“He’s going to be fine.” I watched his face flood with relief. “You can go visit him in a few days.”
“I wish there was something we could do to make him feel better,” Rory said.
“There is,” I replied. “We can take good care of the horses while he’s away. They’ll need fresh food and water, and Joe taught you how to muck out the stalls, didn’t he?” My brother nodded. “Come on.” I put an arm around him. “They need you.”
We walked in silence through the snow to the stables. The horses must have known something wasn’t right, because they seemed unsettled, whinnying and kicking their hind legs. Rory tried to pet Cinnamon’s nose, but she snorted and turned her face away.
“They miss Joe.” He sighed. “I thought he was going to leave us…like Mom did. Why do people always leave us, Chloe?”
I felt the prickle of tears threatening to spill. “Not because they want to, Rory,” I said. “They don’t always have a choice.”
“Sometimes I worry that I did something…” He wouldn’t look at me as he drew outlines in the dust with the toe of his shoe. “Something bad…like maybe it’s my fault.”
I walked over and put my arms around him. It had been a while since I’d hugged my brother, and at first neither of us knew what to do. Then Rory turned around and buried his face in my shirt. I knew he was crying, because I could feel his tears seeping through the fabric.
“It’s not your fault.” I cupped his head in my hands. “Not even a little bit.”
“You won’t leave, will you, Chloe?” His voice was muffled.
“Never,” I said truthfully. “We have to stick together. We’re a team, you and I.”
“Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I know.” I leaned down to kiss his wet cheek. “I love you, too, Rory, and no matter what happens I’m always going to be your big sister. I’m always going to take care of you. Remember that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
True to his word, Alex stayed away, while I wavered between indignation and longing. Every night I went to sleep and woke thinking I saw him in his usual position, standing thoughtfully by the window. But it always turned out to be the light playing tricks on me. Still, I didn’t believe he could seriously stay away. I spent a good part of each day imagining our reunion. The scenario I liked best was Alex appearing from behind a tree in his long, black coat. He would stand there, the way he had the day I first met him, only this time no words would be needed. We would simply gravitate toward each other until we were close enough to collapse into an effortless embrace. When it didn’t happen, I was left contemplating a future where I could never be quite sure that he’d ever existed.
With Joe in the hospital and Alex MIA, things were quieter than usual at Grange Hall. The ballroom was still in a state of ruin, but it was too close to Christmas to call in tradesmen to fix it. So Grandma Fee simply locked the door and made it item Number 1 on next year’s to-do list. She’d been in touch with my father, who was taking the next available flight out. I’d overheard her on the phone to him:
“You have to come, David,” she’d insisted. “Because Rory almost drowned a few days ago, and Chloe’s behaving more bizarrely than ever. I hear her at night talking to someone in her bedroom. She can’t be on her cell—there’s no service here. Yes, I know this was my idea. No, I’m not saying I was wrong. I’m saying the children need their father.”
Maybe she was right. I’d expected my stay at Grange Hall to be mind-numbingly boring. But in reality, there’d never been more chaos in my life. As a result, I was seriously lacking in Christmas spirit this year. It had always been my third-favorite holiday, behind Thanksgiving and Halloween, but I just wasn’t in the mood to be festive. Grange Hall was the perfect setting, with the snow and the smell of pine needles permeating the air and the sprigs of mistletoe Gran planted around the house. But after everything that had happened, the halls felt cold and cheerless.
Isobel and the visions disappeared along with Alex’s departure. It occurred to me that that was what she’d wanted all along. He had guessed the sacrifice he needed to make to finally appease her. I felt like the butt of some cruel, supernatural joke, where everyone had anticipated the outcome except me.
One morning I wrapped myself in a fleecy throw and took my copy of Madame Bovary to the library. I tucked myself into the window seat, where my breath made patches on the frosty glass. I was on the last few chapters, and things weren’t looking good for Emma B. But she had taught me one thing—passion wasn’t sustainable. It would just suck you dry and exhaust you. Maybe I’d turned into a cynic before my time, but at least cynics didn’t wind up brokenhearted. I tried to focus on the page before me, but my gaze kept traveling to the window.
Outside, the trees looked like huge robed figures, reaching out their arms to me. My mind couldn’t help spiraling back in time, envisioning Alex and Isobel all those years ago when they were carefree and in love. Now, it seemed, they would remain together for the rest of eternity. I still had so much to say to Alex, but I’d never get the chance. It wasn’t right. I slammed the book shut and tossed it aside.
There was a vast mahogany desk in the center of the room, in front of the ladder that reached the uppermost shelves. I rummaged around in the drawers until I found what I was looking for, an old notebook, pages discolored from age, and a fountain pen. It was fitting, I thought sourly…stuck in the past, just like Alex. I took a seat determinedly in the wingback leather chair and began to write. The words poured out of me, without any need to stop or reflect. I could feel the pent-up emotions inside me itching for release.
Dear Alex,
I’m writing you this letter knowing that you’ll never get to read it. I suppose it’s more for me than it is for you. But I need some sort of closure, something to set my mind at ease, although I don’t even remember what that feels like anymore.
Who knows, maybe you can see me right now…maybe you’re standing behind me, reading every word over my shoulder. I guess I’ll never know. But the thoughts in my head feel so tangled and confused—if I don’t write them down I might implode. So here goes…
You just left me. How could you do that? You probably think it was brave and self-sacrificing, but it was exactly the opposite. You took the easy way out. Staying and fighting for what we had would have taken real strength. I know you were trying to protect us all from Isobel, and maybe you succeeded. But you left me open to a whole other kind of hurt. Broken bones I can deal with, but when you left, you broke my spirit and no doctor can heal that. Maybe you just didn’t feel as strongly as I did. But why show up in my life if you had no intention of staying? You just appeared one day and became a fixture in my life. You were my ally, my friend, my confidant. Then you took it all away without any warning. That night in the hospital when you said you loved me. Did you really mean that? You can’t have, because if you truly care for someone, you don’t bail when things get tough. I can only conclude that you never cared about me at all. Maybe I was just a fleeting distraction. Maybe I was the only person in over a hundred years you could speak to and your emotions got mixed up and confused. But what you’re doing right now? That isn’t love.
The worst part is this…what I feel for you is so hard to describe. You woke something in me that I never knew existed. You might be dead, but when I was with you, I never felt more alive. You were like a phantom that showed up in the night and painted my world in color. Then I woke up, never certain if you were really there. Maybe you never were. Maybe all this has been a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’m really a patient in a psych ward and this is just a fantasy I’ve created in my head. Maybe I never left America. Maybe my name isn’t even Chloe. Okay…this train of thought isn’t helping.
The point of this letter is that I’m never going to forget you, Alex. I’m never going
to get over you. I see your face every time I close my eyes. I’m sorry you’re trapped and unhappy, and maybe it’s selfish of me to want to keep you here. I want you to be free from pain, free from Isobel, free from the past that’s haunted you all these years. And maybe you’ll never be free if you remain at Grange Hall. Maybe this is the end for you and me, but I want you to know that I think you’re extraordinary, and not just as an artist, even though I know you have mad skills in that department (that means you kick butt…sorry, that means you’re very accomplished…I heard that watching Pride and Prejudice with my mom) But, Alex…you’re extraordinary simply at being you. There’s so much light in your eyes and I’ll remember the way you used to look at me forever.
Love,
Chloe x
I felt better after I was finished writing, even though my leg had gone to sleep and my fingers were cramping up. I hadn’t written anything this long by hand since the fifth grade. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the letter. I was half tempted to leave it out in the hope that Alex might stumble across it, but I knew I couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands. Instead I took it upstairs and hid it in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
“Chloe?” There came a tap at my bedroom door, and Grandma Fee tiptoed in like she was walking on eggshells. She could tell something wasn’t right with me, but she assumed my depression was the result of Joe’s injuries. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I replied, not even bothering to feign enthusiasm.
“What an unfortunate time for all this to happen,” she said, settling down on the end of the bed and smoothing out a loose thread on the duvet. “I know you and Rory have been through a lot, and it’s your birthday in a couple of days.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten my own birthday. She was right. I was only a few days shy of eighteen. “I guess I don’t feel much like celebrating.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “It’s not every day a girl becomes a woman.”
I smiled weakly. “Actually, I’ve never felt more like a kid.”
Grandma Fee patted my knee. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Chloe. No one ever really grows up. We just get better at pretending.”
“I’m sorry about your ballroom, Gran,” I blurted. “I know how much you loved it.”
“Don’t be silly,” she told me. “Buildings can be repaired. It’s people we have to take care of.”
“I just feel so…guilty.”
“Listen to me.” Grandma Fee wagged a finger in front of my face. “Bad things happen every day, but the world doesn’t stop turning. You keep your head down, and you weather the storm. That’s what we Kennedys do.”
She enveloped me in a hug, and for a moment I felt like I was back in my mother’s arms. Then I realized the touch of her hands was too cool…the embrace was too bony…the scent was different. We broke apart and she left the room, leaving me feeling even emptier than before.
To distract myself, I picked up Madame Bovary again. I knew I had to finish it before the start of semester. By now the town’s moneylender had seized her house due to unpaid debts, and her last resort was to run away with a lover who’d already lost interest in her. So she was pretty much screwed. I could relate to that. I found my place in the text but had barely started reading when a sound like pounding hooves outside distracted me. I tossed the book aside and ran to the window.
* * *
Two horses gallop up to the house, their hooves kicking up gravel, their coats luminous with sweat. Isobel wears a sumptuous green riding outfit and rides a powerful black stallion, his tail lashing the air. Alex is right behind her. Both are breathless. The waning light and descending mist suggest it’s evening. Alex is wearing a ruffled shirt, and his burnished gold hair is pulled back in its usual ponytail. Isobel jumps down without waiting for his assistance and turns her flushed face up to the sky to catch the first drops of rain.
Immediately a servant, bent and hoary, emerges from the side of the house. He wears brown breeches and a rough shirt that looks like it was made out of a hessian sack. He shuffles over to them, takes the reins in his callused hands and begins to lead the horses away.
“Isaac!” Isobel calls after him. The man stops in his tracks. “Has the master returned?” Her tone is imperious like she knows the power she has and enjoys wielding it. She’s brazen and makes no attempt to conceal the fact that she has spent the day alone with Alex.
The servant gives her a sidelong glance and shrugs. His disdain for her rings loud and clear; he doesn’t even try to hide it. “Yes, madam.”
She purses her lips superciliously. “And where, pray, is he?”
“Passed out on his bedroom floor in a pool of vomit.” Isaac takes some delight in conveying this piece of information. He shows no loyalty to Carter. I notice the backs of his hands are covered in scars and there’s a piece of his left ear missing.
Isobel looks disgusted, either by the servant’s manner or the picture he’s just painted of her husband.
“Tend to the horses,” she commands in a contemptuous voice. “Then tell Becky to serve supper in the library.”
“Right away, madam.” Isaac gives a short bow as Isobel sweeps past him into the house.
Alex gives his horse a final stroke and moves to follow her, but Isaac coughs as if he has something to say. “Master Reade?”
On the front steps, Alex turns to face him. “What it is, Isaac?” His manner is kind, in sharp contrast to Isobel’s air of superiority. Alex addresses Isaac as a man, as a human being; Isobel treated him like chattel created to do her bidding.
“I don’t wish to speak out of turn, master.” Isaac removes his cap and twists it in his hands.
Alex takes a step closer to him. “Please, speak freely. What is amiss?”
Isaac leans in and spits out the words quickly, as if in fear of the repercussions should he be overheard. “You’re a good man,” he says. “Everybody says so. But she will bring darkness upon this house!”
“I beg your pardon?” Discomfort flits across Alex’s face.
“She’s a Jezebel!” he says forcefully. “You mark my words, Master Reade. Be on your guard. That woman will be your undoing.”
* * *
As the vision freed me from its hold, I sank down in the window seat. The quivering knees and sweaty palms…it was getting old. I couldn’t do this anymore. Each episode left me dizzy and disoriented and more confused than ever.
“You’ve won, Isobel,” I said suddenly, turning my face up toward the ceiling because I didn’t know where else to look. “Are you happy now?”
I was met with echoing silence, but I knew she could hear me. “I’m leaving,” I yelled out. “Going back to California. Grange Hall will be yours again. You got what you wanted, so just…just leave me alone.”
I wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d listen. But a girl can hope, right?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dad arrived on the afternoon of my birthday. Even though it was freezing, Rory and I waited on the porch, bouncing from foot to foot to stay warm. As soon as the gates opened and we caught a glimpse of the car, we bounded down the steps so fast we almost toppled over each other.
The moment he stepped out of the passenger seat, I could see that my dad had changed. The changes were subtle, obvious only to those who knew him best. He’d lost weight, and his jeans hung loose on his hips. He hadn’t cut his hair or shaved in weeks, and his beard had grown in thick and fast. There were a few more creases around his eyes than I remembered, but he seemed to be in one piece. Rory didn’t waste any time. He flung himself at Dad the moment he dropped his bag.
“Dad! I’ve missed you! How was the flight? Did you watch any good movies? How’s Darcy? Did you know I can ride a horse now?”
“Steady on, buddy.” Dad squeezed him tight
. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to tell me.”
Grandma Fee, who was never too forthcoming with her emotions, gave him a formal peck on the cheek. “Good flight, darling? Come in out of the cold now,” she said, her silver bob swinging like a pendulum as she bustled us back to the house.
Miss Grimes appeared in the hallway to collect Dad’s bags.
“Hello, Edna,” he said. “It’s good to see you again. You haven’t changed a bit.”
She didn’t answer. She just kept her eyes downcast and nodded her head like a cracked old doll.
Dad turned to Gran. “You’ve done a fantastic job with the place. Angie would have loved this,” he said, echoing Rory’s first thought upon our arrival.
His first reference to Mom since her passing took us by surprise. But I realized it marked a turning point. Wasn’t it high time we all started talking about her? Why try to bury her memory and act like she never existed? She wouldn’t have wanted that.
“She would have hated this weather, though,” I said. “I barely saw her in anything but flip-flops.”
Dad smiled, and I knew he was remembering the way she would complain whenever she had to wear heels to a business event.
We left him to shower and freshen up before Harry brought the car around for my birthday dinner. I hadn’t given much thought to the fact that I’d turned eighteen today. I knew it was supposed to be a milestone, an official transition into the world of adulthood, when you leave your carefree childish ways behind you. But my childhood had been far from carefree. So today felt like just another day…another typical day in the unconventional life of Chloe Kennedy.