Shadows Wait

by Denise A. Agnew

  The violin hit a beautiful note, sweet and romantic. She’d read numerous books over the years, including Bronte and Austin novels, that described romantic encounters. She’d pored over Jane Eyre more than once and imagined herself as Jane. Wuthering Heights had twisted her emotions and she’d cried reading it. Were relationships like the ones depicted in those novels even possible? Could a man and woman love each other so completely and still torture each other as deeply?

  Oleta’s family had sent her a gramophone, and she was allowed to bringing it in and play it in the ward rooms on occasion. Lilly loved music. Tonight the music was soft, lilting, and warm. It was a drifting melody that reminded her of traveling in a carriage past fields of flowers.

  “Don’t worry about stares,” Morgan said.

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Uh-huh.” His casual tone said he didn’t believe her.

  Before she could think of a retort, he held his hand out again. This time she took it. He brought her into his embrace, at least as much as decorum said was proper. Even that much was more touch from a man than she’d received before. His fingers gripped her waist firmly, his other hand cupping hers lightly. Yet even that delicacy sent strange, delicious feelings through her. Pleasant. Warm. A stirring. Her breasts felt firmer and rounder. What an extraordinary and wicked feeling. As they danced, though, her feelings conflicted. Attraction to this man must be ignored.

  When the music stopped he released her, but he didn’t move away.

  “You are a wonderful dancer,” he said.

  She smiled. “Thank you. You dance well, too.”

  He bowed slightly. “Thank you. May I have the next dance? I realize decorum says it’s quite improper, but I’ve never been one to follow all the rules.” He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “Makes for a dull evening.”

  Surprise held her silent, but then curiosity loosened her lips. “What other rules do you break?”

  His smile this time was so wide and bright that it reminded her of sun breaking through clouds. “Usually something to do with the ladies.”

  “You are a cad then?” Immediately she wanted to take the words back. Her cheeks flushed. How could she ingratiate herself with the Healys if she didn’t fawn over Morgan? How could she make her presence in his household become a wanted thing if she continued to say things to denigrate him?

  He didn’t stop smiling, and he added a chuckle. “My father sometimes thinks so. He believes women should be treated as creatures with no minds of their own.” A frown erased his cheerfulness, and his gaze turned contemplative. “Although, of late, he might be changing his mind about that.”

  “That seems normal ... a man’s opinion of women.”

  Morgan tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps. But I’ve known a few very clever women in my time, and they certainly weren’t delicate. Two could shoot as well as a man, and two more could ride horses better than any man I’ve seen.”

  His honesty and openness gave her pause. She hadn’t expected this at all. “Where are these women? In Simple?”

  He shook his head. “No. One passed away some time ago. She was an old rascally lady by the time she went to her maker, though. She was my grandmother on my mother’s side. Father didn’t like her much.” He shrugged. “Not that Father likes much of anyone.”

  “Do you think I’m delicate and have no mind of my own?”

  “Quite the opposite. I haven’t met a woman as sturdy and adventurous as you in all my life.”

  She sniffed softly, the sound ripe with disbelief. “How can that be true? I’ve never ridden a horse, and I’ve never shot a gun.”

  Was he closer? His masculine scent touched her again—a pleasant, musky scent that didn’t overwhelm but tantalized.

  “Never? That seems a shame. Even a woman should try each of those things at least once.”

  She shook her head. This information didn’t fit with what she’d heard about her own sex. “You are an odd man, Mr. Healy. You’re far less formal than most men. Less stiff and more friendly.”

  He chuckled and leaned a bit closer as he lowered his voice. “God, I hope so.” He didn’t look offended. Instead he tilted his head again and eyed her speculatively. “You’ve led a sheltered life, I can tell.”

  She stiffened her spine in defense. “I traveled with Oleta Franklin to Denver a few times over the years to meet her family, and I worked in Simple at the apothecary. I’m not caged like a lion here.”

  “I see. But you haven’t had much experience with men I take it?” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice, almost as if he spoke to himself. “That would explain a lot of your ignorance.”

  “Ignorance?” She huffed. “I’ll have you know I’ve been educated thoroughly by a mountain of books in the library. Nurse Franklin has seen to it that I learned sums and reading and writing, but everything else I learned from the library.”

  One of his dark eyebrows rose. “I’ve seen the library and there’s quite a collection. But I wasn’t referring to book learning. It’s obvious to me that being isolated in the asylum has colored your beliefs about men.”

  She tilted her chin up in defiance. “Most of the men I’ve known are doctors, and that hardly qualifies as men in general. Your father for example.” Had she kept the contempt out of her voice? When his smile faded, she realized she hadn’t hidden her true thoughts. “Are you a doctor, too?”

  “No.” He glanced around the room, his mood seeming to change to a more serious vein. “Not quite. Why are those women over there intent on glaring at you?”

  She sighed. “Have you heard of Simple’s Ladies’ Charity Society?”

  “No.”

  “They’ve been to the asylum often over the years. As you know this is a state institution, but the ladies’ society believes the patients need more amenities. Warm scarves and gloves for winter as an example. They consider me a patient no matter what I say or how much freedom I have. They no doubt think it’s improper that I’m talking with you.”

  “So I guessed. I wanted to see what you’d say.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You are a terribly unusual man, Mr. Healy.”

  “Morgan.”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Healy is more proper.”

  “Yes. But not as friendly.” He nodded. “Very well. I think the ladies are glaring now because I’ve spent so much time talking to you and not to them.”

  “I am sure of it.”

  Morgan’s gaze snapped up to the doorway, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Have you met my father formally? I can introduce you.”

  She almost accepted the offer, but thought the better of it. “No, thank you. I see friends on the other side of the room I’ve completely neglected.”

  He made a quick, informal bow—a small and elegant movement. “Another time. It was a great pleasure to meet you Lilly Luna. I hope to see you again soon.”

  As he moved toward his father, Lilly decided it was time to leave. Dr. Healy stared with a bored contemptuousness as he always did. She’d been a fool. How did she expect to enter the Healy house as Patricia Healy’s companion if she didn’t act pleasant to the head of the household? Waves of sickness suddenly engulfed her. She placed a hand on her stomach, afraid she’d be ill right there in the middle of the room. She left, rushing past Dr. Healy and his son without looking at them.

  * * *

  Morgan left the ball early and headed for the main asylum. As he rounded the south wing of the large building, he was happy for the torches that lit his way. Night in the mountains of Simple stayed pitch black. Electricity hadn’t come to town, though the mayor had promised it for next year.

  On the other hand, even with light this building created an odd feeling inside him whenever he came here, especially at night. Not for all the electricity in the world would he admit that, especially not to his father. Most of the time he didn’t admit it to himself. A man of science couldn’t give the heebie jeebies credence. The hair on the back of his neck pric
kled with awareness. Someone watched him from afar. He stopped at the end of the wing and glanced toward the tree line. There before the forest, lay the graveyard, filled with the unwanted whose families wouldn’t claim them. A little girl, perhaps seven or maybe as old as ten, stood just within the circle of light that extended near the graveyard. What on earth ....

  Her white gown fluttered in a non-existent breeze. Her eyes were dark holes, too dark for reality and too vacant. She was almost as white as her dress. He started toward her. “Damn it.” He hissed through his teeth. “Father is going to have to do something about this damned place.”

  What? Hire more nurses? More male staff to ensure the security of the patients first and foremost? The ones who worked here now obviously didn’t do their jobs. If he was the superintendent—

  He stopped in his tracks. The little girl had disappeared. He blinked and continued forward. Surely he’d seen someone there. He ventured as far into the graveyard as he could, looking for the girl.

  “Damn,” he said again.

  She couldn’t have disappeared before his very eyes. She couldn’t have gone far. Snow had started to accumulate, a fine dusting along the pine needle- covered ground. He searched for a good twenty minutes, peering into the darkness aided only by the torchlight.

  His stomach felt hollow. He rubbed the back of his neck. This damned place affected everyone who came near it. If he’d believed insanity could be transferred from one person to the other, this situation would have proved it. How else could he explain what he thought he’d seen? Around him the pine trees whispered in the wind, a sound he knew well. That noise had never bothered him before. This time it spoke to him of darkness and bleak despair.

  Fear managed to leak in around his assured exterior. He refused to allow a delusion to take hold of him. He’d be damned if he did. He wouldn’t follow his sister’s erratic path. Still, his breath came shorter as he gave credence for one moment that perhaps he hadn’t seen the little girl. He could send out a search party for the child, but then he remembered ... he could see the woods through the little girl. Not behind her. Through her. He swallowed hard, then shivered as the night turned colder. He refused to believe it. He hadn’t seen a ghost.

  He turned on his heel and headed around the side of the wing, kicking himself for stopping or even seeing a figment of his imagination. Once inside the main foyer area, he headed past the central staircase and straight toward the offices located past the rotunda. Nurses nodded at him and replied politely when he asked where to find the head nurse, Mrs. Summit. They explained Mrs. Summit had turned in early complaining that she didn’t feel well. Nurse Oleta Franklin had taken over for the evening. He found her there in the small office, manning a desk.

  “Mr. Healy.” She stood and came around the desk with a smile. “How good to see you.”

  He didn’t know the woman well, but the few times he’d met her, she’d seemed engaging and intelligent. “Nurse Franklin. I came to inquire about Lilly Luna.”

  Her eyebrows spiked upward a moment. “Oh?”

  “When she left the ball she looked ill. Where is her room? I want to check on her.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed. Clearly he’d taken her off guard. “She has a bit of a stomach upset but I’m certain it will be fine in the morning. Perhaps she ate something at the ball that didn’t agree with her.”

  “I never saw her eat or drink anything.”

  The nurse put on a careful smile. “I will check on her presently, Mr. Healy.”

  He almost demanded to see her, but he couldn’t use the excuse of medical credentials to check on an unmarried woman in her personal bedroom. And, needless to say, it was after nine o’clock and lights-out time. “That would please me, thank you.”

  “She’s a very hardy girl. I wouldn’t be worried. Come, I will look in on her now.”

  They left the offices and he followed her through the rotunda. When they reached the front door, she turned to him with a genuine smile. He had to ask the woman, no matter how mad it sounded. “Nurse Franklin, are any of your patients missing tonight?”

  Surprise wreathed her face. “I beg your pardon? None that I’m aware of.”

  “I saw a little girl in the woods near the graveyard.” He gave the description. “I searched for twenty minutes, though, and she’d disappeared.”

  The woman nodded slowly, her eyes filled with a special knowledge of a hundred thousand things he figured he’d never know. “The light plays tricks late at night, Mr. Healy. I’m sure none of our patients are outside in this weather. Then again, you might have seen a ghost.”

  His lips tightened and frustration heightened. “A ghost? I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  “Indeed.” Oleta’s voice stayed calm. “Most don’t.”

  “That other woman managed to get out. I’d suggest you double check your wards.” He placed his hat upon his head and gave his customary polite blow. “I bid you goodnight.”

  He left the building, his mind befuddled by everything he’d experienced this evening. He intended to hunker down in the family carriage and await his father. And, perhaps if he thought about it long enough, he could convince himself he’d never seen the child at all.

  Chapter 6

  Winter bit at Morgan’s face as he alighted from the carriage in front of Marjorie Holtz’s two story brick home the next week. It sat at the end of Main Street, a commanding home among other big houses. The few people with money in Simple had no problem showing it, and Marjorie’s family most definitely flaunted their wealth. Not that they were high and mighty people with airs and pretensions; they’d always been kind and generous to him. Until four months ago.

  Even though he wore a warm hat, a scarf, thick long wool coat, and sturdy winter boots, the weather promised to make the trip back to the mansion a freezing proposition. He trudged through the wind that dropped temperatures that day to a bone-cracking twenty degrees. He knocked on the door and waited. Almost immediately a butler greeted him. While their home wasn’t as luxurious as his, it commanded attention with its dark wood, thick rugs, stained glass windows, and countless other things that proclaimed wealth. His mother called it gaudy. Too much furniture and items littered the home and made it look like a cushion that was overstuffed. The butler left him at the front door while Morgan waited for him to take a calling card to a family member.

  The butler didn’t get two steps before a woman’s imperious voice rang out from the stairway. “What are you doing here?”

  Her voice was crisp and feathery, a beautiful voice almost as pretty as she. Mrs. Lucinda Holtz, wife of railroad magnate J.A. Holtz, was only forty-five. She certainly didn’t match her burly, short, sixty year old husband. A pompadour of thick black hair and startling blue eyes reminded him of Marjorie. The difference lay, however, in the lack of warmth he saw in Lucinda’s face. She’d always been a happy woman, until the last few months.

  Guilt slammed through him like a bullet between the ribs. He deserved whatever wrath she planned. “Mrs. Holtz.”

  She descended the stairs, her blue gown swishing. Her high cheekbones and sculpted lips made her so beautiful that most men gawked at her. Morgan never had. He wouldn’t compromise his integrity with a married woman.

  Mrs. Holtz took Morgan’s calling card from the butler. She tore it in half. “You need no introduction, Morgan.”

  She dropped the card pieces into the butler’s hand, and the butler asked, “Tea, Mrs. Holtz?”

  “No. Something stronger.”

  The butler left. She gestured toward the parlor. The parlor, like the rest of the red brick home, featured an opulence far less tasteful than his own home. A fire burned steadily in the fireplace, and two well-stuffed upholstered chairs sat on either side.

  Once they’d settled in the parlor, he welcomed the heat. He hadn’t come here to take abuse, though he’d expected some. Before he could speak, the butler brought two glasses of double brandy. Morgan took the crystal tumbler from the tray th
e butler held. Mrs. Holtz did the same. After the butler left, they sipped in silence. It seemed she planned to keep quiet and let him stew in his own awkwardness. Better to see Marjorie and leave quickly thereafter. “Is Marjorie—”

  “She’s resting.”

  “I’d like to see her.”

  “She won’t recognize you.”

  “I know. She didn’t recognize me last week either. Or the week before that.”

  Silence graced the room long enough for discomfort to become his companion. He didn’t like to throw back liquor, preferring the slow heat that came from savoring it. This time he might forget that idea and gulp it.

  Light from the fire glinted off her shiny hair. “Why do you bother?”

  “She’s still my friend.”

  “Is she?” Mrs. Holtz’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and her face became a cold mask. “She won’t talk to you. She won’t look at you. She’s been this way for months. What makes you think your visits will help?” Bitterness laced her tone, but could he blame her?

  “I don’t know that they’ll help.” Frustration grinded inside him, along with a powerful need for absolution. “But it would mean a considerable amount if I could see her.” He drained his brandy glass and put it on the small table to his right.

  Ever the lady, she took a dainty sip of her liquor. “Why are you here? To appease your guilt?”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times over how sorry I am, Mrs. Holtz. If I could have done anything, you know I would have. It will haunt me all my life—”

  “You gave her over to that butcher. That’s what you did.”

  “Lambaste me as much as you want. As long as your husband gives me permission to visit your daughter, I will.”

  “I tried changing his mind, believe me.”

  “He told me.”

  Her gaze shot daggers. “You’re only prolonging our pain. Every day you come here reminds us of what happened.”