by A. M. Hudson
The Heart’s Ashes
Book III of Dark Secrets
First Edition for ePub
Text © 2012 Angela M. Hudson
Cover Image © Shutterstock
Cover font © A. M. Hudson
Smashwords Edition
License Notes
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This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to all who have read the first books and loved them.
Your support and, in some cases, friendship has guided me through the darkest days of writing and shown me where that ‘inner’ strength was hiding. Without your kind words, love and support, those dark days would have been darker.
The Heart’s Ashes
“When love dies, the heart’s ashes do not
leave on the wind—they rest on the mantelpiece
of the soul, darkening the sunrise
we once saw to be beautiful.”
Chapter 1
If I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of the day, I could imagine, as we rolled through the streets toward the old church, that it was sunny and the day was bright and airy.
But the truth cannot be veiled from the eyes.
Dark clouds shrouded the blue sky like a cumulus bowl, and though the dreary nakedness of winter was hidden under lush foliage, the town didn’t look pretty, like it normally did. It only looked grey and muddy and miserable.
When I awoke this morning to the spring day, the sun was shining through my window, bringing with it the warmth and happiness of moving on.
But all that changed when I left my heart with the rose.
“You nervous, honey?” Dad asked.
“Honestly?” I looked out the car window. “I’m calm.”
He roughly scratched his chin as he took a breath. “I feel like I rushed you into this.”
I smiled softly, exhaling. “You did.”
“Ara—”
“No, I’m okay.” I let him take my hand. “I do love him, Dad. I’ll get used to the idea of marriage.”
“Oh, honey. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t ready?”
Because you wouldn’t let me go back to Perth unless I was married. “It’s not a big deal, Dad. I want to marry him—one day—it might as well be now.”
“No, honey, it doesn’t work like that. You marry because you want to. Not because you plan to.”
I chuckled once. “It’s fine. Really. If I didn’t want to marry Mike, I’d have told you.”
“You just did.”
“No.” I laughed again, shaking my head. “I said I wasn’t really ready—not that I don’t want to.”
“Oh, Ara. I’m sorry.” Dad cupped his palm across his mouth and closed his eyes for a second. “I just—I didn’t want you to move back to Perth and...and fall pregnant—unmarried.”
“Dad!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He raised both hands. “I didn’t want to see you make the mistakes your mother and I made.”
“Dad—” I slid closer and linked my arm through his. “I’m going to make mistakes, and yeah, this could be one of them—but how will I know what my mistakes are if I never make them?”
Dad looked up and laughed. “Now who’s the All-knowing?”
“Might say I inherited that from you.”
The car pulled up to the curb, and we both exhaled slowly. “But, you do want to marry him, don’t you?”
My heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves as I watched everyone walking into the church. “Yeah, Dad. I do.” I think.
I rested a hand to my chest, shivering when a cold breeze swept across my face as the driver opened the door. A growl of thunder roared across the sky, and as Emily and Alana stepped out of the car in front of us, we all looked up.
Great. A storm. I hate storms.
The fresh, sugary scent of rain hid within the clouds, just waiting to find the small sliver of happiness I owned, and pour on it.
Dad, standing beside the driver, offered me his hand, and the weight of my dress fell instantly around my white ballet-flats as I stood up—no ruffling needed to fix the folds. “You okay, Ara?” he asked.
Before I could answer, the wind rushed in to steal my veil, but I caught it and held tightly.
“Looks like rain,” the driver said.
No kidding. Everything under the greying sky looked richer in colour, with more vibrant, deeper hues; the greens were dark, the white church, brighter, and the rich burgundy of spiky plants lining the cobblestone path looked blood-coated.
“Rain is good luck on your wedding day,” Dad said.
God, I hope so. A single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds then, and shone down on a sign near the car park that said “exit.”
Funny. Very funny.
But, my optimist mind ignored the miserable day and the uncanny, cliché warnings, and I looked at Dad, patting his collar and pockets frantically. “Everything okay, Dad?”
“Ara—I’m sorry. I forgot the flower.”
“It’s okay.” I looked at the buttonhole of his jacket, where he should’ve had a yellow rosebud. “No one will notice.”
“Here you go, sir.” The driver stepped up and placed the rose from his own jacket into Dad’s.
“Well, thank you, Byron,” Dad beamed. “You’re a real life saver.”
As Dad stepped back and turned to face me, my mouth dropped in disgust.
Red! Not red!
“Dad—” I started, but the driver smiled at me so warmly that I couldn’t speak—didn’t have the heart to tell him to get that thing out of here and destroy it. I swallowed back the tears instead.
Why red? There wasn’t supposed to be any red today.
“Everything all right, Ara?” Dad gently grabbed my arm and walked me onto the grass just as the bell atop the old church tolled once; everyone in the yard looked up.
“Sorry,” two young boys shouted down from the small rectangle window.
“Don’t they know that’s bad luck?” a woman scoffed as she headed up the path to the church, her heels clicking on the soft stones.
My stomach sunk.
“Well, I’ll just move this car and park it ‘round the side.” The driver smiled, and as he opened his door, the ring of a familiar tune on the radio brought my shoulders up around my ears. Providence—the song David dedicated to me by the lake, so, so long ago. My smile dissolved.
“Ara? What’s wrong, why are you so pale?” Dad leaned around to look at my face.
“Dad, I think—I think I’m making a mistake.” I stared ahead, not really looking at anything.
“Oh, honey.”
“Hey-you-two,” Emily beamed, but stopped dead. “Ara? What is it?”
“Cold feet.” Dad chuckled.
I glared at him. This is no time to laugh. What am I doing? I can’t go in there—I can’t marry Mike. I’m still in love with David. I’ve been searching for signs all day—something to make me stop, to change my mind—but I don’t need a sign. I know the truth in my heart.
“Let me talk to her,” Emily said and grabbed my hand.
Dad signalled to Vicki and whispered “Stall.”
With my dress weighing me down, I fought to fi
nd oxygen in the air as Emily dragged me across the road. We stopped on the lawn outside the nursing home, right where we could hear the quiet chatter of admiring grannies on the porch.
“Ara? What is it?” She leaned closer, half looking back at the church.
“David.”
“What about him?”
“I love him.”
“I know, but—”
“I can’t promise my heart to another man. Not when it still belongs to someone else. How is that fair?”
“Fair? Fair for whom?”
“To Mike, Em. I love him, but I’ll never be his true love. If I marry him, he loses all hope of ever having a love like I had with David. I don’t think that’s fair.”
“Ara, he loves you that way.”
“But it’s not reciprocated—not like it should be.”
“Yes, it is—you said you love him.”
“I do. I really do. But it’s a different kind of love.”
“Then why did you say you’d marry him?”
“I—” I closed my eyes. “I felt confused. I want to marry him, want to have his babies and be with him always, more than anything. But if I’d never known true love—with David—I’d never’ve known any different. But now...”
Emily took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. “Ara. Mike’s waiting for you. He’s in there right now, waiting for you to marry him, because he loves you—like you love David. That’s enough for him. He knows how you feel.”
“I know, Em. But I feel like I’m cheating him out of ever feeling the beauty of true love.”
“He feels it, Ara.” Emily laughed. “Trust me, he feels it.”
I shook my head.
“Ara, you’ll break his heart. If you do this now, it’ll kill him. You can’t leave him at the altar.”
“I know, Em—but I can’t marry him either.”
“Then you should at least tell him. I’ll go get him.” She turned and took a step away.
“Wait!” I grabbed her arm. “Just wait.”
She stepped back beside me, wearing a smug grin.
“Does he really? I mean, is he happy to have only half a heart for the rest of his life?” My tone rose upward.
Emily moistened her lips. “Ara, you have no idea how much that boy loves you. You’d be a fool not to marry him.”
Exhaling deeply through my nose, I looked at the church once more. Mike’s mum and Vicki stood on the steps at the entrance, watching us.
Emily’s right. I swallowed hard and squared my shoulders. I can’t leave him at the altar. It’ll destroy him if I do that. I know I should marry him—but why doesn’t it feel right? “Okay.” Running my fingers over the delicate silver and yellow cherry blossoms on my wedding dress, I let the gristly feel of the embroidery ground me for a moment, then nodded at Em. “I’m all right. I’ll be fine.”
“Just remember, Ara, you’re not walking down the aisle in front of all those people, you’re walking to Mike. Just focus on that.”
“Thanks.” Somehow, that makes me feel worse.
“All ready then?” Dad asked, offering his arm as we stepped up on the grass in front of him.
“Yep.” I think.
“Here we go, then.” Emily grinned, straightening the shoe-string straps on her yellow dress.
We waited under the eaves of the church roof, shaded from the white glow of sun on grey clouds, as Em and Alana straightened my dress, tidied my veil, and I listened to the sound of people settling into wooden pews. When the doors opened and music filled the air, the girls stopped fussing, filing together to take the steps, leaving Dad and I at the base where no one could see us.
Quiet whispers of admiration hummed over the music, but no laughing, which meant Alana obviously managed to walk okay in those shoes. Then, the volume of the song increased; I took a deep breath.
“That’s our cue.” Dad patted my hand, which tightened around his arm.
“Dad—”
“Yeah?” His blue eyes held the icy colour of concern.
“I...N—nothing.” I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Okay. Come on.”
Slowly, step-by-step, I walked beside Dad. As we peeked over the top of the stairs and became visible to the eyes of our witness’ for the first time, the whole room came to a standstill.
A white blur seemed to form around the edges of each face, and the music became muffled background noise in my own head. As I passed the rows of seats, one by one, they disappeared—melted into dark shadow—the tears and smiles people held as they saw my dress faded, I was alone. The only other person in the world was Mike. My Mike—waiting for me at the doorway before the light; his hands clasped in front of him and the widest grin across his lips, his eyes a mix of awe and pride. He glanced at the front row for a second, nodding.
Mike. I’m walking to Mike. No one can see the shaking in my hands or hear the thump of my heart. No one knows I’m about to turn and run the other way.
Each step I took was in slow motion, like the aisle had been paved with a thousand lifetimes of silence. I needed to get to Mike and hold his hand before my resolve slipped completely. I counted the steps in my head; saw the bump in the carpet I remembered from rehearsals.
Two steps, Ara. Two steps.
“Baby,” Mike whispered, his voice echoing in my dark world. He reached his hand out, shook Dad’s, his movements so slow, deliberate, calm. A white blur of light settled around him, his skin aglow, his hair shining like a halo. But as I took the final step, Dad closing the gap by placing my hand in Mike’s, the piano slowed and the notes flattened out around me—making the room spin in slow motion with them.
I felt the warmth then, of Mike’s hand, as his solid, strong fingers closed around mine—drawing me back to earth. It all just felt so wrong. They should be cold—not warm. They felt too warm.
A quiver of panic rose in my chest. The eyes of everyone in the church burned through me as the music stopped, the priest waited atop the step, and I stood at the base—staring at Mike’s hand.
“Ara?” When I looked up, meeting the concerned gaze of my best friend, he extended his other hand, as if to catch me. “Ara? Are you okay?”
“I—” I turned around, looked at all the faces, feeling small and on display, seeing the smiles they wore as I entered the church fizzle away, replaced by wide eyes and round mouths. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
Everyone watched as it set in, my own mind coming to realisation only after I yanked away from Mike, lifted the front of my dress and closed my eyes, running.
“Ara?” Mike called.
The aisle became a long corridor of people, their hands rising to their mouths in waves as I passed, afraid one might grab me, stop me. But I ran, ignoring the pain scorching my soul, and pushed hard on the heavy doors, desperate to reach freedom before Mike started running too.
Bright sun greeted me and rain kissed my cheeks with dots of cold, the heavens opening up as my feet touched the steps. I covered my head with the bouquet, but as my feet scuffled apart in a skid, it dropped to the wet ground, hitting as the doors slammed shut behind me—the echo loud and empty. I dared to look back for a split second before starting off again, leaving the bouquet falling to the last step behind me.
My white ballet-flats once again touched the grass, making time stop. I stood clutching my skirt in one hand, holding my saturated veil with the other, looking to the sky—letting the heavens rain down on me as I cried out inside for some way to escape.
Lightning flashed then and lit the bridal car up like a beacon across the yard; “Thank you,” I whispered to no one, heading in that direction.
But, like one of those dreams where you’re flying and can’t get off the ground, hands reaching up to grab you, I merely trudged through the grass, dragging the sand-bag weight of my wet, muddy dress, unable to go faster. I had to make it. I just had to. There was too much at stake if I didn’t.
The car, my body of salvation, waited for me, only steps away, when the churc
h doors burst open and Mike’s voice spilled into the air. I pushed harder, reaching for it as if to drag myself there faster.
“Ara!”
No. I closed my eyes, praying, because I knew Mike was faster than me.
“Ara?” he called desperately.
I looked over my shoulder; he stood at the base of the steps, his eyes holding the question on his lips. It passed over me then, a breath, a beat of my heart that showed our future, and the grey day closed in around me, showing each year to pass as an image, like a pathway of chess pieces, linking us together. But the thunder rumbled again, breaking that single moment which might have changed everything, forcing me onward, making me turn away and, with ragged sobs, push on.
I’m so sorry, Mike.
“Ara—wait!”
No! I can’t wait, I have to get away. I have to go—I can’t explain it all to him right now. He’ll make me change my mind. I love him too much. I’ll marry him, and then I’ll regret it.
I ran faster and faster, yanking the door open when I finally reached the car. “Go—go!” I yelled at the driver, tapping his headrest as I slammed the door on my dress. He tilted his rear-view to look at me; I slapped the headrest again. “I said go!”
The engine tuned over, and I sat back, feeling a strange kind of relief as the tyres snaked slightly over the muddy ground—taking us faster than Mike could run. And even though I knew it would eat away at me later, I couldn’t fight the urge to turn and look back.
The pouring rain came down, distorting everything beyond the glass, but the blurred frame of the man standing alone, a group of family and friends behind him on the steps, could only have been one person. He bent down to pick up the yellow and white bouquet I dropped. Each and every white rose in that bouquet was for him, because David was the red. One left out, the other left behind.
As Mike stood up, holding the discarded flowers, a mask of heartache consumed his entire frame, and I knew what would be behind those eyes as he watched me drive away.
“I’m so sorry, Mike,” I whispered with my hand against the glass.
