by Mimi Barbour
“What happened to her?” He glanced around him at the other vehicles and pedestrians, then wondered if they saw his head bobbing about like a person carrying on a conversation but with no one else in the car. One woman, standing at the curb, motioned for him to move on as she stepped back and refused to cross the road.
“Why do you ask that?” Abbie’s questioning tone made him realize she hadn’t listened to her own words.
“You did say that you used to know her. Since I can’t imagine you ever ignoring a friend, I gather she’s moved on.”
“Actually, you’re right. She’s a brilliant, best-selling author who got married this past year and moved to America with her husband. I remember thinking at the time how strange their romance was. She’d only known him a week when they got engaged. But they’re very happy. Her ten-year-old daughter, Amy, dotes on her new father, who is a reporter with the Chicago Sun-Times. Oh, and I almost forgot. Dani is also the benefactress for The Gardens. After a fire in the old Kingsly boarding house, where the seniors used to live, both she and her husband, along with Dr. Andrews, were instrumental in overseeing the construction for the new home.”
To keep her from worrying overmuch, Marcus continued asking her questions as they drove to Dr. Andrews’ office. “You say she has a ten-year-old daughter? Was she married before? By the way, how did you know her so well?”
“So many questions. Well, let’s see. Over the years, Dani turned up often at the orphanage to help the Sisters. We became friends then, as she was only a couple of years older than me. An only child herself, she loved playing with the younger children and the babies, and we would organize games and parties for them. Then, when she turned seventeen, Amy, her own daughter, was born out of wedlock, into a lot of discrimination and gossip. Her uncle became her staunchest supporter.”
“I knew I’d like the bloke. Now, here’s how we’ll handle the interview. We’ll tell him what we’ve told the others, and hope he’ll be able to examine you and find a reason for your, ahhh, ailment.”
“Hold it! I thought we were going to tell him the real truth. I mean, about me leaving my body and joining you in yours—I mean, in spirit.”
“Did you just hear what you said? This man is an esteemed psychiatrist. He’d have us locked in a padded cell before the day was out. Play it my way, Abbie. Please. For the time being, let’s first get the feel for this man’s abilities. Trust me, it’s important.”
“Have it your way, then.” She sniffed. “I bow to your greater intelligence.”
Marcus felt her disapproval as she faded into her sacred space. But it was he who would have to face a respected physician and blather on about spirits and body snatching and such gibberish. It would make him look like a complete moron. He couldn’t do it!
Besides, he really believed there had to be a medical answer to their dilemma. A physical blow to her head made sense. Venturing into the unknown in search of answers, or the supernatural—the wacky world of woo-woo, as he termed it—made him very uncomfortable.
In no time, Mrs. Dorn opened the door to Marcus and cordially invited him into the doctor’s office. “Himself’s expected home any minute. He rung to say he’d been held up at the hospital, and he wanted me to make you a cuppa. So, what’ll you be havin’, Mr. Chapman, the Lord’s or the devil’s brew? Tea or coffee?”
Marcus caught the twinkle in her eye and winked back. “Why, Mrs. Dorn. A proper English gentleman would never drink Satan’s slop. It’ll be tea for me, if you please.”
Her laughter rang out, infectious and loud. “God luv ya, sir, I’ll make you a whole pot, I will.” Her chubby hands folded together in front of her apron, and she hesitated. “Sorry to be a bother, but I was wondering if you’d been to see Abbie? The vicar says there’s been no change, and we’re all bloody worried. If’’n you pardon me for sayin so.”
Holy hell. Mrs. Dorn would make a good detective for Scotland Yard. Her intent look would have had him wiggling in his seat if his lawyer’s background hadn’t given him the ability to withstand such a probing stare. He continue to look honestly confused.
“Yes, It is a bit of a worry, that. One of the reasons, actually, that I’ve decided to speak with your employer, Dr. Andrews.” He held her gaze until her eyes slowly went crossed.
She looked away first. “That’s good, then. I should think if anyone can help you, he could.” Her form seemed to deflate, and she slowly ambled from the room, her girth swaying from side to side in her bright fuchsia-flowered frock.
Soon Marcus heard the housekeeper greet Dr. Andrews, and her surprising words—whispered in too loud a voice—had his eyebrows lifting. Distinctly he heard, “Bless me soul, sir. It’s not like them others. I’d swear the bloke knows nothing.”
What in the world was the woman jabbering about? Marcus had no time to ponder as Dr. Andrews hushed her and quickly strode into the room. He was of middle age, very distinguished, and not at all what Marcus had expected. The doctor’s eyes were discerning as he peered over the tops of his bifocals at Marcus, who felt very slightly intimidated. Not liking the sensation, he stood at once to introduce himself and gain control.
“Dr. Andrews? My name is Marcus Chapman.” He held his hand out and waited for the other man to put his briefcase on the desk.
“How do you do, Mr. Chapman? Please make yourself comfortable.” He shook hands with his right hand, while with his left he pointed at the chair behind Marcus. Then turned to help Mrs. Dorn, who bustled in carrying a tray with a huge teapot, cups and saucers, and iced biscuits. He set it on a suitable table nearby. “Thank you, Mrs. Dorn. That was very quick.”
“Not at all, sir. I had everything ready for when you arrived.”
“I do appreciate it. That’ll be all, thank you.” He had to raise his eyebrow, clear his throat, and move to hold the door before she took the hint.
Once both men were served, the older man broached the subject of the visit. “Mr. Chapman, what is it I can do for you?”
“I’ve been told by a number of townspeople that you might be the person to help me solve the mystery of Abbie’s loss of consciousness. I don’t know how, but some people think it could be a psychosomatic disorder that has her paralysed. Is it possible?”
“First of all, can I ask how you know the girl?”
“Actually, I don’t know her. In fact I only met her on the evening she fell.” Marcus made his voice reflect only curiosity and purposely mixed it up with indifference. He wouldn’t let himself squirm as the doctor peered closely at him from over his raised teacup.
“Why have you taken such a keen interest in her problem, then? I mean no disrespect, but it hardly seems normal to me that a man of your consequence would spend time involving himself in a stranger’s condition.” This time the doctor, replacing the cup and saucer on the tray, leaned forward, and clasped his hands over his open knees. It brought him that much closer to Marcus. And gave him access to what the younger man’s eyes reflected.
Marcus, being nobody’s fool, met the doctor’s gaze and held it. “I feel somewhat responsible. You see, when she fell, I landed on top of her. I’m a big man, and I’m afraid I might have hurt her.”
“Right. Let’s start at the beginning, then, shall we? Where were you when all this took place?”
“I was sitting on the bench in front of the vicarage when Abbie approached. She slid in the snow and fell, and when I tried to help her, I also lost my footing and ended up on top of the poor girl. By the time I’d lifted myself off her, she’d slipped into unconsciousness.”
“I want to be specific. You say this happened in front of the bench?” Dr. Andrews put a strange emphasis on the word “front.”
Unequivocally Marcus answered the question and let a huffy tone creep into his voice. “Yes, Doctor, that’s exactly what I said. Why does it matter where it happened? For heaven’s sake, this young woman has a life and people who love her. It’s unconscionable that she lies lifeless in a hospital bed and the medical community has
no idea how to help her. I was told you might be able to, but I see now that I’m wasting both your time and mine.” He shot to his feet and reached for the doorknob.
“Mr. Chapman. Sit down.” Others never dared to speak to Marcus in such a way, and it caught his attention. He stopped, but he didn’t sit. He was aware that his posture spoke of a man near the end of his tether, because that was exactly how he felt.
Dr. Andrews, unruffled but cajoling, spoke softly. “I’ve only arrived back into town last night, and I haven’t even had a chance to visit Abbie. Let me do some assessments on her condition, and we’ll speak again.”
What had he expected? A miracle? Through lips compressed with disappointment, he spit out his agreement. “I’d appreciate that, Dr. Andrews. Thank you, and good day.”
****
Marcus had settled down somewhat by the time he started the car. Abbie waited until she felt his temper wane, and then she spoke. “Don’t be so angry with the doctor, Marcus. When he asked you questions on where the accident occurred, why didn’t you tell him the true location? It seemed so important to him.”
“I don’t know. It sounded ridiculous somehow, to tell him we were crawling around on the ground wrapping up those, blasted rose bushes. Anyway, why would it matter?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that he seemed obsessed with where the accident happened. And he cared, Marcus. His concern was genuine. Besides, I have a good feeling about his ability.”
“Let’s face it, my dear, you have a good feeling about wweveryone. Since you’ve taken up residency, I’ve ewwwwwwxperienced a lot more compassionate emotions than I can ever remember having before. You care about every person you come in contact with. It’s unnerving. Haven’t you ever met someone you didn’t like?”
Shuffling back through her memories, she decided that he deserved honesty. Because he’d asked the question with sincerity and not sarcasm, she answered in kind. “Not really. I guess I’ve always lived by the Golden Rule. ‘do unto others,’ and it only makes sense to me to like people until they do something that makes me dislike them. What about you?”
“For me, it’s just the opposite. Once a person proves to me they’re likable, then I’ll put energy into caring. Until then, I don’t care. It’s very simple.”
“And very sad.”
“To each their own, my love. Oh, there’s our Joseph.”
“Joseph…? Marcus, that’s Frank. Oh, I get it. How brilliant!”
While Marcus coaxed Frank to stay and listen to his plea, Abbie watched and listened. Soon they shook hands, and Abbie couldn’t believe how the persuasive devil had worked Frank into agreeing to take the part of Joseph in the Christmas nativity. Before he knew what had hit him, Frank smiled and strutted away, an indication of his delight. Marcus, grinning, got back into his car.
Abbie’s disappointment at not getting a more helpful response from Dr. Andrews dissolved. Spending time inside this man, so far, had been a wondrous experience. Crafty, smart, and with a big heart hidden under bravado and sophistication, she recognized a twin spirit. As much as he tried to sound uncaring, inside the man was a true softie.
“Why are you smirking? It’s disgusting,” she teased him after they resumed driving.
“I’m not smirking. Maybe I’m gloating a bit, but I do not smirk.”
“Oh, yes, my love, you most certainly do. It’s ungentlemanly, to say the least.”
“That’s not even a word.”
“ Maybe not, but it describes that performance perfectly.”
“Just you wait’ll I get my hands on you. My darling girl, you’ll pay for that remark.”
“Oh! Marcus.” She allowed her pent-up passion to flood through his body. When he looked in the rearview mirror to check for traffic, she allowed her adoration to shine through his eyes. He wrenched the wheel to the left and pulled off the road. His hands trembled as he riffled them through his hair and then left them there to clutch at his head.
“Bloody hell! Don’t do that to me, girl. Especially not when I’m behind the wheel.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus. It’s just been so hard not to let you know how much I care about you.”
When he looked into the mirror, she saw the love blazing from his passionate gaze. “Oh, I’ve been experiencing it, all right. It’s very much like the way I feel about you. We belong together.”
“We are together.” She chuckled, and he laughed along, his gaze still fixed in the mirror above.
The knock on the closed window caught his attention, and the policeman’s concern, plain to see, swamped him with mortification. “Can I help you, mate? Are you feeling quite all right?” He held his hand over the baton resting on his hip. One couldn’t be too careful these days.
Abbie roared and sputtered at the same time. “He thinks you were smiling at yourself. Now he thinks you’re barmy. That or drunk? Oh, Marcus, I do adore you.”
****
As soon as Marcus left the house, Mrs. Dorn, using the retrieval of the tea tray as her excuse, returned to the doctor’s office.
“What do you think, Doctor? Is our Abbie squatting inside that man? Has he been possessed?” She plunked herself down in the same chair Marcus had left and angled toward the man across from her. Ignoring his roguish grin, her bulgy eyes latched on to his and she seemed to be holding her breath.
“I don’t know, my dear. I couldn’t tell. He’d make a very good poker player.”
“I gave him me best eagle eye, but he stared me down, innocent as a babe, almost too much so, if you ask me. Could you see any sign of Abbie?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there, just that she left him to take care of the interview.”
“Why didn’t ya ask to speak with her?”
“Because I wasn’t positive that this case is similar to the others. Remember, each time this phenomenon has occurred, both people were pricked with the rose thorns from either the bush in front of the vicarage or the one I propagated from it and planted in our garden. Mr. Chapman sounded very convincing when he described the accident happening in front of the bench, nowhere near the roses. Also, don’t forget that Abbie supposedly knocked herself out, which might give us a proper medical reason for this happening.”
The woman shook her head so hard that her tight curls bobbed around her head like little corkscrew fusilli run amuck. “Summat tells me that’s too much of a coincidence. Look ‘ere, sir, every other incident involving that bloody bush leaves one person in a coma. If ‘n you ask me, the bloke’s a good actor, and poor Abbie is that scared to come out.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Dorn. That lass isn’t scared of anybody. Seems to me, if she’s stuck inside the man, he’ll be all the better for it. Tomorrow, I’ll examine her charts and try some tests of my own on her condition. And I’ll reread all my data on the other cases that had episodes with those blasted rose bushes. After I’ve considered every option, Mr. Marcus Chapman and I will have another meeting, you can be sure of that.”
“Good on ya, Doctor. I reckon I’ve always had a soft spot for that darlin’ girl, and I shan’t be happy until she’s cured. I couldn’t begin to imagine her staying like she is.” A tide of tears filled her eyes to overflowing.
Reaching to pat the clenched hands of the distraught woman, Dr. Andrews replied. “Here, now, I have no doubt we’ll have her up and about in no time, so calm yourself, my dear woman. Keep a positive attitude.”
While he reassured her, the doctor made sure Mrs. Dorn didn’t see the fingers he crossed.
Chapter Twelve
The traffic had thinned out now that the supper hour had arrived. Marcus drove with his thoughts focused on Abbie more than on the treacherous road.
“I have to admit to being somewhat unsettled earlier, after our meeting with Dr. Andrews, Marcus. So thank you for letting me visit with the children today. Following my normal routine did help somewhat to restore my balance. You know, it uplifts me to watch the little ones so innocent and happy. By the way, you wer
e wonderful with them. They really liked you.”
“Don’t be naïve, my love. It isn’t me they liked. Somehow, they sensed you. I watched them look into my eyes, and saw them relax, and it shocked me. I’ve never had such experiences before. Children have never taken to me. You know, I’ve wondered about your favourites, the little girl Cece, and Nicholas. How did they get to be at Holly Mount?”
“Marcus, really! I don’t have favourites.”
He figuratively tapped his toe until she sniffed and replied in a small voice, “So maybe I do. I can’t help it. They’re so precious. How did they come to be at Holly Mount? Hmm, let me see. Cece’s mom gave birth to her in the hospital about four years ago. She appeared from out of nowhere, so the rumour goes, and, after the child was born, she disappeared again. But she did leave a note—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It was ever so dreadful.”
“Can I ask what it said?”
“Only three words. ‘No more girls.’ I shudder every time I think about it. That darling angel given away because of her gender.”
Marcus experienced her dismay throughout his system. First he felt his bile rise, and then a tightening assaulted his stomach and squeezed the muscles. Sadness followed, engulfing him until he took gentle control. “What about Nicholas? He’s still so small, his birth couldn’t have happened long ago.”
“His story is similar to mine. We were both left on the steps of the orphanage. Except that my basket was lined with lovely blankets and my buntings were handmade. Whereas, whoever left him had callously wrapped him in newspaper and plunked him in a box right after birth. The night he arrived, I found him wailing his little heart out on the front stoop. The strange thing is, we connected somehow. As soon as I picked up his shivering little body, still covered with his birthing solution, he gave me that stare, you know the one, and he chose me to be important to him.”
“That’s why, whenever I go near, he settles down happily. He senses your spirit living inside of me.”
“Not at all. Marcus, I purposely held back when you approached both of those children. When Cece and the others came running upon our arrival, I had nothing to do with it. You were the attraction. You instill trust in those children, and that’s so important. In their rather sad little lives, many of them have had their faith in adults broken. To me, it’s worse than anything else people can do to their offspring. I mean, if a child can’t believe in their mum or their da, who can they believe in?”
