Dragonfly Creek

Streetlight Graphics Publishing

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Dragonfly Creek

Copyright © 2013 by Tabatha L. Haddix. All rights reserved.

First Nook Edition: August 2013

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Editor: Red Adept

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Genealogy Chart

Chapter One

October 1987

“B
lessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
”

The minister’s voice rang out with confidence as he went through random Bible verses, vaunted prayers, and philosophical quotes. He’d conducted the actual service in the church, giving a sermon that had been as lengthy and tedious as Ainsley Brewer Scott had expected it to be. At the graveside, he still showed no signs of slowing down.

The minister was an unimposing figure a couple of inches shorter than Ainsley’s own five-foot-seven height. His face was pale and strangely unlined for a man in his profession. His skin practically glowed with health, but in a pink and soft way. Most of the women she knew would kill for his complexion.

“
Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted
.”

The tall, dark-haired man standing by her side squeezed her gloved hand where it rested on his arm. Jonah’s presence
did
comfort her even though she didn’t mourn the woman lying cold and stiff in the casket in front of them. Dr. Jonah Morissey had been a godsend to her over the years in so many ways.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God!”

He delivered the last line with a ringing pronouncement that caused Ainsley—and half the people standing around the grave—to jump. Glancing at the rotund little man, she saw that the pink blush of his cheeks had deepened and was approaching rose, maybe mauve. But the color was definitely not the soft-petal blush it had been.

His words were amusing, but more bitter than funny. If being pure of heart and merciful were conditions of getting into heaven, Ainsley figured her mother was probably feeling toasty. The irony of the minister’s extolling words was not lost on her. The irony of the entire day, the farcical memorial service that had been her mother’s funeral thus far, was not lost on her. She wondered how many of the mourners saw it for what she did.

A cold blast of air wove through the cemetery, ruffling the edges of coats and the hems of dresses. It was late October, and far from being a bright and sunny fall day, the weather was miserable. Overcast and damp, the skies threatened rain. Ainsley thought it would be a miracle if they didn’t all come down with colds. As if to underscore her thoughts, thunder rumbled in the distance. She gave a mental groan. The day only needed a thunderstorm.

The pastor didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t pick up the pace, despite the uncomfortable shuffling of the people around him.

“If he doesn’t wrap this up, and it starts storming? I’m walking away,” Ainsley told Jonah in a low voice.

“Judge not, and ye shall not be judged; condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned. Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.”

This last verse caused several people to exchange knowing looks around the gaping wound in the ground into which her mother’s earthly remains would soon be lowered. Ainsley knew they were wondering just how giving she would be, in light of her mother’s vast fortune. She knew they didn’t expect her to be very generous—at least not without extracting a price first. After all, she
was
Geneva Brewer’s daughter, and the apple couldn’t fall very far from the tree, now could it?

“Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; for those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ainsley saw Jonah’s head tip to the side ever so slightly. She chanced a glance at him, and he leaned closer.

His voice was a bare whisper. “Is that…?”

She answered just as quietly. “John Donne. Yes.”

“Interesting choice.”

“Mmmm.” The whole ceremony had been full of interesting choices.

The next verse to leave the pastor’s mouth shouldn’t have surprised Ainsley, but it did.

“Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, nor the furious winter’s rages; thou thy worldly task hast done…”

This time, Jonah’s incredulity was easier to read on his face. “Shakespeare?”

Ainsley gave a slight shrug. Not only was it an unusual choice, but it was tremendously inappropriate. After all, her mother had feared no one. She had ruled her little kingdom with an iron fist. She was the one who was feared. Perhaps the pastor had a sense of humor, after all.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me…”

That was true, at least the ‘fearing no evil’ part. In Ainsley’s mind, her mother had been the evil. The thing to be feared. She tamped down firmly on that thread of consciousness, however. This wasn’t the time to let her mind drift into that minefield.

Finally, he uttered the words that would close the services, looking to Ainsley as he spoke. She gave a single shake of her head, and the pastor frowned, but he didn’t miss a syllable of his prayer.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
”

“Amen,” the crowd automatically echoed him.

He looked to Ainsley again, this time giving a subtle nod, but she shook her head. With a disapproving frown, he gestured to the funeral home attendants, who started lowering the casket into the ground. The levers they used squeaked slightly, and Ainsley knew if her mother had been present in spirit as well as body, Geneva would have taken the men to task.

The pastor shook hands with the man Ainsley knew was a representative from the mayor’s office, and together, they stepped over to her and Jonah. Both wore expressions full of sympathy, though Ainsley doubted their sincerity.

“Mrs. Scott, so very sorry for your loss. Your mother was a very influential woman, and she did a lot of good for our little town,” the politician told her smoothly. “The mayor sends his condolences. If he weren’t out of town at a conference, he’d be here in person.”

“I’m sure he would be,” Ainsley murmured politely. “Excuse me.”

Stepping around the men, she made her way to the graveside. Her mother’s casket was resting on the bottom, six feet below the surface. The gleaming oak was nestled inside the steel vault designed to protect it from the elements for all time. Ainsley knew without having to ask that the vault was the very best money could buy. Staring down at the box that held what was left of the woman who’d given her life, she felt a fine shiver run through her.

“What dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,”
she whispered. Picking up a handful of the dirt piled beside the grave, she gripped it tightly in her hand and held out her arm. “I hope your dreams are everything that you deserve, Mother. Forever and ever, amen.” Opening her fingers slowly, she watched as the sand and clay fell, down, down, down, landing on the curvature of the coffin lid to slide off with a slithering hiss.

When she turned, Jonah stepped forward, his arm extended. Sliding her hand back into the crook of his elbow, Ainsley drew in what felt like the first full breath she’d managed since returning home to Hazard two days before.

They were the only ones left by the grave. The mayor’s representative and even the pastor had left, and Ainsley realized then that she’d lost time. That hadn’t happened to her in several months, and it gave her a jolt. It couldn’t have been too long, though, because Jonah’s expression wasn’t overly concerned.

She breathed out a tired sigh. “Let’s go home.”

“Don’t you want to go to the wake?”

She didn’t answer him until they were in his car, the heater going full blast to chase away the chill and the damp that wasn’t entirely physical. She laid her head against the leather headrest and turned to him. “No. I have no friends here, save Hershel Bowling and his wife, and we said goodbye at the church. There’s no one I need to worry about impressing. All we’d be doing is giving them more cause for gossip and speculation. I can’t tolerate their questions, Jonah. Not today. And I don’t care what message they take away from my absence. It isn’t worth the cost I’d pay down the road.”

He reached over and clasped her hand tightly. “Then let’s get you home. Byrdie will be anxious for the sight of you.”

“I’m anxious for the sight of her.” Byrdie Hagans was the woman Ainsley thought of as her true mother. She’d seen Ainsley through the worst days of her life, birth to present. An injury to her knee had kept her in Lexington, and only Ainsley’s concerned insistence that she stay behind had stopped her from joining them.

“You know they’re speculating about whether or not we’re lovers,” she told him after some miles had passed.

“I know.”

“All of her cronies were calculating the months since Doug’s passing in their heads. Five months isn’t nearly long enough, and you’re far too handsome to satisfy their imagined bounds of propriety.”

“I did get the feeling we were on display a few times,” he admitted, his lips turned up at the corner in a tiny, amused smile.

“I’m sorry.” Ainsley knew the speculation bothered him, but being a typical man, he would be able to brush it off easier than she would. Though, tweaking the tails of the old tabbies wasn’t without appeal. They’d never approved of her when she lived in Hazard, and sure as hell, they wouldn’t approve of her now.

Jonah fiddled with the knob of the gearshift. “A few people there seemed genuine. Especially the ones who knew Doug.”

She wasn’t surprised when Jonah’s voice tripped over her late husband’s name. After all, Jonah had been in love with Doug for nearly ten years. That Doug had been Ainsley’s husband hadn’t changed that.

“There are nice people in Hazard. And yes, I think we met a few of them. But don’t think for a moment that the majority of people there yesterday and today were there out of any genuine regard for either Mother or me. Most of them were there because it was expected, and because they were curious. Probably a little afraid, too.”

“Afraid that if they didn’t show up, you’d have revenge on them?”

She nodded and stared out the window at the widening valley that surrounded the parkway. Even the sight of the trees decked out in a glorious and vibrant display of fall color didn’t lift her spirits. She was too entrenched in the scars from the past.

“That’s what she would have done, you know. It didn’t matter to her that the only reason they associated with her was because of what she had, what she was. All that mattered to her was the power. That’s what she got off on.”

A few more miles passed, and they hit the interstate at Winchester. An hour later, they would be home.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do with the holdings?”

“Sell them,” she answered promptly. “I know that much. And I know it’s going to take some time to arrange. We’ll have to go through probate. There are a lot of assets to inventory so the state can get its fair share. Mr. Thornton expects that to all be finished by late spring. I forgot to tell you that.”

Jonah seemed surprised. “It’s going to take that long?”

“Time in Hazard moves differently than it does in Lexington,” she told him. “If we rush through things, we run the risk of scaring off investors. They’ll think something’s wrong. I can’t do that to the employees of the companies she owned. It wouldn’t be fair to harm their livelihoods because I’m impatient to get the hell out of Dodge.” She sighed and rubbed the tense muscles in her neck. “I’ll have to go down there. At least for a month, maybe two, and close up the house. That’s the last thing I’m going to worry about now, however. The house will keep until the end.”

As much as her mother’s attorney had urged her to stay at the house, Ainsley couldn’t. She and Jonah had gotten connecting hotel rooms. Once upon a time, she would have forced herself to stay at the house despite her discomfort, just because it was expected of her. That time was gone, and had been for years. She’d politely declined Thornton’s offer and had booked the two rooms.

Jonah’s voice drew her back to the present. “When the time comes, I’ll be there if you need me.”

For the first time in days, she smiled. “I know you will. And I love you dearly for that.” She brushed her hand along Jonah’s arm, so grateful to have him.

She was twenty-four years old, an orphan, and a widow. If not for Jonah and Byrdie, she would have been completely alone in the world. Despite the hundreds of mourners who’d attended her mother’s services, Ainsley didn’t expect more than a handful of people to show up when she died. Seeing her mother’s casket and watching it be lowered, alone and lonely, into the ground had brought back the insecure, bitter feelings Ainsley had worked so hard to bury.

Death made her think about life, and often in the starkest, most unvarnished terms. Ainsley was alone. Byrdie and Jonah loved her, and she loved them in return. They would mourn her deeply if she died. But once she was gone, no one would remember who Ainsley Brewer Scott was. She would be a name and a few numbers on a headstone, an entry in a book of death certificates in Frankfort. And for the first time in months, that loneliness bothered her.