Brass Ring

a novel by

Diane Chamberlain

Copyright © 2010 by Diane Chamberlain

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Originally published by HarperCollins, 1994

Ebook creation by Dellaster Design

Dear Reader,

I’m excited to make
Brass Ring
available for you as an e-book. Except for some very minor changes, it’s identical to the original novel, which
Kirkus Reviews
called a “page turner” and the
Library Journal
praised for its suspense. I hope you enjoy the story.

—Diane Chamberlain, 2010

HARPERS FERRY. WEST VIRGINIA

JANUARY 1993

CLAIRE HARTE-MATHIAS BELIEVED YOU
could be forced to endure only one major catastrophe in your lifetime. Once the trauma had passed, you were safe. Jon had suffered his own catastrophe long ago, and so Claire stayed close to him always, as if she could make his tragedy her own, thereby warding off one for herself. She had held tight to this notion ever since meeting Jon twenty-three years earlier, when she had been barely seventeen.

So, it never would have occurred to her that the snow falling outside their hotel in Harpers Ferry might present a danger to her and Jon on their drive home. Most of the other conference attendees were staying an extra night at the gently aging High Water Hotel to avoid driving in the storm, but Claire simply couldn’t imagine anything other than safe passage for their sixty-mile trip home to Vienna, Virginia.

The young woman behind the time-worn wooden counter wore a frown as Claire settled their bill. “It’s treacherous out there,” she said.

“We’ll be fine.” Claire looked toward the stone fireplace, where an enormous blaze burned, warming the lobby and its cozy assortment of antique and reproduction furniture. Jon sat in front of the hearth in his wheelchair. Behind him, the snow fell steadily through

the darkening sky. Jon was bending forward, elbows on knees, engaged in an animated discussion with Mary Drake, the vice-president of the Washington Area Rehabilitation Association. He was already wearing his brown leather jacket, and he held his gloves in his hand. The flames from the fire laid a sheen of gold on his cheeks and glittered in the silver that laced his brown hair. Watching him, Claire felt a rush of desire. For a moment, she entertained the idea of spending one more night in the turret room, where their bed was nestled in a circle of windows, where she could be nestled in the warm circle of Jon’s arms. It would be a relaxing night. The conference was over. They could forget about work.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” the young woman asked.

Claire let go of the fantasy, replacing it with thoughts of Susan. She smiled at the receptionist. “No,” she said. “Our daughter’s going back to William and Mary in the morning. We want to be there to say good-bye.”

She signed the credit card slip with the new, jade green fountain pen Jon had given her for her fortieth birthday and began walking toward the fireplace.

Ken Stevens suddenly appeared at her side, catching her arm. “You and Jon were an inspiration, as always,” he said. “Doesn’t matter how many times I hear the two of you speak, I always get something new out of it.”

“I’m glad, Ken. Thanks.” She embraced him warmly, his shadow of a beard scratching her cheek. “We’ll see you next year.”

Jon was laughing with Mary Drake, but he looked up as Claire approached. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, zipping up her red down jacket. Through the wavy glass of the hotel’s front windows, she could see their blue Jeep in the circular driveway. She had moved it there an hour earlier and stowed their suitcases inside.

“You guys are crazy to drive in this stuff.” Mary stood up and followed Claire’s gaze to the window.

Claire pulled her black knit hat low on her head, tucking her long, dark hair inside it. “It’s going to be a gorgeous drive.” She gave Mary a hug. “And we’ll have the road to ourselves.”

Jon zipped up his own jacket. He took Mary’s hand and squeezed it. “Say hi to Phil for us,” he said, and Mary bent low to buss his cheek.

“Drive carefully,” she said, and as Jon and Claire made their way to the door, those words were echoed by a half dozen of their friends in the lobby.

Outside, the cold air felt good, and the snow fell quietly from the dark sky. A thick white blanket layered the earth, illuminated by the lights from the hotel windows and puckering here and there over shrubs and other unseeable objects. “It’s so beautiful out here.” Claire stretched out her arms and tipped her head back, letting the snow chill her face for a moment.

“Mmm, it is,” Jon agreed as he wheeled through the snow. He stopped to look at the snowman Claire had coerced a few people into building with her that afternoon. He laughed. “It’s great,” he said.

The snowman, sitting in his snow wheelchair, had lost his features under a mask of white. Claire dusted the snow from the round face so Jon could see the gravel eyes and holly-berry lips. Then she turned toward the edge of the cliff, longing for one final view of that steep drop to the rivers below but settling for the memory. She could picture the rivers crashing and tumbling together in a rush of black water and white foam before finally surrendering to each other and slipping quietly into the mountains.

Jon opened the door on the driver’s side of the two-door Jeep. Claire held his chair while he picked up his legs and set his feet on the floor of the car. He grabbed the steering wheel, gathered his strength, and pulled himself up to the seat. Claire hit the quick disconnect button on the side of the wheel and had the chair disassembled and tossed into the back of the Jeep before Jon had even closed his door. She brushed the fresh snow from the windshield, then climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

Jon turned the key in the ignition, giving the Jeep a little gas with a twist of his hand control, and the engine coughed, breaking the spell of the still, white night. He looked over at Claire and smiled.

“Come here,” he said, and she leaned toward him. He kissed her, tugging a strand of her hair free of her hat. “You did a great job, Harte,” he said.

“And you were fabulous, Mathias.”

The Jeep appeared to be the only moving vehicle in all of quiet, tucked-in Harpers Ferry. The roads were covered with white, but they were not very slippery. Nevertheless, Jon used the Jeep’s four-wheel drive on the steeply descending main street through town. The darkened shops that lined the road were barely visible behind the veil of falling snow. Jon would have difficulty seeing the white line on the highway, Claire thought. That would be their biggest problem.

They had done a great deal of talking the past few days, with each other as well as with the participants at the annual conference, and now they were quiet. It was a good silence. Comfortable. Their part in the conference had gone exceedingly well. It was always that way when there were many new, sharp, fresh rehabilitation specialists in the audience, hungry to see them. Being in a workshop led by Jon and Claire Harte-Mathias was viewed almost as a rite of passage.

Jon drove slowly along the street that paralleled the Shenandoah, and Claire knew he was testing the road, getting a feel for how bad conditions were.

The Jeep skidded almost imperceptibly as they turned onto the bridge that rose high above the river, and Jon shifted into four-wheel drive again. The long ribbon of white in front of them was untouched by tire tracks. Overhead lights illuminated the falling snow and the hazy white line of the guardrail, and Claire had the sensation of floating through a cloud. She felt a little sorry for Jon that he had to concentrate on driving and couldn’t simply relish the beauty of this drive across the bridge.

They were nearly halfway across the river when she spotted something in the distance. Something ahead of them, on the left, resting at the side of the bridge. At first, she thought it was a piece of road equipment covered with snow. She squinted, as though that might help her clear her vision, and the piece of equipment moved.

“Jon, look.” She pointed toward the object. “That’s not a person, is it?”

“Out here?” Jon glanced toward the side of the bridge. “No way.” But then he looked again. They were nearly even with the object now, and Claire clearly saw a snow-covered arm lift into the air, glowing in the overhead light before dropping back again to its resting place.

“God, it
is
a person.” Jon stopped the Jeep in the middle of the road.

It was a woman. Claire could see the long hair, clotted white with snow, and she thought: Homeless? Mentally ill? Out of gas?

“She’s outside the guardrail,” Jon said.

“You don’t think she’s planning to do something stupid, do you?” Claire leaned forward for a better look. “Maybe she just likes to come up here when it’s snowing. I bet she has an incredible view from there.”

Jon looked at her with amused disbelief. He might as well have called her Pollyanna, as Susan frequently did.

“I’m getting out.” Claire opened her door and stepped out of the Jeep, her feet sinking into the thick layer of snow.

“Be careful,” Jon called as she closed the door behind her.

The snow was wild this high above the river, caught in the wind that blew wet and blinding against Claire’s face as she plowed her way across the bridge.