"As for Laura, she was dead, as I'd known she was from the minute I walked into that bathroom. And then I was making weird decisions, like did I want to donate any organs that were still useful? I remember replying in this robotic way to so very many questions, most of which I had no answer to. Like why? When? Didn't I see this coming?"
He sat up, but this time, he gingerly placed himself beside Kristen.
The water was completely flat and calm. Even the breeze had ceased completely. The sun was lighting up the river in a dusky haze, but hovering over the hills. Jacob knew they should head back very soon.
"It turned out that Laura had taken an overdose of sleeping pills and had put some in Jordan's bottle too. Then she laid down in a warm bath with the baby on her chest and…well, they just went to sleep. When Adrienne got home, the front door was open, so the goddamn bus driver…she said she figured Laura was there, since the door was open. Ennie was allowed to run up the walk and into the house."
Jacob sighed. "For a long time, I kind of focused my attention on that, fought with the bus company, fought with the school. But it really was my own guilt. My own distress at what my little girl had been forced to deal with. I couldn't take it out on Laura, obviously. Adrienne had walked into that horror. She'd tried to shake Laura awake. And then at six years old, she had the sense to pick up her baby brother and warm him. Lifting him up had the effect of making him vomit too. She literally saved his life, though the diagnosis was that he'd suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation. Which of course you already know."
He hung his head, still clinging to her hand.
"Kristen, I can't even begin to tell you how guilty I have felt. I still wake up in the morning sometimes with the image of Laura in that bathtub. I wonder why I didn't know that she had postpartum depression. I mean, I knew she was out of sorts, quieter than usual, not very happy. I figured it was because she hadn't really wanted to get pregnant again. She had made it clear that one child was enough. But when it happened, all those years later, by accident, and after we argued about abortion and how fundamentally against it I was…she seemed to accept it. She was fine throughout the pregnancy. I truly didn't see her behaviour as extreme, until that morning."
"That morning?" Kristen prompted gently when the silence continued and the sun's rays began to dissipate beyond the hills.
"That's why I came home early. I knew she wasn't right. I couldn't get her out of bed. She wouldn't talk to me. I stayed as late as I possibly could, got Ennie off to school. I had to be in court, I kept telling her, there's no one to take my place, I'll come home right after the appearance, I shouldn't be too late…and then I left. I left Jordan in the bed with her. She'd turned over and she put her arms around him and I thought…even though she wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't kiss me. I told myself she was angry with me for some reason and that I would figure it out later. I kissed them both on the forehead. Then…I left them like that."
Kristen knew that he had reached the core of his guilt. He had abandoned his wife and baby in a crisis. He might have prevented her suicide and his son's injuries if he'd stayed at home that day. She turned and put her arms around him, feeling his body tremble and shudder. As the rays of the sun left them in a gray dusk, Jacob sobbed until the grief had been discharged once and for all.
Later, Kristen turned the lights on for the boat while Jacob started the engine and headed back to the shore. Under the hum of the motor, he could hear her voice, soothing and reassuring.
"You might have stopped Laura that day, Jake, it's undeniable. But you probably would have just postponed it. Sometimes depression is so hard to see. Sometimes people are in so much pain or so deluded that they are determined to end their misery and there is nothing we can do about it."
"It might have been that Laura just wanted some sleep. Perhaps she didn't mean to kill herself or harm Jordan. She might have misjudged the number of pills she took. We all make horrible mistakes. Laura might have made one that took her life. Maybe you made one. But that doesn't mean you have to punish yourself for the rest of your life. You are a good, wonderful person and you love your children deeply. You have to forgive yourself, my darling."
He half turned toward her, one hand stroking her cheek as he steered through the empty water, slowing down as he neared the dock.
"I love you, Kristen," he told her. "I love you and I have never, ever felt like this before."
He pulled up alongside the dock. They sat with the motor idling for a moment.
"I don't think I knew what love really was until I met you. I don't think I ever believed in a soul mate until now."
Her eyes filled with tears, Kristen reached up and drew his face down for a long, soft kiss.
"From now on, we will live with your past together, but we'll live with it in forgiveness. We won't forget Laura. We'll help the kids remember her in all the good ways. We'll love them and we'll love each other and take care of each other for always. Okay?"
He smiled and hugged her, shutting off the motor.
"For always," he said. "Will you marry me, Kristen George?"
"Absolutely," she said immediately, with conviction.
"Let's go tell everybody."
He helped her out of the boat, onto the dock, and they raced up the hill toward the cottage, hand in hand.
Chapter 30: Alain
After the first visit with Doc Murphy, both Alain and May began to feel more hopeful, less burdened. The physician started his patient on a regimen of an antipsychotic drug, which Alain initially resisted, until Ron Murphy patiently explained that the medication would allow Alain to sleep and regain his equilibrium. Once he felt stable again, Alain would begin a milder form of antidepressant.
"Basically, we'll be boosting your body's defences," Doc told them. "Your psyche is a lot stronger than your natural resistance right now, so we're going to send in some extra troops to assist, as well as tame the brain waves that are playing havoc with you. Next, I suggest two methods that should get to the root of the problem."
He sat down and looked them both in the eyes, conveying the strength of his feelings through intense body language.
"I believe that you need to uncover your past, Alain," he said. "Right now you can't deal with it because it's unknown. You know how filmmakers play on our fears mostly by hiding the fiend at first? Once it's exposed, the hero goes on to slay it. That's what I recommend. Let's unearth that past of yours and then we can all deal with it together, whatever it is."
"You've told me that you can't remember being a little boy. You only remember some of the things you were told. Well, let's find out everything. Where were you born? Who were your birth parents? What happened to you that you were so traumatized that you can't remember what happened?"
"The first thing I want you to do," he went on, when they nodded, "is to ask Jacob Finch to investigate your birth. It's not easy to do, but I think he has the skills to dig up a great deal of information. The second thing is a little unorthodox, but you can do it. I want you to enter hypnosis with me."
May's head was spinning with both the possibilities and the dangers of her husband's journey. She found it difficult to think, to respond.
Surprisingly, Alain was eager to embrace everything Doc Murphy asked of him. He was drained, exhausted, and desperate for answers. He would try anything that would help him understand and ultimately, be at peace.
"I'll do it, Doc," was what Alain said, his hand grasping May's, his eyes more alert and optimistic than they'd been in months.
"I'm well trained in hypnosis," Doc went on, as though he hadn't already received assent. "I have used it often, though of course most people don't know that unless they've been one of my patients. Once the medication begins to take effect, you will also be more amenable to hypnosis, so we'll make an appointment for about two weeks from today. Once we uncover the truth, once you are able to face whatever happened, you will probably not need to rely on medication in the future. But that's something we'll dea
l with down the line. Right now, I'm just happy that you're willing to try anything to get to the root of your nightmares."
Later, when they were at home in bed, when the sun had disappeared and a full orange-tinged moon filtered through their curtains, May and Alain lay in each other's arms exploring their uncertainties about potential changes in their life together.
May confessed her secret fears about losing him. What if he discovered that the person he was had no room for an older wife?
Alain had not laughed at her, though she could feel his incredulity at her statement. He reassured her that the person he was would continue to exist, that despite whatever they uncovered, it would not change the Alain Reneaux she had married.
In turn, he confessed his fears that his past might repel her. What if his background was so disgusting, so terrifying, that she would decide she could no longer be married to him?
Again, she didn't laugh at him, but reassured Alain that she could not live without him, despicable past or not.
In the darkness they recommitted themselves to each other. Marriage vows reiterated as promises that they freely desired and chose to fulfill.
May told him something about the Ojibwa tradition of Mother Earth and Father Sun, the two intertwined to nourish and sustain life. Different yet symbiotic. A relationship whose purpose is to sustain and uphold each other.
Her spoken thoughts and the sound of her voice were like a rush of warm water over Alain's aching body. May could feel the muscles in her husband's shoulders begin to relax. He was leaning against her breasts. Her arms around him, she gently massaged him with her hands as well as with her voice.
May began to explore out loud the faith that Aunt Oona had taught her. She spoke of vision quests and soul mates. Though Alain had remained apart from this aspect of May's life, he suddenly began to see the depth, the possibility, the potential in her creed.
As for May, since dealing with Oona's loss of independence and faculties, she had set aside her prayer and her visioning. This late-night conversation, born of fear and insecurity, awakened once more her conviction that there were layers of the mind that could be tapped through the Ojibwa rituals. The belief in the path of souls and in destiny provided a kind of acceptance, yet a way to discover the truth.
She tentatively suggested a visit to Agnes Lake, her Bear Clan Shaman, as one of the tools they might use to guide them through this journey. Surprising her for the second time that day, Alain readily agreed.
He began to caress her, his hands light and feathery on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Their lips met in warm, succulent openness. His tongue explored her nipples, now taut with expectation, while she laced her fingers through his hair. When they made love, it was slow and deep and sustaining.
Chapter 31: Doro
The photo caught the smoke, a smudge against the background, as it wafted up from the crumbling bricks, plaster, wood, and roof tiles. A few ghostly outlines staggered feebly in the harsh light of the camera's lens. A section of a wall, a blackened refrigerator. A soaked and sagging mattress. The place looked as though an enormous giant's foot had flattened it. Very little remained of the wooden farmhouse that stood embraced by trees. Even the small clump of forest had been reduced to withering, smouldering sticks.
The roof was splayed on top of the second floor. The second floor bled all over the first. No windows, no discernible frames were left standing. It appeared to have been blasted apart by a bomb. The tone of the various articles was consistently cold and factual, which made the reality even worse.
The first one, with the accompanying picture, tersely told its readers that the manse burned to the ground during the night of July 14, 1980. Ironically, on a day that in the past would have heralded a joyous community picnic. The usual line was repeated at the end of the short, brusque paragraph: The police and, as an added bonus, the fire department, 'are investigating.'
The next articles mostly had a picture to accompany them. In the beginning, the house figured largely. Its smouldering ruins became steadily more pathetic as they were carefully and thoroughly picked apart or flattened further by investigators.
Later there were family pictures. The one showing the Pastor, his wife, Elias, Ithamar and Dorothée in her stroller, was used most often. A school picture of Elias and Ithamar. Robert and Cécile's wedding shot. Picnics at the manse. The Pastor on the steps of the courthouse, surrounded by both supporters and detractors. Through the cold black-on-white typing, the newspapers told the story in bits and pieces.
Robert and Cécile Janot, along with their son Elias, were found dead in the house. Only Elias, huddled in the front hall, died of smoke inhalation and flames. Robert and Cécile were discovered under the remains of the floor above and the roof. Rifle-sized bullet holes riddled their skeletons.
Ithamar, whose last picture from school in 1976 gave him the perpetual look of nine instead of thirteen, was discovered in the cornfield just beyond the farmhouse. His head ripped open and blood everywhere, his arms tightly wrapped around his four-year-old sister Dorothée, despite the fact that he had lost consciousness.
In later columns, updates added as much information or hearsay as the reporter could fit onto the front page. The words were stark. Ithamar continued to cling to life in critical condition in the hospital and had not yet regained consciousness. Dorothée was with relatives.
Mentioned only once, baby Faith. Her remains had not been found. The fire chief asserted that finding tiny bones was often impossible in a fire such as that one.
When the reports weren't focused on the family's deaths, they zeroed in on the causes of the fire. Arson was eventually proven. Gasoline had been spread throughout the first floor. The fire raced quickly to the second floor and through the roof. The fire department had not been called until nearly dawn, when a neighbour was alerted. By then, the house, barn and surrounding vegetation had been destroyed. But as to who the arsonist—the murderer—had been, the only speculation centered upon Elias.
Doro's breathing became shallow. The horror swirled lifelike within her. Suddenly she was cold, clinging to his small thin body, whimpering and terrified. Wake up Itha, wake up. The acrid smell, the sound of the fire eating its way through the wood, the black fog drifting closer to them. She was shaking and weeping. She rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. Itha, wake up. Wake up.
Something's coming. His arms were still wrapped around her, comforting and strong. She tried to see his eyes, tried to get him to respond. She did not let him go, rubbing and rubbing his back, the way he used to ease her grief and terror when she cried after the preacher horrified and accused them.
Then suddenly out of the thick smoke there were hands, lifting, pulling at her. Voices gentle and meant to be soothing. "It's okay. It's okay."
But Itha was too still, too quiet. He didn't hold out his arms to her now. He was white and pale and limp and the hands separated them. Itha, wake up. Itha, they're taking us.
Cynthia brought a cool cloth and placed it on Doro's forehead.
"Put your elbows on your knees and sit like that for moment," she said softly. "Breathe deeply. That's it."
Cynthia began to gently massage Doro's back in a way that reminded the younger woman of rubbing Itha's in that field so many years ago. A little girl mimicking her older brother's own gestures of comfort. Tears began to stream down her face.
Soon she was huddled in the larger woman's arms, being rocked as she sobbed. She had no memory of a mother in whose arms she could find such solace, such acceptance and empathy. She missed her aunt's flamboyant love and care, deep in the core of her.
At this moment, she lost the cool control that she had placed upon herself in order to survive. The memories slowed down, played themselves on regular speed, spilled out and overwhelmed her. When Doro at last came to her senses, she was lying on the living room couch, her head cradled in Cynthia's ample lap.
Nicolas Denis sat on a footstool in front of her, a glass of cold water in his hand. Th
e expression on his face had changed dramatically. His face was now suffused with compassion and sorrow. He no longer appeared cold or reticent. He kindly handed her the water and helped her drink.
At the same time, his wife gently soothed away the marks of her tears.
Proving her intuition that Flowered Shirt was holding something back, Nic began to speak.
"You know, when we were young men listening to the gossip or talking about the Janot family, we never really saw them—you—as people. We saw it like a soap opera, not real."
Doro was still finding it difficult to listen through his speech impediment and the more he spoke, the thicker his accent became.
"When I was very young, my father died and left my mother with four little girls and me. I think this is what caused me to take so long to grow up to be a real man."
He smiled up at his wife. "I am in my early twenties when Pastor Rob came into the town and my mother was in a wheelchair then, after so many sicknesses. She took to him like a duck to water, as they say. As the dutiful son, I bring her to all the sermons and all the picnics. I began to hate him passionately."
He lowered his head. "I do not know if it was a kind of jealousy or whether I had suspicions of him. Maybe both. A few of my friends were also caught up in his wave and some were not. As I say before, we start to look at him like a soap opera star, especially when he was charge with the money scam. I never really think about the children. I was in a different frame of mind."
He rubbed his hand over his forehead.
Doro took the pause in conversation as an opportunity to sit up. Her hand continued to rest in Cynthia's, a source of power and reassurance.
"Then for a few years," Nic continued, "they kind of disappear. Cynthia and I are married and we have our first babies. We are paying no attention to the farmhouse outside of town. I am working and Cynthia is running the store and the house. We are building a life."
Once again, he smiled up at his wife, who beamed back at him with encouragement. "But something I never tell anyone…even you, ma chérie."
The Emily Taylor Mystery Bundle Page 50
