Haunted Ground (31 page)

“Where is he?” he asked again, his eyes never leaving Rowan.  A small scream tore from her chest as she wrapped her arms around her in a futile attempt at protection.  She fixed her eyes on the ground, staring at his boots as if she could see God in them.  Sexby exhaled loudly, hating the position he was in. 

“Go on, Will,” he said and turned away from the tree.  He didn’t wish to see this.  Will pulled the rope with both hands, lifting the reverend off the ground as his body swung wildly, his legs kicking at the empty air.  He could hear horrible choking sounds, and watched Rowan’s face as she shook violently in front of him.  She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, tears streaming down her pale face as the noises grew quieter, and the air stilled around them with the sound of death.  Will secured the rope to the trunk and turned his attention back to Sexby, waiting for orders.

Sexby took hold of Rowan’s face and forced her to look at him.  “You don’t have to say anything if you can’t.  Just point.  Which way did he go?  You don’t need to protect him.  He’s not here to protect you, is he?” he asked, turning her face forcibly toward the tree and the slowly rotating form of Reverend Pole. 

Rowan began to shake with terror as her gaze fell on the reverend.  His light eyes were bulging out of his head, staring unseeing at the world he would never behold again.  His tongue protruded from his mouth, and his skin was ashen against the brilliant foliage of the tree, made even whiter by his black attire.  She knew she was next, but she couldn’t betray Brendan.  These men were not here to take him into custody to face trial.  They would surely kill him just as they killed the poor reverend, and would kill her if she failed to tell them what they wanted to know.  She wanted to point in the wrong direction, but she knew Sexby would know she was lying.  Years of not speaking had made her face too expressive and she couldn’t fool a man like that. 

“Which way?” Sexby roared, but Rowan just stared at him as hot urine ran down her legs.

The Present

I stared at the phone, picking it up again after putting it down half a dozen times.  I had to call my mother, had to tell her what I’d learned, but I couldn’t trust myself not to lash out, not to accuse, not to cry.  She’d raised me and loved me as much as any mother could, and it was just a strange twist of fate that alerted me to the fact that she hadn’t given birth to me.  Had she panicked when I took off for England, or had she known nothing at all about where I’d come from, where my heart led me? 

I took a deep breath, finally dialing the number.  She’d left three messages, so I had to call her back before she showed up on my doorstep, demanding to know what had happened.  We spoke every day, sometimes for hours, going over every detail of our day, sharing gossip and reminiscing about Dad.  And now the conversation was going to change
—
forever.

“Hello,” my mother’s voice was cheerful and full of expectation.  “Lexi, where have you been?  I was getting worried.  I left several messages,” she informed me, her voice full of righteous indignation.  I took a deep breath and plunged in.

My mother didn’t interrupt as I blurted out everything that had been on my mind for the past week.  I heard a sharp intake of breath as I described my visit to the prison, and a shaky sigh as I spoke of my meeting with Myra.  I finally came to the end, waiting for her to tell me that she hadn’t known, hadn’t suspected, would have told me the truth had she had any inkling of what I left behind in England, but she didn’t say any of those things.  She just remained quiet, the only indication that she was still on the line the barely audible intake of breath and something that sounded like a sniffle.

“Mom?  Are you still there?” I demanded, needing some kind of response.

“Yes,” she breathed out.  “Oh, Lexi, how I hoped you’d never find out.”

“So, you knew?  You knew it all?” I felt my heart crack just a little bit more, as I realized that the woman I had trusted above and beyond anyone else had lied to me and betrayed my trust, but I owed it to her to hear her out, even if my knees buckled under and I slid into a chair, unable to stand.  My hand shook as I held the phone to my ear, pressing hard as if that would somehow make learning the truth more bearable.  Was it going to be the truth, or would my mother spin some tale in the hope that I would accept it and move on?  Had my parents had some kind of a contingency plan in case I stumbled onto the truth?

“Lexi, I know you’re angry and hurt, but please, let me tell you my side of the story and explain why we kept the truth from you, and for that, I need to start at the very beginning.”  My mother sounded breathless, and I could hear her blowing her nose as she took a moment to compose herself.

“Go on,” I breathed.  At this point, nothing would surprise me, but I hoped beyond hope that something my mother said would justify the lie.  I wanted to believe that it had been out of love for me, and not out of selfishness or cowardice.

“Lexi, when I was a young woman, many women still wanted to be homemakers.  It wasn’t as shameful to want to devote yourself to your family as it is today.  Nowadays, women are embarrassed to admit that they’d rather have a baby than a successful career, but honestly, that’s all I’d ever dreamed of.  My friends talked of climbing the corporate ladder, but all I wanted was to pick out a layette and decorate a nursery.  When your father and I got married, I hoped to get pregnant on our honeymoon, but it hadn’t happened; not then, and not for the next ten years.  I was devastated.  The field of fertility was not as advanced then, so I was simply pronounced barren and sent home.  There was nothing they could offer me.  I wanted to die.  I tried to talk your father into adopting, but although he wanted a child, he wasn’t convinced that he wanted someone else’s child.  He had his company, and that fulfilled much of his dreams.”

I could hear that my mother was trying not to cry, but I had no words of comfort.  I was numb.

“I finally convinced your father to register with an adoption agency, but his requirements were so specific, I knew we’d never get a baby.  He would only consider a Caucasian newborn, one that could pass for our own child in front of friends and family.  I became more miserable, and he became more distant.  I suspected there were other women, but I was so wrapped up in my heartbreak I couldn’t be bothered to try and win him back.  We weren’t even making love anymore.  It seemed pointless to me since I knew there was no chance of getting pregnant.  At any rate, it was nearly fifteen years into our marriage when you suddenly came along.  Jack came home one day and showed me your picture.  He said that it would be a private adoption and would happen very quickly.  We wouldn’t have to wait or meet with anyone’s approval.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  Here was this beautiful little girl and within a few weeks, she would be mine.  I think it was probably the happiest day of my life in nearly fifteen years.”

I wiped away a tear, but allowed my mother to go on.  I needed to hear all of it.

“And so you came.  You were shy and frightened, but I didn’t care.  I devoted myself to you, and within a few months you began to come out of your shell.  The first time you called me ‘mom’ I cried and cried.  I thought I’d never live to hear that word.”  I could almost hear my mother smiling through the tears as she recalled that moment. 

“I have to be honest; I hadn’t asked too many questions about where you came from.  I was afraid of the answers.  I was just too happy to have my baby.  It was your father’s idea to fake a few photographs and get a copy of someone’s sonogram picture so you wouldn’t ask too many questions.  You eventually seemed to forget your old life, and it seemed cruel to remind you of it.”

My mother paused for breath, giving me a chance to say something, but I remained silent, needing to hear the rest of it.

“It wasn’t until you got a little older that I began to notice little things: the way your ears stuck out a little just like Jack’s, the way you were allergic to strawberries like him; the way you cocked your head to the side and squinted when you were really concentrating on something, or the way you walked.  I rejected the idea for a long time, but eventually I knew.  I knew you weren’t some random child of his secretary’s sister.  You were his. 

Lexi, I just couldn’t bear to tell you that not only were you not mine, but that your father had cheated on me and betrayed me, and fathered a child I would have sold my soul for with another woman.  So, I pretended you were my own and hoped that you’d never find out.  I suppose I was just deluding myself, but I’d prayed that you would always be my little Lexi, even if your father was no longer my Jack.  Can you forgive me?”

“Yes, Mom; I can,” I said, and meant it.  I could hear her anguish through the long-distance line, and I knew that no matter what wrong she’d done me, she’d done it out of love for me and to protect her own damaged heart.  She’d suffered, too.  And now I finally understood what she’d meant all those years ago.  Be careful what you wish for.  Now I knew.  She’d wished for a baby so desperately, she just never thought that her dearest wish would come true through her husband’s infidelity and my birth mother’s untimely death.  Life had fulfilled her wish in the cruelest way possible.

“I’m sorry, Mom.  I really am.  You must have suffered so much.”

“Lexi, believe it or not, it’d been worth it.  I got you, and I wouldn’t change a thing.  You are the daughter of my heart, even if you didn’t come from my womb.  No mother has ever loved a child more.  And I’d eventually forgiven your father.  I made his life hell for fifteen years,” my mom added with a shaky giggle.

“Mom, will you come to England?  I want to show you the house and have you help me decorate.  And most of all, there’s someone I want you to meet.  I think you’ll like him.”

“I will book a flight tonigh
t
—
a one-way flight,” she added, and I heard her smile through the phone.

I hung up feeling lighter than I had in the past week.  No matter what happened, I still had my mother, and that was worth more than anything.  And now that the question of my paternity had been solved, I had one more mystery to unravel, but I would wait for Aidan to start reading the manuscript.  It would be fun to do it together, and truthfully, I wasn’t ready to face the story of Brendan alone.

October 1650

England

The blazing orb of the sun was just skimming the treetops when Brendan stepped from the thicket.  It had been at least an hour since he ran, and Rowan still hadn’t come for him.  He wasn’t a superstitious man, but the gnawing feeling in his stomach that something was terribly wrong couldn’t be ignored.  He didn’t know who the men were, but although they should have no interest in the old reverend and a young girl, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made a horrible mistake in leaving them alone.  He had to go back; had to make sure that Rowan was safe.  If only he’d taken his sword.

Brendan turned toward the cottage.  He hadn’t realized it, but he was running, his weakened body protesting and making him pant with exertion.  He didn’t care if he were seen.  He just needed to get back and make sure Rowan was safe.  He erupted into the clearing just as the sun began to dip behind the horizon, casting long shadows and turning the trees and the house into dark outlines.  The sky above the tree line was crimson, as if blood had been spilled in some celestial battle and was now running and pooling in the mortal world.  Brendan saw the outline of the bodies before he could make out their faces, but he knew.  There was no doubt.  He fell to his knees in the mud before the tree, his vision blurred with tears.  He’d run away to save himself, and now Rowan and Reverend Pole were dead, their bodies still warm, but their hearts stilled.  It was all his fault, and they’d paid with their lives to keep him safe. Brendan couldn’t bring himself to look up at Rowan; to see her face in death.  If only it had been a peaceful death, but she died in agony, frightened and alone.  All because of him.

Brendan wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep from falling to pieces, but it was no use.  For the first time in his life, he felt no desire to carry on, no desire for a future.  His chest felt so tight, he could barely breathe, and his mind tormented him with cruel images of Rowan fighting for breath before it all went dark, and her last thought that he had failed her.  He was oblivious to the two men who stepped out of the trees, the shorter one putting a restraining arm on his companion.  They were in no rush. 

Brendan unsheathed his dagger and looked at it dispassionately for a moment before turning his eyes up to Rowan’s distorted face.  “I’m so sorry, Rowan,” he whispered, “you were the best part of me, and now we’ll never meet again, not even in the afterlife.”  Brendan slid the dagger between his ribs directly into the heart, relishing the exquisite pain that left him breathless with its intensity.  He fell sideways, his sightless eyes fixed on Rowan.

Caleb whipped the horses, desperate to get to Reverend Pole’s cottage.  The sunset had brought out all their neighbors, eager to begin their All Hallows’ Eve procession.  The lane was congested with young people, carrying pitchforks and boxes of tinder.  He shouldn’t have taken the cart, but Joan wasn’t good on horseback, and she insisted on coming.  Besides, he thought he might need it.  Caleb finally managed to get out of the village and raced toward the reverend’s cottage. 

“It must be a good hour since Rowan took off,” Joan moaned.  “Oh, what if we’re too late?”  She was wringing her hands in her lap, straining to see past the scrim of trees that blocked the view of the cottage.  Two strangers on horseback cantered past them, but Caleb scarcely noticed them as he tried to maneuver the wagon around them in the narrow lane.  He was startled by Joan’s scream as her hand flew to her mouth.  He glanced up and felt the blood drain from his face.  Two bodies could be seen swinging from the lower limb of the stout oak in front of the house.  One of them was clearly a woman, her skirts billowing like a sail in the evening breeze, the crimson sky painting a bloody backdrop, the bodies clearly visible in stark relief.  Caleb whipped the horses again, and they reared and took off, galloping toward the gruesome scene.  It was only as they got closer that they saw a shape on the ground, one arm outstretched, the other still on the handle of the dagger. 

“Dear God, please don’t let that be Brendan,” Joan wailed, but Caleb was already jumping off the bench of the wagon and running toward the tree.  He stopped momentarily to check Brendan’s wrist for a pulse before grabbing Rowan’s hand. 

“Joan, she’s still alive,” he screamed.  “Quick, bring the wagon closer.”  Caleb jumped onto the wagon in order to reach the rope behind Rowan’s neck and sawed at it furiously with his knife until Rowan’s body collapsed into his waiting arms.  He laid her on the wagon bed and pulled frantically at the rope, trying to loosen its hold.  Rowan didn’t move, but Caleb could see a faint rising and falling of her chest as air began to penetrate her swollen throat. 

“Breathe into her mouth, quick as you can,” he shouted to Joan as he managed to get two fingers between Rowan’s neck and the rope.  The rope left a livid, puckered scar on Rowan’s neck, but thankfully, the neck wasn’t broken.  Joan could feel the faint heartbeat beneath her hand as she leaned over Rowan and tried to breathe life into her limp body.  Rowan’s lips were blue, and her tongue protruded from her mouth, but the heartbeat grew a little stronger.

“Keep blowing into her mouth,” Caleb instructed as he continued to loosen the rope until it hung loosely around Rowan’s neck.

Joan nearly fell over as Rowan began to convulse and cough violently.  She desperately tore at her neck as she gasped for breath, her body arching and her legs twitching uncontrollably as she tried to draw air into her lungs.  Rowan’s eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright before vomiting over the side of the wagon.  Her hand flew to her chest as she continued to heave, gasping and choking until the air finally started flowing into her lungs, bringing some relief.

Joan just threw her arms around Rowan, sobbing soundlessly as the girl sagged into her arms, too exhausted by her ordeal to even remain seated.  Caleb drew both women to himself in a bear hug, blocking Rowan’s view of Brendan’s body.  They sat like that for some minutes until Rowan finally regained her breath and stopped shaking. 

“Brendan…” she croaked.  It was a ragged whisper, hardly more than air passing between her lips as she wildly looked around.  Caleb pushed her down in the wagon so she couldn’t see Brendan on the ground.

“Shh,” he said.  “Don’t worry about Brendan now.  All will be well.”  Caleb met Joan’s gaze over Rowan’s head, his mouth pressed into a stern line.   

“Joan, take Rowan home and see to her,” he commanded.  “I will see to Reverend Pole.  Go, woman.”

Joan smoothed back Rowan’s hair as she closed her eyes and covered her with her own cloak.  Better if Rowan didn’t see anything.  She moved to the bench and yanked on the reins, the wagon slowly rolling away from the scene of the massacre. 

***

It was past midnight when Caleb finally crawled into bed next to Joan, who was wide awake.  She was dead tired, but unable to get the events of the night out of her mind.  She got up every few minutes to check on Rowan, who seemed to be in a state of semi-consciousness.  Joan just reached for Caleb’s hand, and they remained that way for some time before Joan finally spoke.

“Caleb, what did you do with them?”

“I cut down Reverend Pole and laid him out in the house.  They will have to send a new reverend down to perform the funeral.  I’ll have some of the village women go over tomorrow and see to him.”  Caleb sighed and grew quiet.

“And Brendan?”

“I buried him, Joan.”

“What? Why?  Doesn’t he deserve a Christian burial as well?” she hissed.

“Joanie, Brendan took his own life, so the Church would not allow him to be buried in hallowed ground.  They’d bury him at the crossroads as a suicide, and I didn’t want that for him.  I laid him to rest beneath the tree, and I will carve his name into the tree to honor him.  There’s nothing more we could have done.”

Caleb held Joan as she cried quietly into his shoulder.  This was an All Hallows’ Eve they’d never forget.