Red Lily (18 page)

“She wasn’t thinking of you that way. I don’t know if that helps.” Fighting off a shudder, she handed the water back to him. “She was . . . I felt like she was seeing him. Reginald. She was—I was—all turned on, you know, then it was like this spit of rage spewing up through that. But the kind that makes it more, sort of more exciting. Darker. Then it was all blurred together. Her and me, him and you. And I was so wound up I couldn’t get a grip on anything. Then you said you loved me, you kissed me and I could hold on to that.”

“She tried to use us. We didn’t let her.” He set the water aside before easing her back so he could lie beside her and draw her close. “It’s going to be okay.”

But even lying beside him, held firm and safe in his arms, she couldn’t quite believe it.

I
T WAS AWKWARD
, but Harper felt Mitch should know about any incident involving Amelia. Even if that incident had happened in bed with Hayley.

At least it was a man-to-man sort of thing. If his mother had to have the information, Harper would just as soon have it filtered through his stepfather.

“How long did it last?” Mitch asked.

“Maybe a couple of minutes. Seemed longer, considering the situation, but probably around that.”

“She wasn’t violent.”

“No. But you know . . .” He had to pause a moment and
give his attention fully to the work board in the library. “Rape’s not always violent, but it’s still . . . Anyway, that’s what it felt like, to me. Like a kind of rape. Like a power thing. Got you by the dick, so I’m in charge.”

“It fits the kind of personality profile we’ve been building. She wouldn’t get that while what’s between you and Hayley is sexual, sex for the sake of sex isn’t the driving force. Must’ve shaken you up.”

Harper only nodded. There was still a coating of that raw sickness in his belly. “How much more do we need to know before we can stop this?”

“I wish I could tell you. We have her name, her circumstance. We know your bloodline comes down through her. We know her baby was taken, and we’re assuming without her consent. Or that after she gave it, she changed her mind. We know she came here, to Harper House, and we have to believe she died here. Maybe if we find out how, but that’s no guarantee.”

He’d never counted on guarantees, not in his life or in his work. His father had died when he’d been seven, which had put paid to any sort of traditional family warranty. His work was a series of experiments, calculated risks, learned skills, and sheer luck. None of those guaranteed success.

Harper considered failure a postponement at worst, and another step in the process at best.

But things were considerably different when it involved the woman he loved, and her welfare, her well-being.

He was reminded of that when he found her watering flats.

She wore the cotton shorts and tank that was a kind of summer uniform around the nursery. Her feet were tucked into thin, backless canvas shoes that could take a soaking, and her face was shaded by the bill of one of the nursery’s gimme caps.

She looked entirely too sad and thoughtful. The thoughtful part was proven right when she jumped nearly a foot off the ground when he said, “Hey.”

“God, you scared me.”

“That’s what you get for taking side-trips when you’re on the clock. Speaking of which, I’m going to start that hybridizing, and could use an assist.”

“You still want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought maybe when you thought things through, you’d want to keep your distance for a while.”

He simply stepped up to her, cautiously nudging the watering wand aside and kissed her. “Guess you’re wrong.”

“Guess I am. Lucky for me.”

“Just come on over when you’re done. I already let Stella know I was stealing you for a while.”

He spent the time setting up for the work, lining up the tools, the plants he wanted to use. He logged the species, the cultivar, the name and characteristics of the desired plant in his files.

Since headphones wouldn’t be an option as he wouldn’t be working alone, he switched Beethoven for Loreena McKennitt. He figured his plants would like it fine, and he’d be a lot happier.

When Hayley came in, he was digging out a Coke, so he pulled out two.

“This is pretty exciting.”

He handed her the can. “Tell me what you know about hybridizing first.”

“Well, it’s like you have a mama and a daddy, the parents. Two different plants—they can be the same type or two different . . . What is it?”

“Genera.”

“Right. So you want ones with stable characteristics and
you cross them by hand-pollinating. Like pollen from one, seed from the other—like sex.”

“Not bad. We’re going to use this miniature I’ve been screening as a parent plant. And this variegated will be the other, the seed parent. See I’ve had it protected with a bag—that keeps insect pollinators from messing with it, and we’re going to remove the stamens now, before it can self-pollinate. I potted these up, brought them in last winter so they could develop.”

“You’ve been thinking about doing this for a while.”

“Yeah, since she was born, more or less. Anyway, we work with the pollen parent today. You know how?”

“Roz did it before. I really just watched.”

“This time, you try it. I cut this one already, just above the node, see? It’s been in water and it’s fully open now. See how the anthers are split? They’re ready for pollen.”

“So, you did the foreplay.”

“One of my little skills.”

She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“You go next.”

“Oh man. I have to pull the petals off, right?”

“Quick, gentle twists, work inward until you see the anthers.”

“Here goes.”

“That’s good,” he said as he watched her. “Just be careful to leave the anthers intact. Yeah, nice work, good hands.”

“I’m nervous. I hate screwing up.”

“You’re not.” Her fingers were quick and precise as they twisted the petals away. “And if you do, we’ll pick another.”

“Is that right? Is that okay?”

“What do you see?”

She bit her lip. “The little anthers are all naked.”

“Next step.” He picked up a clean camel-hair brush.
“You need to collect the pollen. Use this, brush it over the anthers. We’ll store it in this dish, keep it dry. See, it’s fluffy, so it’s ripe. I’ll label the dish.”

“This is fun. You wouldn’t believe how totally I sucked in high school chemistry.”

“Just needed a better lab partner. All mine aced. Now we’re going to prep the seed parent. See this?” He held up the lily he’d chosen. “We don’t want her fully open. We’re looking for well-developed but with immature anthers—before self-pollination can happen. We take petals and anthers off her.”

“Strip her right down.”

“So to speak. No fragments left, they can cause rot fungi, then you’re screwed. What we’re after is nice exposed stigmas.”

“You do that part. Then it’s like a team.”

“Okay.” He twisted off the petals, then reached for his tweezers, skillfully plucking out the anthers. “Now she waits until tomorrow for the pollen. That gives her stigmas time to get sticky. Then we’ll transfer the ripe pollen onto the stigmas. You can use a brush, but I like using my finger. There.”

He stepped back.

“That’s it?”

“That’s the first one. Let’s do the next. We’ve got a good dozen seed parents on here. I think we’ll try a couple of pollen parents on her. See what we get.”

They took turns with the steps. A nice, companionable rhythm, Hayley thought, and a satisfying one. “How did you pick the plants to work with?”

“I’ve been scoping them out awhile, tracking growth habits and form, color patterns.”

“Since she was born.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Harper, you know how I said if things don’t work out with us, I’ll hate you for the rest of my life?”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Well, I will, but I’ll suck it in—mostly—because I know you love her. You really do.”

“She’s got me wrapped. I gotta admit. Tomorrow, we’ll pollinate, label, log. Then we’ll keep an eye on her. Probably take about a week before we see the ovary swelling, if we’re successful here.”

“Swelling ovaries. Takes me back.”

He grinned, kept working. “Couple weeks more, the pod should be formed, then it takes about a month more for the seed to ripen. We’ll know it has when the top begins to split.”

“Yeah, déjà vu.”

“Cut it out. That’s just weird.”

He moved to his computer, his long fingers tapping keys as he input data. “What we’ll do is take the seeds, dry them and plant them late fall. I like to do it that way so it won’t germinate until spring.”

“We plant them outside?”

“No, in here. Mama’s potting soil, four-inch pots, then we put them out. When they’re big enough, we’ll put them in nursery beds. It’ll take another year before they bloom and we see what we’ve really got.”

“Fortunately, I know nothing about a two-year pregnancy.”

“Yeah, women get by with nine little months. Blink of an eye.”

“You try it, pal.”

“I’m a fan of the way things work. So. I’ve got the records logged, and if things work out, we should eventually see some new flowers, and some of them should have characteristics of each parent.” He glanced over the work,
nodded. “We’ll get what we’re after, or if not exactly, hopefully something close enough that we can do another generation, or try a different parent.”

“In other words, this could take years.”

“Serious hybridizing isn’t for weenies.”

“I like it. And I like that it’s not an overnight kind of deal. You have all this anticipation. And maybe you won’t get exactly what you had in mind, but something else. Something, not necessarily better, but just as beautiful.”

“Now you’re talking the talk.”

“I feel good.” She stepped back from the worktable. “I was having such a bad day. I kept thinking about what happened last night, circling around and around it, and just feeling sick about the whole thing.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know—in my head. But somewhere in there I wondered if we’d be able to be easy together again—or at least this soon. If you’d be, I don’t know, uncomfortable and I’d be jittery. It seemed like the chance we had to just be in love might’ve been spoiled.”

“Nothing’s changed for me.”

“I know.” They stood side-by-side at the workbench and she tilted her head onto his shoulder. “And I feel calmer knowing it.”

“I better let you know I told Mitch what happened.”

“Oh.” She sucked in a breath, winced. “I guess it had to be done, and better you than me. Was it awful?”

“No. Just a little weird. We spent a lot of time talking about it without making any eye contact.”

“I’m not going to think about it,” Hayley decided. “I’m just not.” She turned just enough to kiss him. “I’d better get on with the work I really get paid for. I’ll see you back home.”

A
S SHE HUMMED
her way through the rest of the day, Stella passed by, then stopped to put her hands on her hips. “Hybridizing certainly agrees with you.”

“Feel great. Step two tomorrow.”

“Well, good. You looked a little draggy this morning.”

“Didn’t sleep very well, but I’ve got my second wind, and then some.” She glanced around to be sure no one was within hearing distance. “We’re in love.” Grinning, she used the index fingers of both hands to draw a heart in the air. “Me and Harper. Together.”

“Wow. News flash.”

With a laugh, Hayley continued hauling bags of potting soil from cart to shelf. “I mean really in love. So we said the L word to each other.”

“I’m happy for you.” She gave Hayley a hug. “Seriously.”

“I’m happy for me, too. But there’s this . . . I have to tell you about this thing that happened.” Cautious, Hayley took another look around, and related the incident to Stella in undertones.

“My God. Are you all right?”

“It was awful, so awful, it still makes my stomach churn. I didn’t know how we’d get past it. That was almost worse than the experience itself. But we have. We did. I can’t imagine how he must’ve felt, but he didn’t pull back from me.”

“He loves you.”

“He does. He really does.” Miracles everywhere, she thought. “Stella, I always believed I’d fall in love one day, but I never knew it could be like this. Now that I know, I can’t imagine not keeping it. You know?”

“I do. You should be happy. You should know this other thing is separate from that. And you and Harper should enjoy this bliss stage because it’s very precious.”

“I feel like everything in my life has been leading up to
this, to him. The good and the bad. I can take the bad because I know we’ve found something in each other that really matters. I guess that sounds lame, but—”

“It does not. It sounds happy.”

T
HE SECONDHAND LAPTOP
was a good buy, and using it made Hayley feel she was doing something active. An hour or two in research mode may not have garnered her a great deal of new information, at least as applied to her situation, but it assured her she wasn’t alone.

There were a lot of people out there who at least believed they’d had experience with ghosts and hauntings. She was already documenting an essential piece of advice from every website she’d visited. But at least with the computer she could type her reports instead of scrawling them in a notebook.

And it was fun to be able to e-mail friends back in Little Rock.

Of course she got caught up in surfing the web, much as she got caught up when scanning books. There was just so much information, so many interesting things. And one
invariably led to another so that if she wasn’t careful, she’d be up past midnight hunched over the keyboard.

She had her chin propped on her elbow, her mind focused on an on-line report from Toronto of a ghost baby crying, when a hand brushed her shoulder.

She didn’t jump, held back a scream. Instead she closed her eyes and spoke in a nearly normal tone. “Please tell me that’s a real hand.”

“I hope it is as it’s attached to my wrist.”

“Roz.” Hayley let out her breath slowly. “Points for me, right, for not jumping up to cling to the ceiling like a cartoon cat.”

“That might’ve been entertaining.” She narrowed her eyes to read the screen. “Ghosthunters dot com?”

“One of many,” Hayley told her. “And really, there’s some pretty cool stuff. Did you know that one of the traditional ways to discourage ghosts from coming into a room was to stick pins or hammer iron nails around the door? It’s like they’d get caught on them and couldn’t get in. Of course, if you did it while they were already in, then they couldn’t get out.”

“I catch you nailing anything into my woodwork, I’ll skin you.”

“Already figured that. Plus I don’t see how it could work.” She scooted around, away from the screen. “They say you should talk to the ghost, politely, just ask it to leave. Like: Hey, sorry about your bad luck being dead and all that, but this is my house now and you’re disturbing me, so I wonder if you’d mind just moving on.”

“I’d say we’ve tried variations of that.”

“Yeah, no go.” When Roz sat on the sofa in the sitting room, Hayley understood she hadn’t come by just to chat about Amelia. Nerves began to drum. “Of course, they say you should document everything, but Mitch already has us
doing that. And take photographs. You can hire a ghost hunter, but I don’t guess you want a bunch of strangers in the house.”

“You guess right.”

“Or you can ask a minister or a priest to bless the house. That couldn’t hurt.”

“You’re afraid.”

“More than I was, yeah. But I know this stuff”—she tapped the screen—“isn’t really helpful because what we’re doing, what we always planned to do was find out who, what, why. And if we did manage just to boot her out, we wouldn’t know it all. But I like, well, harvesting information.”

“You and Mitch, peas in a pod. Have you documented what happened the other night, with you and Harper?”

“Yes.” Heat burned her cheeks. “I haven’t, ah, given it to Mitch yet.”

“It’s very personal. I wouldn’t like sharing that sort of personal experience with an outsider.”

“You’re not. I mean, he’s not. Neither of you.”

“Anyone, no matter how you love them, is an outsider when it comes to the bed, Hayley. I want you to know I understand that. I also want you to know you’ve got no need to walk on eggshells with me about this. I waited a couple of days, hoping it wouldn’t be quite as touchy a subject.”

“I know Harper went to Mitch about it, and I knew Mitch would tell you. I just couldn’t, Roz. If it’d been anybody but Harper—not that I’d be with anybody but Harper . . . And I’m already messing this up.”

“You’re not.”

“It’s . . . Harper’s yours.”

“Yes, he is.” She propped her feet on the table, her most habitual position. “I knew when he fell in love with you, though you didn’t know, and I doubt he did.”

“I think maybe it was the night we stayed at the Peabody.”

Roz shook her head. “That’s romance, and valuable. But that wasn’t when. Who held your hand when Lily was born?”

“Oh.” Hayley lifted a hand to her throat as it filled. “He did. Harper did, and I think he was almost as scared as I was.”

“When I saw, and I understood, my heart ached. Just for a moment. You’ll know what I mean when it’s Lily’s turn. And if you’re lucky, as I’m lucky, you’ll watch your child fall in love with someone you can love, and respect and admire, be amused by, feel close to. So when your heart aches, it’s with happiness, and gratitude.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know how I could get any luckier than I already am. You’ve been so good to me. No, please don’t brush it off,” she said when Roz shook her head. “It means so much to me. When I came here, I thought I was so smart and strong, so ready. If she kicks me out, I thought, I’ll just keep going. I’ll find a job, get an apartment, have this baby. I’ll be fine. If I’d known what it takes—not just the hours, the effort, but the love and the worry that just fills you up when you have a child, I’d’ve thrown myself at your feet and begged for help. But all I had to do was ask.”

“I gave you a job and a place to stay because you’re family, and because of the situation you were in. But that’s not why you’re still here. You earned your place at In the Garden, and your place in this house. Make no mistake, if you hadn’t, I’d have shown you the door.”

“I know.” And knowing it made Hayley grin. “I wanted to prove myself to you, and I’m proud that I did. But, Roz, because I have Lily, I know what Harper means to you. And part of the reason I’m scared, more scared than I was, is I’m afraid The Bride might hurt him.”

“Why do you think that?”

“She saw Reginald in him. Maybe one of the reasons she’s moved on to me is because of the feelings that I developed for Harper. When I first met him, I remember thinking, wow, if I was in the market, I’d be all over that one.”

When Roz laughed, Hayley flushed. “See what comes out of my mouth?” she demanded. “Jesus, you’re his
mother.
”

“Forget that a minute. Keep going.”

“Well, see I wasn’t in a place in my head, or anywhere else, where I could think seriously about a man, a relationship. I just thought he was hot, then as I got to know him, sweet and funny and smart. I liked him a lot, and I got irritated now and then that he was so cute and I was pregnant and cranky and not at my best. After Lily, I tried to think of him as kind of a brother, or a cousin. Well, he is a cousin, but you know what I mean.”

“The way you think of David or Logan, or my other sons.”

“Yeah. I really tried to put Harper in that same slot. And there was so much to do and learn, that it was easy to ignore that little low tickle that was going on inside me. You know the one.”

“Thank God I do,” Roz said with feeling.

“Then it wasn’t so easy, and the feelings for him kept getting stronger. It seems to me, when I started to admit them to myself, started to imagine how it could be with him, that’s when Amelia started slipping in.”

“And the stronger your feelings, the stronger and more demonstrative her objections.”

“I’m worried that she’ll hurt him, through me. Not seeing Harper, but Reginald. I’m worried I won’t be able to stop her.”

Roz frowned. “Seems that you’re not giving Harper enough credit for being able to handle himself.”

“Maybe not. But she’s awful strong, Roz. Stronger than she was, I think.” Remembering the sensation of having her
self
pushed aside, Hayley inhaled, exhaled, deeply. “And it seems to me she’s had a lot of time to think about payback.” “Harper’s stronger than she thinks. And so are you.”

S
HE HOPED
R
OZ
was right. As she lay sleepless, with Harper beside her, she hoped she had the grit and the brains to combat the vengeance of a vindictive spirit. Worse, one she felt some sympathy for.

But Harper wasn’t responsible for what had happened to her. No one who lived at Harper House now was responsible. There had to be a way, some way, for her to make Amelia understand that. To show her that Harper was not only the child she’d once sung to, but a good, caring man. And nothing like Reginald.

What had he been like, really? Reginald Harper. A man so obsessed with having a son, he would deliberately impregnate a woman not his wife. Whether or not Amelia had consented—and that they couldn’t know—it had been a selfish and hurtful act on his part. Then to take the child, to force his own wife to accept it as her own. He couldn’t have loved. Not his wife, not Amelia, certainly not the child.

It was no wonder Amelia despised him, and with her spirit or mind, or heart, shattered, that she’d grouped all men along with him.

What had it been like for her? For Amelia?

S
HE SAT AT
her dressing table, carefully rouging her cheeks by gaslight. Pregnancy had stolen her color. Just one more indignity, after the horrible sickness morning after morning, the widening of her waist, the incessant fatigue.

And yet, there were benefits. So many she hadn’t counted
on. She smiled as she added color to her lips. How could she have known Reginald would be so pleased? Or so generous.

She lifted her arm to study the ruby and diamond hearts that circled her wrist. A bit delicate for her taste, really, but you couldn’t fault the glimmer.

And he’d hired another maid, given her carte blanche for a new wardrobe to accommodate her changing body. More jewels. More attention.

He visited her three times a week now, and never came empty-handed. Even if it was only to bring her chocolates or candied fruit when she mentioned craving sweets.

How fascinating to know that the prospect of a child could make a man so biddable.

She imagined he’d been very solicitous of his wife, in turn. But then she’d plagued him with girls rather than the son he coveted.

She would give him a son. And in giving, would reap the benefits for the rest of her life.

A bigger house to start, she decided. Clothes, jewels, furs, a new carriage—perhaps a small country house as well. He could afford it. Reginald Harper would spare no expense for his son, even his bastard son, she was sure.

As the mother of that son, she would never have to seek out another protector, never have to flirt and seduce and bargain with the men of wealth and position, offering sex and comfort in exchange for the mode of life she craved. Deserved. Earned.

She rose from the dressing table, and hair shining gold, jewels glittering white and red, gown sweeping silver, she turned in the chevel glass.

This was her exchange now. This bulge of the belly. Look how odd and awkward, how fat and unfashionable she looked, despite the gown. And yet, Reginald doted. He would stroke that bulge, even during passion. And in
passion, he was kinder, gentler than she’d ever known him to be. She could almost love him during those times, when his hands were tender instead of demanding. Almost.

But love was not part of the game, and a game was all it was. This bartering pleasure for style. How could she love what was so weak, so deceitful, so arrogant? A ridiculous notion, as ridiculous as feeling pity for the wives they betrayed with her. Women who folded their thin lips and pretended not to know. Who passed her on the street with their noses in the air. Or women like her mother who slaved for them for pennies.

She was meant for bigger things, she thought, and lifted a heavy crystal decanter to stroke scent on her throat. She was meant for silks and diamonds.

When Reginald arrived, she would pout, just a little. And tell him of the diamond broach she’d seen that afternoon. How she would pine without it.

Pining wasn’t good for the child. She imagined the broach would be hers within a day.

She gave a light laugh, a little turn.

Then stopped, went still. Her hand trembled as she lifted it to press over her belly.

It had moved.

Inside her a flutter, a stretch. Little wings beating.

The glass reflected her as she stood in her shimmering gown, her fingers spread over the slight bulge as if she would guard what was inside.

Inside her. Alive. Her son.

Hers.

H
AYLEY REMEMBERED IT
vividly. Even in the morning there was nothing of the fragmented or misty quality of a dream.

“It was, I think it was, a kind of a bid for sympathy. More for empathy.” She held her cup in both hands as she sipped coffee in the breakfast nook.

“How so?” Mitch had his tape recorder and notebook as she’d requested. “Did she speak directly to you at some point?”

“No, because it wasn’t her, it was me. Or it was both of us. I wasn’t dreaming so much as I was there. I felt, I saw, I thought. She wasn’t just showing me, but reliving. If that makes sense.”

“Eat your eggs, sweetie-pie,” David urged her. “You look peaked.”

She scooped some up obediently. “She was beautiful. Not like the way we’ve seen her, really. Vibrant and drop-dead—excuse the term. There was so much going through her head—my head—I don’t know. Irritation about the changes in her body, the inconvenience, plots and plans to get more out of Reginald, surprise at his reaction to her condition, disgust for men like him, for their wives, envy, greed. It all just kept rolling around in a big mass.”

She paused, breathed. “I think she was already a little bit crazy.”

“And how was that a bid for sympathy?” Harper asked her. “Why would you feel sorry for someone like that?”

“It was the change. It was feeling the baby move. I felt it, too. That shock of feeling, the sudden realization that there’s life inside you. And there’s this wave of love along with it. In that moment, the baby was hers. Not a ploy or an inconvenience, but her child, and she loved it.” She looked at Roz.

“Yes.”

“So she was showing me. I loved my child, wanted it. And the man, the kind of man who’d use a woman like me, took it from me. She was wearing the bracelet. The heart
bracelet. And I did feel for her. I don’t think she was a good person, certainly not a nice one, and even then, before the rest happened, I don’t think she was balanced. But she loved the child, wanted it. I think what she showed me was real, and she showed me because I’d understand it more than anyone else. Yeah, I felt sorry for her.”