Night Stars and Mourning Doves (Dearly Beloved)

by Margo Hoornstra

  “Down, back, whatever,” he growled. “The point is, I’ll do it myself. I want to preserve as much of this tree as I can.” He patted the double trunk.

  “I told you I’d help as soon as I got my shoes on.”

  “Time was wasting. I wanted to get this done.”

  “A man on a mission waits for no one,” Eric joked as a flash of jealousy shot through him.

  His parents were so strong and sure as they attacked life head on. Lately, it was all he could do to bob and weave around the jabs and right hooks slung his way, let alone have the capacity to do anything constructive with his life.

  “Well, look at that,” Sid spoke up. “What do you suppose they’re doing?”

  Eric shielded his eyes with one palm as he glanced around. “Where?”

  “Oh no.”

  His gaze raised to follow his father’s. “What?”

  “That.”

  One of the mourning doves he’d seen earlier landed on the phone line then flew down to circle the newly trimmed tree only to return to the wire, her head tilting from side to side.

  Two sets of gazes lowered to the pieces of the tree top that now lay on the ground before his father spoke again. “Her nest must have been in the tree.” A faint breeze ruffled the leaves he pushed aside to stick his head between two branches. “It was,” he murmured as he backed up. “I destroyed her nest. It’s over there.” He pointed then looked at his son. “I checked that tree before I started. I couldn’t see anything.”

  Eric walked over to inspect the upside down nest. “I don’t see any eggs around. I don’t think she got that far.”

  His father gazed up at the confused bird. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”

  Her reply was to leap from the telephone wire to once more, circle the fallen parts of the tree.

  “Things happen,” Eric told him. “It’s nobody’s fault.”

  “I should have been more careful.”

  “Things happen.” Firmer resolution strengthened his voice. “It’s not your fault.”

  Chapter Two

  The masculine hand came at her, large and menacing as always. Its thick fingers were spread out, not curled and fisted ready to strike. As they grabbed her shirt front she was jerked forward. The glimmer of steel caught her eye and a knife came up, lethal and keen. Aimed straight for her throat.

  Mouth opened to scream, no air came in, no sound came out. Arms up, she struggled to shriek. Nothing. Raising her gaze, the knife glinted then dropped. Suspended in a slow motion spiral, it fell to the carpet in silence.

  She never should have looked down.

  Pain blasted through her head like a sizzling poker imbedded in her brain. Wild spurts of light erupted behind her eyes. Squinting to bring her surroundings into focus, her vision cleared in time to see Vince’s fist zero in on her face.

  Panic surged like a wildfire consuming tinder. She clawed through it to stand her ground. At the very last second she ducked and the blow glanced hard off the right side of her temple. Head recoiled, the decision crystallized, its edges sharp as any weapon. No matter the odds, no matter the outcome, she would fight back.

  He’d caught her unaware with the first punch. The second one was his last. There’d be no more. Hands up for protection as she’d been taught, she scanned for a vulnerable target area. The best place to exact the most damage.

  Stepping forward, legs braced, she pushed the heel of her hand into the bottom of his nose and thrust upward with all her might. His head notched backward and the satisfying crack announced success. She’d done enough to disorient him.

  With the assailant weakened, run. Her formal self-defense training dictated to get out. Flee to any safe place. But, she had no plans for retreat.

  Before he could react she moved into him and brought her knee up, into and beyond the tender meat between his legs.

  “Owwww. My God!”

  He cried out as he tumbled backward and to the ground. She allowed a small smile to crease swollen lips. Fists tight, thumbs curled on the outside of her fingers for added strength, she wasn’t done yet. Leaping on top, she pounded at him again and again and again. On the back, the stomach, the face, it didn’t matter where. She needed the primal satisfaction of flesh on flesh contact.

  “What are you doing? Stop hurting me.”

  His pleas were laughable, but she had no time to be amused. Growing tired, she called upon years of anger to keep going. To finish this.

  One more, well aimed fist to the side of his head and his screaming stopped. When he quit moving, her hands stilled. Breathing ragged, she watched and listened, wary of a counter attack. Vince never fought fair. It would be so like him to play with her, pretend to be knocked out cold, even dead, then spring up the instant she turned away.

  Gaze focused for any sign of life, she scrambled to her feet. Once standing above him, she allowed herself to breathe deep. Huge, gulping inhales she released with as much force as she used to take them in.

  Her eyes never leaving the latent form, she backed away. Then spun around to find she stood under a brilliant sun in a meadow of vibrant wildflowers.

  On a gasp, she bolted upright.

  Fright forced her eyes wide and she stared directly into the mirror over the shaker style dresser in her bedroom. Head lowered, eyes closed, she struggled to breathe. As her hammering heart slowed, she lay back down.

  You’ll never leave me. I’ll kill you first.

  Remnants of the dream remained behind eyelids she quickly lifted. The filmy material of the canopy above her bed fluttered back and forth at the whim of an artificial breeze coming through the air vent in the ceiling. Palms flat against the sheet beneath her, torso and legs rigid on the mattress, head centered on the pillow, she glanced to one side then the other.

  Daylight rushed in at her through the window where the curtain was pushed aside. With summer’s heat causing the air conditioning system to run on over-time, cooled breezes blew over her to dry the streams of sweat that had collected on her neck and across her forehead.

  Her gaze shifted to the digital clock on the nightstand and her brain registered the time displayed. Six oh seven AM, which meant she could stay in bed a few minutes longer before she had to get ready for work. A luxury that wasn’t to be when the trilling melody rose out of her cell phone.

  Rolling to her side, she slid her legs down until warm feet hit the cold wooden floor then hurried barefoot across the room to find her purse and the incessantly chiming thing in its depths.

  “Elyse Monroe. May I help you?”

  “Quit being so formal. You’re not at the partnership.”

  “Morning, Angela.”

  Her younger sister, at thirty-eight had the spunk and energy of a twenty-year old. Hard to believe they were separated in age by a mere two years. One year and ten months. Elyse forthrightly corrected her math. She wouldn’t be forty for a couple of months yet. Why rush it?

  And why shouldn’t Angela act like a woman half her age? Engaged for a year now to the nicest person either of the sisters had ever met, she was shoulder deep in planning her fast approaching wedding day and happily dragging big sister along in the wake.

  “There are three veils I want to show you. I can’t decide which one to wear.”

  I need your opinion. Your advice, your counsel. How many times over the years had she heard the request in one form or another from her little sister? Almost daily the whole time she was growing up.

  Beginning at ages twelve and fourteen, the girls were raised by an aunt who provided only the basics—those legally required by the trust which paid her lavishly—but nothing more. To her credit, the woman was pleasant enough just distant and it seemed to two young girls, incapable of love. It wasn’t as if her nieces were abused. For Elyse, such things never came at the hands of her aunt.

  Blessedly, Angela was away at college for most of that nightmare when Elyse hooked up with the wrong guy for all the right reasons. A stable home for the first time in their lives.<
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  In fact, it was the fear Vince would harm Angela when she came home for Christmas break that gave Elyse the courage to begin divorce proceedings. Only to find he was more interested in hanging onto the money she had, not the wife she tried to be.

  “Can you help me out or not?”

  Elyse shut down the memories. “I leave school at four today. Bring them over then.”

  “I already have.”

  “No. You haven’t.”

  “Yes. My car’s in the driveway and I’m headed for the front door. Turn the alarm off so I can come in.”

  Too surprised to argue, something she’d never do anyway when Angela needed her, she walked over to the main panel in her bedroom to key in the deactivation code. A few minutes later, Angela laid out the three veils on the marble topped island in the huge formal kitchen.

  “You know how to work the security system.” Elyse pushed the necessary buttons on the installed coffee machine to make her morning brew.

  “I know. But, I didn’t want to do that then walk in while you were asleep and scare you.”

  There was no need to verbalize what they both knew too well. For all of the take charge exterior and fearless attitude displayed in her professional life, big sister scared easily when she was alone. Which became evident to both of them after an incident a couple of months after Elyse left Vince for good.

  Angela had walked into the house without knocking and surprised her in an upstairs bedroom. It had taken her a full minute to stop screaming. Double that and more before she quit shaking.

  “I’m doing so much better now.” Picking up her cup when the machine beeped, she took a quick sip then walked over to inspect the veils. “Do you have a favorite?”

  “I think I do, but I don’t want to tell you which one. I’m going to get Chris’ mother’s opinion this afternoon. That way, you two can decide for me.”

  “Now why would we want to do that?” Her cup set aside, she stood to arrange a beaded concoction around her sister’s face. “It’s your wedding.”

  “I left the price tags on. Of course I’d have to do that if I haven’t bought one yet.”

  “This is awfully...poufy. Are you sure you want that kind of look?” Elyse set that one down and studied the next contender to complete her sister’s bridal ensemble. “Just because the price tags are on doesn’t mean I have to look at them.”

  “One is pretty pricey.”

  “The one you prefer?” Not waiting for an answer, she picked up the silk tulle number enjoying how the luxurious material floated effortlessly over her fingers. “I’m not worried about costs and you don’t need to be either.”

  “But your salary—”

  “Has been reduced some since I moved here.”

  “Do you even make minimum wage where you are now?”

  Elyse fluffed out the elegant veil on Angela’s head then pulled the front part over her face. “And then some. Making a career change was my choice. Not something I was forced to do.”

  Being a lawyer in her former life was a place she truly believed—wrongly it turned out—she could make a difference. Child abuse, domestic violence, she’d take on any case to help bring justice to the innocent victims of the worst of crimes. Half—no—three quarters of the time—she worked for little or no pay. She soon learned that trying to protect a neglected child or battered wife after the fact wasn’t doing anyone any good. And led her to leave the classy firm founded by her grandfather and great-uncle which guaranteed a six figure income plus lavish perks. A move well worth any downside. She so enjoyed her current work.

  “Do you ever wonder how Uncle Harry and our cousins are doing without you?”

  “We stay in touch. I’m still an absentee member of the board.”

  Although she didn’t share the particulars, something in her was pleased to note profits for the firm were down a smidge since she’d left. That was according to the latest profit and loss report she still received on a regular basis. One unfortunate development had also resulted from her departure. Pro bono work for the disadvantaged was down as well.

  “We agreed some segment of your outfit would be suitable to become an heirloom to pass down. Since we never received any keepsakes from our mother.” A woman who failed her daughters in too many ways to count. “The silk tulle fabric is the best for that too. The material stores very well.”

  Angela ran her fingers along the lace trimmed edge of the third veil. “My outfit aside, am I spending too much on the wedding?”

  “No, of course not.” She kept talking so her sister wouldn’t be able to argue. “With what’s in our trust fund, we could put on ten weddings like this, even more.”

  Wise eyes peeked at her from under a French net cage veil. “All we need after mine is one more. Not ten.”

  Elyse adjusted the silver cross hanging at her sister’s neck. “And whose wedding would that be?”

  “Yours. When you’re lucky enough to find someone the way I have. Someone like Chris.”

  “As you’ve told me so many times, your Chris is one in a million. Those are pretty daunting odds. What chance do I have of finding another one?”

  “You need to let go of your embargo against all men.”

  “I prefer some type of veil that falls over your face. What do they call it, a blush? Like the silk tulle. There’s something about a groom lifting the material away to get at his bride’s face.”

  “That’s your idea of romance?”

  “Maybe. To be desired by a man who wants you for you.” She fought to keep the bitterness from her tone. “And not the multi-million dollar trust fund you represent to him.”

  “Vince Arnold was a jerk.” Angela stated. “I’m about to enjoy the most wonderful day of my life. You deserve the same.”

  “I’ve had two such days already.” Elyse sobered. The day our father died and the day I finally left Vince for good. “Though you were too young to realize, Mom and Dad were filthy rich when they were killed. And, except for your tuition and other expenses at college, we’ve barely made a dent in our funds. In fact, what money we have taken out is interest, not principle. There’s still more than enough to support you, your children and your grandchildren, even great-grandchildren. And, I might add, may there be many.”

  “From you, too.”

  Elyse feigned a carefree laugh she hoped Angela would accept as genuine. “I currently have all the children I can handle—and love—at Happy Times Nursery School.”

  Chapter Three

  Happy Times Nursery School.

  Eric studied the brightly painted sign he approached and clicked on the left turn signal of his older model SUV.

  “Here it is, Jay.” Glancing into the rear view mirror, he addressed his son in the back seat. Sweat beads broke out on his forehead and his hands grew clammy as he pulled into the parking lot. “This should be a fun place to spend your time.” If he were lucky, Jay wouldn’t pick up on the quiver in his voice.

  “You think so?”

  Pushing the gear shift into park, he turned to face him. “Sure. Look over there.” He pointed to a small playground on the side lot. “They have two slides, a jungle gym, and several swings.” Casually blotting damp palms on his slacks, he went on. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

  “Okay.”

  He had to make himself turn off the ignition when all he wanted to do was slam it into reverse and take off for home. Climbing out of the vehicle was another challenge, as was opening the back door to unstrap Jay from his booster seat and ease him to the ground.

  “Don’t forget my backpack.”

  About to close the door, Eric reached into the car for the bag he hefted onto waiting shoulders that suddenly seemed very, very small. This new job of his came with a lot of mandatory on-call field time when he’d have to be on the road. He should have gone for one that wasn’t so mobile. Maybe teaching at a daycare.

  “Am I going to be able to play with the kids I met the other day?” A tiny hand slipped into his larger
one.

  “Of course you are. And you’re going to have fun.” He tried hard to keep from sounding like he issued a direct order. “Just like we talked about last night.”

  “I’m going to have new friends to play with and—swings.” The little boy started to head toward the playground.

  “You’ll get to go out there sometime today, I’m pretty sure, but right now we need to go inside and let your teachers know you’re here.”

  “And meet my new friends.”

  “That’s right.” When his voice threatened to fail him, he brought it back stronger. “New friends to play with.” This will be good for you. “This will be good for you,” he reaffirmed.

  With his whole life before him, Jay had every reason to go on. Even if his father couldn’t. Eric concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way toward the nondescript brick building.

  “I’m going to have fun.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  As Jay’s head moved side to side to absorb his new surroundings, Eric scoped out the parking lot. Among the various cars and vans, a brand new silver Mercedes seemed somehow out of place. At least we’re in good company, I suppose.

  “Hey, buddy, look up there.” He indicated the cartoon style jungle animals cavorting across a rainbow colored arc over the doorway.

  Tiny fingers gripped tighter. “Uh-huh.”

  “See the bear? The tiger? There’s an elephant,” Eric went on. “What color is the elephant, Jay?”

  The child glanced up. “Green.”

  “That’s right.” Eric shook his head. Not exactly in line with real life, but having a short break from reality couldn’t do his son any harm.

  “And the lion is red with a bright blue mane.” The young voice ricocheted back as they entered a shaded alcove.

  A beige metal panel imbedded in the bricks contained a doorbell of sorts with a large round speaker beside it.

  “We need to push this button to let the people inside know we’re out here,” Eric explained.