To Jewel for her birthday.
Your loving Hunsdon.
The jewelry container sent a current through my fingers as if I’d grabbed a live wire. It tumbled from my hands onto the desk. “Aiden . . . what would your grandfather be doing with this? A picture is one thing, but her jewelry box? You open it.”
Aiden gave me a nervous glance, lifted the lid, and examined the inside. On the crushed velvet lining lay a frayed, grayish ribbon. At one time it might have been blue, but it had worn to a nondescript color. It held together a clump of what appeared to be hair.
A shudder ran through me. Bulging from the facing was a piece of aged-yellow paper. I sucked in my breath sharply and doubled over. “Aiden!”
“Janie, what is it?”
“It’s . . . it’s time. I think my water just broke!”
*****
Seventeen hours later, I held my precious baby. Warm and fragrant, I leaned over, breathing deeply, nuzzling that sweet fuzz. Those dark eyes blinked up at me. My heart did somersaults. I fingered that silky skin, marveling over the tiny fingers and toes.
“How can anything be so perfect?” I whispered.
“What are you going to call this perfect one?” Aiden’s voice was husky with raw emotion.
At that moment, I knew my answer. It was time to let go. Not only did my child need a name, but I needed one as well. “Aiden, do you still want us?”
He made a choking sound, halfway between a laugh and cry. “Are you kidding? You’ll marry me?”
My eyes flooded with tears, as I started laughing and crying, too. “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Chapter 42
Jack gripped the napkins until his fingers cramped. Detective Bishop’s words resounded in his head. He got what was coming to him. What did he mean, and what did the report contain that differed from the official account?
The deeper they dug, the more bizarre the details of Jewel’s disappearance grew. Of course, this was not the average missing-person case. He was determined to find justice for her. The idea of that monster harming her and getting away with it ate at him.
From the other room, Sam’s voice jarred him out of his troubled thoughts—her excitement urging him to hurry. He still clutched the wad of extra towels when he entered the office.
Her face glowed with eagerness. Breathless, she didn’t wait for him to speak. “Jack . . . this is going to sound crazy, but . . . well . . . here.” Her eyes were bright and hopeful as she passed him a framed photograph. It was the picture taken in his senior year of college, his last family portrait. Mom sat in the front; he and Dad stood behind her.
His brows rose with confusion. “Uh . . . sorry—not following you.”
“Look closer. Don’t you see the similarity between your mom and the photograph Detective Bishop gave us today?”
Jack stared, his mind whirling, grasping for the connection. She couldn’t possibly think . . . “Are you saying you believe . . . Jewel is my . . . mother?” He struggled to form the words. The idea was so absurd, he almost laughed.
“I realize it’s far-fetched.” Her chin raised a notch, and her eyes pooled with hurt. “But you have to admit everything about this entire situation fits into that category. Don’t try to rationalize it with your mind. Use your heart. And for the record, I didn’t laugh at you—not once.”
Ouch! She had him there—she’d never doubted him, no matter how crazy it must have seemed. He dropped the napkins, crossed the space between them, and pulled her into his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. You took me by surprise, is all.” He eased the picture from her hand. “But you have to admit, I’d have to be pretty blind not to recognize my own mother.”
“Not necessarily.” She pushed away and rewarded him with a frosty glare. “Number one, you’ve never seen Jewel clearly. Both times, your meetings were brief . . . once when she was running from you, and the other in a darkened room. The yearbook image is tiny and in black and white. Plus, she’s so young. Have you ever seen a picture of your mother in her late teens?”
The question took Jack by surprise, touching a nerve. It was safe to say he’d exhausted both his parents as a child, pelting them with questions about his lack of family. Whenever he’d asked his mom about it, she’d been evasive saying she’d been in an accident when she was younger and didn’t remember much. He had no living relatives that he knew of—and no, he had no idea what his mother had looked like.
“Will you please look at the picture?” Sam’s request caused him to blink to the present. She’d retrieved the photo Bill had given them from the folder and handed it to him.
He cast a doubtful eye but held the pictures up to compare. His gaze bounced back and forth between the two images. There were similarities, but . . .
Sam edged closer and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Something bugged me about the picture Detective Bishop gave us. I knew it looked familiar. I wasn’t able to make the connection until I saw her portrait on your desk.”
“So you’re saying you recognized my mother and I can’t?”
“I’m saying . . . men aren’t always the most observant. Different hairstyles, different clothes . . . they can create a dramatic change in someone’s appearance. And if you aren’t looking to connect the two . . . you may well have missed it.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s too incredible. I’m just not convinced,” he said. “How would something like that be possible?”
“How should I know? I can’t explain how letters transport back and forth between times or how you were even able to see her in the first place. You of all people should recognize unexplainable things happen.”
“Agreed, but come on, Sam . . . my mother? She wouldn’t keep something like this from me. If they are the same person, she wouldn’t be calling worried that I am in danger from the woman in her dreams—” The moment he spoke the words, he wished he hadn’t.
“Dreams? What dreams?” Sam pounced on the word like a puppy with a new ball.
Jack hesitated, not relishing the conversation. He sighed. Might as well finish what he’d started. “It’s like this . . . for as long as I can remember my mother’s had nightmares. She won’t say what they are about. Dad’s tried to get her to go to a specialist, but Mom’s never been big on doctors. She says she can’t trust them. Anyway, she called me several months ago and told me she’d been having these dreams . . . I’m chasing a woman in the garden . . . or being chased . . . I don’t know . . . She’s convinced I’m in danger.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “And you’re just telling me this? Given all that has happened, you didn’t find that unusual? It never occurred to you to share it with me?”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought too much about it,” Jack replied. “Mom is a little . . . old-fashioned. I love her, but she was a helicopter parent before the term was coined. I tend to tune out a lot of what she says when she starts talking about these visions.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “That may not be the only thing you’ve overlooked. I tell you what . . . let’s go through the report. Bill Bishop seemed adamant there was something we needed to see.” She didn’t wait for a response but picked up the folder and seated herself on the couch. She flipped the file open, extracted a packet of papers, and tapped her finger against the edge. “Aren’t you coming?”
Her voice spurred him into action. “Yeah . . . sorry.” He was momentarily distracted. The grace with which she moved never failed to mesmerize him. “You’re kind of cute when you’re bossy.” He noted the faint freckles sprinkled across her nose as he sat down, making sure his leg brushed up against hers. He found the whole idea ridiculous, but her enthusiasm was adorable.
Her lips twitched as she tried to hide a smile. “Don’t try and divert my attention.”
“Am I?”
“You know very well you are . . . when you stare at me . . . like . . . that.” She laughed.
“I’m not trying—” The doorbell halted his thought.
They both frowned
at the interruption.
“That’s odd. I’m not expecting anyone.” Jack rose. “Better go see who it is.”
Chapter 43
Present day
I trapped several pieces of cereal beneath the milk, holding them captive with my spoon. Fishing for more flakes, I seized them as well, before blowing my graying bangs off my forehead.
With a gentle touch, my husband laid a hand on top of mine, preventing me from dive-bombing the next cluster of raisins.
“What is it, Janie . . . bad night?”
I looked deep into his eyes, the color reminding me of dark coffee. They still had the power to stir my blood after all these years. His hair had turned white, which only enhanced their rich hue. He sported a neatly trimmed goatee, and I loved to give it a tug when he got too cheeky.
He looked handsome this morning in his favorite shawl cardigan and tee. Since he’d retired last spring, I’d taken to calling him Professor Puttster. Concern marred his otherwise attractive features.
“Janie?”
I nodded, knowing there was no use hiding the obvious—he knew me. His cheeks were smooth beneath my palm when I reached out to touch him. “Just a restless night. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He stretched for the cereal box and emptied it into his bowl.
I made a mental note to put bran flakes on the list the next time I went to the store and slid the half-gallon of milk to him. “Okay . . . so maybe I’m not, but I know what might help me.”
He paused, his hand on the jug. I had his full attention.
“I want to go back. It’s time, Aiden.”
“Janie, we’ve been over this. I—”
“Aiden, please . . . hear me out.” This was the only topic we ever fought over. “Why are you so dead set against this? I’m not talking about moving there, just a visit.”
He unscrewed the top, poured milk, and set it back on the table with a thud. “There are too many bad memories there.”
I crushed a stray flake under my thumb before I answered. “Then I’m going alone.” I didn’t look up, but I sensed his eyes boring into the crown of my head.
“Why . . . why is it so important that you go back? What are you hoping to gain by returning to Lynchburg?”
“Peace.”
The word hung in the air while I continued my attack on the helpless cereal fragment. I waited for him to say something. Anything, but I’d made up my mind.
“Okay.” He pushed his untouched bowl away. “If you’re determined—and I can tell you are from the set of your chin—when do we leave?”
Tears stung the back of my lids. “Really?”
“If it means that much to you.” He tugged my hand, pulling me to my feet, and with a swift move, drew me onto his lap. “It’s been hard watching you struggle all these years. I’d hoped that by moving from Virginia, we might start fresh. But after all this time you continue wrestling with the past . . . still going through that morbid box of things we found in Grandfather’s safe.”
Embarrassed, I avoided his gaze, coiling the belt of my robe around my finger.
“Do you think I don’t know about the container of stuff hidden upstairs in the closet? I’m surprised you haven’t read the ink off that letter by now. And that strange lock of hair . . . For the life of me, I can’t fathom why you’d want to keep those things.” He put his finger under my chin and tilted it so that my eyes met his. “Understand this . . . I love you, Janie. I always have. Your past has never mattered to me. I know you believe it’s connected . . . but, honey, I don’t see how.”
“I’m not sure either, Aiden. I wish I could. The letter we discovered in the jewelry box is precious . . . it may be the last thing Jewel ever wrote—proof she existed. I think it’s the one intercepted by Jewel’s husband . . . it might have cost that young woman her life. She wasn’t running to meet a man, rather saying farewell . . . thanking him for his friendship. She assumed she’d never see him again. There is nothing to suggest anything romantic. It’s clear he meant a great deal to her.” I pulled away to study his face. “How did your grandfather wind up with it, Aiden? It’s something I’ve struggled with all these years. How?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I’ve come up with a thousand different scenarios, and they all lead back to the possibility that what your grandfather told us was true. Maybe he was this Hunsdon Wiltshire . . . how else would he be in possession of these things?”
“I have no answer for that, either. Time has a way of giving perspective.” He shrugged. “I can’t say I think Grandfather was altogether innocent. We may never know the extent of his involvement, but I find it difficult to believe he was capable of what he said he did.”
“He had to be connected. There’s no other way to explain it.”
“So are you telling me you accept Grandfather’s story? You think you’re the woman in the picture?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. But I need to go back to Lynchburg to sort this out.”
Aiden leveled his eyes, studying me for several moments before responding. “Then I guess you better get packing. I’ll do what I can to book us a flight.”
*****
The following afternoon, Aiden and I tooled down the familiar streets of Lynchburg in our rented gray Buick LaCrosse, the air conditioning blasting full force in our faces.
“I don’t miss this heat,” Aiden commented.
The address I’d scrawled down earlier burned in my palm. Not that I needed it. My heart soared seeing the stately houses I remembered from years ago. How I loved the broad, smooth hum of pavement beneath the tires.
Aiden gave his signal, turned right off the main road, and came to a stop in front of one of the larger homes. They were as beautiful as I recalled. My hand trembled as I reached for the door handle and stepped out. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the massive house.
Ding, ding, ding.
The car door chimed, reminding me I’d forgotten to close it. My heart drummed against my ribcage as I waited for Aiden to come around.
A magnificent oak arose from the middle of the yard, its mammoth limbs twisting and stretching out to create a shady canopy to the porch. Small, green acorns rolled beneath our feet as we inched up the crumbling walk. Now that I was here, I stood poised at the door, my heart pounding with anticipation.
“Well . . . you’ve come all this way. You just going to stand there?” Aiden laughed and nudged me with his shoulder. He was as excited as I was, perhaps a little better at hiding it.
I lifted my hand and attempted a tentative knock, saw the bell and pressed it instead. We stood listening to the scuffle of feet inside as the door swung open.
The handsome, young face that greeted us looked confused, startled, and then broke into a broad grin. “Mom? Oh my goodness . . . Dad? What are you guys doing here?”
Several years had passed since my baby had been home. Was it wrong to stand a moment longer and drink in the sight of my only son? Had he grown another inch?
“Your mother wanted to surprise you. I told her we should call . . . I hope we aren’t interrupting anything,” Aiden interjected.
“Are you kidding? Of course not! I’m just . . . speechless.” Jack stared at us a second longer before pulling me into his embrace. “I couldn’t be happier to have you here. If I’d known, I’d have picked you up at the airport.”
I waved off his concerns with my free hand, savoring his crushing hold. “No need for all that fuss. Everything I want is right here.” I squeezed him a little tighter, unwilling to let him go just yet.
“Honey, give him air.”
I released him long enough to allow his father a chance to greet him with a firm handshake and couple of thumps on the back. My heart swelled with fierce emotion as tears clogged my throat. My two men. They were my world.
“Mom, don’t cry. Come on in . . . you shouldn’t be standing out in the heat.” Jack drew back and held the door open, allowing us inside. “How did yo
u ever talk Dad into coming to Lynchburg?”
I stepped across the threshold, my senses filled with the scent of furniture wax and hardwood. A musty fragrance in the air triggered an involuntary shudder. I suppose it’s typical of all old houses, they smelled of dust and age. I attempted to take in everything at once, the stairs, the chandelier, and the curved window seat. My lungs felt tight; it was difficult to breathe.
“Mom?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful, son. This house is gorgeous. It takes my breath away. It already has a sense of . . . familiarity to it.” I turned to him, linking my arm with his. “I can’t wait to see what a wonderful job you’ve done.”
A movement from the left caught my eye.
“Jack, I heard voices. Is everything o—” An attractive, slim redhead made her way around the corner, stopped abruptly, and stood to gaze at me with her mouth gaped open in obvious surprise.
“Hello,” I said and smiled. “You must be Samantha Rose. Jack’s told me so much about you over the phone. He certainly didn’t exaggerate . . . you’re every bit as attractive as he said. I’m Jack’s mother, Janie.” I extended my hand.
The young woman looked stunned. Her eyes flickered to Jack. I sensed a current pass between them. With a nod, she recovered and graciously crossed the distance, clasping my fingers with a warm grip. “Forgive me, I guess I’m . . . well . . . surprised. It’s so nice to meet you . . . in person. I feel as if I already know—”
“Sam, this is my dad.” Jack interrupted.
Aiden cut his eyes at me, measuring my reaction. It wasn’t like Jack to be so abrupt. Perhaps we’d intruded after all. Samantha’s expression told me she hadn’t appreciated the slight, either. Although when she reached for Aiden’s hand, her smile held no sign of irritation. Still, there was a weird tension in the room.
Aiden picked up on it. Always the peacemaker, he was quick to jump in. “We’d like to take you two out for dinner tonight. Jack, your mother couldn’t wait to see you. She made me drive over before we even settled in a hotel. I told her we should have called first. We don’t want to hold you up. We should check in.”
Timeless Moments Page 31
