In the Light of the Garden: A Novel

by Heather Burch

  She tilted back to look at him. “What are you grinning about, you fool?” she teased.

  His eyes sparkled with a mix of expectation and joy. “Just how I may be the luckiest man in the room.”

  “And why is that?” She blinked several times.

  He stopped and took her face in his hands. “Because I’m with the most beautiful woman in the room.” With a gentle touch, he brushed his lips across hers. His heart floated right out of his chest when she laid her head against him.

  This was what he wanted. Her. How could he have been so stupid all those years ago? They could have had a whole life together, but no. He’d been selfish and ignorant. “Louise, these last two months have been some of the happiest of my life.”

  He felt her stiffen—only slightly, but still—and he understood. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit it hurt whenever she seemed to pull away. “What can I do to show you I’m not the man I used to be? That I’d never again . . . take you for granted?”

  “Harold, there’s a lot about the past that we haven’t discussed. What happened that night. Why you left me standing alone on a pier. Where you were when you were supposed to be with me.”

  Pain shot into his chest and rested there. That night. That night that ruined everything and everyone he loved. That night would haunt him forever, and there could never be healing from it, of that he was certain.

  “Louise—”

  She placed a finger over his lips. “Not now,” she whispered. “I want to enjoy the ball and the dancing and spinning around in your arms. But Harold, there are things that will have to be talked about and brought out into the open.” She cast a glance behind her. “Does Charity know?”

  Shame crept up over his shoulders and scraped at his throat. “No.”

  He’d finally come home. He’d grieved for his brother even before George died because twenty years ago, Harold made a horrible, awful mistake that cost him everyone and everything he held dear. If he dredged it all up again, he ran the risk of losing it all again. He took Louise’s hand and led her to the parlor where they gazed out the front window at the cars lining the street. But privacy was important. “Louise, what happened was twenty years ago. I’d like to move on, not go back to the past.”

  She turned to face him, and he could see that she understood. Still, there was a certainty in her stance. “The past always has the power to destroy you when you try to hide it. That’s not fair to Charity.”

  She was probably right. But it put everything at risk. He slid a hand into his pocket to the small velvet box. “I’ll tell her. I’ll do it tomorrow. But tonight, I have something I want to ask you.”

  She reached up and pecked his cheek. “Then meet me at midnight on the pier.”

  He released his grip on the tiny box. “I’ll be there at eleven thirty.”

  Louise gave him a tender smile. “Shall we return to the dance?”

  “Be there in a minute. You go ahead.” His heart was pounding like he’d run a marathon, not almost asked a woman to marry him. Once she was gone, he pulled the box from his pocket and opened it.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” The voice came from behind him. Harold spun just as the shadowed shape took form. Paulette Grove stood on her ancient legs and came closer. Her sister, Agnes, stepped into the parlor with two glasses of wine in her hands. “Am I interrupting?” Agnes’s eyes were alive with intrigue. Her bloodred smile made her resemble an evil clown.

  Paulette yawned. “Not at all, sissy. I was just napping and opened my eyes to find a handsome man holding a—what is that?” She tilted her head to look into the box. “An engagement ring, I believe it is.” Her silver eyes flashed.

  Agnes gushed. “Oh, sissy, he’s proposing to you? I didn’t even know you two were an item.”

  It was a jest, but even joking, the words made Harold silently plead for escape.

  “You always got all the suitors,” Agnes said.

  The sisters were at least five to ten years older than Harold’s seventy-five years and reminded Harold of twin snakes. He’d never cared much for them. Years ago, they’d found it humorous to make fun of Louise’s limp.

  When he saw Daisy waving furiously at him from the edge of the parlor, Harold excused himself. Daisy was chewing her index fingernail. “What’s wrong, Daisy?”

  She glanced beyond him to the front door, eyes like saucers. “My date’s here. I mean, my nondate, and he’s with his parents.” Nervous energy flew off her in sparks. “What do I do?”

  He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “First, calm down. You’re going to explode, or all your joints are gonna come loose and go flying in all directions.”

  Her chin tilted down. “Wouldn’t that be the same as exploding?”

  Harold cast a glance behind him. “They look like nice enough folks. Good-looking young man, too. Your age?”

  “A couple of years older.”

  Josh and his parents were already being greeted by Jeanna and Emily Rudd. While the parents chatted with Jeanna, Harold waved to Josh.

  “What are you doing?” Daisy said through gritted teeth.

  “When you need to rip off a Band-Aid, you just do it.” He moved her to stand in front of him. “Won’t it be easier to meet his parents once you and he have had a few minutes to chat?”

  “Good thought.” She pulled in a breath and forced it out quickly.

  Harold watched Paulette and Agnes slink from the shadows where he felt snakes belonged and rejoin the party. The two sisters made their way toward Jeanna—always the type to hitch a post to the closest politician or whoever they thought had the most power in the room.

  As Josh neared, Harold held out a hand. “Hello, young man. I’m Harold, Daisy’s uncle.”

  But the boy could only see the beautiful girl in front of him, not the crusty old man beside her. He mumbled a greeting and told Daisy she looked great.

  She blushed beneath that deep tan of hers, and the two young people headed for the table where trays of food waited.

  “And this is the weeping tree.” Daisy traced the outline of one of the leaves. She and Josh had stepped outside for fresh air and because young people could only handle so much grown-up conversation.

  He sat down on the short rock wall beside the tree. “You said there are legends about it. Are they true?”

  When he dusted a spot for her, she sat beside him, the glistening sea at their backs and the tree before them. “I think so.”

  “You never put it to the test?” His arm brushed against hers when the breeze kicked up. Rather than moving away, he kept his skin against hers.

  “I guess I’ve been saving it. You know, if something really bad happens—”

  He reached over and slid a finger down her arm. “Well, you have my word nothing bad is going to happen tonight.” Josh pivoted so he could look at her. Gently, he dipped down and brushed a kiss across her mouth.

  Daisy’s eyes drifted open slowly, and without a thought, she pressed her mouth to his again. He tasted like the peach and lime punch they’d been drinking, and there was a bit of salt on his upper lip from the peanuts he’d had before she’d brought him outside. When the kiss deepened, Josh’s shoulders tilted so he could gain more access to her body. One hand pressed against the small of her back, the other twined into her long hair, and she was happy she’d followed Ellen’s advice and worn it down.

  She broke the kiss to find him more than a little out of breath. His sparkling eyes scanned her face, then used a fingertip to touch her cheek. “I think boot camp would have been a breeze if I’d had an image of you to keep me going.”

  Daisy smiled and allowed him to cradle her against his chest. It was good there, warm and perfect. Now she understood what Cinderella felt like.

  “So, this is the garden you take care of?” His words were deep vibrations against her ear.

  “Not alone. Dalton, the next-door neighbor, is teaching me about it. I’m applying for college in a few months.”

  “That’s great,
Daisy.” He ran a hand over her long hair, letting his fingers play in the strands as if he’d never felt anything like it before tonight.

  “But I’ve already learned so much. I’m even growing some orchids. You want to see them?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  “Wait here.” Daisy navigated the darkened path to the spot just inside the sleeping porch where two potted orchids waited for her gentle touch. She scooped them up carefully, slowly stepping over discarded hedge trimmers and other tools. She reached the door when Josh’s mother came around the far side of the house. She stared to holler a greeting, but the look on the woman’s face stopped her. Daisy swallowed and moved to a spot just behind the edge of the weeping tree where she could hear their conversation.

  “What are you talking about, Mom? I’m not ready to leave yet. You guys go on.”

  The woman stepped closer and lowered her voice. “That girl. The girl you’re with. She’s a transient.”

  Daisy sucked in a breath. In all the months she’d been on the street, all the times people had made fun of her, picked on her, or simply ignored her, none of them hurt as much as the words she’d just heard.

  Josh brushed a hand through his hair.

  Defend me. Defend me, Josh.

  “Mom, what are you talking about?”

  Daisy’s heart sunk a little deeper into her chest.

  “She was homeless. Living on the street for months, I don’t know, maybe for years. We’re going home, you’re going with us.” She grabbed his arm, but he jerked away.

  “I’m not a ten-year-old anymore, Mom. You can’t just order me around like one.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Are you telling me it doesn’t matter that she’s a transient who’s been doing God knows what to stay alive?”

  Josh rubbed his face. “Of course it matters. But I’m not a child. And it’s not your call to decide when I’m leaving. Go home, Mom. I’ll handle this.”

  The battle of wills only lasted a few moments. “This girl is nothing but trouble. Get away from her quickly, Josh.”

  Daisy bit into her lip to keep from crying. She placed the orchids at her feet and started to walk away. A twig snapped, alerting Josh that she was there. He found her on the opposite side of the weeping tree. “How much did you hear?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “All of it.”

  “She doesn’t know anything.” He shrugged.

  But the damage was done. No return, no going back at all. “She knew more than you.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Yeah, you could have warned me.”

  Daisy clamped her teeth together. “Sorry I didn’t warn you about me. I didn’t realize that was my duty.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Daisy.” His wide stance and posture would be intimidating if she were easily intimidated. She wasn’t.

  “What she said, is it true?” Josh said.

  The fact that it mattered enough to him to keep asking her told her everything she needed to know. “Yep.”

  He stared out over the water, his hands on his hips like he’d just ran a race and was cooling down. “All of it?”

  Because her heart was in the process of shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, she lied. “Every last word.” Her look was defiant. She’d practiced it in a broken mirror before ever coming to the island.

  When his eyes found hers, there was pain in the depths, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Doing God knows what to stay alive isn’t so bad, really. I mean, it’s better than going hungry or sleeping on the ground.”

  He turned away from her, seeking the water again, where a crescent moon threw slashes of silver on the darkened gulf.

  She’d never allowed anyone to touch her while she’d been on the street. But Josh hadn’t earned the right to know that. He believed what his mother told him, and that’s all he’d ever see in Daisy, so what did it matter if it was true or not? Clean cuts were better than jagged ones.

  It was a long time before he spoke. “I think I better go home.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. She watched him walk away. He didn’t bother to go through the house but went around the side of the building instead. Away from her, away from the weeping tree. He paused at the corner of the house, and she knew he was going to look back, so she turned away from him and faced the water, stiff as a marble statue, the kind that stood guard over ship ports and towns, ever searching ahead, never looking back. When the sting of his eyes on her was gone, Daisy cried.

  Behind her, the wind worked into the branches of the weeping tree causing them to moan. She turned, and though something in her was inexplicably drawn to the tree, she stilled herself. “Who’s to say you don’t cause horrible things to happen to people just so you can help them feel better?”

  The rustling of the leaves stopped. The tree was silent.

  Daisy laughed without humor and leaned closer to the tree. She whispered, “I don’t trust you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Snakes in the Parlor

  A party was hard for Ellen to resist, so against her better judgment and with a fresh glass of wine in her hand, she joined the festivities clothed in Charity’s spare ball gown. It would have been unattractive on her daughter—shapeless and dull—but Ellen made it shine. It was her gift, to shine. She’d first flirted with a young man around Charity’s age, an attorney, if she was to guess by the look of his expensive suit and plastered shiny hair. Then she’d walked away as if there were others she needed to converse with. It was all part of the game. Didn’t want to appear desperate.

  She’d readied to step up behind him and begin another conversation when she heard him talking with another man of the same age. Ellen stepped closer. She was hidden behind the edge of the kitchen door, and they were a few feet away at the dining table. Ah, they were discussing her. The shark-eyed attorney was saying he might take her home with him. Ellen’s heart jumped in her chest. She hadn’t flirted in so long—too long, really—and knowing that her skills were intact made her feel like the powerhouse she was. She imagined a great stage. Applause. Stepping forward and bowing deeply for her adoring fans. But the scenario that ran in her head came to an abrupt halt. A screeching, fatal, abrupt halt when she heard the words, “You mean the old one?”

  “Yeah, the old one.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Air came into her mouth but lacked the ability to infiltrate her lungs. They’d shrunk to tiny, deflated balloons inside her chest. The old one. Her. She used to be the pretty one. The worst nightmare she could realize was unfurling before her aging face. She’d fought her entire life for the freedom the right man could give her. Now, now it was too late. Leonard and her real enemy, time, had taken the very best of her and left her in ruins. On every level. Complete ruin. For all the clawing and climbing she’d done, here she was. The old one.

  She started to leave the party by going upstairs but opted out of that decision. She’d only stare into the wall mirror and see the haggard old woman she was. No, she’d not do that. Down here at the party, people had been kind. Telling her she looked beautiful and that they were honored finally to meet George’s daughter and Charity’s mother. The older men were gracious, with their long looks of approval. But they were old men. They also looked that way at antique cars, fishing poles, and rocking chairs. Still, she couldn’t leave on the low she’d experienced, or she’d be fighting a heinous depression, and she had no meds to combat it.

  After an hour of monotone dribble, she got into her first good conversation since the fiasco earlier. It was with two women—sisters, by the look of them—just as the party was ending.

  First, she’d been bored, as they’d started talking about Harold and that woman, Louise, but Ellen had yawned her lack of interest and was just getting ready to make her escape when they brought up Charity and the massive inheritance left to her. Ellen’s skin heated first, then cooled with gooseflesh crawling over her like ants at a picnic. The amount of money they spoke of was obscene. Beautifully, deliciously obscene. Of
course, she’d known her dad was worth something, but millions?

  Practically everyone was gone when Ellen found Charity and dragged her into the parlor.

  Charity didn’t seem to notice the death grip Ellen had on her. Charity spoke before Ellen had the chance. “Mom, have you seen Daisy?”

  “No, Charity. I haven’t.” She was spitting venom. It tasted bitter in her mouth. She liked it. “Is the inheritance Dad left you in the millions?”

  Charity blinked. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Ellen grabbed her arm but loosened her grip when Charity yelped. Oh, she’d run into that ill-placed shelf corner before the party. “It’s a simple question, Charity. Yes or no.”

  Charity held her arm. “Yes.”

  Fury shot down Ellen’s flesh. All these years, all this time working to protect a future when more than enough money was right here. Being a trophy wife. Sitting home long hours. Caring for two brats who lacked the ability to appreciate all she’d done for them. A man who tossed her to the curb as soon as he found someone younger, firmer, prettier. “I want half of it.” She deserved more. She deserved it all.

  Charity swallowed. “Mom, this isn’t the time to discuss this.”

  Ellen’s rage exploded. “No, the time for discussion is far past. You’re going to go to your attorney tomorrow, and you’re going to sign over half of the inheritance to me.”

  Ellen was shocked at the defiance that entered Charity’s gaze. “No. I’m not.” Charity dropped her hands and fisted them at her sides.

  Ellen reached out and seized Charity’s arms. When Charity refused to flinch, she squeezed.

  The battle was on. Ellen’s eyes flashed down to the injured arm, but Charity wouldn’t even blink. Who are you? Ellen wanted to ask. When had her daughter grown a backbone? She’d need to change her tactic if she hoped to get through. “Charity, I need the money. You know that.”

  “And where does it end, Mom? You always need, need, need. There’s never enough for you. You’re never satisfied. You think money will make you happy, but when it doesn’t, you’ll have nothing left because in having money, you push away everything and everyone who actually matter. Money is your hope. But it doesn’t equal worth. I think Gramps kept the money from you because he knew it would destroy you.”