A Whisper in Time (28 page)

Perhaps there would be other such jobs. I allowed myself to indulge in the hope of more.

When I came down Tuesday for breakfast, Norah was not there before me, a worrisome change of behavior. I prepared a simple meal of oatmeal and fruit. Charlie alone appeared for it, confusion etched on his brow.

“My wife is feeling poorly,” he said, adding cream and honey to his bowl. “She wants to sleep.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and joined him at the table, wondering how much assistance to offer.

The decision was taken from me.

While I collected the dishes, Charlie went to check on her.

“Susanna, please! We need you.”

I reached the room to find Norah weeping on soiled sheets. Charlie stood at her bedside, despair in the droop of his head and the wringing of his hands.

“Charlie, we must clean this up now. I shall run a bath. Will you be able to help her with it?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

The weeping increased.

“You’ll be fine, Norah. We shall take care of you,” I said and then departed for their bathroom.

It took no more than a few minutes to have the tub ready, the bed stripped, and the soiled clothes and sheets in the washing machine. When I returned to the master suite, I heard light splashing and Charlie’s voice, talking in the most soothing tones he could muster. I continued about the business of airing out the room and changing the bed to fresh linens.

Once Norah was comfortably sleeping again, I fixed Charlie a cup of tea, settled him in his favorite chair, and made a call from the lake house’s landline.

Sherri answered instantly. “Hello?”

“Susanna speaking. Are you free?”

There was a cooling from the other end of the call. “I took today off.”

“Your mother is ill.” Charlie waved at me to stop, but I turned my back to him.

Sherri’s voice became brisk. “I’m on my way. Tell me her symptoms.”

* * *

“Keep her hydrated,” Sherri said as she slumped onto a stool across the kitchen bar from me. “And keep my father occupied as much as possible.”

With a nod, I continued to scrub the countertops.

“Susanna?”

I looked up.

“Thank you. It was a good thing you were here. Dad is a bit helpless in this kind of situation.”

“I am happy to do it.” Truly, I was. Tending to the ill was something I knew how to do. My mistress, during her many confinements, had been more feeble than the babies she birthed. If I considered all that Norah had done for me, my actions repaid only a tiny portion of the debt I owed.

“It doesn’t change anything about the other situation.”

Her words pelted me like ice, freezing me into shock. I glared at her through cold, disbelieving eyes. “You insult me with such a statement.” With deliberate movements, I folded the rag, set it by the sink, and walked around the bar to the stairs leading up to the loft. Yet I paused with a foot on the bottom step, needing to say my piece. “Your mother has welcomed me with open arms. I am deeply grateful to her. It is repugnant to suggest that I would use her illness to curry favor with you.”

“That’s what I hoped this was all about, but I had to check.”

“Perhaps you might have checked on Sunday as well.” The pain and frustration that had been brewing for days spilled forth. “You interpreted with your eyes and not with your heart. Is that the way justice is meted out in your home? To condemn without full access to the facts?”

Her lips thinned. “Susanna—”

“I do not care what you think of me. I have been planning to leave your home as soon as your world permits it, but I cannot abide what you suspect of Mark. He was only trying to help me. Surely you know your son better than that.”

“He broke a rule.”

“You believe in your right to punish his transgression. I believe that his reason for breaking the rule deserves a hearing.”

Her chin jerked higher. “I don’t need your help in disciplining my son.”

“Sometimes you treat him like a little boy.”

“Sometimes he acts like a little boy.” She stared at me, steely-eyed. “Susanna, you’re treading on dangerous ground here. I don’t answer to you.”

I clung to the banister, willing her to absorb what I was about to say in the right spirit. “Mark will turn eighteen soon. You must accept that he’s a young man. There are things he’s witnessed and things he’s done that have forced him to leave childhood behind.”

Her face clouded. “What things?”

“Things I cannot repeat.” My voice had grown husky. I looked away from her, swamped by memories. There had been Mark’s first, failed attempt to rescue me and the panic on his face as he pondered his own near capture and flogging. Undaunted, he’d waited and planned a second attempt, where he’d had to cut through shackles, carry me to safety, fist-fight my master, and elude a pack of dogs. And my wounds? Merciful heavens. He’d cleaned and dressed my raw, bloody wounds even as I fought screams of agony. No, these had not been the actions of a little boy. “I owe my life to Mark.”

“He’s said that.” Her tone was flat.

“Do you think he exaggerates?” I’d failed to reach her. What more must I give to get through? “You saw the infection in my ankles.”

“It was pretty grim by the time you got to us, but what exactly am I supposed to think? You’ve told me that the villagers were good people. If it was so bad, why didn’t they put a stop to it?”

“Let me tell you of the townsfolk. They watched my master put shackles on me. They watched me bleed, stumble, and sicken. They looked away from the horror of my
discipline
, because they were hampered by fear and ignorance.” I hardly knew what I was doing, for I was suddenly beside her chair, resisting the urge to shake her into understanding. “Mark did not stand by. He risked
all
for me. I am prepared to do the same for him.”

She gave a curt nod. “I believe you.”

“Then believe me when I say we did nothing wrong.” I dropped my head into my hands. “He was just trying to save me again.”

“From what?”

“The memory of an evil man.”

I could sense her standing now, but her voice, when it came, sounded muffled. “What did your master do to you, Susanna?”

“It is best that you not know. There is nothing you can do about it.”

“Mark calls it abuse. Is that the right term?”

“In your world, yes.” In my world, it had simply been viewed as my master’s right. I fumbled for the couch and sank down.

The cushion beside me shifted under her weight. “I’ve seen evidence of the physical abuse. What else? Verbal?”

I closed my eyes. My head bobbed in the oddest sort of nod.

Her warm hand covered the iciness of mine. “Was it ever sexual?”

Tears threatened my defenses, but I fought them back. “I cannot speak of this any longer.”

She gave my hand a light squeeze. “Susanna, maybe you should talk to someone. A professional. Someone who is trained to listen to your stories and help.”

I nodded—but only in acknowledgment. Not in agreement. There was no possibility that I could ever tell of my past. I would have to deal with these things alone. Or with Mark.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-E
IGHT

M
ESSY,
C
OMPLICATED,
H
OT

The Bible arrived in Wednesday’s mail.

Excitement rippled through me. I tore it out of its packaging and flipped to the Family Records pages. They were half filled-in. Marriages, deaths, and births—all from the 1940s through 1970s.

I could sprinkle in a few from the eighties and then start filling in the nineties. If Susanna had turned eighteen in 2016, then her birth year had to be 1998. Her family could fit in around that.

Big question, though. Would I sneak the information out of her? Or would I outright ask and run the risk of a fight?

Easy answer. We had been apart too long already. I wouldn’t be fighting with her.

If I remembered correctly, her dad was twenty-eight when she was born, and Susanna didn’t know his birthdate. Good, I could make it up.

Wait. This Bible was full of names that were not Marsh. It would have to represent her mother’s family. Unfortunately, the one time I’d met Susanna’s mother, she’d simply been Mrs. Crawford. I didn’t know her maiden name.

Damn. I’d figure out how to make ink look old and worry about the names later.

And once Gran felt better, I was heading out to the lake house to talk with Granddad about judges. While I was there, I was getting my hands on Susanna.

* * *

Dinner was done. Homework was done. Lawns were caught up.

I had nothing else I wanted to do.

Jesse had sent me a video clip of Benita playing a cello solo with an orchestra somewhere in Virginia. It wasn’t the kind of music I liked to listen to, but this was Benita. I might as well watch now.

It was hard to recognize her. She wore a beaded black evening gown. Her blonde hair had been piled on her head in this messy, complicated, hot style. The fingers of one hand flew up and down the strings. It was the first time I’d seen her without gloves. Her hands were slim and gorgeous.

But it was her face I couldn’t look away from. With eyes closed and lips pressed together as if in pain, her expression showed how much she suffered along with the music. When the piece was over, I lay on my bed, worn out and wondering if she had been too.

There was a knock on my door.

“Yeah?”

My dad stuck his head in. “Do we have reservations for Hungry Mother?”

“Yes.” I snapped the lid down on my laptop.

“Are we both registered for the race?”

I nodded.

He pushed the door wider and wedged his shoulder against the threshold. “Your grandmother’s on the mend.”

“That’s what Mom said.”

“We’re impressed with how much of a help Susanna was.”

I kept my expression neutral. It didn’t surprise me.

“When your mother was out there yesterday, she and Susanna had a fight.”

“Great,” I muttered.

His lips twitched. “Susanna defended you, and she wouldn’t back down. I wish I’d been there.”

Really? My dad didn’t mind? “How mad is Mom?”

“Mad is not the right word. It left her feeling weird in a way she can’t describe.” He pushed away from the door and reached for the door handle. “We’re going to let Susanna move back in.” He closed the door.

“Wait!” I jumped off my bed and ran to the door, wrenching it open. He’d almost reached the master suite. “When can she come home?”

“Friday.”

This had to be his doing. “Thanks, Dad. That’s great.”

“Sure thing.”

“We won’t screw up again.”

He waved without turning around. “Save it for your mom.”

* * *

I took the truck to school on Thursday and drove straight to the lake house from there. It was amazing that I remembered to cut off the engine, considering how fast I jumped out and ran for the house.

“Hey,” I called out as I slammed through the door, my eyes scanning for a sign of her.

My grandparents were reading in their favorite chairs. Susanna sat at the kitchen table, in her new T-shirt from my folks, the box of invitations at her side. She’d barely made it to her feet by the time I’d reached her side and hauled her up into my arms, my mouth locking on hers like she was the air I needed to breathe.

“‘Scuse me,” Granddad shouted.

I laughed and slowly slid her body down mine until her feet touched the floor again. Susanna’s face had turned a flaming red, but she smiled just the same.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

“I can tell,” she whispered back. “I missed you too.”

“You can move home,” I said at normal volume.

Her eyes widened and then blinked rapidly. “Truly?”

I nodded. “I don’t know what you said to my mom, but the punishment ends this weekend.”

Granddad muttered, “Friday.”

Susanna looked at them. “You knew?”

“Yes,” Gran said as she pulled out a chair at the table and sat. “We wanted Mark to tell you.”

Susanna slipped her hand into mine and sighed happily. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah, babe.” Working around homecoming activities would be tricky. If my grandparents drove her home, that would be a big help. Maybe I could even talk her into coming to the game. “Granddad?”

He stood behind Gran now, his hands gripping the top of her chair. “Yeah, Mark. You want to know what I found out about judges.”

That was an important topic too. “Sure.”

“Judge Tew is a good man. He plays by the book.”

Shit. I’d been counting on a different answer, like it would all be taken care of because my grandfather could solve anything. What next? “Okay, Granddad. Thanks for checking.”

Gran raised her hand and waved it like she was back in elementary school. “I know someone better.”

Beside me, Susanna stood still, listening intently. Maybe she’d figured out there was more to this conversation than face value, but I couldn’t fill her in too much until I understood what I was dealing with. “Someone better than Judge Tew?”

My grandmother gave a sharp nod. “One of his assistants, Peggy Merritt. We’re friends at the Heart Association. She prepares all of Judge Tew’s paperwork and makes sure it gets clocked in at the courthouse.”

“Have you talked to her about our situation?”

“I have. She’s willing to hear more.”

It was my turn to take a breath—but not too deep, because I wanted to be sure this time. “Does Mrs. Merritt know that we’re hoping to get Susanna’s birth certificate filed?”

Susanna’s fingers clenched around mine, but her face showed no change in emotion.

Gran nodded. “She also knows that the evidence is poor and that there is no lawyer involved at the moment.”

I allowed myself a smile. “So what’s next?”

“Put together the documents you have and she’ll see.” Gran’s gaze fell on Susanna. “She’ll also want to talk to you, hon. As far as I’m concerned, that’ll clinch the deal.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-N
INE

A W
RONG
T
URN

Mark’s eyes gleamed with excitement. Clearly, I didn’t understand the import of what they were saying. “This is good news?” I asked.