The Eden Passion (84 page)

certain that he had never seen a warmer, more open face, her dark blue eyes laughing, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

She came steadily forward, and John grasped her hand and drew her nearer, and said simply, "Elizabeth, this is Richard."

She bobbed her head, then to Richard's surprise leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you for welcoming us to Eden," she said softly.

Feeling a blush, Richard did well to nod, then with relief he saw John guiding her on to Mary and Aggie and then old Clara, each of them the recipient of her warm embrace. She paused before Jennifer and seemed to look even more closely at those dead features, then drew her into a loving embrace, whispering, "Let's spend hours talking of Edward and Daniel," and Richard saw a dazzling smile on Jennifer's face, the first he'd seen in ever so long.

Then he looked back to see John leading the dark woman and the little boy forward. Indian was Richard's guess, though in coloring only, for both were garbed in elegantly tailored Western clothes, the woman's gown bright yellow as though to contrast her dark beauty.

"Dhari," John said quietly, his voice filled with deep affection. "And Aslam," he added, propelling the little boy forward, who with manly authority extended his hand and pronounced in flawless English, "It is my great pleasure, Lord Eden."

Surprised by the aplomb in one so young, Richard accepted the hand and noticed the book clasped beneath the boy's arm. "You're a reader, I see." He smiled.

"Oh, yes, sir," the boy replied seriously. "John has told me so much about the Eden library. I look forward to seeing it."

"And you shall," Richard assured him, grateful that he'd put his foot down when Aggie had once suggested that they sell the books.

He looked back up to Dhari and started to say something and noticed that John had directed her to Aggie and Mary and Clara. Well, later. There would be ample time for talk later, and again he felt a surge of excitement at the thought that these fascinating and exotic people would be here for a while, hopefully forever. Oh, how the Banqueting Hall would ring with good talk.

Finally he saw John extend his hand to the last lady, who looked more like a young girl, her cameo face framed by a bonnet of pink silk which matched her gown, while in her arms she lovingly stroked the big gray cat, who seemed unperturbed by the excitement.

"Richard, I would like for you to meet my wife, Mrs. John Murrey Eden, Lady Lila Harrington."

Wife! The simple announcement seemed to attract the attention of all those listening. But if the young lady was aware that she was the center of attention, she gave no indication of it, and now holding the cat under one arm, she reached into her drawstring purse and withdrew a small nosegay of yellow flowers. Carefully she pulled one delicate blossom loose and handed it to Richard.

"The first heartsease of spring." She smiled. "For you. I found a cluster of them in the woods the day before we left. I clipped a few roots as well, thinking to plant them at Eden. Does Eden have a garden?"

Her voice was so extraordinarily musical, her manner so ethereal that Richard felt himself struggling as though out of a trance just to respond, "Yes . . . well, no . . . what I mean is, we had a garden once, but I'm afraid it's in sore need of attention."

"Then I shall attend to it." The young lady smiled. "I have a way with flowers," she added, ducking her head modestly.

With everything, Richard thought, completely captivated. Then John was introducing Lord Harrington, whose face still bore a look of surprise at his surroundings. "I too am grateful for your hospitality, Lord Eden," the man said with obvious sincerity, "and to John for rescuing me from a very large and lonely Hall."

Richard shook his hand warmly. "I suspect, Lord Harrington, that you and I might enjoy comparing tales of large empty halls."

The man laughed openly. "A questionable sport generally, though harmless, I suppose, when surrounded by those one loves."

Richard agreed and felt an instant bond with the tall graying man whose face bore the marks of a private crucible.

After the introductions had been completed, after Lila had presented one and all with a sprig of yellow heartsease, after Andrew had given brief instructions to the stewards concerning the dispersing of trunks, old Aggie, her eyes still glistening, took the steps and announced in a full and raucous voice, "There's a table spread inside. I've given it me best efforts for the better part of the last five days, and if there's one faltering appetite, I'll take it as a personal insult, I will."

She lifted her voice louder then, to the large crew of workmen standing about in the courtyard. "You gentlemen, too," she shouted. "If you're going to do the work, you're goin' to eat proper, and old Aggie promises you that."

All at once a hearty cheer went up from the men, and as all rushed toward the steps, Richard caught a fleeting glimpse of John, his arm

about Dhari's waist, his hand clasping Lila's, his head turning in all directions, a look of joy on his face which transformed his countenance. There was the true Lord of Eden Castle, Richard thought, wishing that he could bestow the title upon him.

Then Richard too was swept up in the onward rush, and he vowed not to think anymore, at least for a while, and gave himself wholly to the sounds of life, to the shouts and laughter, the sparkling eyes and open arms, to the human faces reflecting what God intended them to reflect: joy, love, peace. . . .

For over an hour the crowds thronged about Aggie's table, a masterpiece of plain country cooking: golden Cornish pasties done to a turn, richly browned Scotch eggs, pyramids of summer fruit and large squares of spicy gingerbread.

Richard ate as he had never eaten before, as did everyone else. Feeling more at home in his role of observer rather than participant, he kept to the edge of the crowd, laughing openly at little Aslam chasing the gray cat through the forest of legs, the mountainous man named Alex Aldwell who received goodhearted jeers each time he returned to the table, then a thunderous round of applause as he planted a warm kiss on Aggie's face, the entire company warming to each other in a delightful fashion.

While Richard was looking out over this colorful throng, he saw John break away and walk slowly in the opposite direction, heading for the dark privacy of the far arcade which encircled the Great Hall.

Pleased, Richard started after him. He'd hoped to find him alone for a moment, to express his deep gratitude in a private and unhurried fashion. He held his position a moment to see if anyone would follow after him. And when none did, Richard skirted the crowd, moving across the Great Hall to the far arcade, where he saw John standing alone staring at the closed door of the small library.

Richard paused, trying to organize his thoughts. Perhaps this wasn't the best time after all. He seemed very preoccupied, staring at that closed door.

"John?" he called softly, trying to enter his silence as gracefully as possible.

When still the man did not turn, Richard stepped closer until he was at his side, on the verge of speaking again until he saw his face, an expression so vastly different from the one Richard had observed outside that it might have been another man, a stranger deep in

mourning who somehow had wandered into this hall of festivity and celebration.

Though John was dry-eyed, Richard recognized the look of grief. "What is it?" he asked, longing to be of comfort.

Still no response, not immediately, though a few moments later he heard a whispered inquiry, "When did she . . . die?"

In the semidarkness of the interior corridor, Richard stepped closer, mystified by the question. "When did . . . ?"

It came again, louder, as though he'd waited too long for an answer. "When did . . . Harriet die?" he asked, never lifting his eyes from the library door.

Then it was clear, though Richard was aware of a heavy burden settling over him. How to explain what he, after ten years, still did not understand. "She is not dead, John," he commenced slowly, and was prepared to go on. But that tortured face lifted from the door and turned on Richard, the grief there mingling with incredible shock.

"Not dead?"

"No," Richard went on, praying briefly for the courage to describe the tragedy with which he'd lived for so long.

When he finished speaking, he made the mistake of looking back at John's face.

"And," Richard went on, with effort, "she has never left her chambers since."

John stepped toward him. "Is. . . this true?" he demanded.

"I swear it," Richard replied.

"But. . . food? How . . . ?"

"Only Peggy is permitted to enter the chamber, once a day, late at night, bearing a tray. She performs simple duties and claims that no words have ever been exchanged between them, as though my mother has forced her to a vow of silence. Over the years, Peggy seems to have absorbed the silence of the room and has become as silent herself. She serves my mother as maid and keeper and guards her imprisonment as zealously as though she were the warden."

Richard closed his eyes. How much it still hurt. "As for the rest of us," he went on, "our entreaties ceased years ago when it became clear that she desired neither our company nor our solace. And whatever you may think, John, you mustn't fault our efforts. We tried, all of us. Oh, God, how we tried to penetrate that silence. But clearly she has set a penance for herself, and in order to serve it, that door

must remain closed. It has never opened to any of us, and it never will."

Again Richard turned away. It was not easy resurrecting such pain. Over the years they all had grown accustomed to it, the deep silence coming from the self-made prison. How often he'd spoken to God about it, begging for understanding. How could a human being endure such isolation, an isolation made even more incredible by the reality of her blindness. Though he'd never received an answer, God had been generous enough to give him the courage to endure, and looking back at John's stunned face, he wished that he could provide him with the same gift.

Then John seemed to rouse himself out of his state of shock. He grabbed Richard's arm. "Take me to her," he commanded.

Everything in Richard revolted. "No, John, it will serve no purpose. I beg you, leave her alone."

"Take me to her," John commanded again. Apparently realizing that he needed no guidance, that he knew the way to the third-floor chambers, he started out of the arcade at a run, ignoring Richard's final plea to, "Leave her alone, John!"

Then Richard was running after him. As he started up the central staircase, he saw John a flight ahead of him, his boots sending back an echo in the reverberating stillness of the upper regions of the castle.

It wasn't until they both were standing at the end of the third-floor corridor that Richard caught up with him, both breathing heavily from their sprint, John's eyes focused on the door at the far end of the passage.

"Please, John, I beg you," Richard tried again. "It will serve no purpose except to break your own heart. Please . . ."

But John started slowly down the corridor, his step not faltering until he stood before the door, his hands examining it, his arms lifting to the high corners, clearly studying its unique construction, one smooth solid block of impenetrable English oak, reinforced at the center with a sheet of metal, no exterior doorknob, or bolt, or hinge, fitted tightly into the door frame.

"It can't be breached," Richard whispered.

But if John heard, he gave no indication of it, and now his hands were pressed against the door in another mood. No longer inspecting, they were moving in a caressing motion. Richard saw him lean against it, his voice scarcely audible as he whispered, "Harriet . . ."

Richard turned away, all the frustration and pain that the closed door had caused him in the past rising up before him. He walked to one of the near windows and looked down into the inner courtyard, at the workmen removing their equipment from the backs of the wagons, artisan's tools which spoke of reconstruction and the future. What a sharp contrast, that scene below, to the one behind him.

"Harriet, please . . ." he heard John begging. "It's . . . John," he whispered. "I've. . . come home . . ."

Richard looked back and saw him still pressed against the door, his hands moving out in circles, as though trying to reach through to the woman within.

"Harriet, please let me come in," John went on. "I've so much to tell you. So much has happened . . ."

Richard saw him turn his head to one side as though he were listening to the silence. Still John spoke on, as Richard had done so many times before, thinking that if he continued to speak, he might say something that would make a difference.

Again Richard turned back to the window and closed his eyes. He had hoped to postpone this grim encounter. It did not belong to this day of joyous reunion. "Please, John," he begged from the window.

But still he talked on to the unresponding door, his voice rising into a new urgency. "I have a wife now, Harriet," he said. "I want you to meet her. You will love her, I know, and I've brought others with me as well. Can you hear them, Harriet? They're all below in the Great Hall. Please let me. . ."

All at once he crumpled softly against the door, as though at last aware of the futility of what he was doing.

Richard saw the small collapse and moved to his side. "Come," he begged, "please come away. It serves no purpose to torture yourself so. I put myself through the same agony for years."

With his hand on John's shoulder, he saw him avert his eyes. "If weeping would open the door, John," Richard said quietly, "it would have swung open long ago. Come," he urged, and at last succeeded in turning him about, wondering how long it would take that normally strong face to recover.

They had taken about five hesitant steps back down the corridor when Richard first heard it, a sound so slight as to be barely perceptible, then growing louder, a curious metallic sound, as though . . .

John heard it as well, and looked sharply back, as though the door 33 had spoken to him. He broke away from Richard's support, both