think about it one way or the other.” Julia had realized how elusive she sounded.
“You’ve been married nine years, you say?”
“That’s right.”
“Then would you say that for nine years you haven’t noticed what state your marriage is in?” Yvonne’s voice was gentle.
“It’s a marriage. I signed on the dotted line. There are things about Bard I like and things I don’t, just like anybody else.”
“And how do you cope with the things you don’t?”
“By not thinking about them.”
“Julia, can you see that what you’re describing is another type of blindness?”
Julia pulled herself back to the present. She didn’t want to think about the therapy session or the problems Yvonne seemed intent on uncovering. She liked Yvonne, and she thought if anyone could help, it might be her. But she knew that the process was going to be painful, no matter how patient or gentle Yvonne chose to be.
The evening was growing cooler. She was wearing a sweater, but it wasn’t going to keep her warm for long. She supposed she ought to start inside, but the sounds and smells here were enticing. Fireflies had gone for the season, but crickets continued to chirp, and somewhere in the distance she heard a bullfrog’s croaks and the occasional lowing of Ashbourne’s shaggy Highland cattle. The air smelled sweetly of autumn clematis and fragrant olive, as it had every autumn of her life.
In a short time she would put her daughter to bed, then go to bed herself. Maisy would read another excerpt from her book, and afterward Julia would try to fall asleep. But she wondered what voices Yvonne had released that day and whether they would keep her awake.
Then she heard a voice she had never expected to hear again.
“Hello, Julia.”
Julia spun around and followed the voice with sightless eyes. “Christian?”
“That’s right.”
She heard panic in her own voice. “What are you doing here?”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not here to slit your throat.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’ll have to forgive me. Gallows humor is the only kind I seem comfortable with anymore.”
“You startled me. That’s all.”
When he spoke, his voice was still coming from a distance. “Are you out here alone? Or is your husband liable to corner me at any moment?”
“Bard? What would Bard want with you?”
“We had a welcome home chat.”
“And you came anyway?”
“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known you were here. I came to see your mother.”
For the first time Julia realized that Callie was inside, and that soon enough she would be coming out to look for her. Panic rose higher. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m sorry he bothered you. If he told you he didn’t want you to see me—”
“It was a waste of his time. I didn’t have any plans to seek you out.”
“I just meant that I don’t like him…anyone making threats in my name.”
“You prefer to make your own?”
“Is it possible to start this conversation again?”
“How, exactly?”
Silence fell. Julia had never regretted her blindness more. She felt as if she was floating in darkest space. When he wasn’t speaking, she had no idea where Christian was or what he was doing.
Worse, she couldn’t
see
him. After nine years away from him, after wondering—at her most vulnerable moments—how he had changed, she couldn’t see him to catalog the differences.
She wondered exactly what he thought of her, a blind woman sitting alone in the darkness.
“I didn’t hear a car,” she said.
“I walked.”
“You came the back way?”
“Not at first. I came by the road until I recognized the turnoff.”
“The farmer who rents the land made some changes. Took down some old trees, planted windbreaks, rerouted—”
He cut her off. “Nine years is a long time. Everything’s changed.”
“Christian, I—”
“Don’t say it, Julia.” He sounded closer now.
“How do you know what I’m going to say?”
“I can’t think of anything you
could
say that I’d want to hear. Not that you’re glad I got out. Not that you always believed I was innocent. Not even the truth, that you believed I killed Fidelity. If you’re willing to admit that by now.”
Not that you married another man just one month after they sent me to prison.