Blue Willow

by Deborah Smith

  Artemas laughed.

  Lily shook her head and smiled thinly. “For now, we’re building our stock, buying plants from wholesalers, and talking about a mail-order brochure and ads for next spring’s gardening magazines.” She studied Artemas again, searching his eyes. “When I was working at Dr. Sikes’s last week, a retired couple stopped by on the way out of the clinic with their cat. They were curious about my work, and me—looking for someone to landscape the yards around their vacation home up here. They took one of my cards.”

  He brightened a little. “You’re saying you’ve got your first design job then?”

  “I don’t know.” Measuring every word, she added, “I may have insulted them. I grilled them for personal information until they probably thought I was an undercover loan officer running a credit check.” She paused, holding his intense scrutiny and returning it. “I was afraid they were another one of your secret offerings.”

  “No, but I’ve considered doing that.”

  “Don’t.”

  “But I know you’re living hand-to-mouth, and it makes me crazy.”

  “I have a huge garden. Mr. Estes gave me an old freezer he had in his basement. I’m freezing and canning everything in sight. I’ll never go hungry, and I have enough money for necessities. I’m happy this way. It’s basic, and it takes all my energy to keep things going, so I don’t have much left over to think about Stephen. And Richard.”

  Richard’s name sounded like an afterthought, and that upset her. She repeated it in a stronger voice. There was the slightest flinch around Artemas’s eyes. Casting his attention into the woods—thin air, hidden territory—his expression was troubled.

  As she looked at him, the woods’ heavy, sweet melancholy settled in her chest. It couldn’t be wrong to want him, to want to remind this old car of couples who had been seduced by its deep, wide front seat on summer days such as this one.

  It wasn’t wrong to think of that, and him. It was only wrong to hope for it, or indulge blind selfishness. He was thinking the same thoughts, she suspected.

  Lily wanted to stroke his dark, windblown hair, or feel his hand in hers, or kiss him very slowly and lightly on the mouth. None of that was possible, but she knew it showed in her eyes. She was locked on him, sad and wishful.

  But reality was a rusty hulk of a car with torn, faded seats, a hog tugging impatiently on the thick leather leash, and an estate security guard who would drive by on patrol sometime soon. Reality was the wall of problems in their lives.

  The rumble of a vehicle approaching on the public road snapped the tension. Lily glanced back and stiffened with dread as Mr. Estes’s battered truck pulled in behind them. Mr. Estes sat still for a long second, staring at them. Then his face compressed in anger, and he shoved his door open.

  Artemas got out of the convertible before she could and faced his furious advance. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, hell,” Mr. Estes replied. His accusing gaze latched onto Lily. “I go to town to get some more lumber, and I come back, and what do I find? You sitting here with him like you’re on a picnic.”

  She held Mr. Estes’s outraged gaze firmly as she climbed over the convertible’s passenger door and stood. “Mr. Estes, are you telling me I can’t even speak to a Colebrook? That’s not fair, and it does nobody any good.” Harlette snuffled her hand noisily. Dark, giddy humor rose in Lily’s throat. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. Everything seemed ridiculous, frustrating, and bitterly out of kilter.

  He pointed at her. “I’m telling you that I don’t want no dealings with any of ’em, and you work for me, and you better remember it. And he”—Mr. Estes jerked his head toward Artemas—“he may act like he wants to be friendly, but he’s a snake in the grass. A snake in the grass waiting for you to look the other way, so he can strike! Just like he did to Joe! You trust me, Lily!”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I can’t fight you and everyone else. If the day comes when you don’t trust me, you can tell me to leave.”

  Mr. Estes sputtered. His anger had a current of distress in it that bewildered her. “You don’t understand. You just don’t understand what this man is like!”

  “I understand very well,” she answered. “He’d be a lot happier if he never had to deal with either you or me again.” She met Artemas’s eyes. The flicker of communication was private and sympathetic. He shrugged elaborately.

  “She’s absolutely right,” he told Mr. Estes. “Excuse me. I have better ways to waste my time.”

  He slid back into the old car, backed out past Mr. Estes’s truck, and left. Lily felt as if every muscle in her body were being drawn after him. When she and Mr. Estes were alone, frowning at each other, he flung out his hands. An odd brand of anxiety radiated from him. “He takes what he wants, and he don’t care who he hurts. He’ll ruin you, and if you help him do it, it’ll be your fault, not mine. You hear me? It’s not my fault.”

  The bizarre conversation made her head swim. “You go on to the farm. Harlette and I’ll take a while to get there.”

  Mr. Estes stammered, coughed, and finally blurted, “You been better to me than I deserve. I wish I could do more for you. But I can’t, you hear? I just can’t—except I can try to keep you away from Artemas Colebrook. I’m right. You’ll see.” He climbed into his truck and drove off down the lane in a cloud of dust.

  Twenty-five

  Labor Day weekend was caught between the sleepy heat of late summer and the faint scent of autumn in the air. People filled the mansions loggia and the terraced garden of the fountains. From her quiet sitting place among the trees beyond the lake Lily strained to catch glimpses of Artemas. While his guests moved incessantly from the canopied bar and buffet to the small tables set up around the fountains to the dance area in front of the band, he kept to a spot near the terrace’s stone balustrade.

  He didn’t have to mingle. People came to him.

  The band played bluegrass music, which drifted to her in soft snatches when the wind was right, like a mountain ghost who couldn’t decide whether to visit her or not. The trio of fountains gushed into the bright afternoon sun.

  She felt forlorn in her rumpled khaki shorts and brogans and T-shirt, her hair stuffed into a knot of tangled, fuzzy curls at the back of her neck, her face, arms, and legs sticky with sweat and bug spray. It hurt to be an outcast, an unwelcome witness to others’ pleasure at the house she had loved and defended during all of her childhood.

  She was startled when Elizabeth’s two small boys and a stout, efficient-looking young woman in a white skirt and blouse walked down the hill, following the lake path. The woman, who must have been their nanny, carried the three-year-old and led the older boy by the hand. A colorful beach blanket and a cloth tote bag hung from her shoulder.

  Lily parted the huckleberry shrub next to her and watched as the nanny spread the blanket on a shady spot behind a clump of laurel. A small white beach curled around the lake’s edge. The nanny pulled off the older boy’s shirt and tennis shoes. Dressed in bright print swim trunks, he ran to the water and waded in. The nanny helped the younger child undress as well, then carried him to the water, kicked off her sandals, and sat with him between her feet in the shallows. The boys squealed and splashed.

  Lily propped her chin on one hand and stared at the scene through slitted eyes, paralyzed with misery She’d never yearned for children before Stephen, had never been one of those women who loved to be around children in general or thought she needed to have a child to feel complete. But watching Elizabeth’s boys brought the barely submerged grief back to the surface, and she would have given anything to cuddle them and pretend she had Stephen back.

  Long, leaden minutes passed. Her heart sank when the nanny took the boys back to the blanket and began patting them dry with a towel. The younger boy curled up beside her, and yawned. She stripped off the five-year-old’s trunks and began dabbing the towel at his groin.

  The woman curled one hand between the boy’s legs and massaged him, smi
ling as she did. Lily’s head snapped up. Shock and disbelief froze her. The boy frowned and tried to twist away. The nanny slapped him on the back, pulled him to her, and gave him a long kiss on the mouth, cupping his small, bare bottom in both hands and holding his wriggling body against her side. Finally she let go of him, brought a dry pair of shorts from her bag, and helped him dress.

  Lily brushed a hand over her eyes. I’m in a strange mood. Did I misinterpret what that woman just did?

  Lupa nuzzled her cheek with a wet, inquiring nose, as if sensing her distress. That contact snapped the unreal feeling. Certainty washed over her, then rage. I’m not crazy. I’m right.

  Lily got to her feet. The nanny couldn’t see her through the deep undergrowth. Gathering the younger boy and her belongings in her stout arms, the woman took the older boy’s hand. The three walked back up the path to the house.

  Lily cursed in desperation. Would Elizabeth believe her? Would anyone, except Artemas, and perhaps Michael? Would James accuse her of meddling and lying, trying to cause trouble where none existed? She had promised to stay away from them all.

  But finally, one overriding thought hammered at her. if someone had touched Stephen that way, nothing could hold me back. She was already walking forward, hurrying toward the lake path.

  Artemas walked into the gallery He couldn’t linger outside by the terrace balustrade any longer, using any excuse to gaze toward the lake and the woods that separated the estate from her land. He wanted this exercise in hospitality to end, so he could stop pretending to enjoy it. Ironically one of his dearest dreams had been to see the house this way, alive with music and laughter, admired by all. Lily’s absence, as always, reduced the feeling to a shell.

  He started through the enormous room, hoping to slip into a hallway at the other side where a discreetly locked door led to the stairs up to his private wing of the house. He would go out on the balcony of his bedroom, where he could look across the lake in peace.

  Guests approached him as he made his way through the throng. Keeping up small talk had never been easy for him; Cassandra was a natural at party banter and usually performed that service with inexhaustible energy at the family’s business-related events. But Cassandra had fled to some hiding place with Dr. Sikes, and had not been seen for over an hour. Artemas almost smiled at that. He approved of the rough-cut veterinarian, who seemed gleefully able to deflate anyone’s pretensions, especially Cass’s.

  Just as he reached the other side of the room and sighed with relief, Michael strode in through one of the enormous, open glass doors and headed straight toward him. One look at his brother’s strained expression halted Artemas. “Lily’s here,” Michael said to him, in a low, urgent tone. “There’s some kind of trouble.”

  When Artemas got outside, she was standing below the terrace’s stone steps, involved in an obviously heated conversation with James. One of the estate’s security guards had her by one arm. A large group of guests were staring avidly from the terrace. As Artemas descended the steps, she looked past James to him, and he saw both stark determination and anxiety in her eyes. Artemas stepped between them and gave a quick, almost imperceptible jerk of his head. The guard immediately let go of her arm and stepped back.

  “I need to speak to Elizabeth,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “The hell you do,” James replied. “You’re not going to invade this house in the middle of a party and create some ridiculous scene.”

  “James,” Artemas said. There was lethal warning in the softly spoken name. James turned toward him, clenching the handle of his cane with white-knuckled anger. “Don’t take sides against us. For God’s sake, I thought we’d agreed.”

  “I agreed to keep my temper. You agreed to keep yours. You seem to have broken that agreement already.”

  Lily made a hissing sound of disgust. “Get Elizabeth, please.”

  Artemas frowned at her. “What is this about?”

  “That’s between Elizabeth and me. She can tell you later, if she wants to.”

  “If you need to see her, then you will. With me.”

  “No.”

  Anger and frustration graveled his voice. “You’re putting me in the position of wondering if James is right to keep you away. If you’ve got a complaint about our sister, this isn’t the time or place for it.”

  She stared at him as if he’d deserted her. Her eyes were shimmering blue ice, melting with a look of betrayal, then hardening just as quickly “Don’t worry about your damned party,” she said in a soft, scathing tone. “I’m not here to embarrass you. But I’m not leaving until I talk with Elizabeth. Alone.”

  James leaned toward her. “You’re an embarrassment to this family whether you’re standing in front of us or a thousand miles away. But we’re not going to allow you to make it any more public than you already have.”

  “Don’t bet on that. If you want to see me wrestle with a guard, I’m ready. You can tell your morbidly fascinated boot-lickers that it’s one of the local customs.”

  Artemas held up a hand. He felt trapped, furious, despondent over her unreasonable behavior. “You can tell me what you want, or by God, I’ll drag you back down the hill myself.”

  She looked stunned but answered, “I’ll come back. And I’ll keep coming back until I get what I want.”

  “That sums up your whole goddamned plan neatly,” James said.

  Artemas turned toward his brother with deadly calm. “Shut up. I’m ashamed of you.”

  James looked as if he’d been slapped. Never in their lives had Artemas spoken to him that way. His face white, he said softly, “You see what she’s reduced us to?”

  Artemas saw all too well that everything he loved was crumbling around him. It was in Lily’s wounded, contemptuous eyes, James’s fading respect, and the gut-wrenching repulsion at feeling the eager, gossipy intent of the crowd watching from the terrace a few feet above them. He snagged Lily’s arm. “We’re going to walk back down the hill,” he said.

  “Don’t try it.” The threat in her voice matched his.

  His fingers tightened. He felt the muscles of her arm contract. One more second and the first social event at Blue Willow in more than three decades would earn a unique and ugly place in the estate’s history.

  Elizabeth, Alise, and Michael hurried down the steps to them. “Stop this. Please, stop this,” Elizabeth begged. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to talk to you,” Lily said quickly. “In private.”

  “To me?” Elizabeth looked astonished and fearful, as if Lily might be carrying a hidden weapon. Lily leaned past Artemas, grasping his shoulder hard, and ignoring James’s grimace. “Please. Please.”

  “But … I haven’t done anything to you.” Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of a pale blue shorts outfit.

  “It’s not about you. It’s about your children.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “But they’re fine. Their nanny just took them upstairs.”

  “They are not fine.”

  Artemas eased his grip on her arm. He stared at her in bewilderment, with the sense of having misjudged her in ways she’d never forgive. Elizabeth burst into action, pushing at him. “Let her go!” She reached past him to take one of Lily’s hands. Artemas stepped aside. Lily glanced at him bitterly, then followed Elizabeth up the stairs.

  The family waited tensely outside the closed door of a butler’s pantry. Artemas felt as if his nerves were being ground to raw ends. Cassandra strode in, with Dr. Sikes at her heels. “What the hell is going on?” Cassandra flung a hand toward the door. “Why is Lily in there with Lizbeth?”

  Any answers were prevented by an audible shriek from behind the pantry’s heavy white door. It flew open, and Elizabeth ran out, her hands clenched and eyes wild. She pushed through the group. Michael and Artemas caught her. “Lizbeth,” Artemas said, horrified. She seemed uncontrollable, crazed. She stared up at him. “Ellen molested him! Jonathan. Lily saw her do it. She touched my son! I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.
”

  Chaos took over. Cries of alarm, guttural oaths. Everyone closed in on Elizabeth, who struggled fiercely “I’m going to the nursery I’m going to strangle that bitch. No one can do that to my son. Oh, God.”

  “You’re not going up there alone,” Artemas said. Lily stood in the pantry’s doorway. His distraught, searching eyes met hers. She looked exhausted. He loved her more at that moment than he could have put into words, even if there had been any way he could tell her. “You need to come with us. Please.” She nodded.

  Surrounded by the sheer emotional force of angry Colebrooks, the children’s nanny confessed. Lily had no pity for her, but when she thought of the legal machinery the family would bring to bear, she shuddered. She knew their unyielding revenge too well.

  Elizabeth was too upset to question her son—the others convinced her she’d only frighten him. Artemas gently carried the bewildered little boy into a playroom filled with toys, joking with him, tickling his bare feet, making him laugh and relax. Lily had seen such poignant strength and such intuition for a child’s feelings only once before: in Richard.

  After talking to Jonathan alone, Artemas returned to them, his voice calm, but his face lined with fury. Jonathan had described the sort of touching Lily had witnessed. The nanny had coaxed him to play her game several times before.

  Elizabeth was a wreck. Michael sat her down in a chair and tried to talk with her. She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. James stood behind her, his hands resting protectively on her shoulders. Cass stroked her hair.

  Tears clouded Lily’s vision as she watched them close ranks around their sister. Artemas came to her and took her arm. Yielding to the gentle pressure of his fingertips, she left the room with him. When they were alone in a hallway, he faced her. Lily choked on the memory of the accusing words he’d spoken to her at the terrace steps. He studied her expression intently, and she knew he was reading the caution there. “You could have told me why you wanted to see Elizabeth,” he said without rebuke.