by Lori Wilde
Feeling both exposed and violated, Gideon narrowed his eyes. “Well isn’t that nice? I suppose this is where you expect me to get all teary-eyed over Daddy Dearest?”
“Your father is not well, Sergeant Garza.”
“Why are you telling me this? He’s got two legitimate sons. Let them take care of him.”
“He wants to see you before he dies. I have money in my briefcase to pay your travel expenses.”
“I’m kind of in the middle of something.” Gideon waved a hand at the orphans peeking from behind the tent flap, staring with interest at the white-skinned interloper in foreign clothing. “I couldn’t leave if I wanted to and I don’t want to.”
LaVons gaze slid over the orphans dismissively. “But your father, he’s dying—”
“I don’t give a shit,” Gideon interrupted.
“I came all this way.” The lawyer worried the strap of his briefcase. “J. Foster is going to be very disappointed.”
“Not my problem.”
“So what do I tell him?”
Without batting an eye, Gideon said coldly, “To rot in hell.”
On Monday morning after she dropped Danny off at school, Caitlyn paced outside the stately Victorian on the ritzy end of Ruby Street. It had been eight years since she’d set foot in the home she’d grown up in, even though she’d tried, really tried, to bridge the gap between herself and her father. He was the holdout, hard-nosed and unbendable and condemning. She’d made one mistake, and although close to a decade had passed, he was still punishing her for it. Punishing Danny too. And whether he knew it or not, Judge Richard Blackthorne was punishing himself.
Such heartbreak he’d caused with his lack of forgiveness.
She fisted her hands. Come on, you can do this. Remember, it’s for Danny’s sake. Everything she’d ever done, from fleeing this house in the middle of the night, to marrying Kevin, to staying in Twilight even though the pain of staying here was at times almost too much to bear, had always been about her little dark-haired boy with the soulful eyes so much like Gideon’s. Part of her kept hoping against hope that her father would relent and her son could finally know his grandfather.
Yesterday, she’d told Patsy and the other ladies from the gardening club that she would not consider taking the job if it meant asking her father for the carousel. The honest reason was that she simply couldn’t take another rejection from him. There were only so many times a woman could grovel with no results before she gathered up her self-respect and closed the door on all possibility of absolution.
She’d spent a sleepless night tossing and turning and thinking about not just the twenty-dollars-an-hour, part-time job that could help solve her problems, but about the joy of creating a victory garden honoring Twilight’s war heroes.
And one hero in particular.
Gideon.
Caitlyn laid a palm over her heart. Would the pain of losing him ever subside? She thought of all he’d missed. The excitement of learning he was going to become a father, the joy of seeing his child, their son’s first words, Danny’s first steps, his first day of school.
Over time, she’d taught herself to not think of him constantly, to accept her loss and be content with what she had, and for the most part, she was successful. There’d really been no other choice. She’d done it for Danny’s sake. Just as she was doing this.
Her soul ached in mournful remembrance. Time might have blunted the old wounds, but it hadn’t healed them. Her throat constricted. It wasn’t as if she was asking her father for money. The carousel was her heritage. A legacy from her mother’s people. He had no right to keep it from her.
How do you know he’ll keep it from you? You’ve never asked him for the carousel.
She’d never asked because she understood how her father operated. He would use any leverage at his disposal to control her.
Judge Richard Blackthorne believed right was right and wrong was wrong. His black and white worldview might make him a decisive adjudicator, but his steamroller superiority flattened any mere mortal stupid enough to disagree with him. Not once had she ever seen him compromise or admit a mistake. The local lawyers lived in terror of him.
The thing about her father was how difficult it was to keep him in perspective. He stood five-foot-ten, yet people swore he was much taller. Maybe it was because most folks found it really difficult to look him in the eyes. His stare was unrelenting, as if he could see every dark secret of your soul. He had the town buffaloed. If a person wanted to hold his own with Judge Blackthorne, he had to keep in mind that the judge wasn’t as omnipotent as he seemed.
Squaring her shoulders, Caitlyn took a deep breath, opened the wrought-iron gate, and marched up the cobblestone sidewalk to the wide wraparound porch. She knocked on the door, and it was all she could do to keep from turning tail and running away.
Remember, this isn’t about you. This is about Danny and the town victory garden and memorializing Gideon’s honor and sacrifice.
She didn’t know the pinched-face, razor-backed housekeeper who answered the door. Caitlyn’s demanding, impossible-to-please father went through servants like strippers went through pasties.
“Yes?” The woman stood a good four inches taller than Caitlyn’s five-foot-four and she had her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun. She blocked the space between the partially open door and the frame, a perfect threshold guardian obscuring Caitlyn’s view into the foyer beyond. This housekeeper might last awhile.
“I’m here to see Judge Blackthorne.”
“He’s already left for the courthouse.”
Relief rushed through her, but as much as she wanted to do so, she couldn’t throw in the towel that easily. “I’m his daughter.”
“I know.” The woman gave her a half-lidded reptilian stare.
A long silence stretched between them. Caitlyn weighed her options. Come back later, or wrangle with the woman? She put on her best customer-service smile and lied through her teeth. “I’m sorry I missed him.”
“He’ll be back for lunch.”
She knew that. Her frugal father rarely took his meals away from home, unless someone else was buying. She started to ask the housekeeper if she could have a peek in the backyard barn, but realized the woman would not grant her permission.
“Thank you for your time.” She turned away.
“He’s really lonely, you know,” the woman said.
Caitlyn paused, hand on the porch railing, and swiveled her head around.
“You ought to come see him once in a while. Like a good daughter should.”
She didn’t appreciate being lectured. The woman knew nothing of their relationship, or how hard Caitlyn had tried to reach out to him in the past, only to be repeatedly rebuffed. “My father and I don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“Someone has to mend the rift.”
She wondered what the housekeeper would say if she knew that Caitlyn had called her father from her hospital bed after she’d given birth to Danny to tell him he had a grandson and he’d hung up on her. “Or not.”
“Or not,” the woman echoed, and then without saying another word, she shut the door and clicked it locked.
Caitlyn heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, thudding hard and slow. A ripple of anger rolled over her. She didn’t know for sure whom she was mad at. The housekeeper, her father, or herself. She kneaded her temple with her fingers, felt a headache coming on.
She hurried down the porch steps, but stopped when she reached the sidewalk. Without even making a conscious decision, she did not head for the street, but instead pivoted and stepped around the side of the house.
The oversized barn, painted kelly green, squatted at the back of the sloping acre lot, surrounded by a thicket of aged oaks. Ignoring the apprehension that tightened her chest, she marched toward the barn.
What if he’d moved the carousel? Worse, what if he came home and caught her back there without his permission? He’d probably call Sheriff Hondo Crouch and have him ar
rest her for trespassing.
That thought was almost enough to send her scurrying back to the safety of her flower shop, but something kept tugging her forward. She reached the barn. A padlock dangled from the hasp. Was the combination still the same?
The lock lay cold against her palm. Caitlyn was startled to see that her fingers trembled as she dialed in the date of her birthday.
It was a great relief when the lock yielded, but gratitude swiftly gave way to cold feet. The barn was dark, the windows smeared with years of grime that let in only a small slant of morning light. The air smelled musty and sullen.
Quickly, she slipped over the threshold and pulled the door closed behind her. She hadn’t been inside this place for twenty years. In the silence, she could hear the whisper-soft ticking of her wristwatch. Somewhere in the neighborhood the sound of a hammer slamming into boards echoed.
The hulking shadows of carved animals sat stacked in rows. On the far side of the barn arced the curve of the wooden platform, dismantled into four sections. Steel poles, bound into bundles, were propped in the corner. The mechanized parts hung suspended from the ceiling or housed in bins. Oil stains dotted the cement floor. Her breathing was the only sound in the cramped space.
A trail of red splinters led her to the horse, his decapitated head dangling from a leather bridle. His sightless eyes staring into nothingness.
Caitlyn squatted beside the horse, tears bunching up in her throat. She reached out a hand to stroke the curling black mane threaded through with orange poppies. Paint flaked off on her fingers, sparkled like stars.
“Blaze,” she whimpered, and the past rushed up to slap her.
Even though she’d been only five years old when it happened, Caitlyn remembered her mother’s death with a clarity born from abject grief. Her mother, fair-haired Angelica, as lovely as her name—soft-spoken, kindhearted, full of laughter.
“It’s spring, Caity,” her mother had said, giggling, one Saturday morning. “You know what that means?”
Caitlyn had nodded, even though she didn’t.
“It’s time to start up the carousel.”
Back then, the carousel had been located in Sweetheart Park. It was a gift from the Grant family to the town of Twilight. Angelica had dressed Caitlyn in a frilly pink dress complete with a petticoat, pink butterfly barrettes in her hair, and pink patent leather Mary Janes. She had been so proud of those shoes that were so shiny that she could see her face reflected in them.
She and Mama had walked hand in hand to the park. The carousel was three rows deep, with fifty-three menagerie animals—including twenty jumping horses and another twenty standers, one gigantic lion perfect for siblings to ride together, six prancing deer, four ostriches, and two giraffes—and four golden chariots. The polished wood floor shone brightly in the sunlight.
The ride operator greeted them with a low bow as if they were royalty and ushered them into the carousel ahead of everyone else. “Right this way, Mrs. Blackthorne.”
A small crowd had gathered. Mostly other mothers with children eager to ride the carousel on opening day.
“You’re a Grant,” Mama had said to her. “You get first pick.”
Those words had made Caitlyn feel like a special princess. She recalled racing to the back and trying to climb aboard a red horse sculpted with a flying black mane.
Angelica had smiled and given her a boost up. “This was my favorite horse when I was a little girl,” she’d murmured. “I named him Blaze.”
Tulips near the pond were blooming. Yellow and pink. The air smelled fresh, happy with the scent of flowers and her mother’s perfume, attracting the lazy buzz of bees. Organ music played from the speakers mounted inside the stationary part of the carousel.
Row, row, row your boat.
Angelica wrapped one arm around Caitlyn’s waist, and placed her other hand around the smooth metal pole for balance as the other mothers and children climbed aboard.
Excitement gripped her when the rotating platform lurched forward and “Row Your Boat” turned into “Roll Out the Barrel.”
Round and round the carousel went. Up and down, Caitlyn rode Blaze. She laughed and laughed as the breeze rushed over her skin, tousled her hair.
What magic!
The carousel whirled, picking up speed, going faster and faster. The tight grip her mother had around her waist loosened. Caitlyn started to get scared. She closed her eyes and clung to Blaze’s mane. “Mama?”
Her mother made a small, strangled cry.
Caitlyn’s eyes flew open and she looked over to see that her mother’s face was the color of paste and her eyes had rolled back. Angelica clutched her head with one hand and in the next instant plunged face forward onto the rotating platform.
“Mama!” she screamed.
“Roll Out the Barrel” kept playing merrily. Children kept laughing. Horses kept jumping.
Caitlyn tried to climb down to get to Mama, but her pretty little pink patent leather Mary Jane got hung in the stirrup. She flipped upside down, her petticoat in her face, her hair fanning out over Mama’s body, her ankle twisting in the stirrup, her arms flailing.
Blindly, Blaze continued to prance, yanking Caitlyn up and down, up and down.
Suddenly, everything halted.
The carousel ground to a stop. Blaze froze in midstride. The music died with a strangle. Caitlyn’s foot came loose and she fell to the platform beside her mother.
She peered into her mother’s wide open eyes. They looked so empty. Just like Blaze’s did now. Caitlyn reached out to touch her mother’s cold face. “Mama?” she whispered.
People were shouting, running. Some ran away from her, some toward her. A man grabbed Caitlyn around the waist.
“Mama!” she’d screamed, and kicked as the man carried her off. “Mama, wake up, wake up!”
But her mother never woke up. An ambulance appeared and two men whisked her away on a stretcher. Later, her father came and took her home to stay with the housekeeper, and then he went away again.
Late in the middle of the night, her father came back. Caitlyn had waited for him on the stairs, but he didn’t see her. He moved past her, headed for the back of the house. She followed him, but he stared straight ahead, not seeing her. He went into the barn and found an axe. He slung it over his shoulder and marched away into the darkness.
Caitlyn wanted to call out to him, but something stopped her. She crept silently behind her father as he walked up Ruby Street, headed in the direction of the town square and Sweetheart Park beyond. Underneath the bulbs of the streetlamps, she could see his face twisted in a scary expression.
The light from the full moon glinted off the gold trim of the carousel. The animals looked ghostly, unreal. Grass dew dampened the hem of Caitlyn’s pajamas. Fear rippled over her. She twisted a lock of her hair around one index finger and twirled it, while simultaneously popping her thumb into her mouth. Mama had told her big girls didn’t suck their thumbs and she’d been trying so hard to be a big girl, but Mama wasn’t here and her father couldn’t even see her.
Was she invisible?
Then Daddy did something horrifying. He stalked up onto the carousel platform, swung the axe, and chopped off Blaze’s head.
Caitlyn screamed, shrill and deafening.
“What are you doing here?” Her father’s brusque voice yanked her back to the present.
Caitlyn blinked up at him. She was sitting cross-legged in his barn in the dark, with Blaze’s head cradled in her lap. She probably looked psychotic.
She put the horse head aside, got to her feet, dusted her palms together. She hadn’t been to his house in eight years, but she saw him every day as he crossed the courthouse lawn walking to and from work. He always carried a walking stick. Not because he needed it to lean on, but because he thought it made him look stately.
In the beginning, when she’d first left home, she’d try waving at him, but he’d stared straight ahead, never meeting her gaze, acting like he hadn’t see
n her. Then one day, she’d brought Danny with her into his courtroom, hoping to force her father to acknowledge her, but then Danny had started to cry and he’d had the bailiff escort her out.
Her father had made her feel invisible, so she’d stopped waving, stopped speaking, stopped trying to get him to have a relationship with his grandson. He’d shut them out of his life. It had been his choice. His treatment of her had made it uncomfortable for Caitlyn to stay in her hometown. But Twilight was in her very DNA, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. So she’d stayed and made the best of things, even if it meant feeling the icy silence every time she spotted him on the street or in a store.
“I thought you were in court,” she said.
“Greta called me. The trial hasn’t started yet.”
“Greta?”
“My housekeeper.”
“She’s not from Twilight.”
“No. She’s of Czech descent. Her people are from West.” This conversation was so like her relationship with her father. Cool, impersonal.
Caitlyn had learned a long time ago that the best way to handle the judge was to state your case. Of course that usually meant having to accept no for an answer. “I came for the carousel.”
They stared at each other, the air tense. Dust motes rode the slant of light between them, showing cobweb veils draped over the wooden animals. In the distance a dog barked.
“The carousel is mine. Mother left it to me.” She fisted her hands at her sides. “I’ll get a lawyer if I have to.” The threat sounded so hollow. Probably because it was. Even if she had the money to hire a lawyer, no one in town would dare go up against Judge Blackstone.
Judge.
Whether it was a noun or verb, that’s how she thought of him now. Not Father, certainly not Dad. Judge. Because that’s all he’d ever done. Judge her ruthlessly when she’d been unable to live up to his impossible standards.
The judge plowed a palm down the length of his face and suddenly looked weary. “That won’t be necessary. You can have it.”
All the fight went out of her then. She hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Why was it so easy? She smelled a trap. What was she missing? Somewhere, there had to be strings attached. “You’re going to give it to me? Just like that?”
