Aunt Dimity Goes West (23 page)

out there somewhere.” I swallowed hard and forced

myself to go on. “I have trouble with storms. I have

trouble with nightmares—or I did until I came here. I

haven’t dreamed about Abaddon once since I got here.

I thought I’d made some progress on the road to re-

covery, but then I saw the man in the photograph

and . . . back to square one.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Toby asked.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, but I don’t like to talk

about it,” I said gruffly. “I don’t want people who don’t know me to think I’m weak.”

“Weak?
”
Toby gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You took a bullet to save your children.You nearly bled to

death for them.You’re one of the bravest people I’ve

ever met.”

“Brave people aren’t afraid of thunderstorms,” I

said.

“Wounded people are afraid of all kinds of things,”

he countered swiftly. “But wounds heal.You won’t always

be afraid of thunderstorms. But you’ll always be brave.”

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Nancy Atherton

I wiped away a tear that had trickled down my

cheek and glanced at him. “I don’t feel very brave at the moment. I feel like a quivering puddle of pudding.”

“This, from the woman who laughed in Dick

Major’s face?” Toby tossed his head disdainfully and

shoved the group photograph under my nose. “Look at

the man who scared you, Lori.
Look at him.
”

I stared down at the man in the back row.

“He’s not the man who shot you,” said Toby.

“No, he isn’t,” I said, and with a faint sense of shock

I realized that the man didn’t even look as much like

Abaddon as I’d first thought. “His eyes still give me the creeps, but his face is rounder than Abaddon’s, he’s

shorter, and he’s not as thin.”

“He’s also been dead for over a hundred years,”

Toby pointed out, with his usual, unassailable, common

sense. “The man who shot you is dead, too. He was

struck by lightning. He fell off a cliff. He’s not out there anywhere.”

I tapped my temple. “Too bad he’s still in here.”

“He won’t always be,” said Toby.

I raised my eyes to meet his gaze. “Because wounds

heal?”

“They do,” he said. “Trust me, Lori. I know about

healing. I’m the son and the grandson of doctors.”

Another burst of lightning brightened the draperies,

but instead of flinching, I gave a snort of mirthless

laughter. “Do you know how many doctors I’ve seen

since I was shot?”

Aunt Dimity Goes West

193

“But
I’m
Dr.Toby,” he said, pressing his palm to his chest. “And
I
know what’s good for you.” He got up, threw the photograph into the box, seized my hands,

and pulled me to my feet. “You know what they say,

Lori.When you fall off a horse—”

“But I
didn’t
fall off a horse,” I protested.

“Don’t be pedantic.” He picked up the afghan that

had tumbled from my shoulders and wrapped it

around me again, then put his arm firmly around my

waist and steered me out of the library. “Come on.

We’re going to enjoy the greatest light show on

earth.”

We stood at the window wall for twenty minutes

watching a display of lightning that would have had

me crawling under the bed a week ago. Every time I

twitched,Toby tightened his hold on me and let out a

whoop and a holler.

“That was a great one! Did you see
that
? Way to go, Zeus!”

“Way to go,
Zeus
?” I echoed, amazed to hear myself giggling.

“Make up your own cheers,” he chided, and raising

a fist, bellowed, “Rock on, Jupiter!”

The tumultuous thunderstorm finally worked its

way out of the Vulgamore Valley, leaving a calmer and

much less showy rainstorm pattering in its wake.

“We need the rain,” Toby said quietly “If you listen

hard, you’ll hear the trees sucking it up.” He tilted his head toward me. “How’re you doing?”

194

Nancy Atherton

“I’m still trying to invent a good cheer,” I said. “But

I don’t think I can beat ‘Rock on, Jupiter!’”

Toby smiled tolerantly, but continued to look down

at me.

“How am I doing?” I gazed at the rain-streaked

window and inspected my mind for any new dents

or scratches. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprisingly

okay. I don’t think I’ll sleep with that photograph

under my pillow, but I think I’ll be able to sleep.” I

looked up at him. “You’re awfully wise for a twenty-

one-year-old.”

“Grandma used to say that I had an old head on my

shoulders,” said Toby.

“Your grandmother knew what she was talking

about,” I said. “Your treatment seems to be working.”

“It never fails,” he said.

“Do you have many patients?” I asked teasingly.

“Just the kids in my dorm. Compared to them,

you’re a model of mental stability.” He paused, then

added without a trace of facetiousness, “I’m so sorry you were hurt, Lori, and I’m so glad you’re still around to

talk about it.” He gave me no chance to respond, but

glanced at his watch and went on in more businesslike

tones, “It’s only ten o’clock, but I think I’ll turn in.”

“I’m sorry I spoiled your night off,” I said remorse-

fully.

“I told you before, I didn’t
want
a night off,” he responded. “But I
do
want a good night’s sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Do we?” I said blankly.

Aunt Dimity Goes West

195

“Mrs. Blanding,” he reminded me. “Lunch.”

I clapped a hand to my forehead. “I’d completely

forgotten about her.”

“You’ve had one or two other things on your mind,”

said Toby.

“I suppose I have,” I agreed, dropping the afghan on

the sofa. “Do you think Mrs. Blanding will be able to

identify the man in the photograph?”

“I think she’ll be able to identify
all
of the men in
all
of the photographs,” said Toby with a sigh. “And she won’t leave until she’s told us their life stories in ex-cruciating detail, so if I were you, I’d grab at least

eight hours of good, sound sleep.”

“I’ll do just that,” I said, “thanks to you.”

I caught his hand in mine, squeezed it gratefully, and

made my way to the master suite, where I took a hot

shower, slipped into a flannel nightgown, and lit a fire in the corner fireplace. I turned back the bedclothes as

well, but although I was tired, I had no intention of

climbing into bed.

I wasn’t afraid of nightmares, curses, or lurking

lightning bolts, but I was rather anxious to avoid the

volley of sarcasm that would come my way if I post-

poned my chat with Aunt Dimity a moment longer.

Seventeen

A fter an evening rife with alarms and diver-

sions, it was heavenly to curl up with Regi-

nald before a crackling fire, with the blue

journal in my lap.The familiarity of it all was infinitely comforting. If I closed my eyes, it was easy to pretend

that we were at home in the cottage, sitting before a

crackling fire in the study.

“Here we are,” I murmured to Reginald, “my two

old friends and me. No surprises, no shocks to the sys-

tem, just a pleasant, peaceful conversation to round

out the day.” I chuckled wickedly as a fresh thought

struck me. “I’ll bet Amanda Barrow would go green

with envy if she could see how easily I get in touch

with ‘the other side.’”

Reginald’s black button eyes twinkled merrily in the

firelight, as if he found the notion as amusing as I did. I touched the faded grape juice stain on his snout, tucked him into the crook of my arm, and opened the journal.

“Dimity?” I said. “Are you there?”

The curving lines of royal-blue ink spun across the

page with a certain sense of urgency.

I’m most certainly here, and I wish to be brought up to
date on everything you’ve learned since our conversation last

Aunt Dimity Goes West

197

night. Is Bluebird’s grapevine less or more efficient than
Finch’s? Is Dick Major a murderous madman or simply a
cranky old fusspot? Have you gleaned any new information
about James Blackwell or the Auerbach family? As you can
tell, my dear, I’m agog to hear about your day.

“It’s been
such
a strange one, Dimity,” I said, with feeling. “I mean, I should have known
he’d
show up because everyone else has—not just Kit Smith and Nell

Harris, but PeggyTaxman, Christine and Dick Peacock,

Mr.Wetherhead, and Lilian Bunting—”

Lori?

“—not to mention Ruth and Louise Pym, but they

were identical, tottering old men instead of identical,

tottering old women—”

Lori!

“—and the Calico Cookies. You won’t believe me

when I tell you about Carrie Vyne’s Calico Cookies be-

cause it’s just too coincidental to be believed. They’re
exactly
like Sally Pyne’s Crazy Quilt Cookies, right down to the different nuts and things she puts in them

every time, but thank heavens Carrie Vyne isn’t one bit

like Sally Pyne, except that they both run similar busi-

nesses and make wonderful pastries and simply
ooze

gossip, so I suppose they’re sort of alike, but the main thing is, they don’t
look
alike.”

LORI!

I paused to take a breath, glanced down at the jour-

nal, and realized that Aunt Dimity had been trying for

some time to gain my attention.

“Yes?” I said.

198

Nancy Atherton

Good evening.When I expressed an interest in your day,
I rather hoped I’d hear about it in a coherent fashion, but
your account has so far been baffling rather than enlighten-ing.You make it sound as though your neighbors in Finch
have come to join you in Colorado, bringing with them a supply of your favorite biscuits.Although I don’t for one moment
doubt the sincerity of their affection for you, it seems to me
highly unlikely that they would leave the village to languish
in their collective absence for no reason other than to satisfy
your sweet tooth. I must conclude, therefore, that I’ve misun-derstood you.Would you please gather your thoughts and begin again?

“Sorry, Dimity,” I said, abashed, “but as I said, it’s

been a strange day. I guess I got a little carried away.”

There’s no need to apologize. Just start from the beginning and move on from there. Slowly.

I silently reviewed the parade of familiar strangers

that had passed before me in Caroline’s Cafe, then

carefully described them to Aunt Dimity, adding telling

details I’d left out earlier.

“You already know about Dick Peacock’s home-

made wine,” I said. “Well, Nick Altman is just as fat

as Dick, and
he
makes undrinkable
beer.
And Greg Wilstead has a model train layout in his garage that

sounds a lot like the one George Wetherhead has in his

living room. And Maggie Flaxton is big, loud, and

pushy, just like Peggy Taxman.The only person in Blue-

bird who doesn’t remind me of someone in Finch is

Dick Major, for which I am profoundly grateful, be-

cause although Dick
isn’t
a murderous madman, he
is
a

Aunt Dimity Goes West

199

jerk who likes to intimidate people, and we don’t need

someone like that in Finch.”

Did he succeed in intimidating you?

“Certainly not,” I said. “To tell you the truth, he

came as something of a relief—a fresh face in a cor-

nucopia of clones. Honestly, Dimity, I’m expecting to

run into
me
pretty soon.”

Would it be so strange if you did? Bluebird and Finch are
small towns, and small towns tend to be populated with stock
characters: the bossy organizer, the plump publican, the vicar’s
wife, the train enthusiast, and so forth.You, my dear, are the
amiable foreigner. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you discovered someone in Bluebird who closely resembles yourself.

“I’d need a medic to revive me if I came face-to-

face with myself,” I said flatly. “It was bad enough when I came face-to-face with Abaddon.”

I beg your pardon?

“Okay, it wasn’t Abaddon,” I admitted sheepishly.

“But before I get ahead of myself again, let me tell you about the Lord Stuart mining disaster, the Lord Stuart

curse, the set of tools James Blackwell left behind, and the box of photographs he borrowed from the Bluebird Historical Society.”

I recounted everything I’d learned at the cafe, at the

parsonage, in the cemetery, in the caretaker’s apart-

ment, in the Aerie’s library, and afterward at the win-

dow wall in the great room, watching lightning with

Toby by my side; then I waited in silence while Dimity

digested the information. After some time, the old-

fashioned copperplate began to curl across the page

200

Nancy Atherton

again, but the topic Dimity chose to address first sur-

prised me a little.

What a remarkable young man Toby Cooper is turning

out to be. He picked you up from the floor in more ways than
one tonight.

I nodded. “When he told us at the airport that he

could fix things, I didn’t think he meant broken

minds. But he has a gift for healing. I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of thunderstorms again.”