Edge of the Shadow

by Yvonne Montgomery

  Neal bent to set down the box. "I haven't been able to figure out what happened," he said, voice rough. "Let alone whose fault it was."

  Her heart skipped at the way he moved, at the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. What was it about him that made him so much more alive than other people? "I didn't mean to act that way. I was upset by something and the storm scared me."

  His expression remained guarded. When he took a step toward her, she moved back and her shoulder nudged open the door behind her. He stopped and held out one hand in a cautious gesture. "I freaked out when you ran away from me." His hand dropped to his side. "You were afraid, but there's no way I would hurt you."

  "I know," Andrea said miserably. "I wish I could explain."

  Neal took another step toward her and she smelled his scent, a combination of sweat and soap. Irish Spring, she thought, and a series of images flashed through her mind: of her husband David lying on the couch, hooking her by the wrist and pulling her down beside him. Of his walking out of the shower, towel draped at his hips, gray eyes dark with thoughts slowed under the spray of hot water. Of his warmth against her back in the middle of the night. Grief clutched at her with strength unknown to her for five years or more. Andrea fought back pain for all she'd lost so long ago.

  "What is it?" Neal searched her face, eyes intense. "What's wrong?"

  Dismayed at the sudden rush of emotion, Andrea shook her head, wishing she could empty her mind. "Old memories, things that can't be changed." She let out a breath, pushed her feelings back under guard. "Don't worry about it."

  The concern in Neal's eyes flattened to bitterness. "Quit playing games. You open up and before I can react you shut down again. You keep giving me mixed signals and I don't like it."

  "I don't like it either!" Andrea was furious at herself for the awkwardness she couldn't escape, angry with him for seeing it. "It's too tangled to explain."

  He moved closer and rested his hands on her shoulders. Desire flowed through her like an electrical current.

  "Tangled for you, maybe," he said with grim amusement. "Every time I get near you, it's pretty damned simple for me." His hands moved down her arms and when he reached her wrists, he pulled her against him.

  Andrea's eyes shut as she absorbed the feel of him. His chest was broad and sheltering, his arms strong, warm. She'd known this sense of homecoming once.

  The clock downstairs chimed the quarter hour, the notes distant. Neal lifted his head and Andrea looked up at him. His brows drew together in a frown but before he could ask any more questions she brushed his lips with hers. His arms tightened, and he deepened the kiss.

  His fingers smoothed through her hair and then held her as he traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue, setting off nerve endings she'd forgotten were there. When his tongue surged into her mouth, she pressed herself to him, savoring the heat of his arms around her, attuned to the hammering of his heart against her breasts.

  Neal looked behind her. "Is that your room?"

  At her nod he eased her back, swinging the door behind them as they made their way to her bed. When she felt the edge of the mattress against her legs, Andrea sank backward, Neal following her. His hands smoothed the cloth over her breasts, down her torso and over her thighs. Her muscles melted in response. She sought his mouth again, exultant at the reawakening of her body, so long asleep.

  Shifting her weight, she opened her thighs and brought him closer. Short breaths, small groans, muttered words. The world turned crimson behind her eyelids.

  He pushed aside her shirt, her jeans, the fabrics rubbing against her skin, bra straps sliding down her arms, silky panties easing down her legs. His hands were strong against her breasts, his mouth hot and wet around her nipples. She gloried in sensation.

  The change came on so gradually she didn't know when anxiety overcame anticipation. A tendril of aversion snaked down her spine, triggering tension along the way. His arms held her too tightly. His breath came in uneven gasps. The heat of his body was overpowering, but a chill spread through her.

  Abruptly Andrea pushed against his shoulders.

  He groaned, as if in pain. He leaned his head against her neck, and the patch of skin where he touched her burned. His mouth moved up her neck and found her lips once more.

  Andrea fought against the kiss, but he clutched her still more tightly. His lower body moved against her, hard and demanding. This is wrong. Futilely she tried to free herself, palms slipping on the crisp surface of his shirt. The scent of starch teased her nose. Her mind spun with images, of lightning stabbing the dark, of thunder rumbling destruction, of Neal's features melting into those of the man she had sketched.

  A small, terrified sound escaped from her.

  He crushed her to him and she thought her ribs would break. She couldn't catch a full breath. Heat came off him in waves but her teeth were chattering with cold. A low humming sound filled her ears.

  She'd almost lost consciousness when his grip loosened and he sagged against her. Andrea gulped in a breath, then another.

  He mumbled something into her shoulder.

  Andrea felt him turn toward her. She kept her eyes tightly shut. What if it wasn't his face? Here in daylight, what if he was the other man? She forced her eyes open, and looked at him.

  Neal stared at her from glazed eyes. His face was flushed, hectic red extending down his neck and bare chest. "Bay rum. Grandpa wore it. Haven't smelled it in thirty years." His head fell onto her shoulder and he slumped against her.

  "Neal?" Andrea shoved with all her strength at his shoulders and tried to wriggle out from under him. She was pinned. "Neal, get up!" She shifted as violently as she could but there was no moving him. His breathing was shallow.

  She fought against panic. "Neal, wake up!"

  "Andrea, are you okay?" The door hinges squeaked. After a moment of sharp silence, the hinges sounded again. Rose's voice retreated. "I beg your pardon."

  "Rose! Don't leave. Help me."

  Rose was beside the bed a few seconds later, her horrified face appearing above Neal's shoulders. "What's wrong?"

  "I don't know." Andrea tried again to squirm out from under him. "Help get him off me. Hurry. He's in trouble."

  Rose put her weight into pushing against Neal, and Andrea managed to free herself. He pitched over onto his back and Rose fell onto the mattress beside him. Andrea scrambled to her knees next to him, hands patting over his face. "He's burning up with fever."

  "Let me see." Rose leaned against his shoulder and rested her palm against his forehead. Neal groaned, recoiling in pain. He opened his eyes and frowned up at her.

  "Don't feel so good," he rasped. He looked past Rose to Andrea, eyelids at half-mast. He fumbled for her hand and clutched it. "Rain check?"

  Andrea couldn't repress a smile. Instinctively her fingers tightened around his.

  Rose clicked her tongue. "How about we get you an aspirin or two?" She flipped the bedspread over Neal's legs. "Andrea, hand me his shirt. You might want to get dressed, too."

  Andrea glanced down at herself. Before she could dive for her clothes, she felt a tug on her hand. Neal glanced at Rose as she headed for the bathroom. Then his bleary gaze returned to Andrea. "What happened?"

  "I don't know." She'd felt the same sense of intrusion as she had on the mountain. Would he have changed into the other man? Andrea pulled against his grasp.

  He held on. "Unh-huh. No more running." He took a shallow breath and closed his eyes. "Promise?"

  Andrea stared at his heated face, at his lips tight with pain. She nodded and realized he couldn't see her. "Promise." She stroked his cheek.

  Neal sighed and slipped into sleep.

  * * *

  A bar of sunlight from the shuttered window fell across manuscript pages spread across the desk. Kerry glanced up from the unpublished memoir of an early associate and wished she could be outside catching some rays. The room felt like a cave, and her current chore was just busywork.

  Rose
and Noreen had run with the notion that former residents of Wisdom Court might have recorded odd events paralleling Andrea's experiences. "We can't afford to ignore any other strange things happening at Wisdom Court," Noreen said, "and since you're already going through the materials, you can keep an eye out for similarities."

  Kerry surveyed the files on her desk glumly. Plenty of interesting women had been associates at Wisdom Court, but so far the documents she'd scanned had been about their authors' professional development. No breathless narratives about encounters with the supernatural had shown up yet.

  "Boring," Kerry muttered. Noreen was trying to find the location of the landscape in Andrea's sketches while Dolores checked through Wisdom Court art archives for any similar drawings. She reached for another document and then let it drop back onto the desk. It wouldn't hurt to take a break. She could read a little more of Jessamine's diary first.

  Kerry retrieved the key from under the lamp base and opened the desk drawer, ignoring a twinge of guilt. She'd left Jessamine in late July. The entries following her second meeting with Kelvin Haslett had focused on his virtues. Jessamine had been taken with his manners, his humor, and his talents. He'd been something of an artist, carrying with him a sketchpad wherever he went. Kerry wished she could see some of the sketches Jessamine had described, particularly what sounded like a romanticized drawing of Jessamine herself.

  August 2, 1909

  I hardly know how to write this. In truth, I shouldn't write about it, but how else can I control my feelings? My heart has never been so full. The world is not the same place it was yesterday.

  When I saw Mr. Haslett—Kelvin—today (just to write his name makes my heart beat faster) I was upset from a row with Mrs. Selkirk. She said Mr. T. has complained that I am shirking my duties to spend time at the Chautauqua. She claimed he had no clean shirt to wear, but I ironed four of them three days ago. She is the one complaining, because she is jealous of the freedom Mr. T. allows me.

  I left in a temper. I was already late for the lecture and I walked faster than usual. Mr. Haslett came out of nowhere and I ran into him! He seized my arms to keep me from falling. His hands are very strong and quite warm. Before I could even think, Mr. Haslett (Kelvin!) embraced me! I nearly swooned. I'm sure my cheeks were red as peonies. When I pulled away, Mr. Haslett—Kelvin—put his palms to my cheeks and said, "I am not taking liberties with you, Jessamine. My feelings are both sincere and honorable."

  Dear Diary, my heart pounded so, I thought it might burst from my bodice. It pounds now when I recall what I did. I lifted my hands to his shoulders and pulled his head down. I kissed him with all the regard I have for him. After his surprise, Kelvin kissed me back. If I felt faint before, it was nothing to what I felt then. If angels had given us wings, we'd have flown away right then. How I wish Mama and Papa could know him. He's such a fine man. He wished to go to Mr. T. at once to declare his intentions. I said not to. Mr. T. is not my father. I will tell him myself when Kelvin is not present.

  Kerry set down the diary. She pressed the pad of her thumb against the nagging ache between her brows. Jessamine should have paid more attention to her penmanship, she thought irritably. A lady of her day could be told by her handwriting. Such hen scratching was not acceptable. Shaking her head at the low buzzing in her ears, she turned the page.

  The sudden ring of the desk telephone startled her. She knocked the receiver off the base as she answered. "Hello?"

  "What're you up to, girlfriend?" Elizabeth's warm voice purred in her ear.

  Kerry glanced at the diary. "Just reading through some source material. Why?"

  "I'm going for a walk and I'm looking for some company. You interested?"

  Kerry was swept with a desire for fresh air and exercise. A walk in the sunshine would clear her head and help her get back to the stack of memoirs.

  "Kerry? It's just a walk. Should be a no-brainer in the decision stakes."

  "Sorry. That's the problem. My brain's fuzzy from too much reading. When are you going?"

  " 'bout half an hour. You in?"

  "I'm in."

  "See you in a while, then."

  Kerry replaced the receiver. Her gaze drifted over the page where she'd stopped reading. Maybe just a little more.

  Chapter 17

  August 3, 1909

  ...Kelvin was waiting for me this afternoon near our special place. He spun me in his arms and my heart flew into my throat, just as it did at the circus last week when we rode the big swings. Each time he kisses me, I forget everything.

  Kelvin pulled me into the shelter of the big rocks and spread his coat under the ledge. I lay with him there and he knew me. It was wrong in the eyes of God, but I'm not sorry. It was so beautiful. I heard rocks shifting against each other and when I told Kelvin he said we would be remembered in the rocks.

  Afterward Kelvin held me, and gave me a small box he took from his coat pocket. His eyes held so much love I couldn't look away. He helped open it and I found a green velvet case.

  Inside were two silver disks, one smaller than the other. "They're talismans," he said. "We each keep one and therein possess the other." The bigger disk, an inch and a half across, hung from a silver chain. Lines extended from the center of the disk, and a small triangle lay flat against it. He lifted the triangle and the jewel was a tiny sundial!

  Kelvin smiled at my pleasure, and raised the smaller silver circle from the case. "It's a fob I'll attach to my watch chain." He showed me how the gnomon folded out on his disk as well. On the back of both were engraved the words, Our Time. "This summer has been ours alone." He spoke with such sweet gravity I found it hard to hold back tears.

  "Will you wear this for me?" I nodded and he put the chain around my neck and fastened it, and kissed me with great devotion. "I love you. I want you to be my wife." My eyes swam with tears until he complained at my melancholy. I mopped my eyes with his handkerchief and showed a sunny face. Yet I felt such sorrow that my parents will not know him. Death is cruel, not once but countless times. When I said that aloud, he held me close and kissed me again.

  Kerry winced at the sudden pull of her hair, now wrapped around her index finger. She freed it and grabbed at a tissue to wipe her eyes. She tugged open the desk drawer and withdrew the small case hidden with Jessamine's diary. Gently she opened it. The pendant was tarnished, but now she could make out the words Our Time. She traced the letters with her fingertip. Her throat ached.

  A thump sounded from the front of the house. "Crap. The walk!" Kerry leapt to her feet and hurried from the study. Scrambling for the key, she finally swung the door open where Elizabeth waited. Her curvaceous body filled spandex shorts and a tee shirt dedicated to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In Nikes and a blue sweatband, she was ready for action.

  Elizabeth cast a quick glance over Kerry's rumpled shirt and cut-off jeans, and her bare feet. "I can see you're rarin' to go, girl." She studied Kerry's face. "Have you been crying? What's the matter, honey?"

  The kindness in her voice brought Kerry to the edge of tears again. "I got caught up in something, that's all. Can you wait? I'll put on some shoes."

  "Take your time."

  Kerry opened the door more widely. "Come on in." She hurried toward her bedroom, aware of Elizabeth's curious gaze following her.

  * * *

  In the house across the square, Dolores stared at a lump of clay in frustration. It said nothing to her. In her mind she could almost envision... something, but words kept getting in the way. Death, grief, end of the story. She had the words she needed but no image for the last figure in the Wrapture exhibit.

  She snatched up the nearly empty pack of cigarettes. A smoke might help her focus, maybe break through the logjam.

  Shaking one from the pack, she stuck it in her mouth. It was the rough surface of the lighter wheel against the pad of her thumb that brought her up short. "Dio." She'd overdone it yesterday and now her body was ready to slip right back into the old pack a day routine.

&nbs
p; She ground the cigarette into the pottery bowl she'd used as an ashtray and picked up the pack. "Been there, done that, not going back." She threw the wrinkled mass into the wastebasket.

  Gotta get out of here. Dolores grabbed a notebook and stuck a couple of pencils into the center pocket of her bib overalls. Fleeing the scene of the crime, she thought, locking the door.

  Elizabeth and Kerry were coming down the steps of the other associate house as she came outside. "Where're you off to?"

  Dolores skipped down the brick tiers. "My head's either empty or full of shit. I figured getting out for a while might help me decide which."

  "Me and Kerry are just heading for a walk. Wanna come?" Elizabeth glanced down at herself with a mocking smile. "This being Boulder I figured I'd better go with formal wear, but Kerry here ruins it with cut-offs."

  "Yeah, right." Kerry lifted a brow. "Just because you're a slave to Nike, don't put down my poor but honest outfit."

  Elizabeth clicked her tongue. "Dolores, I reckon your overalls will trip up the image police enough so I can stop worrying about being overdressed."

  "Bite me."

  Elizabeth laughed. She swung open the iron gate, and pulled it shut behind them. The clang of metal scared a crow off its perch in the willow tree.

  Clouds drifted in the delftware sky. Their shoes crunched on the gravel road, and redwing blackbirds trilled over the bickering of sparrows. When they reached the sidewalk, Elizabeth lengthened her stride, Kerry and Dolores keeping up. The concrete path was downhill and for a few steps they could see the city outstretched like a crazy quilt. As they went on, trees blocked the panorama.

  They'd walked the four blocks east to Ninth Street before Elizabeth broke the silence. "Have you two been able to get any work done today? 'Cause I sure haven't." She didn't look at either one of them, just kept striding, moving her arms in exaggerated swings.

  A vague recollection had been teasing at the edge of Dolores's mind. Something she'd seen, maybe something she'd read about was tugging faintly like a minnow nibbling on bait. "Hmmm?"