Brass Ring (52 page)

Claire shook her head. “No wonder I’ve been feeling so insane lately.”

“Do you want to hear what I know?” he asked.

She nodded uncertainly.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as he told her what Mellie had revealed to him.

He had pressed Mellie to elaborate on the truths she’d claimed to have twisted, and she’d finally relented, swearing him to secrecy. “It could only damage Claire if she knew,” she’d said.

The tale Mellie told began several weeks after Vanessa’s abduction by her father. Mellie’s father—Claire’s grandfather—was suffering from phlebitis and emphysema that summer and was not able to work much. On one particular day, however, he asked Mellie to go out to the barn with him to help him carry some tools back to the house.

Mellie had trembled as she related the story to Jon. “I knew Claire was in the barn helping the deputy sheriff, Zed Patterson, with something on the carousel,” she’d said. “At least that’s what I thought she was doing. But when my father and I walked into the barn, we could see that Zed and Claire were on the seat of the chariot. I didn’t get a good look. I just remember that Claire was lying down, and Zed was sort of kneeling over her. But Daddy got a look, all right. He was a gentle man, a teddy bear, but he flew into a rage the likes of which I’d never seen before. He started beating on Zed, bloodying his nose, but he was no match for a man in his twenties. Zed got the upper hand right away. He wasn’t really
punching
my father, but he was shoving him around. Poor Daddy with his bad legs. He kept falling down and struggling to get up again. I tried to get between them. I wanted to kill the bastard myself.”

Mellie had hung her head then, shamefaced. “You see,” she’d said, “I’d been having an affair with Zed. I thought he was so charming. I was touched that he gave my girls—especially Claire—so much attention, when her father gave her so little.”

After a minute, she continued her story. “Claire was kneeling on the chariot. There was terror in her little face. She loved her grandpa more than anyone. More than me, I think. It must have upset her terribly to see him getting shoved around that way. I told her to run and hide, and she scooted past all of us and ran into the workshop. I thought she was safe in there. Then, all of a sudden…” Mellie’s voice trailed off, and Jon had to prompt her to get her talking again.

“All of a sudden, Claire ran out of the workshop and over to where the men were fighting. She was so fast, I couldn’t stop her. She reached them just as Zed pushed my father for the last time. Daddy fell to the ground, cracking his head on the platform, and Claire charged at Zed, screaming like a soldier in battle. It was only at the last second that I realized she had one of Daddy’s carving knives in her hand. She ran at Zed and got him in the groin. His pants were up and zipped, but she got him good, and there was blood everywhere. On the floor of the carousel. On the horses. On Claire. I thought I’d never get the mess cleaned up.” Mellie broke down then, and it was a few minutes before Jon could force himself to coax her to continue.

“I told Claire to run to the house and call an ambulance, and she took off,” Mellie said. “I tried to help my father, and Zed took the opportunity to make a run for it. When Claire got back to the barn, I could already hear the sirens in the distance. I closed the barn doors and wouldn’t let her in. I told her Grandpa was going to be okay, but that the ambulance would take him to the hospital for a few days just to keep an eye on him. Actually, they told me later he’d died of a heart attack before he even hit the floor.”

“Why did you lie to her?” Jon had asked Mellie, incredulous.

“How could I tell her the truth? Look at what had happened to this child in the space of a few weeks. She’d lost her sister and her father, then her grandfather. She’d stabbed a man. She’d been…molested”— Mellie winced at the word—”who knows how many times. Looking back, I realized that morning was probably not the first time it happened. Zed was always after her to help him in the barn. I had to protect Claire from as much as I could.”

Silence filled the room when Jon had finished telling Claire all he remembered of Mellie’s story. Claire was leaning against him. She was shaking, and he felt the rapid beat of her heart against his ribcage. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm as the silence stretched on.

Finally, Claire spoke. “My mother was so crazy,” she said softly, her voice thick. “And she left a few things out, I believe, when she told you that story. Unless I’m making it up.” She pressed her hand to her head, and Jon caught her fingers and drew them down to her lap again.

“Trust your memory, Claire,” he said. “I think it’s growing more accurate by the minute.”

“Well, I do remember the fight she was talking about. I remember the blood.” She sniffled. “Remember the blood on porcelain? The flashback?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “It wasn’t porcelain after all; it was Titan.” She took in a breath. “I also remember my mother screaming at Zed, something like, ‘What were you doing to her?’’ and he answered, ‘It’s her fault,’ pointing at me. ‘She’s always after me.’ I guess I thought it was my fault. When Grandpa fell, I thought somehow I was to blame.”

“Oh, Claire.” He hugged her hard. Her body quaked with her weeping.

“And you know what?” she asked after a moment. “Grandpa never came back from the hospital, and no one said a word about it. Mellie and Grandma, as far as I can remember, never shed a tear in front of me, and somehow I knew better than to ask where he was or why he didn’t come home. If I asked and the answer was bad, they might remember it was my fault.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Jon wasn’t anxious to move. Claire was leaning heavily against him now, and he would hold her as long as she would allow it. After a while, she spoke again.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” she asked.

Jon sighed. “I was afraid it would do more harm than good. You always seemed so content with your life, and I loved your cheerfulness and your spirit. I didn’t want you to change. When you started having flashbacks, I thought of telling you, but Pat said people need to work through repressed memories at their own pace, and I was frankly glad to be taken off the hook. I knew Randy was helping you sort through the past in a way I didn’t have the guts to do.” His eyes suddenly burned, and he pressed his lips to her shoulder. “I’ve been afraid, though, Claire. I’ve been so afraid of losing you to Randy for good.” He felt the warmth of tears on his cheeks. “Have I lost you?”

She sat up straight to look down at him. Her nose was red, her own eyes brimming. “You asked me once what Randy did that made it so easy for me to talk to him,” she said. “I think I said that he listened well or something like that, but I know that isn’t it. It’s not anything Randy does that makes it easier. It’s that I can tell him about terrible things that happened to me, and it doesn’t hurt him the way it hurts you.” She brushed her fingertips across his wet cheek. “He doesn’t cry when I tell him sad things. He doesn’t love me the way you do, Jon. And I don’t love him the way I love you.” She kissed him softly. “You haven’t lost me. That is, if you still want me after all I’ve put you through.”

He pulled her close enough to bury his face in the valley between her shoulder and throat. “I still want you, Harte,” he said. “I never stopped wanting you.”

They held each other awhile longer. He heard Claire’s breathing grow even and felt her relax in his arms. And when she spoke again, her voice had lost the sound of tears.

“Where did that courageous little girl ever go?” she asked.

Jon smiled to himself, turning his head to kiss her throat. “She’s right here,” he said. “She’s right where I want her.”

WASHINGTON. D.C.

BRIAN HAD STOPPED PACKING.
Vanessa stepped out of the bathroom of their cozy hotel suite to find him staring out the window, the suitcase only half filled on the bed.

“We’ve got to get going.” She tightened the bath towel across her chest. “The guy at the front desk said the airport traffic’s unpredictable.”

Brian turned to face her. “I changed our flight,” he said. “We’re not leaving until tonight.” The light from the window behind him made his features dark and unreadable.

She frowned. “Why would you do that?”

Brian stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “Because your brother-in-law called and asked us to come to a press conference this morning. Claire is planning to make some sort of announcement.”

“About?”

“He didn’t go into it. He just said he really wishes we’d be there.”

Vanessa lowered herself into one of the armchairs by the window. In the distance, the Washington Monument nearly glowed in the sunlight. Brian had changed their plans, radically, and she wondered why she felt so little annoyance at him for not consulting her. She tried to muster up a solid sense of indignation, but it remained small and petty and not worth expressing. Still, a press conference?

“I’ve spent the last few days going out of my way to avoid the media,” she said, her voice flat. “And now I’m supposed to voluntarily sit in a room full of reporters?”

Brian sat down on the edge of the bed next to her and squeezed her arm. “They won’t be there to see you,” he said. “They’ll be there for Claire.”

She shook her head, her damp hair chilly on her shoulders. What was Claire up to? She remembered her sister’s allusion to old memories and the pain in her voice, and she felt an unexpected desire to protect her from harm. Claire didn’t know how ruthless the press could be.

“You’ve accomplished what you wanted to on this trip,” Brian said. “You did most of what you needed to do. But there’s one final obstacle you need to take care of, and that’s you and Claire.” He squeezed her arm again. “We’re going to this press conference.”

She reached out to lock her hand with his. She and Claire were no longer children, no longer filled with childhood fears and fantasies and rivalries. And there was one thing Vanessa now knew with absolute certainty: Her sister was not her enemy.

“Yes,” she said. “We’re going.”

VIENNA

JON SAT AT THE
long table at the front of the foundation’s main conference room, watching as reporters filed in and took their seats. Next to him sat Vanessa Gray, pale and fragile and silent. She and her husband had arrived only minutes earlier, and they had merely nodded to him and Claire as they sat down. Jon saw Vanessa’s gaze dart around the room. He couldn’t blame her for her apprehension. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “Thank you.”

Claire sat to his right, engrossed in conversation with Steve Ackerson, the foundation’s attorney, whom Jon had insisted she consult. Steve was not at all happy about this press conference and had demanded to be with Claire as she spoke. Only if he’d let her speak without interruption, Claire had said. She’d requested the same of Jon. She wanted to do this alone. Jon understood. He admired her for doing it at all.

It was hardly Claire’s first press conference. At least ten times in the past, reporters had converged on this room at the foundation to hear about the development of a new program or some other topic of interest to the foundation. Still, Jon could tell she was nervous. She had stayed at the house with him the night before and had been unable to sleep. They’d made love, which made her alternately giddy and weepy and very, very tender toward him. It hadn’t eased her nerves, though, and now she kept unconsciously groping for his hand, holding it for only a second or two before pulling her own hand away. Her voice was breathless as she talked with Steve, and she kept checking her watch. On Jon’s other side, Vanessa rocked her foot frenetically beneath the table. He was sandwiched between two human bundles of anxiety.

Perhaps twenty-five reporters were seated in the room, and there was a steady buzz of chatter, which quickly abated when Claire stood up behind the microphone-studded podium.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began. Jon shifted his chair away from the table a bit so he could more easily see her face. Next to him, Vanessa did the same.

“I am, as you all know, the sister of Dr. Vanessa Gray, who recently accused Senator Zed Patterson of having abused her when she was eight years old.” Whatever nervousness Claire had exhibited before starting to speak had disappeared. A sheet of paper rested on the podium in front of her, but she didn’t glance at it. “My sister and I have been estranged since the time of her abuse,” she continued. “We were separated by our parents, Vanessa living in Seattle with our father while I lived here in Virginia with our mother.” Claire spread her hands out on the sides of the podium. Her wedding ring glittered in the overhead light. “For the past several months, I’ve been trying to make sense of some long-forgotten memories from my childhood,” she said. “I recently visited Winchester Village in Pennsylvania, where the carousel built by my grandfather is housed, and I remembered very vividly that I, too, was molested by then deputy sheriff Walter Patterson on the carousel.”

A surge of whispering swelled in the room but faded quickly as Claire spoke over it.

“This occurred at least two times that I remember,” she said, “but I believe it probably happened more often than that. I realize that my sister’s allegations haven’t been taken seriously, and it’s with some apprehension that I go public with this information myself. But I feel that I must, not only to lend credibility to Vanessa’s statements, but also to alert others to the fact that Senator Patterson does indeed have a history of pedophilia. I doubt very much that Vanessa and I were his only victims, and I hope that by our coming forward, other victims will be given the courage to do so as well. Pedophilia is not an illness that goes away on its own, and I’m concerned about the possibility of other children being at risk in the presence of the senator.”

She glanced down at Jon. He smiled at her, and she looked out at the reporters again.

“I’ll take your questions now,” she said.

A woman wearing thick glasses stood up in the third row. “Forgive me, Ms. Harte,” she said, “but your coming forward at this time seems a bit suspicious. Your sister makes some allegations against Senator Patterson and, suddenly, you claim to remember something similar happening to you. Can you offer us any proof at all that what you’re telling us actually took place?”