There's Always Tomorrow (Immortal Series)

by Alice Addy

  Tony turned to look back at his wife, and she saw he was smiling. Finally, there was closure.

  He took a deep breath and gave Sophie a long, hard kiss. “I love you so very much, sweetheart. You give me a reason to want to live. Having you here, with me, makes it possible for me to say goodbye. Thank you, sugar.” He smiled.

  “Oh, one other thing,” he said, as an afterthought. “You might find it interesting to know about the one time I saw General Armstrong Custer. It was his last battle.” Tony grinned. “I didn’t kill him, but I saw him fall. I rode with my Lakota brothers that day, and to this day, I think he was a prick.”

  “Tony!” Sophie scolded. “Not everyone feels that way. It was a terrible day.”

  Tony nodded. “It was at that. Especially for the Custer family.” He smiled broadly.

  “You’re impossible,” Sophie conceded.

  * * *

  The rest of the week was spent on the back of a horse or in a bed. Tony now remembered his life spent with the Lakota people, with fondness. He allowed himself to picture their happy, smiling faces. He recalled the young braves practicing their skills and trying to impress the pretty, dark-eyed maidens. He lovingly pictured his gentle wife and his beautiful children. He knew he would see them again. His life had been blessed for having had them in it. Tony had been a very lucky man.

  The lengthy honeymoon period was coming to a close, or at least the traveling portion of it was.

  Sophie sighed. “But why can’t we just keep going? Do we have to go back to the city?”

  “Well, darling. It is true, you have married a wealthy man, but this man has to do something with his life. It’s time to get back to work. I feel it’s important to get back to New York. I think Grant’s had enough time to calm down. Don’t ya’ think?”

  “Well, I don’t know. He was really spooked. Almost as spooked as you’ll be.” Sophie continued to pack the last of her bags.

  Tony put his bag on the floor and looked at his wife. “What did you mean by that? Has Grant called?” Tony was on alert.

  Sophie giggled. “No, he hasn’t called. But I got a call.” She left it at that.

  “Sophie,” Tony roared. “What the hell are you talking about? What call? What’s going on?” He was no longer in the mood for games.

  “Okay, darling. I guess I may as well tell you. It won’t be long before you find out anyway. I went into town three days ago, remember?”

  “Yeah. We had to return the horses and give the tenant office our departure date,” he clarified. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Oh, Tony. I’m trying to tell you that we’re going to have a baby. I’m almost three months along. Can you believe it? I haven’t been sick or anything. I’m just hungry all the time. I didn’t even think about a baby, until I saw this billboard on our way into town. Can you imagine? What do you want, Tony…a boy or a girl? I guess I’d…”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Sophie. Shut up and kiss me,” he insisted.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Try his number again, sugar. Grant’s got to pick up sometime.” Tony was worried about the Hunter, but he didn’t want to alarm Sophie. Knowing her, she would traipse off into the wilds of the Amazon jungle to help her husband find his friend. His little wife was proving to be fearless.

  “Sorry, Tony, it’s useless. I know where he keeps a spare key. Do you want to go back downtown and look through the office for clues? I don’t think he would mind, too much.” Sophie knew Grant would not appreciate them rifling through his files, but this was an emergency. She wanted to tell him about the baby!

  Something was not right. Tony felt a real sense of urgency. He closed his eyes and tried to hear something that would lead him to Grant.

  “Dammit! Think,” he grumbled to himself, but he heard nothing. That was good. It meant there were no other immortals in the area. It also that meant Grant was nowhere on the Eastern seaboard.

  “Okay, Sophie. Grab your sweater. We’re going to take a look at what he’s been working on recently. We’ll take the Porsche.”

  Gaining access to Grant’s office was simple. Tony made a mental note to talk to the man about adding some security. After an hour of prying locked drawers open, Sophie gave up the search and crawled up onto Grant’s sofa, quickly falling asleep.

  Several more hours passed and Tony had found nothing of consequence. He was just getting ready to wake Sophie, when the office phone rang.

  “Yeah,” he answered, gruffly.

  There was silence at the other end. After a considerable amount of time had elapsed, a male voice spoke softly and muffled.

  “It’s bad, bro,” he rasped.

  “Grant? Where are you? What’s going on?” Tony could hear his thoughts through the telephone connection. It was very bad, indeed. Grant was afraid he’d met his end.

  “Don’t call him …”

  “Call who?” Tony yelled into the phone, as if that would get the answers he needed so badly.

  “Making an army …”

  Click!

  “No!” Tony screamed, as he held the disconnected phone in his hand.

  Sophie was suddenly on her feet; her eyes wide open with fear. “What’s wrong, Tony? Was that Grant?”

  Tony was frozen in place. Immediately, he pressed *69, but got nowhere. It had been an international call. He talked to a phone operator, and found the call had come from a public phone in Romania. “What’s he doing in Romania?” he wondered aloud. “The only person of any consequence found in Romania is the Undertaker. Grant said not to call someone.” He thought it over, running what little info he had through his head.

  “Tony? Sophie chimed in.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “I remember Grant getting information on an undertaker. I thought someone had died and needed to be buried. Could it be the same man?”

  Tony grabbed Sophie. “Oh, precious!” he exclaimed, as he gave her a big, wet, kiss. “This may be the clue we needed. Show me what you’ve got.”

  “The files are over here,” she said. “Grant never could get used to my filing system, so he may never have found them.”

  “Where are they?” Tony inquired, as he tossed useless folders on the floor. He was looking in the U’s, but came up blank.

  “Why would you look there?” Sophie wanted to know. “It’s intuitively obvious that those files would be under G.” She pointed to the cabinet at the opposite end of where he was looking.

  “I know I shouldn’t bother to ask, darling, but why G?”

  “Because he’s Gross. Because he puts people in the Ground. Because he scares Grant.” She was serious. “There’s lots of reasons for him to be filed under G.”

  “How do you know Grant was afraid of him?” It was hard to imagine Grant being frightened of anything, much less the quiet brother known as, the Undertaker.

  “Whenever he would call or make contact, Grant’s voice changed. His face would go pale and he would insist that I be absolutely still. He never allowed me to have any contact with this undertaker.”

  Sophie sat tapping her tooth with a fingernail, thinking hard on something she knew was important. “I remember! Grant had me renew his passport, just before you and I left to be married. Wasn’t our wedding completely perfect, Tony? I know it was small, but I’ll remember it, always.”

  Tony forced his voice to stay calm. By now, he knew this was just Sophie’s way. Her brain worked a little differently than most people. He smiled and nodded his head. “You were the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen, dear, but you must focus on the problem at hand. What about Grant and his passport?”

  “He needed to go out of the country. I asked where he needed to go and he mumbled something. I thought he said Rome. But, now, I’m certain, he must have said Romania.”

  Tony ran around the desk and grabbed his wife by her shoulders, pulling her in for a big kiss. “Sweetheart, you’re a genius! Are you sure you’re a real blonde?”

  For that remark, Sophie swatt
ed his arm. “Oh, you. Take that back!” she insisted.

  He laughed. “Okay, sugar. I take it back, because I know you’re a real blonde.” He grinned a very naughty grin.

  “Now, I don’t have much time. I know Grant needs me. You make my travel arrangements, while I run back home and pack a bag. I want to leave tonight.”

  Sophie nodded, but she couldn’t hide the tears building up in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie. I can’t take you with me, and I can’t ignore Grant. His life might depend on my getting to Romania in time.”

  “His life? I thought you said he was immortal.” Sophie was totally confused by what little she knew of the curse of living forever. Even after Tony had told her of his loves and hardships, it never seemed to be an actual curse to her.

  She once asked Tony, “Doesn’t everyone want to live forever?”

  “Not according to Freddie Mercury,” Tony said wryly.

  “Who?”

  Tony laughed. It seemed he laughed a lot, at her answers, but that was okay with her. Sophie knew he loved her more than any woman had ever been loved before. She was convinced his laughter was the result of her making him happy. Their love had been foretold.

  “Sophie, wake up,” Tony ordered. “We don’t have time to waste daydreaming. Get on the phone. I’ll meet you back here, in one hour.” Tony kissed his wife and was gone.

  Before she knew it, Sophie was alone, in New York City, and Tony was flying off to some undisclosed location in Romania. He had told her not to worry if she didn’t hear from him, as it could be dangerous to make contact. He didn’t know when he would return.

  “Take care of yourself, darling,” he said, as he kissed her goodbye and left her sitting in the black Porsche, at the airport.

  “Can she drive a stick?” he wondered, as he rode the escalator to the top. Maybe he should have asked, before giving her the keys.

  * * *

  “Will there be anything else, madam?” Ibsen asked, as Sophie finished her solitary dinner.

  She sighed. “No. Thank you, Ibsen. I’m going to go on up to my room.”

  He gave a small bow. “Very well, madam. I’ll send Marie up with a tray of warm milk and graham crackers, just the way you like it. Sleep well, madam.”

  He was very kind, Sophie thought.

  She looked around the large, stately room and sighed. “What was it Tony said?” she asked herself. “Oh, yes. He said I’d get used to this lifestyle, soon enough. Well, you were right about that, darling.” All of this luxury meant very little, if she was to be alone. When Tony was in danger, in a foreign country, doing God knows what, she could hardly think of anything else. She knew his mission was dangerous, and he hadn’t contacted her once. After pacing the circumference of the library, one last time, Sophie turned and slowly climbed the stairs. It would be another long night in her enormous empty bed.

  Was that the phone ringing? Sophie tried to shake the cobwebs from her sleepy head. Fumbling for the phone, she accidentally knocked it to the floor.

  “Shit!” she cursed.

  Immediately, she was on all fours, crawling around on the carpet, trying to find the damn phone. “Hold on,” she yelled. As she lifted the receiver to her ear, she heard the click.

  “Argggh!” she screamed. “Tony!” she wailed. She knew that the call must have been from him. She replaced the handset in the cradle and stumbled to the bathroom. She could barely see for the tears in her eyes. After waiting all these days, Tony had finally called home, and she had missed it.

  The phone was a thing of beauty, and totally useless. It had no answering machine or caller identification. It was a rotary dial, for God’s sake.

  Great sobs began to wrack Sophie’s small frame, as she grasped a washcloth and ran it under cold water. The cold cloth felt good against burning of her eyes. Eventually, she stood back, and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. It may have been childish, but she simply stood there, making ugly and bizarre faces. “You’re so stupid!” she spit angrily, at herself. “What does Tony see in you?” She tossed the wet washcloth at the mirror and turned away.

  Before she could berate herself any further, the phone began to ring, again. “Oh, my God. Tony!” she yelled, as she ran directly to the phone on the nightstand.

  “Hello, Tony?” she shouted, excitedly.

  “Hello? Am I speaking with Mrs. Anthony Barton?”

  Sophie didn’t recognize the woman’s heavily accented voice.

  “Yes. This is Mrs. Barton.” How wonderful it sounded to her ears, to be addressed as Mrs. Barton. She hadn’t yet gotten used to it. “Are you calling about my husband, Anthony?”

  “Yes, madam. There has been a terrible accident. His plane has gone down just off the coast of France. We have not been able to locate any survivors. I am terribly sorry, madam. Someone will be contacting you with more information, in a couple of hours. Do not give up hope. Madame…Madame, are you still there? Madame?”

  Sophie heard Tony’s plane had gone down and little else. Fortunately, Ibsen, knowing that a call in the middle of the night was usually bad news, had been listening on the extension, downstairs. Pulling out his cell, he dialed Mrs. Barton’s physician, woke Marie to make some tea, and ran up the stairs.

  When Sophie opened her eyes, her room appeared to be full of concerned faces. Practically, the entire household staff was there, including her doctor.

  “There, there, Sophie,” he said, in a soft and conciliatory tone. “You’re all right and so is the baby. I have given you a mild sedative and you’re to stay in bed for the rest of the day.”

  Sophie glanced toward the window and was startled to see the sun. How long had she been sleeping?

  Ibsen whispered in Sophie’s ear, then stood to address everyone in attendance. “Mrs. Barton wishes to be left alone, for a while. Marie, please see the doctor out. Thank you for coming so promptly, Doctor.” He turned his back to the crowd and listened for their departing footsteps. When the door clicked shut, he pulled up a chair.

  Sophie needed to confide in her husband’s closest family acquaintance. “Ibsen. Do you know?”

  “Madam?” His face registered no emotion.

  “My husband is unique. I need to know if you’re aware of his…uniqueness? This is quite confidential.”

  Ibsen began to look the slightest bit uncomfortable. “I know Mr. Barton very well, madam. I came to work for him when I was but a young lad. Does that answer your question, madam?”

  Sophie grinned. “It most certainly does. Now that I know, you know, I can speak freely. His plane has been reported to have gone down, just off the coast of France. That’s not like in the middle of nowhere, is it? And, I know he’s a really good swimmer. Because of his special condition, I have no need to worry, right? He’ll call me when he gets ashore, right?” Sophie’s smile was tentative. The butler could see she was in need of some reassurance.

  Ibsen cleared his throat. “That is a possibility, madam. It is highly unlikely that he has been killed.” The old man hated to even whisper the word. He loved the boy, but he was also aware that there were things, that Tony could suffer, far worse than death,. “I will call around.”

  “Don’t let them stop looking for him, Ibsen. He’s probably swimming, or floating on a piece of kelp. I’m afraid even he can get tired.”

  The butler’s eyes rounded. “Kelp, madam?”

  Sophie waved her hands in the air. “Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t let them stop looking. And get me a flight out of here. I need to be with Tony,” she insisted.

  * * *

  “It was a miracle, the reporters all said. Mr. Barton was the sole survivor. Over 237 passengers and crew perished on that flight, God rest their souls, yet he survived.

  “I can’t imagine how you must feel, Mrs. Barton,” the kindly old doctor went on, breathlessly, as they rushed down the hospital corridor. “How did you know to come here on such short notice? It’s almost as if you knew he’d be found alive.”

&n
bsp; Sophie smiled. “I had a hunch. He’s always been very lucky.”

  “Oui. Lucky indeed,” he replied. “A fishing vessel found him floating amongst the debris.”

  “On kelp?” she inquired.

  “Kelp, madame?” The man was clearly puzzled.

  “Never mind,” Sophie said, off-handedly.

  “They pulled him aboard, and radioed in their position. We sent a helicopter to bring him straight here, and voila! Here he is.

  “He has very serious injuries, but is improving. His case is most unusual, however. Our lab is most confused with their findings—but enough of that, for now. I know you are anxious to see your husband. He’s in here.”

  He opened the heavy door, at the far end of the hall. “Monsieur Barton. I have a surprise for you.” He stepped back and allowed a smiling Sophie to enter the room. The doctor quietly retreated, closing the door behind him.

  In a flash, Sophie was in Tony’s arms. He cried…she cried…and then, they kissed…and kissed some more.

  “Oh, Tony. I was so frightened when I first heard. Why do bad phone calls always happen in the middle of the night? What happened to the plane?”

  “From what I’ve heard, they suspect wind shear. The plane was pulled down, into the water, and couldn’t recover. It happened very fast.” He shut his eyes, reliving the pandemonium in the cabin. The luggage and the passengers were thrown around like rag dolls. He could still hear their cries of panic. He wouldn’t share those memories with his wife.

  Sophie tried to bring him back to the present. “I had a talk with Ibsen and he set my mind at ease. He made all of my travel arrangements, you know. He’s worth his weight in gold. I hope you pay him enough. How old would you say he is?” Sophie went fishing on a little fishing trip.

  Tony grinned, knowing full well where she was going. This was his Sophie, after all. “He’ll be seventy this August. Why do you ask, darling?” he asked, coyly.

  “Oh, just wondering. When did he come to work for you?”

  Tony chuckled. She wasn’t even pretending to be covert. “Let me think. It was a very long time ago. A very, very, long time ago. Let’s see. I believe he was nineteen. Is your curiosity satisfied, now, wife? Before you ask, I was twenty-four. You do the math.”