Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (78 page)
* * *
Huge thanks to my immediate family and
friends for all the support I’ve received over the past year. Your
overwhelming enthusiasm has encouraged me to forge ahead, dismiss
my scores of doubts, and make this book a reality.
To my children, especially, for your patience
and understanding all the hours I remain locked away in my “office”
and in front of the computer.
To Aunt Kathleen Sanford, for your
unconditional love and support for our family, as no other.
Randi, my lifelong one and only. Thank you
for always believing in me.
And for Michael, in the midst of all the
madness, I truly do appreciate all your patience and
endless love.
* * *
Trust is something long
ago I took for granted; but trust is now a word foreign to me. From
my humble beginnings, I had all the trust in the world. I had my
parents, who were devoted to me and protected me from all the evils
of the world, or so I believed. I was as innocent as a baby bird,
safe and secure in her isolated nest, cared for and nurtured until
it was my time to fly away and soar, to become independent and
self-sufficient, on my own, to make a brand new life for myself.
Back then, I had dreams of my future, and they were simple, sweet
dreams. Dreams of everlasting love with the handsome boy who had
captured my heart from the moment we met. Momma taught me early on
about love. She knew what true love was. She and Daddy shared a
special love. It was a love as predictable as the sunrise to each
new day.
Along with my dreams of love, there were
dreams of new discoveries in places far from our lighthouse station
. . . places across the very sea that I sat and stared out onto
nearly every day of my childhood. The possibilities seemed endless
at the time; the world was mine to make of what I wished. Moreover,
if I did not know it of my own accord, my daddy told me so. I
trusted my daddy and his words of wisdom, as there was never any
reason not to. Not until one fateful day, when I was thirteen years
old. That was the day I lost all my trust in everything. That was
the day that changed the way I would see life forever.
Faith, meaning belief. I endlessly questioned
my faith in what was left of my future. I imagined my future bleak,
deeply meaningless, and plagued with even more despair. After all,
it was what I had come to know. How could I have any faith left
after all that has become of me? I repeatedly asked myself. I was
betrayed, taken advantage of, abandoned, beaten, and left for dead
by those who should have held nothing but unconditional love for
me. How many times can one shatter before completely breaking
apart? I wondered with such a pain in my wounded heart, a deep pain
that never seemed to ease.
Now, I was not about to feel sorry for myself
or have anyone pity me. After all I had endured, I’d become
stronger and wiser, although left with scars that would never
completely heal, scars that were bitter reminders never to forget
where I had come from, who had left me there, and where I needed to
go.
Returning to my beloved lighthouse was my
number one priority. I would reach in and find what little faith
remained, that tiny little ounce of it protectively stored
somewhere deep down in my soul, just to bring me back to the only
place I would ever feel whole again - the place where I was pure
and innocent, the nest that had protected me from all the evils of
the cruel world. Now all that remained of the past long ago were
dark shadows that seemed to follow me everywhere . . . calling for
my return.
Reluctantly, left with little choice, I put
all that fragile faith in one man. Richard Parker was the man to
whom I gave what was left of me, believing he was my only hope. I
prayed to God, if he would only hear my prayers, that Richard would
be my savior, the man who would shine light on the shadows of my
life and lead me home.
What a naïve girl I was.
* * *
One
A long and painful fight
I rubbed my tired eyes as I was nudged awake.
Richard stood over me as passengers all around were pushing by,
trying to get off the stuffy train as quickly as possible. "We
finally made it,” he happily announced, and then he took hold of my
arm and assisted me up. Judith waited for me to hurry and threw me
her customary look of displeasure.
Richard eased me into the line and we all
proceeded off the train. The station was bustling and chaotic, but
Richard and Judith knew just where to go. I quickly followed along,
still groggy from my long afternoon nap, realizing the two of them
were not slowing down for my sake. It was then, in a panic, I
realized I had left Momma's journal on the train. "I have to go
back," I cried, grabbing hold of Richard's coat.
He stopped, swung around, then hastily asked,
"Why, Lillian?"
"My book. I forgot it!"
Up ahead, Judith climbed into the carriage
with the assistance of her driver. When she realized Richard was
not right behind, her face turned as red as a ripe tomato.
Richard patted me on the head and smiled.
"Come, we must be on our way." Richard then moved toward the
carriage, but I pivoted around and darted back to the train.
"Come now, Richard," I heard Judith command.
I didn't turn to see what he would do next. The conductor who
walked the platform refused to allow me back on without a
ticket.
"I forgot something. I will retrieve it and
get right off. Please! “I cried, pushing my way past him.
"Listen, little lady, without a ticket, you
can't board the train," he barked, nudging me back. Tears began to
stream down my face, blurring my vision. Richard came up behind me,
moved me aside, had a brief word with the conductor, then boarded
the train. Within a minute, he had Momma's journal safely in my
hands.
"Can we go now?" he asked in an exhausted
tone.
"I'm sorry, it's just . . ."
"Judith had the carriage go on without us. I
have another one waiting. Now come," he said, and this time he took
my hand and led me straight to the carriage. Richard leaned his
head back against the seat and took a long breath, then turned to
me. I was still crying. "There, there now..." he said, in the calm,
self-assured voice I was used to when he wasn't with his wife. As
soon as we get to the house and get settled in, you will feel
better."
I wasn't sure if I would ever feel better.
How could I, after all the pain and anguish, lies and betrayals
that made up my entire existence? I was now left to pick up the
pieces of my shattered world, try to lift my head high from the
disgraceful mistakes of my ancestors, and go on. Somehow, I had to
find a way to become whole again and get on with my life.
Looking at Richard, the man who was giving me
a real second chance, made me feel almost at ease. Once again,
there was a man to take me in under his wing. He couldn't be
anything like Warren, my real father, I told myself. Richard, I
wanted to believe, was different, and although I was leery and
guarded, I attempted to trust that he wasn't going to take
advantage of me. What choice did I have? He wasn't a man from my
family’s dark, shady past, lurking around, waiting to capture me as
if I was his prey. Richard and his wife were a safe haven for me,
just as a lighthouse was for a ship in peril.
Though there was little reason to be sure
about almost anything, I clung to the hope that someday, soon, I
would return home. I believed it wouldn't be long before the
tragedy of Warren's brutal death disappeared, and I could return to
Jasper Island. There, hopefully, I would see the Daltons - Opal and
Edward, Ayden, and most of all, Heath. I would certainly be too
ashamed to tell them all that had happened over the years I was
gone. Never could I reveal that Momma had been brutally raped by a
Confederate soldier, and then had shamelessly ran off with her
half-brother, Patrick-Garrett, pretending to be his wife, and
living a life of sin and lies. There was never any doubt that I
would keep the memories of years spent locked away by my evil
step-grandmother shut off and protected in my own mind and soul. I
would never divulge how I was tortured, betrayed, and raped by
Warren, my own father. The journal that held all the secrets to the
past, the key to my unholy existence, would forever remain hidden
from the eyes of the world. No one could know all that I had
suffered.
As the horse-drawn carriage hurried through
the crowded streets of one of the largest cities I would ever see,
my mind wandered to the simple times on Jasper Island and my
youthful days playing with Ayden and Heath. It had been years since
I had last seen them, and my last days had been unhappy. Heath and
I had a horrible fight; he was frustrated with my immature ways. I
realized now how silly and childish I was, how there was very
little to cry over. Then everything in my life I over-dramatized,
all except my love for Heath. My heart still skipped a beat when a
vision of him flashed before my eyes, although it became harder and
harder to remember what he looked like.
Then I recalled Ayden and our special bond.
Ayden was my age, and because of that, understood my emotions with
greater ease than his older brother, Heath. Ayden was as emotional
as I was, and just as temperamental. I recalled our regular
encounters with Victor, the ghost that roamed Jasper Island. Only
Ayden and I saw Victor, well, except for Momma when she was at the
height of her insanity, just before she tried to kill herself by
plunging a letter opener into her stomach. That was when Daddy sent
her away. I would never see her again. Even though Momma had done
some terrible things in the past, I missed everything about her. I
longed for her gentle touch, her sweet angelic voice to sing me to
sleep, and I missed seeing her beautiful doll-like face. Though as
the years passed, when occasionally I looked into the mirror, I saw
her in my own reflection.
While the carriage rolled down Fifth Avenue,
I marveled at the prestigious mansions that lined the city
street.
“Here we are,” Richard announced as the
carriage stopped before an enormous house. It was a five-story
granite mansion, resembling a French chateau, and certainly nothing
like the squalor I had recently come from. I immediately noticed
the gargoyles perched high on the ends of the gables, peering down
upon me, no doubt wondering why I was being granted entrance into
such an affluent residence. Of course, I wasn’t worthy. I was
spoiled and dirty from what Warren had done to me. I was vile and
unholy, just as Eugenia had told me. I was certainly not worthy of
being in the presence of such high-status people as Richard and
Judith Parker.
Richard eagerly led me inside, and we were
greeted by an elderly man. He was short and plump. The only hair
that remained on his head grew by his temples in shades of salt and
pepper. His eyes were large, almost frog-like.
“Welcome back, sir,” he greeted Richard,
after closing the heavy glass front double doors.
“Good afternoon, Edgar,” Richard replied
handing him his hat.
Edgar gave me a quick scan with his curious
pale, watery eyes, then turned and placed Richard’s hat on the rack
in the foyer.
“May I have your dinner brought in for you,
sir?” Edgar asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Edgar nodded and headed off through the foyer
and into a dark hall as I followed Richard into the large, posh
parlor to the right. It was a room I imagined Eugenia Arrington
would be most envious of. All the furnishings were French antiques,
the drapes covering the tall windows were a dark, plum-colored
velvet with gold tiebacks, and most certainly priceless paintings,
adorned the walls.
Richard lit a fat cigar and came to stand
beside me as I admired the paintings. “Judith hates these,” he
informed me. “In fact, she hates everything I like.”
I turned and looked at him, not sure if he
was serious. I could not imagine her disliking anything about
Richard. He was tall and handsome, smart and funny. He was gentle
and obviously generous. I thought she was lucky to have such a man
devoted to her.
