Whispers from the Past (37 page)

Whisper Falls was a little trickle. A sad reflection of its former self.

I could not come back to this place. Ever.

The air felt heavy and thick. Unnatural. I couldn’t be here. Not another moment. It was suffocating me. I ran up the path, onto the greenway, up the incline toward our house. When I reached it, I stopped and clung to the fence. My body felt stiff and old.

What day was it again?

I entered through the back door and stopped in the laundry room. I hid the Darcy coat and pants in the back of a closet and slipped on a pair of dirty sweats. The shirt got stuffed into the trash. I would never wear it again. I hated the sight of it.

Footsteps thundered down the back stairs. Mom appeared at the bottom.

“Oh, dear God, Mark. Where have you been?” She slammed into me, wrapping me in a hug, weeping.

The pain in my ribs was fierce, but I didn’t push her away. Instead, I let her cry, still too dazed to have original thoughts or actions.

She wrenched back from me, raked damp graying hair off her face, and leveled a maternal
I’m so pissed at you
stare at me. “Where have you been?”

“I left a message.”

“
Looking for Susanna
is not a real helpful description.”

I flinched at the sound of her name. Pushing past my mom, I stalked into the kitchen, nearly blinded by tears. When I reached the island, I braced myself against it.

“Don’t walk away from me, young man.” Her fingers tapped on her phone.

Probably a text to my dad. How long would it take him to get here?

“Did you find her?”

“Yes.” The answer wheezed out of me with a sigh.

“Thank heavens. Was she with those cult people?”

I glanced at my mom, who must’ve been texting everyone she knew. “She’s with them.”

“You’ve been gone three days.”

“They’re far away now.”

Mom looked over her shoulder and then back at me. “Where is she?”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say it.

“Huh?” My mom looked at me. Her eyes widened. She dropped the phone and clutched the counter for support. “What’s wrong, Mark? Where is Susanna?”

I turned and tried to push away from the island, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. I gripped the granite edge. “She’s not coming back.”

“What?” She shook her head rapidly from side to side.

I threw back my head and screamed with horror. Hopelessness. Fear.

The screams faded, my throat aching from the pain, when I heard a sob. Mom stood before me, weeping softly, arms open. I fell into her embrace and laid my cheek against her hair.

When I was a little kid, I thought my mom’s hugs had supernatural powers. So, I clung to her now and wished—wished with everything I was—that she could make this all better, even though I knew nothing ever would.

It would be hard to describe the days immediately following when Susanna didn’t choose us. It was like I was walking through the world without really being in it. Life still happened. People ate, jogged, slept, went to work. As if nothing had changed. I observed without engaging.

Test day for my first AP exam arrived. I didn’t care. I showed up for the exam and took it. I wouldn’t be able to remember a single question.

Benita and Jesse asked me to meet them at Olde Tyme Grill as soon as the exam session finished. I thought it would be a good distraction.

I drove in silence, my thoughts turning to the ways my family had reacted to the news about Susanna. Marissa was drenched in guilt. She seemed to think that, if she had told me more about Susanna earlier, things might have ended differently. I didn’t blame Marissa for what had happened.

Granddad had aged, reminding me of how he’d been after losing Aunt Pamela. He lumbered around the house, not speaking, not fishing, not reading. Just staring out the window.

Gran was pissed. At what? None of us knew.

And my parents? I couldn’t tell what was going on with them. They walked around like these ghostly perfect people. Mild voices. Perfectly scripted, perfectly polite dialogue. Rigorously adhered-to schedules. Were they sad or mad or hollow? No way of knowing, but neither had mentioned Susanna since last Tuesday night. At least, not to me.

Benita and Jesse were waiting for me when I arrived at the grill. I got a coffee, then slid onto the bench across from them, poured lots of cream into my cup, and watched as it swirled and diffused.

“How’d the exam go?” Jesse asked.

“Good, I guess.” I shrugged. Topic dropped.

“Mark, has Susanna…
Stop that
,” Benita hissed at Jesse. “I want to know how she is.”

I felt movement under the table, as if they were kicking each other. I frowned at them. “Hey, guys, it’s all right. I’d really like for things to go back to normal.” Benita was the only person who seemed interested in talking about Susanna. I loved that and hated it at the same time.

Benita was shaking her head. “They can’t ever go back to normal. We have to shoot for something else.”

I studied her thoughtfully. “Like what?”

“Like agreeing that it’s okay to be sorry that Susanna’s gone. Like not censoring every conversation to remove her name or anything she ever did with us.”

Jesse elbowed her to shut her up. She elbowed him back. It was the first time I’d ever seen them act mad at each other.

I didn’t want this affecting them, too. “Benita’s right. New normal works. We don’t have to avoid saying…her name.” I nodded and took a sip of coffee. “Next topic—school. Only three weeks ’til graduation.”

Jesse nodded eagerly. “Yeah, can’t wait. I leave a week later for California.”

Benita shuddered and scowled at her hands.

Okay, bad topic after all. I was sorry that a reminder of his leaving made her unhappy, but it was great not to be the only miserable person in this group.

“Hi, everyone.”

We all looked up.

Gabrielle stood there, smiling brightly. “Can I join you?”

We nodded. She slid onto the bench next to me, careful not to touch me.

“I took my AP Biology exam today. I think I did well.” She turned to look at me.

“Good.” I was glad for her. Since she’d given up a year of acting to be in high school, it might as well have worked out for her.

“How did you do on yours?”

“Fine.” This was the first time we’d spoken in almost two weeks. It should probably have been more awkward than it was. Gabrielle got the credit for that. She was trying hard to make this nice.

Benita propped her chin on her hand. “When do you head out for your next movie?”

“I have to be on location mid-June.”

“Where’s the location?”

“British Columbia. Want to visit?”

“A movie set?” Benita’s eyes glowed. “Sure. When?”

I tuned out all of the plans they were making. It had only taken a few minutes to get back to where we had been last September. Four friends. One couple and two spares. Not really knowing each other well. Not sure if we had a future as a group. Light. Friendly.

I listened and nodded and made interested noises. In other words, I acted like a normal guy—letting the girls do all of the talking and pretending like I cared. This was okay. I wasn’t capable of any more.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-F
IVE

A D
READFUL
D
AY

I wandered about like a woman in mourning in the days after saying good-bye to Mark. The steady work awaiting me in Mrs. Whitcomb’s household had been a godsend. Yet my demeanor did not fool Dorcas. When we were alone, she pressed me to explain why I had not accompanied Mark. I firmly refused to answer.

Sunday, May fifth, found me calm. It was the likely date of the tornado. I watched the skies midday as black clouds rolled in, but no terrible tempest roared through Raleigh.

It was odd to know what must have been taking place a few miles away, yet I’d said nothing beforehand. I was willing to affect history for Dorcas, but that was where it ended. I warned no one of the storm. Whatever befell the village had to proceed without me.

The first news arrived on the Wednesday morning after the storm. There was a vigorous knocking at the front door.

I steeled myself to remain on my padded bench in the corner of the parlor and watched the other occupants of the room. My mistress and my dearest friend looked to the door with curiosity. William looked nowhere except at Dorcas.

Jedidiah Pratt’s excited voice filled the hallway and grew louder as the housekeeper appeared at the parlor’s door. Dorcas was already on her feet, eyes rounded with concern. “Dorcas,” he said, huffing as if he had run a long distance. “There is horrible news.”

Her cheeks paled. She limped closer to him, grasping for his arm with a trembling hand. “What is it?”

“Worthville has been hit by a violent storm. Many homes have been destroyed. Many people…” he stopped, his voice choking.

“Here, Mr. Pratt,” William said. With firm guidance, he urged Jedidiah to sit. “Take a moment and catch your breath.”

Mrs. Whitcomb placed a cup of tea before him and returned quietly to her seat.

My friend knelt at her brother’s feet and reached for his hands. “Tell me, Jedidiah.”

“It struck the village at noon on Sunday. Everyone was in the meetinghouse.” He shook his head as if in a daze. “Deborah and her children survived. Aaron died protecting them.”

Dorcas gasped out a sob, wavered, and then laid her head on his lap.

I watched Jedidiah closely. That was not all. There was more bad news to share.

“My dear sister,” he said, in the gentlest tone I had ever heard him use, “our stepmother has passed away from her wounds.”

“Joan?” Dorcas lifted her head and frowned at him, perplexed, as if she could not reconcile the idea.

“And Peter.”

When Dorcas began to weep in earnest, I rose to stand at the window, noting the passersby, not truly seeing them. Dorcas’s youngest brother had died. Little Peter. I had found his estate records online while searching for information in March. My research had discovered that adult Peter distributed property to his family. Instead, this week he had died.

Dorcas had commented that he often sat—no,
squirmed
—between her and Joan during worship service, and now he was gone. A boy of six years.

Would Dorcas have sheltered Peter from harm had she been there? It was doubtless true.

My intervention had changed Peter’s history.
Ended
his history.

I did not know how to accept this outcome. Desperately, I tried to keep the rescue of Dorcas in my mind, but it was futile. Because of my choice, someone had died who would otherwise have lived. How would I absorb this guilt? There were things that Peter would never do, children that Peter would never have. How did that flow forward? Could Almighty God mend this change I’d made?

Could He mend me?

Glancing back into the room, I was struck by the simplicity of the scene. Mrs. Whitcomb sat in somber silence. Dorcas wept against her brother, who soothed her with awkward pats to her back. William waited nearby, rocking on his heels, an air of thwarted energy in the way he held himself.

“Mr. Pratt?” I prompted.

The other four people looked toward me with a start. They had forgotten my presence. It was a servant’s job to blend with the furnishings—and presumptuous of me to speak even now—but this was a dreadful day.

“What, Susanna?”

I did not correct his overly familiar use of my name. “Is there news of my brother’s family?”

“They are fine. All of them.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Mr. Marsh and his family worship in Ward’s Crossroads. That village did not suffer from the storm’s wrath.”

William held his hand out to Dorcas and helped her to rise. He drew her to his side, perhaps more closely than propriety allowed, and studied her face. “How are you?”

Her lips trembled. “Bereft.”

“Of course. This news is hard to bear. Please allow me to give you comfort.” William turned again to Jedidiah. “And you as well. What may we do?”

“I do not know.” Jedidiah shook his head, as if too bewildered to think.

“Are there many ill or injured in Worthville?”

“Yes. A dozen or more.” Jedidiah’s voice was gruff. “My sister’s home was destroyed. She and her children have moved into Papa’s house. It was one of the few spared. They have many wounded staying there.”

“They have need of a physician.” William bent to press his lips to Dorcas’s hand. “I shall leave without delay.”

“I should like to go with Dr. Eton, if I can be spared,” I said, directing my comment at my mistress. “I might be of service, tending to the sick.”

She nodded.

William inclined his head. “I shall be glad of the help, Mrs. Lewis. Perhaps Aunt Cornelia can lend a carriage.”

“Naturally,” Mrs. Whitcomb said.

Dorcas drew in a deep breath. “I shall come with you as well.”

The young couple gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment. He nodded and kissed her hand again. “Of course, my love.”

I would live with guilt for the loss of Peter, but I would never regret the life that Dorcas had found.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-S
IX