“What?” she called back, with what she hoped was convincing grogginess.
Aunt Teeta opened the door, her bathrobe askew, her hair disheveled, and several oversize curlers bobbing on top of her head.
“Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d be asleep yet. You know, I was just thinking—since you and Etienne have been spending so much time together, why don’t you invite him over sometime? So your mama can meet him? And ask Gage over, too—he’s such a cutie.”
Miranda yawned loudly. “That’s a great idea, Aunt Teeta. Thanks a lot.”
“All right now, hon, you go on back to sleep. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Miranda waited till the door closed. Till Aunt Teeta’s footsteps faded down the stairs, till the house was silent once more. She waited a long time.
At last the covers moved, and Etienne, after a thorough look around, threw them back and sat up. He seemed immensely amused.
“Damn, that was close. Your aunt, she woulda skinned me alive if she’d caught me here.”
Miranda sank back on the pillows. Her heart was still racing at top speed. She felt excited and happy and breathless, confused and strangely frustrated.
“I think you better leave now,” she mumbled.
“Yeah, I think I better.”
The kiss he gave her this time was on the cheek and almost brotherly. He jumped from the bed, but paused when he got to the sunporch. As Miranda saw him turn to look back at her, her whole body felt warm.
“What is it?” she asked him, embarrassed now.
But Etienne didn’t look embarrassed at all.
"It’s good, cher.” He winked. “And next time, it’ll be even better.”
28
“WELL, GOOD MORNING, SLEEPYHEAD!” As Miranda shuffled drowsily into the kitchen, Aunt Teeta met her with a big hug. “Your mama already left for work, but look who’s decided to grace us with their presence!”
Startled, Miranda saw Gage and Etienne sitting at the table, both with heaping plates of food in front of them. Gage wiped his mouth quickly on a napkin; Etienne watched her over the rim of his coffee cup.
Her mind spun back to last night, cheeks flaming at the memory. What was I thinking? I should know better! When everything about Etienne Boucher screams GUARANTEED HEARTBREAK—and even though nothing really serious happened—I should definitely know better!
Halfway standing, Gage pulled out a chair for her. “We thought maybe you’d like a ride to school.”
Oh yes . . . and now here was Gage. With that face and that smile and those big brown eyes that just melted her heart whenever she looked at him. And especially since Roo’s candid confession—“He was amazing”—how could a girl not imagine other secrets behind the shyness?
Still flustered, Miranda turned and bumped into her aunt, upsetting the coffeepot, splashing the floor, nearly burning her arm in the process. As Gage and Etienne exchanged glances, she had a second of panic. What if Etienne had said something about last night? What if Gage suspected? Did she look guilty?
“Oh, mercy, did you burn yourself?” Aunt Teeta fussed, trying to mop the floor, trying to tend to Miranda.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Teeta. No, I’m okay.”
“Here, let me get your breakfast.”
“I’m really not hungry.”
Ignoring her, Aunt Teeta bustled to the stove. “Gage, honey, I’m so glad you came this morning.”
“Thanks. It’s been a while.”
“I used to see you all the time at the office,” Aunt Teeta went on. Then, in an aside to Miranda, “His mama and I worked together for years. But she decided to leave and spend more time with her family.”
Though Etienne and Gage exchanged glances, neither of them said anything. Miranda wondered if Gage’s mom might have quit her job when Etienne’s mother got sick.
“So I’ve had the pleasure of watching these two little rascals grow up.” As Aunt Teeta passed the table, she gave Gage’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Isn’t this Gage just the cutest thing?”
Shaking his head, Gage flushed slightly and tried to concentrate on his scrambled eggs.
“And those dimples,” Aunt Teeta teased. “Aren’t they just precious?”
Before Gage could ward him off, Etienne leaned over and pinched his cheek. “Just precious. Cute and precious.”
“Cut it out,” Gage mumbled, lowering his head.
“Miranda, honey, sit down. I wish you’d eat something.” Peering out the window, Aunt Teeta gave a shudder."Y’all be sure and take umbrellas. There’s supposed to be a doozy of a storm coming in.”
“How much of a doozy?” Etienne asked. “Medium doozy or big doozy?”
Aunt Teeta flapped her dishtowel at him. “Monster doozy. Big bad winds, flash-flood rain, and maybe even tornadoes kind of doozy. Miranda, don’t you feel well?”
"Just”—Miranda brushed it off—"kind of sick to my stomach, I guess.”
“What, darlin’, something keep you awake last night?”
Etienne stared at her. Gage stared at her. Aunt Teeta stared at her. Thank God for Gage, who finally seemed to sense her growing distress. Cramming the last bite of sausage into his mouth, he scraped back his chair from the table.
“I’ll make sure she eats something later,” he promised Aunt Teeta. “Come on, we better go. We’re gonna be late.”
Miranda threw him a grateful look as the three of them trooped out the door. Still, once they reached Etienne’s truck, she couldn’t resist.
“You really are cute and precious,” she said, touching a fingertip to one of his dimples.
Gage’s face went redder. He grabbed her hand and boosted her into the front seat. “See if I come to your rescue anymore.”
“And I have to agree with Roo and Ashley. You’re especially cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Yeah?” Gage’s lips moved against her ear. “Don’t tempt me. I bet you’re especially cute when you’re embarrassed, too.”
Miranda stared at him in surprise. Gage gave her an innocent smile, then climbed in beside her. Etienne seemed completely unaware of their little exchange.
While the boys argued sports scores and statistics, Miranda gazed nervously out at the pewter sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the windshield glistened with the first few sprinklings of rain. As Etienne reached to turn on the wipers, she felt a deep and unexpected chill.
“Listen, Miranda . . . watch . . .”
Surprised, she straightened in her seat. She glanced quickly from Gage to Etienne, but the two of them didn’t seem to notice and kept right on talking.
“Watch . . .”
A shiver, even colder now, gnawed at her spine. Grandpa? But of course it was him, she recognized his voice—the same tone, the same words she’d heard at the funeral home the night of the visitation. But why here? Why now?
“Listen, Miranda . . . watch . . .”
“You okay?” This time Gage looked down at her, half amused, half concerned.
“Somebody walk over your grave?” Etienne teased.
Miranda had heard that old expression many times before— only now it seemed more scary than funny, and she edged slightly nearer to Gage.
Muttering to himself, Etienne bent forward, eyes narrowed on the school ahead and the ominous clouds behind it. There were even more of them now, gray darkening to black, and all of them churning like restless waves.
Gage pointed out a parking space in the student lot. “Did Ashley call you about revising that outline?” he asked Etienne. “She wants to meet at lunch and brainstorm.”
“Did you say rainstorm?” Etienne grumbled. “’Cause this one looks like it’s gonna be a killer.”
“There’s tornado warnings,” Ashley fretted, pulling a chair up to their table.
The school cafeteria was packed, much noisier and more chaotic than usual. No one was eating outside today because of the rain.
Balancing his tray on one hand, Parker sli
d into the empty chair next to her. “Hey, don’t worry so much. We never have tornadoes around here.”
“Well, we could have tornadoes around here.”
“Ash, when was the last time you heard of a tornado touching down in St. Yvette?”
“What if our house blew away? That would be a really horrible thing!”
“What if your boyfriend blew away?” Roo asked mildly. “That would be a really good thing.”
And then, as everyone suddenly realized the impact of what they were saying, all eyes turned guiltily to Miranda.
“Oh, God, Miranda,” Ashley was horrified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I would never—”
“Come on, it was a joke.” Forcing a smile, Miranda did her best to brush it off. “Please, don’t worry about it.”
Neither Gage nor Etienne looked convinced. Miranda stared back at each of them and forced her smile a little more firmly.
“Maybe they’ll let us out of school early.” Parker sounded hopeful. “Hey, my folks are out of town for a few days—we could all party at my place.”
Roo leaned over and lifted the top piece of bread from Gage’s sandwich. As Gage watched her, she took out a slice of cheese and a tomato, then put the sandwich back together.
Gage shook his head and resumed eating.
“Full fridge.” Parker tried again. “Home theater, swimming pool, and well-stocked bar. Any takers?”
“Yes, the police when they come to take you away,” Roo said.
A clap of thunder violently shook the building. Though the storm had held off so far, Miranda’s uneasiness had grown. That feeling of dread in the air—that feeling of grim expectancy. It was like her worst nightmare all over again.
She realized now that Ashley was talking, something about their ghost tour. The others were casually listening, a comment or question or insult tossed out here and there. Laughter and conversation were at full pitch around them. Life at St. Yvette High was going on as usual, and nobody else seemed paticularly bothered by the weather. All Miranda wanted to do was get home to Aunt Teeta’s, where she’d be safe. Well . . . safe from the storm, anyway . . .
The real downpour began just as Etienne dropped her off after school. Bolting for the door, Miranda got inside and dried off, changed clothes, and fixed herself something to eat. With Mom and Aunt Teeta both at work, the house loomed large and silent around her. Her footsteps echoed over the parquet floors. Thunder shivered the walls and trembled the old foundations.
But she couldn’t stop thinking of Ellena Rose.
She’d finally worked up enough courage to take the watch chain from her room, and now, sitting at the kitchen table, Miranda went back over everything she knew—or thought she knew. There was still so much missing. Clues and answers and truths . . .
“Listen, Miranda . . . watch . . .”
Her grandfather’s words made her even more restless. I have been listening, I have been watching. What am I missing? How do I find it?
She thought of his treasure. Some small and seemingly insignificant artifact that Jonas Hayes had picked up one day at the Falls and become completely obsessed with. He wouldn’t have thrown it away, Aunt Teeta had assured her. And what had Etienne said? “He’d have kept it close . . .”
Some connection . . . something important . . . something that Nathan’s spirit is connected to . . .
Leaning forward onto the table, Miranda rested her head on folded arms and let her eyes drift shut. She could see Hayes House the way it used to be—the way she imagined it would be—warm and solid and welcoming, with the aroma of home-cooked meals, and a big, roomy barn out back. And he’d be there—Nathan— brushing down the horses, when Ellena Rose strolled by. She’d be inquiring about a carriage maybe, but Nathan would be her real reason for stopping. To exchange a whisper. To exchange information.
Miranda’s thoughts flowed. Back through years and seasons and moonlit nights . . . the opera house and the battlefield . . .
“No . . . you’re wrong . . .”
“I swear to you . . . for the love of God . . .”
“I’m the one you want. Only me . . . only me.”
“Take it . . . the Rose . . . Miss Ellena . . . ”
Miranda’s head was spinning. Too many images . . . too many scenes . . . all of them painful and heartbreaking. Nathan—rope burns around his wrists . . . cuts from horse-whip lashes; Ellena Rose—a lingering taste of poison on her tongue, and in her throat, her last words choked, her sweet song silenced forever.
“You were my life, Nathan . . . and now you are my death . . .”
“No. Please stop.” But Miranda’s senses reached out; her mind searched. You thought Nathan betrayed you . . .
“I’m the one you want . . . only me . . .”
“Only me.”
Tears ran down Miranda’s cheeks, and they were Ellena’s tears and Nathan’s tears. She clutched the braid tightly to her heart.
Why did Nathan betray you, Ellena? How could he have been that selfish? That unfeeling?
Frustrated, Miranda pressed both hands to her forehead. She was here in Aunt Teeta’s kitchen, yet it was another kitchen, a long-ago farmhouse kitchen. In a house where a beautiful red-haired diva and a handsome stable boy traded secrets and . . .
And kisses...
For Miranda could see them now—Nathan and Ellena—alone in the barn at midnight, while Hayes House slept. The way they held each other, clung to each other, in the soft glow of lantern light, as though they were the only two people in the world.
Accomplices . . . and sweethearts.
Slowly, reluctantly, they drew apart. Nathan, handing Ellena his pocket watch . . . Ellena, giving Nathan a watch chain braided from her beautiful red hair . . .
“Someday,” Nathan whispered, wiping tears from Ellena’s cheeks. “Someday when this terrible war is over, we won’t have to hide like this. We won’t have to hide our feelings for each other . . . we’ll finally be together.”
“But I’m afraid, Nathan. I’m so afraid! Something bad is going to happen—I can feel it!”
“Hush now. Nothing’s going to happen, my love. We’ve been careful; we’ll be safe.”
“Promise you’ll come back to me . . .”
“Yes. Always. I promise.”
Very gently Ellena touched the braid in his hand. “And promise me you’ll keep this close to your heart.”
“I swear it. And someday, I’ll wear my watch and your chain together. Together, Ellena. Just like you and me . . .”
Miranda began to come back to herself.
She could feel the watch chain pressing into her skin—she wanted to hold it close, she wanted to fling it away.
“A fair exchange,” Travis Fontaine had said that tragic, deadly night. “My mercy . . . for your betrayal.”
Through a slow, lingering haze, Miranda stared down at the braid. This beautiful red hair over a hundred years old, yet she could still feel the love, the devotion, the tears in every strand . . .
Ellena’s tears . . . Nathan’s tears . . . the tears of Travis Fontaine.
Because he’s the one, isn’t he, Ellena? When Nathan was caught, Travis Fontaine—the other man who loved you so much—saw that watch chain and recognized that watch chain . . .
Because he recognized your hair.
Miranda was quivering. Shaking with fear, with grief, with regret. Shaking with over a century of emotions, the emotions of three people trapped in a pitiless fate.
Oh, Ellena Rose . . . he knew your hair.
Nathan didn’t betray you. Even though he was captured, even when he was tortured, he never betrayed you.
Miranda’s eyelids finally opened. She was sitting at the kitchen table; the hands on the clock had scarcely moved. And instead of the questions that had haunted her, there was only a deep, sad wisdom.
For she knew the rights and the wrongs . . .
The truths and the lies . . .
The betrayed and the betrayer.
&nb
sp; “Listen, Miranda . . . watch.”
And she knew now what her grandfather had found at the Falls.
29
A HUGE CRASH OF THUNDER BROUGHT HER UP OUT OF her chair. As the lights flickered ominously, Miranda ran for flashlights, laying them out on the table within easy reach. Rain gushed at the windowpanes and pounded on the roof; trees flailed helplessly in the wind. When the front door suddenly burst open, she let out a yell and went running into the hall, convinced the whole front of the house was blowing away.
What she found instead was Etienne, alone in the entryway, shaking off water like a wet dog.
“You!” She let out a sigh of relief while Etienne glanced around the corridor.
“Yeah. Last time I checked, anyhow.”
“What are you doing, coming here in this weather? It looks horrible out there.”
“It is horrible out there. But Miss Teeta, she just called me and she was worried, so I figured you might like the company.”
“You figured right.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, I usually do.”
He followed her into the kitchen, then stood dripping in front of the sink. Miranda brought him towels, made a pot of strong coffee, and pulled out Aunt Teeta’s latest homemade confection—bread pudding with rum sauce—which she popped into the microwave.
“Great. My favorite.” Nodding approval, Etienne continued towel drying his hair.
“Aunt Teeta told me you say that about every single thing she makes.”
“And it’s true. They’re all my favorites.” Pausing, he shoved his wet hair back from his face and stared at her, eyes narrowed. "Hey, you okay, cher ?”
“Well”—Miranda drew a deep breath—“I wasn’t okay just a few minutes ago. But I think I am now.”
“Ah. Is that your way of telling me I’m your hero?”
Miranda couldn’t resist. “No. It’s my way of telling you that I had a nightmare, but I woke up.”
“That’s cruel, cher. You just stabbed me straight in my heart.”
Walk of the Spirits Page 21
