Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series (16 page)

Peyton Greaves had called. She knew the number, although she’d deleted it from her phone. Months and months had gone by. Seeing the number made her stomach quiver. She knew enough if she didn’t answer his call right there in the Pereiras’ living room, he’d keep calling. The man had the gift of persistence. He’d used it successfully on her numerous times in the past.

He missed her, he said. He found out about the article and thought it was great. She kept her composure, but her hands shook when she pushed the end button on her phone.

Her first inclination was to run, hide, barricade herself literally and figuratively in the big old house. No, she wasn’t about to go back to him. She wasn’t about to now.

For now, though, she’d give herself some space in the comfort of Tom’s old bedroom, now the official guest room for the Pereira family. She found herself searching the walls for some photo of Tom or a memento of his childhood. Nothing.

Kelly sank onto the twin bed tucked under a lone window. She could take a few minutes, then pull herself together and rejoin them.

She placed the pillow at the head of the bed, then kicked off her shoes. A rest couldn’t hurt anything. Or call it a timeout. Kelly lay back onto the bedspread and studied the ceiling.

Today, the old man was sitting up in bed and wearing a jacket that would make Hugh Hefner turn green as Kermit the frog.

“I’m not going to offer you my opinion anymore,” he told the old man. “You’re just going to do what you want to do anyway.”

“Of course I am.”

He hadn’t seen the old man this spry in forever. “You’re not thinking clearly. I should call your doctor and see about upping or adjusting your medication.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll fire you.”

“You can’t let me go.” He tried not to sound panicked, but there it was, the tone in his voice that sure enough probably let the old man know he had him cornered.

“You’re fired. Leave now before I get security involved.” The old man glared at him. “I’m not joking.”

“You’re making a big mistake. Just watch and see.”

“Is that a threat?”

He stopped in the doorway just before he left. “I’m not joking, either.”

16

March 1853

Hiram is setting sail once more. I sent word to Esteban through his sister, the seamstress, who helped me begin the quilt. I tell him that I am ready to work on his reading lessons once again. Esteban does not come to our customary spot. My desolation gives me a physical ache. I decided to disguise myself and take a cab to his section of town. There is Esteban, walking the cobblestoned streets with a dark-haired beauty. I find his mother’s house and she turns me away, screaming at me in Portuguese. I know enough to discern that I have lost my little Peter forever.

U
nbelievable. Kelly could scarcely breathe as she read the section of diary. Betrayed again, poor Mary. She shook her head. All of Mary’s plans and dreams had crumbled, although she had relief with Hiram heading to sea again.

Little Peter, never knowing his true mother. Did Esteban ever take him aside as he grew older and tell him of his parentage? With every new element of Mary’s story coming to light, yet another question arose as well.

Maybe some questions were meant to stay unanswered.

She reminded herself of the lovely evening she knew lay ahead. She and Tom were going to have supper together. He had brought a grill to Gray House, and she had steaks marinating in the fridge downstairs. He promised her jazz with supper, and she promised she would make dessert. Out of a box, but it was still chocolate mousse.

She wasn’t sure if she ought to dress up or anything, but thought comfort would be the best way to go. Not her usual work attire, but a cotton peasant blouse with fresh capris would be fine. Tonight promised a full moon, too.

Lord, I can’t remember the last time I was this happy
.

The phone had remained silent as far as Peyton was concerned, too.

At last, the shadows were long and the sun was headed toward the western horizon. Kelly was rummaging in the refrigerator when a knock sounded at the back door.

She flung the door open. “Tom.”

He stood there, grinning, and her heartbeat ramped up just a little. “The grill’s lit, should be ready for steaks soon.”

“Good. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Me too.”

She managed to shove her worries aside for the next two hours, and told Tom so. “I have a hard time enjoying myself when things go right,” she admitted as they watched the last red glow in the west disappear.

“Why’s that?” he asked. They sat on the porch steps, leaning comfortably on each other.

“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. That good times never last. And I don’t like feeling that way. It’s not like I’m expecting life to go my way all the time. I know that’s impossible. But it’s hard to enjoy myself when things do go right.” The admission almost sounded foolish, now that she said it aloud.

“I understand what you mean.” A soft breeze gave relief from the heat of the day.

“I’m glad you do.”

“Hey, I want to show you something.” He reached for her hand, then stood, pulling her to her feet. “I wasn’t sure if it would work, but it has.”

Now that the moon had made its appearance, it gave a glow to the cobblestones that wound through the property. Kelly didn’t need to worry about her footing, not when she was floating beside Tom, his hand holding hers.

“It’s the heirloom rosebush,” Tom announced as they reached a remote corner of the garden. “I’ve been working on it all summer, trying to get it to take hold. And now look.”

Kelly stepped closer to the little plant, barely two feet tall. A single bud bloomed on the uppermost branch. “Oh, wow.”

“I was told this came from an original cutting over one hundred years ago.”

She leaned closer to smell it. Not much, maybe a whiff of rose. But it was something.

“Kelly.”

She straightened and faced Tom.

It was the most natural thing in the world to surrender to the circle of his arms and let him kiss her, not like the quick kiss at the harbor. She could stay like this and skip the dessert that they hadn’t eaten yet.

The kiss ended, a little soon for her liking, but it was probably a good idea that it did. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, galloping away just like hers was.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said.

“I’m glad you did.” He worked out, and she could tell.

Then she blinked at the annoying glare of headlights. Who in the world? There had better be a good reason for someone to show up at the house, this time of night. She pulled away from Tom and stared across the lawn at the vehicle.

The headlights dimmed and a car door opened. “Kelly, is that you over there?”

She squinted toward the figure. Her spine stiffened. No way. Not here.

“Peyton?”

“I came to see you, in person, because I had to.”

“No, you didn’t.” She started marching along the cobble-stones in Peyton’s direction.

“Kelly, what’s this all about?” Tom asked as he walked beside her.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She stopped a few feet from Peyton’s car. He’d driven two hours to see her, straight from the office it looked like, judging by his loosened tie.

“I had to see you,” Peyton repeated. “These last six months have been torture for me.”

“Peyton, you have a
wife
, if you’ve forgotten. You definitely forgot to mention her to me.” She couldn’t bear to look at Tom, now that their perfect evening was in ruins.

“Not for long. She kicked me out in April. I’ve . . . I got my own place now. The divorce . . .” Peyton sighed and leaned against his car. “The divorce will be final tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” Kelly said. She was sorry, for sure. “I’m sorry for my part in that.” Even worse, she was sorry Tom was witnessing this, firsthand. What he must think of her now . . .

“But don’t you see? I’m free now.”

“Excuse me for interrupting, but you’ve upset Kelly. I think you need to leave.” Tom stepped forward.

“I’ll do no such thing.” Peyton stepped forward as well. “Kelly and I have a relationship that goes back farther than anything she thinks she has here with you.”

“Stop it.” Kelly moved closer to Peyton. “We’re over. We were over in January. In case you forgot, it affected my career. You think I’m going to get another contract with anyone attached to the BFA? Especially anyone who knows your wife, or ex-wife?”

“That’s getting to be old news. I knew it would, eventually.”

Kelly shook her head. “How can you say that? It’s hounded me for months. I’m thankful this job turned up for me here.”

“New job, new boyfriend, is that what it is?” Peyton shot a glare at Tom. “I’ll tell you this. I taught her most of what she knows.”

“How dare you—” Kelly marched up to Peyton. He yanked her to him and started kissing her.

All the memories came rushing back, and her mind went numb. For a few seconds, she almost wanted Peyton back again.

Tom.

She jerked away from Peyton, bumping into Tom as she did so.

Tom shoved Peyton onto the hood of the car, then stopped. “Leave now. Don’t you ever come back. If I see you on this property again, I’m calling the police. Don’t call her, either.”

Peyton glanced from her to Tom, then back at her again. “Fine. If you thought you had a hard time getting work now, you don’t want to see what it’ll be like from now on.”

He left, tires shrieking on the pavement.

Kelly’s hands shook, too. The woman caught in adultery, who the Pharisees flung before Jesus, demanding judgment? Yep, she knew the feeling. No matter that the guy was now heading back to Boston. She couldn’t even look at Tom.

“The guy was
married
?” he asked, breathing hard.

“Yes. He . . . he never told me. I found out the hard way. Then I broke up with him. Someone found out about us, and it was a big mess.” She wanted to explain that she wasn’t that woman anymore, but couldn’t find the words. And after what Peyton said about her . . .

“I think I’m going home now.” Tom’s voice was flat.

“Tom, can I explain?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But not right now.” He took a few steps away from her and toward his motorcycle. “Good night.”

She wanted to beg him to stay, to listen. He’d stuck up for her. But then, Tom Pereira was that kind of man.
God, please, how long must I keep paying for my sins of the past?

What was the old saying about a sucker being born every minute?

Tom sat up that night, insomnia his old friend back again. He typed the name Peyton and Boston Fine Arts Museum into the Internet search engine. Up popped plenty of links. Old photos.

The guy was some bigwig administrator, director of gallery programs. There were a few photos of him with Kelly and a few others. Kelly, in a magnificent little black dress. No wonder Peyton had fallen for her. She looked exquisite with the contrast made by her creamy skin, light blue eyes, and silken hair.

He’d fallen for that, too, with no little black dress involved.

Reading between the lines, he saw Kelly’s close relationship with the museum and then with Peyton. Hidden in plain sight, their relationship was risky. How could Kelly not have known? That was a stretch for Tom. Either she’d been super naïve or willfully ignored Peyton’s marital state.

Tom had been ready to plaster the guy against the car and then some. He’d made Kelly out to be some kind of tawdry woman under his tutelage. It cheapened the sweet yet passionate kiss they’d shared in the garden mere moments before Peyton roared onto the scene.

The anger that roared up inside frightened him, and now a headache made him feel as if a giant’s vise were tightening around his head. Not good.

Then came the detached feeling of a seizure. He had his parents on speed dial. “Mom . . .”

His last conscious thought was gratefulness that it didn’t happen in front of Kelly or Pretty Boy Peyton from the museum.

17

April 1853

They say a madwoman cannot make sense of the world around her, let alone write about it, but I can. My empty arms are now full, but my heart tells me that it will never be full again. The one light of my life is gone from me, and I have no embers from which to coax a new spark.

My atonement is futile. I have no other choice than the one before me. If Almighty God is listening from Heaven, surely He will accept this sacrifice. Perhaps the generations to follow will as well.

I will pay for my sins by fire. We all return to ashes and dust. If it is my time now, then it is now.

K
elly turned the page. There was nothing more in the journal. She closed the book and wiped her eyes. She’d had enough of Mary Gray’s story, anyway. It was like watching a car accident. She knew what was going to happen, didn’t want to watch, yet at the same time couldn’t drag her attention away from the scene unfolding in front of her.

Poor, poor Mary.

Her own heart hurt. She’d wavered about Peyton for those few seconds, and that wasn’t fair to Tom. It wasn’t the truth. Peyton might have said his wife kicked him out in the spring, but that still didn’t pave the way for them to be together. He’d sauntered into the garden, thinking she would run to his arms straightaway. No, she wasn’t the same person she was last winter.

God had forgiven her, but that didn’t mean she should walk right back into a relationship with a cheater. Cheaters knew how to cheat. If he cheated on his wife, who else would he cheat with? Probably her, too, if the right woman and circumstances presented themselves. Some people were like that. But not her. And then, there were the horrible things he’d said about her.

Tom had not shown up for work in several days. She had called him once, and it went straight to his voice mail. She told him she was sorry, and she wondered when he was coming back to work.

She stood and stretched. Mary’s story had ended. The paper trail about a fire at Gray House had pointed to the mid-1850s, in an edition of the
New Bedford Journal
. The house was rebuilt, restored. A family eventually grew up inside its walls. Jonas Plummer had, for one thing. So the house never really changed hands, except on paper, to Plummer’s company.

This was why she was here, to restore Mary’s quilt or at least rescue it from disintegrating. Her own stitches had been full of hope that, yes, this treasure would remain to tell its story. It was a story of a sad, difficult life, stitched with joy and trimmed with sorrow. Much of Mary’s heartache had been from her own choices.

With this final journal entry, Kelly wanted to pick up a pen and write another ending, that Captain Gray and Mary had renewed their love for each other, that she had more children to raise along with little Hiram. Not that any of them would replace her Peter, but that Mary would continue to live a full life in spite of herself. She hadn’t chosen to marry into a one-sided marriage. The long separations had been difficult on Mary.

She wanted to rewrite her own story as well, especially what had happened the other night.

Kelly stood and stretched, wincing as her shoulder tightened up again. She had slacked off on her exercises in an effort to get the quilt finished. Stitch by stitch, hour by hour, day by day, she’d worked her way along the points of the compasses covering the quilt top. Only the backing and binding remained now.

After what happened with Tom and Peyton, she couldn’t be finished soon enough. Part of her wanted to call Tom, to beg him to understand that she was through with Peyton, that his charms didn’t work on her. Of course, she wasn’t immune to them. A woman couldn’t help but find him charming. But charming didn’t mean a man was honorable. Charming no longer meant she’d crumbled, now that her eyes were opened.

Tom had never lied to her or pretended to be anyone other than who he was. And she loved him for it. Seeing the hurt in his eyes in the garden, though, cut into her soul.

Oh, God, forgive me for hurting him. I should have said something then, when Peyton called me after he read the article. I never expected Peyton to show up like that.
She sighed and stopped at the fireplace mantel. Maybe it would be better to stay in another room of the house, or better yet, find an inexpensive hotel to stay in until the project was done.

This was a sad house, and now that its secrets had been unloaded on her, she felt weary with the knowledge. Adding that to the fiasco with Tom and she was more than ready to be done with Gray House, New Bedford, and all reminders of her time here.

One good thing, she realized the family she had in Lottie. Her only regret was pushing Chuck and Lottie away for so many years during her youthful craving for independence.

The quilt waited for her downstairs. If she ignored the ache returning to her shoulder, she could finish within the next week. She had all she needed. The only thing that would make her needle move slower was the thought of leaving. But leaving as soon as the quilt was finished would be best. Maybe, just maybe, she’d get another commission because of the news reports about Gray House.

Kelly quickened her steps to the ballroom. Time to make an end of the quilt and be done with New Bedford.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He should have known better. When that Peyton guy showed up at the house, whatever Tom thought he had—or might have had—with Kelly splintered into a million jagged pieces and blew away, straight at him. He’d seen the wavering in her eyes, for just a millisecond, but it was there.

And he’d been foolish enough to hope that somehow he could persuade her to stay in New Bedford, to give their relationship a chance. His family couldn’t stop talking about her and had all but given her their stamp of approval.

He’d walked right into this. Tom paced his apartment, not allowing himself to punch a wall. Expensive mistakes in the heat of anger were never smart. He stomped to the front window and looked out at the rooftops of the other houses below his third-floor walk-up.

He’d spent a day in the hospital with yet another inconclusive MRI and a worried mother whom he wouldn’t tell what was wrong.

God, why?

He told himself long ago he’d never ask that question again. Not after his injuries and medical discharge from the military, not when watching others achieve what he hadn’t. Stable career. Someone to share his life with. A family. He liked his independence, but the more he’d spent time with Kelly, the more he couldn’t imagine himself not having her in his life.

His phone buzzed on the kitchen island. Tom stomped over to it. He wasn’t in the mood to talk and had half a mind to ignore the call. Angela. She never called. Something was up.

“Hey, Angie.”

“Tom, I was supposed to meet up with Kelly to go to the outlet mall but she called and canceled. She sounded awful, told me she had a headache and maybe we could meet another time. What’s really the story? I could tell she’d been crying.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So something did happen with you two. What did you do?” Her tone was teasing, but the words nipped at him.

“It wasn’t me.” He rubbed his forehead. “Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I think you two should.”

“Maybe we will. That ball’s firmly in her court.”

“Don’t be so stubborn.”

“Stubborn, nothing.” It was called self-preservation. At least his mother hadn’t called, seeking an update.

“Okay, I’ll let you go. But brother-in-law of mine, don’t let her go. She’s one of a kind.”

“Yes, she certainly is.” He ended the call, then turned his phone off. He wasn’t letting her go, not technically. Maybe just taking a step back until she figured out what she really wanted.

Kelly, having an affair with a married man. Tom tried to shake the idea from his mind. Yes, he could see a woman falling for someone like Peyton from the museum. With that affected almost-British accent, charm, and polish, he didn’t blame a woman. But that Peyton was married . . .

Her stammered explanation still echoed in his ears.
Tom, I didn’t know. Please, believe me. I’d fallen for him before I knew
.

Yes, just like he’d fallen for her before he knew about Peyton. She’d stood there and said it was over, but her hesitation told him otherwise. He wanted to hop on his motorcycle and drive until he ran out of gas.

Friday night, the weekend ahead of him. Why not?

He’d been cooped up until the doctor had cleared him to drive, and it felt like he had hundreds of unridden miles to make up for. He grabbed his phone, keys, and made sure he had his credit card. Who knew how far he’d get in eight hours, but he’d sure find out.

Kelly hesitated once before heading up the Pereiras’ sidewalk. She had to know something, anything about Tom.

Mrs. Pereira opened the door, just before Kelly turned away. “Kelly, come in.”

“I’m not staying long. I would have called ahead of time, but—”

“Whatever has happened between you and my son, I’m praying that you two work it out. I’ve never seen him like this, not since he first came home. I’ve tried calling him tonight, but he won’t answer his phone.”

“Ah, I see.” So it wasn’t just her. Maybe all they needed was a little bit of time. Surely he’d come back, at least to work at Gray House. “He’s missed work for a few days.”

“He had a seizure the other night and the doctor put him on bed rest.”

“Is he okay?”

Mrs. Pereira nodded. “He’s okay. We’d invited him to supper tonight, but he never came. I have a feeling he’s gone for a ride on his motorcycle.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“That’s hard to say.” Mrs. Pereira shrugged. “Be patient. He’ll be back.”

Kelly drove home to the dark house, realizing she’d forgotten to set the security alarm when she left. Or had she? She sighed as she crossed the kitchen. Just that morning she’d finished reading Mary’s journal and had set it on the table.

The space was empty.

Kelly pounded up the stairs and switched on a light. The bureau top was empty as well. Plus the side table by the window. No, the last place she’d read the journal was in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee that morning.

Someone had stolen Mary’s journal.

The engine roared in Tom’s ears as he made space between New Bedford and his motorcycle. Freedom to think, to not think. Maybe the more miles between him and New Bedford, the better. Night had fallen, but heat still radiated up from the asphalt highway. The white center line blipped past just left of the front tire.

How far to go tonight before stopping? The lanes of highway snaked southeast along the Connecticut coast and toward New York. He didn’t want more lights, but peace and quiet, both inside and out. He didn’t even tell anyone he’d gone.

He zipped along as the minutes crept by, passing around the Big Apple. The city that never slept wasn’t for him tonight.

People joked about the New Jersey shore, but he knew he’d find some quiet there. He probably could have driven all the way to Delaware tonight without stopping, but thought better of the idea. The beginning of a headache pricked at his temples.