Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1) (10 page)

"It was for your own good."

"You said she was gone. Meanwhile she was found dead on the same day that I was born! I have spent the better half of my life loathing the woman who gave birth to me because I thought she abandoned us!"

"Tristan, you don't know the whole story, just give me a chance to explain..."

"You had fifteen years to explain!” Tristan interrupted. “You lied all this time to us! I will just wait for Grandma and Gus to come back tonight, and they'll tell me!"

At this, Tristan turned on her heel and began to go back upstairs.

"Don't walk away from me, young lady! Turn around, and you'll listen to what I have to say." Tristan begrudgingly turned around to face her father.

"What do you have to hide? I'm afraid to ask," noted Tristan, tears streaming down her face at this point.

"I am going to tell you this, and you are not to tell your brothers. The lie is much easier to swallow than what actually happened. You all were too young to hear what really happened. Do you think I want you all in therapy as children? Because I don't. It doesn't excuse it. I am going to allow you time to cool off. We will discuss the specifics, as a family, tomorrow night, after Gus and Grandma get back from Florida. In the mean time, can you not say anything to your brothers? Especially Adam?"

Tristan looked at her father with a suspicious look.

"Why Adam?"

"Just please do what I ask?"

"No, why Adam?"

Jack let out an exasperated sigh, "Adam is the only one of you who knows, and he's been quite cross with me for years for not telling you everything by now. Please. I don't want a war to erupt. We'll talk tomorrow night."

"Fine."

The coarse exchange would end the conversation between Jack and Tristan that night. Tristan climbed the stairs once again, with heavy shoulders and a pounding head. A look of determination and muted confusion on her face, Tristan had no intentions of going to sleep just
yet. She took the stairs, two at a time, as she hurriedly tried to reach her bedroom. With a swift kick, the door to her tiny bedroom slammed open, and just as quickly, it clicked shut. Sitting on her alcove bed she began rummaging through her pockets looking for the news article regarding the bridge collapse. She unfolded it and smoothed it out on the bed so that she could read it properly, and without interruption or judgment.

On Thursday, December 24, 1981, around 8 P.M., the Elkhart covered bridge at Mountain Road collapsed when a horrific three-vehicle accident occurred. An ambulance and a tractor trailer collided with a stalled vehicle killing three. Maria Piedmonte of Elkhart, age 29, Lawrence Welkes, age 53 from San Antonio, Texas, and Cory Granger of Shepard's Grove, age 32, were all killed in the accident. Severe weather conditions combined with poor road traction and low visibility are believed to be the major factors of why this crash occurred. Eye witness Bridgette Morrow, of Fox Hollow, who is also a nurse at Grier Mountain Medical Center is quoted as saying, "Maria's (Piedmonte) car had stalled on the bridge, and the ambulance plowed through, instantly killing the paramedic (Cory Granger). However, it seems like the tractor trailer had gotten turned about on some black ice. They found Maria further up the road, so it seems like she tried to assist the driver of the tractor trailer (Lawrence Welkes) but sadly, was crushed when the vehicle began skidding downward towards the bridge.” By miracle the Piedmonte children survived the crash, and because paramedics couldn't get to them, Bridgette and Jack Morrow dug them out and took them to safety until their father could claim them the next day.

Maria Piedmonte, co-owner of Monte's cafe, was a wife and a mother of four children. Her funeral services are being arranged and are expected to be held on January 1, 1982 at St. Augustine's Church in Elkhart.

Cory Granger, ambulatory paramedic for Skole County, is the youngest son of Mayor Edward Granger, and services are expected to be held at Our Lady of Grace Catholic Church on January 2, 1982, in Gabbard's Bend.

Lawrence Welkes, driver for Haul America, a shipping company that transports domestic fruits and vegetables, and father of three, will have funeral services in his home town of San Antonio, TX.

As more details emerge, the Elkhart Bugle will be the first to bring it to you. Have a news tip for us? Call us at the News Hotline: 1-570-555-NEWS

Tristan read and re-read the article, astonished at what the article said. Cole was in that car, and Natalie too.

My father and aunt had rescued them from death when no one else could. Meanwhile, my mother was in labor somewhere… Where? I know I was born at the farm, at 4:22 A.M. on Christmas Day. If the accident occurred at 8:00 P.M. on Christmas Eve, I hadn’t been born yet, but I should have been well on my way.

Tristan flipped the paper over to read the content that concerned her greatest. The article that highlighted the death of her mother:

In the early morning hours of December 25, 1981, a deceased female body was found on the bank of Croft Lake in Fox Hollow, PA. The woman, identified as Catherine Westfeld-Morrow, is described as 5 feet 4 inches tall, average build with black hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. The mother of five children had just given birth to a baby in the early morning hours of Christmas Day; therefore, foul play is suspected. Police have identified two potential suspects but are not releasing any names yet.

As more details emerge, the Elkhart Bugle will be the first to bring it to you. Have a news tip for us? Call us at the News Hotline: 1-570-555-NEWS.

Tristan was determined to find out more about her mother, and as her mind fell to dreams that night, her mother’s face was the last thing she saw.

An unsettled state of slumber took over Tristan's mind as the storm raged on outside. A restful night would not be in the cards for Tristan. The torrential downpour helped lull Tristan's weary mind to sleep, but the violent cracks of thunder and jolts of lightning over the house and throughout the valley beyond caused her to stir in her comfortable bed. One particularly brutal lightning strike lit up the dark sky and crashed down into a tree in nearby Cavegat forest. At the sound, Tristan's eyes shot wide open. Shivering in the dark, her picture window was pushed open, causing the wind and rain to swell the curtains on her window and bed.
Rising from her alcove bed, she shuddered as she reached for the window, as a chill ravaged the base of her spine. Still drowsy from her restless slumber, Tristan rubbed her eyes as she turned to go back to bed, but something stopped her dead in her tracks. A reflection in the window. A figure was standing in the dark behind her. Startled awake, Tristan glared at the reflection in fear. From the corner of Tristan's tiny chamber, the figure emerged from darkness.

Tristan could hear the deep rattle of breathing from behind her, causing her hair to stand on edge. Every nerve was alive, every cell on edge. She was a live wire of anxiety.
Slowly, the figure began to step out of the darkness. Tristan could not discern whether or not the figure was man or a woman, only that it was coming closer. Tristan could not move; her state of shock would not allow it. Panic rose from her stomach and threatened to animate as a scream. Before her mouth could open, the figure was there, staring strangely at the back of Tristan's head. She stared into the reflection, trying to catch a glimpse of a face, desperate to identify her midnight caller, but its identity remained cloaked under a dark hood. Tristan could feel the figure's stare. It was powerful, as if it was penetrating her mind, as cool breath brushed the nape of her neck. Slowly, a hand brushed the hair from Tristan's shoulder, allowing her tresses to fall down her back. The hand now rested on her shoulder growing stronger into a tight grip. It took every ounce of strength in Tristan's body not to scream.
The figure spoke in a hoarse voice that she immediately recognized.

"It is time."

Under the pale glow of the moon, Tristan believed that she had met her end.

Chapter Six

Elkhart, PA
December 24, 1981
Evening
Bitter winter stretched its wings across the valley and rapped its claws against the beveled glass window. The trees trembled in the banshee screams of the howling wind, barren branches breaking under the weight of the heavy snow. The old house shivered in protest as the storm outside intensified. The warmth shining outward from the dining room window stood out in stark contrast to the severe winter night. As the storm churned outside, the temperament indoors was distinctly warmer.
A burgundy tablecloth billowed in the air before failing gracefully to the oak table below. Tiny hands gently, swiftly placed heavy dinner plates and glasses for ten. With difficulty, two wooden high chairs were carried one at a time and placed carefully near the dining room table. On each wooden tray she placed a small plastic dinner plate, each decorated colorfully with pictures of a blue puppy and a red cat playing jovially in a meadow. Next to each plate, Catherine placed bright blue training cups with milk for the babies to sip from. From behind Catherine, an elderly man with a sour wrinkled face observed her from the doorway.
Exhausted, Catherine sunk into a dining room chair, allowing herself a moment of rest. She glared at the old man.

“I really don’t see why you are here. It is Christmas Eve,” said Catherine coolly. The old man responded in a friendly voice.

“Well I’ve come to check in on you and bring by this basket for the family to enjoy,” Lapidus said as he pointed to the hearty fruit basket that sat on the credenza next to Catherine’s perfectly polished silver punch bowl. Catherine rose to her swollen feet and rushed into the kitchen, brushing past the old man.

“Dr. Lapidus, I appreciate the kind sentiment, but I am truly rather
busy. Does your presence here have anything to do with a particular client of yours?”

Dr. Lapidus looked embarrassed.

“He did call me, and frankly, I am concerned.”

Feeling heat rush to her face, Catherine diverted her attention to the dinner she was preparing. She rushed into the pantry and grabbed a purple apron that was secured by
a nail in the wall. She struggled to tie it around her burgeoning waist, the seams on the apron begging for mercy. One by one, she removed the bowls and trays of piping hot food from the kitchen counter and carried them cautiously into the dining room. Fresh ham, roasted potatoes, string beans, fresh bread, steamed cauliflower, the selection was seemingly endless.
As Catherine carried the feast into the dining room, the old doctor appealed to her once again.

“Catherine, we really must talk.”

Catherine shrugged him off. “Why, Walter? There is nothing to talk about. I have a restraining order. If he comes within fifty feet of me, my husband will shoot him. I’m not kidding.”

Catherine briskly made her way to the far corner of the dining room.
She selected a record from the bookcase and placed it on the record player with care. She placed the needle upon the record as a crooked smile escaped from her lips. Vivaldi graced the room with his melodic genius, as “Concerto in D Minor” played. Catherine closed her eyes for a moment as the music filled the room, making her briefly forget that there was a visitor in the room.

* * *

Jack stomped his boots against the porch floor, knocking snow loose from the soles. His calloused hand grabbed the brass knob on the old oak door and was met with resistance. Catherine had locked him out of the house again. Jack opened his tan coat and grabbed his keys from a lanyard that hung from
his belt loop. He inserted a long handled key into the lock and twisted forcefully. Jack tried to turn the knob again, but the door simply wouldn’t budge. He shook the handle so hard that the wreath that adorned the door shook off the nail that secured it.

“Damn deadbolt! I’ll remove it!” fumed Jack.

In disgust, Jack slumped down on the porch step. He decided not to knock on the door just yet, because if he spoke to Catherine right now, he would be cross, an argument would ensue, and he couldn’t have that on Christmas Eve. He followed his mother’s number one rule: Never argue on Christmas. That is when he noticed Dr. Lapidus’ car parked on the lawn. Walter Lapidus was his father Angus’ oldest friend, but he also happened to be Bernard Kendricks’ psychiatrist as well.

The doctor had made a special trip on Christmas Eve for the sole purpose to discuss Kendricks’ erratic behavior of late and to give the Morrow’s warning. As if Catherine wasn’t already enough on edge. He wondered how bad it would be this time. They had already gotten the restraining order after he showed up here last time. Thank God he had been home at the time, if she was alone, who knows what he would have done.
He worried about her safety day and night.