Authors: Jeanette Battista
She focused on remaining as invisible as possible. Most people weren’t inclined to notice her, as keyed up as they were about the impending hanging. But she didn’t want word to get back to her husband that she had been in the audience, that she had lied to him. Jessamy wanted a few things to be kept between her and Daniel, especially now that they were going to be parted forever.
She pulled away from the crowd. Jessamy still had time and she didn’t want to get caught up with the rest of the mob. Some had brought picnics and were spreading out blankets while they waited for the main event to start. She’d be sickened, if she wasn’t already full of grief.
It was hours later when Daniel was led from the jail in chains. Jessamy bit her lip to keep from crying out. He had dropped a stone of weight, his face thin and haggard. He blinked as he walked, as though unused to the sunlight on his face. He didn’t look around, he just kept his eyes on the sky.
Jessamy wanted to run to him, to throw herself at his feet, to confess that she’d been with him on the night that man was shot. But it was all too late. She’d made her bed, out of love and cowardice, and now she had to lie in it until she died. It did not make for pleasant dreams.
Daniel stumbled as he climbed the steps to the scaffold. Jessamy kept from crying out through a force of will she didn’t know she had. She moved through the mass of people carefully, finding the small spaces between bodies and pressing through. She was a tiny thing, and most folk moved away without knowing it, allowing her passage. She was almost in the front row as Daniel was prayed over by the local pastor.
The hangman slipped the noose over his head. Jessamy wanted to scream, but she just stood there, bearing silent witness to the abomination about to be enacted. She owed it to Daniel, and to herself. She would remember for the both of them.
And Jessamy remembered everything. The soft caress of Daniel’s hand against her cheek. The way his breath winged across her neck as he lifted her hair. The sweet taste of his mouth as it closed over hers. The sound of his voice as it breathed her name. Each instance was branded on her flesh.
She pulled her veil up as Daniel’s eyes scanned the crowd one last time. His eyes widened as he saw her face in the crowd. She let the veil slip back down, but she could see that Daniel’s eyes never left her. He was not alone. She would always be with him. It took her marrying the wrong man to realize that she and Daniel were linked, and they always would be.
There was a sharp crack as the trapdoor fell open, taking Jessamy’s heart with it.
Devon woke up to an insistent and annoying shaking. She opened her eyes to see Brock’s worried face staring down at hers, his eyes dark with fear. She blinked, feeling groggy and strange. She tried to push him away but found she could barely lift her arms.
“Dev, what happened? Can you hear me? Say something!” His hands on her arms tightened convulsively.
She made a pathetic mewing sound since words seemed well beyond her. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.
“You’re freezing!” Before she could do more than flinch, Brock scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the church. He staggered beneath her weight a little, but then he shifted her into a more balanced hold and continued to his car. He dumped her in the passenger seat, then came around to the driver’s side and got in. He turned the car on and cranked the heat to its highest setting.
Devon sank against the seat, feeling vaguely alarmed. Should she feel this way? Why was she so out of it? She didn’t remember much of anything after seeing Jessamy’s past. That wasn’t good. She tried to muster up some good ol’ fashioned freak out, but just couldn’t seem to reach it. All she felt was cold.
Brock’s hands were like brands against her icy cheeks as he forced her to look into his eyes. “Devon.” His voice was low and firm. “I need you to talk to me. What happened to you?”
“’M fine,” she mumbled. That didn’t come out right; why was she sounding all marble-mouthed? Had she had a stroke?
“I think you’re in shock.” He took his hands away from her face, only to place two fingers against her neck. He was silent for a minute, then he took his fingers away.
The heat was beginning to seep into her chilled body. It wasn’t making her head much clearer, but she was feeling a little bit better. But it was making her sleepy too. She knew she had to talk to Brock, to tell him something important, so she fought against the drowsy feeling.
“What happened to your coat?” His gaze swept over her. “You’re covered in dirt and there’s a huge rip in it.”
“Can you turn the heat down just a little? It’s making it hard to stay awake.” At least her words made sense and were no longer garbled.
Brock did as she asked, then returned all his attention to her. “Dev?”
She started shaking suddenly, and couldn’t stop. It was as if thinking of the car sent her back to her initial reaction. Her teeth chattered as she tried to tell him what had happened on the way to the church. “A c-c-car. It t-t-t-tried to run me ov-v-ver,” she stuttered out, all the time wondering if she sustained some kind of massive head trauma. She sounded like an idiot.
“What!” He immediately started feeling her extremities for broken bones. “Are you sure?”
Devon gave him what she hoped was a stellar are you kidding me? look. “I think I know when a car is trying to RUN. ME. OVER.”
“Okay, okay.” He moved away, clearly wanting to examine her more closely, but needing her to move to do so. “Tell me what happened.”
Devon detailed the encounter as best she could. She had no idea of the make or model of the car; she wasn’t even sure of the color at this point. The only thing she was sure of was that it wasn’t an accident; that car had been aiming for her. She wrapped her arms around her body to try to reclaim the warmth that had fled when she began her story.
Brock pulled the blanket from the back seat forward and wrapped it around her shoulders. “We have to go to the police, Dev.”
“And tell them what? That a ghost is leading me to dig up all kinds of unfortunate information that points to the execution of an innocent man over a hundred years ago that may or may not have something to do with a more current miscarriage of justice?” She shook her head. “Why don’t we just have them check me into the loony bin right now?”
“I’m serious, Devon. Someone tried to kill you.” His brows were pulled low over his eyes, his expression worried and unhappy.
Devon shivered. She wished she could have caught a glimpse of the driver. She had her suspicions of who might be behind it, but nothing that even resembled proof. And she was just a kid—and one from the mountain at that. No one would believe her.
They were on their own.
She leaned forward, her own eyes intense. “I’m serious too, Brock. I didn’t see the driver, I don’t have a license plate number, I can’t even say what kind of car it was. They can’t put an APB out on thin air.” She slumped back against the seat. “And there’s more I haven’t told you yet. Jessamy showed me the day Daniel died.”
“No wonder you were out of it.” Brock pulled her over to him so he could wrap his arms around her. “Tell me about it.”
Again Devon talked over what she had witnessed. It didn’t really give them any more to go on, although it did explain how Jessamy’s picture had wound up in the paper—she was there that day. Devon cuddled against Brock’s chest, needing something firm and steady beneath her. She felt again Jessamy’s heartbreak as Daniel’s body plummeted through the trap door.
She felt Brock’s lips brush against her temple. “You had me worried sick. When I saw you just lying there…,” he trailed off and Devon felt the shudder move through him and into her. “That wasn’t at all what I was expecting when you told me to meet you up here after your meeting with your grandmother.”
“Charlotte!” Devon sat upright, like she’d just been goosed with a cattle prod. “Oh my God!’
“Care to elaborate on that?” Brock said, pulling her back against him.
Devon turned in his arms so she could at least see part of his face. “Gil found out that Abernathy used to work for her—and she confirmed it right before I left!
“So there was a connection between the two of them.” Brock nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes! And she’s made no secret about how much she hated my mother.” Devon chewed on her bottom lip. “I think she might have known about my mom and Jackson.”
“Yeah?” Brock paused, but Devon could tell he was just readying himself to say more. “Devon, you don’t think it was her in the car, do you?”
Devon didn’t want to say what she really thought. Thinking of Charlotte just made her want to throw up. The woman was worse than unpleasant; she was almost malignant, spreading like a cancer until she destroyed all she touched. Gil had told her the gossip, so Devon knew how Charlotte had been obsessed with Deacon and the idea of him marrying beneath himself. And after their conversation today, she harbored little doubt that Charlotte would do everything in her considerable power to sustain the proud family name.
She shrugged. “Is she capable of it? Sure.” She thought for a moment. “Would she actually do it? Probably not.”
“That doesn’t means she couldn’t hire someone to do it. Like she hired Abernathy.” Brock lifted her chin up. “I think we’ve taken this as far as it can go. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Devon pushed away from him, not liking where this was going. “I’m not going to get hurt.”
Brock gestured to the church, then back to her. “Excepting the last half hour, of course.”
“I’m fine now.” She set her jaw mulishly.
Brock leaned in and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Now,” he emphasized. “But we’re getting into dangerous territory here. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to push it any further.” He paused, ordering his thoughts, then continued. “You found out the truth about your father and your mother, you know who your real dad was, you’ve figured out who was behind Daniel’s conviction. I think you’ve got plenty of answers.”
“You want me to give it up?” Devon tried to keep her voice neutral. No use in accusing him of anything.
He shook his head. “I want you to be careful. More careful than you were today, that’s for sure.” He pushed back her hair, stroking his fingers down the side of her face as he did so. “What do you really want to get out of all of this?”
Devon slumped back, unsure. That was a good question. What did she want? The answers she found wouldn’t bring back either her biological father or Daniel. It wouldn’t make Jessamy suddenly happy. It wouldn’t get her mom sprung from prison, and it wouldn’t keep Lorelei sober when she wanted to get high.
But Devon wasn’t content to just solve this mystery. Having the answers didn’t matter if you couldn’t do anything with them. There had to be some way to make them—and the hard work they’d done getting them—count.
“Justice.”
Brock raised his eyebrows, looking as if he hadn’t expected an answer. “Justice or vengeance?”
“Would it matter?” But she didn’t meet his gaze when she asked.
“To some people it would,” he said, a sad smile on his face.
“Will you be mad at me if I say I don’t know?” Devon really didn’t know which was more important anymore.
“Not if it’s the truth.”
“It’s the truth.” She touched his face softly with her fingertips, running them across the planes of his cheeks, over the ridge of his nose and down to trace his lips. “I at least owe something to Jessamy,” she said, mesmerized by the shape of his face beneath the pat of her hands.
He took her hands in his. “She’s not all there is to this,” he reminded her. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles lightly on each hand.
“I know.” She involuntarily shivered at the feel of his lips on her hand. “I have to help her though, before anything else.” She met his eyes. “Will you still help me?
“So long as you’re careful, yes.” He lowered her hands to her lap, but still kept hold of them. “I think we should help Jessamy find whatever it is she’s looking for: peace, rest, an adjoining plot with Daniel—whatever. But I need you to stay safe.”
“Yes sir.” She was going to say more, but a bone-cracking yawn took her by surprise.
“Time to get you home,” Brock said, putting the car in gear.
“I can walk,” Devon protested, knowing that nothing good awaited either of them if Gammy saw his car dropping her off.
“You can, but you won’t because I’m not letting you.” He gave Devon a very forbidding glance, one that made her clam up. When she opened her mouth to protest, Brock cut her off. “Look, you were nearly flattened by a stray car, then zipped through time by a ghost. You’re tired, you’re a mess, and I don’t want you walking back in the cold without me. So just buckle your seatbelt and shut up about it.”
Devon looked at him in mock surprise. She’d really had no idea he could be this demanding. Or logical, although that shouldn’t really have surprised her. “Alright,” she managed, trying not to sound too pleased.
Brock began the short drive to Gammy’s. When he pulled to a stop in front of the trailer, he warned her in no uncertain terms that she was not to get out of the car without his express approval. Then he got out and climbed the porch stairs to the door. He knocked several times, waiting for her grandmother to open the door. When she did, he gestured to her sitting in the front seat of his car. She saw Gammy’s mouth draw down slightly, but her manners were too good to say what she wished to the young man who had done right by her granddaughter.