A Liberating Love (Keepers of the Light Book 3)

by Marlene Bierworth

  “Ms. Fletcher is on the missing list today. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her.”

  “That’s because she is in the café with your father.”

  Bethany gasped. “He’s home early. Perhaps we should wait till they’re done.”

  “Not at all. In fact, they’ve invited us to join them.”

  “Troy Spencer, what are you holding back?”

  “Nothing. Henry tracked me down not ten minutes ago and told me to fetch my girl, and we’d enjoy a light meal at the café. He directed me here. I suppose he saw you enter. I swear the man has eyes in the back of his head.”

  “He keeps one on their toes,” Bethany said.

  “It will remind me to treat his daughter with white gloves for the rest of her life.”

  “Oh? Like you did last night, dragging me through thorns and bushes, a mere breath away from wild animals looking for a late supper.”

  “It is a rough trek, but you said…”

  “I’m teasing, Troy. Relax. Yesterday was perfect. My mother’s love life put into perspective. Now today comes the hard part: Listening to my father recount the hours before her death. Do you still think it’s suicide?”

  “Unfortunately, no, but let’s see what the man has to say, and not publicly at the Staghead Café. We should confront him in the privacy of his home.”

  “Agreed.” Bethany skirted around him and caught the scent of pine wafting from his body. She caught her breath and managed a smile. “Let me pay for my purchases, then we’ll head over.”

  Meg met them just inside the door. “Mr. Forester is chomping at the bit. He’s on his third cup of coffee and a mite impatient to get his meal started. I’ll come to get your orders directly.” She groaned. “I swear the entire town thought it was a good day to eat out.” The waitress hustled toward the kitchen, securing balancing empty plates and cups in her hands.

  When they approached, Henry scrambled to his feet and planted a quick kiss on his daughter’s cheek and offered her betrothed a handshake.

  “Good morning, you two.” His gaze leveled on Bethany while the grip he extended to Troy squeezed with a second meaning. Ms. Fletcher had wasted no time telling him of his daughter’s late night. Bethany should have known it was too good to be true that she’d sneaked in without the never-sleeping ear hearing her arrival.

  “And hello to you, Ms. Fletcher. You’d left the house already when I woke, so I took a leisure bath and decided to come shopping.”

  “I see,” she said, nodding toward the paper-wrapped parcel Troy carried. “A spring dress, Bethany?”

  “Oh, yes, how did you guess? You’ll love the material. I even managed to satisfy both of my favorite men’s tastes – turquoise – a blend of blue for Troy and green for Papa.”

  “Do you like the sea, Troy? I would consider sending you and Bethany on a cruise ship to the Caribbean as a wedding gift. The water is a deep turquoise and very compelling.”

  “When were you in the Caribbean?” Ms. Fletcher asked.

  “Never. I’d not waste good money to go on such a trip alone. I saw it in an advertisement.”

  “We need nothing so extravagant as a trip that will keep us away from Spruce Hill far too long. We both have jobs to return to, you know?”

  “I am aware that Troy has a job. Is he in favor of his wife working?”

  “We haven’t discussed it, Papa.”

  “Well, we can’t have young children terrorizing the office or babies screaming and scaring the clients away.” Henry’s voice was firm, and she knew he’d not budge on his principles.

  “Like Bethany said, we haven’t discussed it yet, sir,” said Troy.

  “Yes, well, a trip is well worth the pampering, boy, if you want to keep your woman happy. Marriage is for life, and the time away will seal the arrangement.”

  What was it with Henry Forester that everything in life boiled down to an arrangement? Bethany felt her temper igniting within. “Where did you take my mother after her wedding?”

  “Nowhere. I stayed home for the weekend, but business was picking up, and I couldn’t get away. The ceremony was arranged quickly. Simone needed a place to live and understood it took money to put food on the table.”

  “Are you sure she understood? Perhaps if you’d shown her a touch of extravagance, she might have been happier?”

  “Simone had no interest in traveling the world. Wanted to nestle in her new home – her words exactly – and never once asked to leave Spruce Hill even to accompany me on the occasional trip.”

  “Odd; the memories in her chest suggest she loved adventures,” said Bethany.

  “You must have misread them. Those impulses had worn thin by the time we got together. Simone enjoyed showing the community a happy face, which I fear was not always the case at home.” He scanned the room for the server. “Simone is history, and I’m starving.” He raised his hand, and when Meg noticed, she hurried over.

  While the waitress took orders, Bethany pondered this new picture her father had painted of her mother. She supposed stubborn independence was a trait the young bride expressed only within the confines of their home. The community saw her as a dutiful wife, and Bethany better understood their relationship and her need to remember first love on that fateful day.

  “Bethany, are you listening?” asked Henry. When he noted that he’d regained her attention, he continued. “I understand you and your lawman have been nosing into holes long covered over?”

  Bethany glanced at Troy, and he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Come clean, girl. I have my contacts, and the grapevine is buzzing about what the new couple are up to.”

  She thought to play it safe and referred back to a prior conversation between them. “I told you I was planning to visit Lookout Rock. Arne Svensson is a delightful man and offered us a tour.”

  “And your second trip – was that to stand and peer over the edge looking for your mother’s remains? It is absurd how far you’re carrying this obsession. I’ve tried to be patient, but you took it too far by asking a deputy to help you. The sheriff noticed the old file on his desk.” He leveled a stern gaze at Troy. “So, tell me, young man, is courting my daughter just a ploy to investigate a case that has been dead for thirteen years?”

  “Certainly not, sir! I love your daughter, and if she’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

  “The question is not whether she will have you – the question is, will I give my consent?”

  “Papa, you’re talking nonsense. I thought you wanted us to join you for a pleasant meal. I’ll not sit here in public and listen to these charges.” Bethany stood to her feet and turned fiery eyes on the surprised man. “I have some accusations of my own, but prefer the privacy of our home to unleash my anger.” She grabbed her bag. “A family meeting – Troy included – in the kitchen at two o’clock this afternoon. Don’t be late.”

  Bethany’s legs could not move fast enough. Although only a few patrons at the café overheard her outburst, many inquisitive eyes followed her to the door. New ammunition for the grapevine!

  Chapter 10

  Confrontation

  Bethany paced the kitchen floor, back and forth, circling the table in the center of the room and always returning to lean against the counter to peer out the window. Ten minutes to the appointed time and so far, no one had arrived yet. Did they not take her seriously? She resumed pacing, her body temperature beginning to match the cook stove she’d stoked to warm the coffee – they’d need it. So many emotions ran rampant, with a mix of anger and sorrow leading the pack. Whatever the consequences of her family meeting, no one would win. The truth would be laid bare, but too late she asked herself if the price were worth it?

  She heard the gate squeak and watched Troy saunter up the stone walkway. From a distance he appeared relaxed and confident and she willed herself to follow his example. They would make no headway with her father by resorting to his life-long pattern of lashing out. A soft answer turns away wrat
h. How often had she heard Reverend Kearns quote that? The man of God often resorted to humor when tension in the room mounted. Bethany could use a punch line now. Troy knocked on the door and she had to stop herself from racing to answer it.

  “Sorry I’m late. Had an errand to run.”

  “You’re on time. It’s Papa and Ms. Fletcher who are late.”

  “Seen them coming out of the mill office. I believe they’re straggling along behind me.”

  “I’m so nervous,” she confessed. “I can’t believe we are down to the fine wire and I’m getting cold feet.”

  “Why don’t you let me ask the questions? Sometimes a third party sees things from a better perspective – not so emotionally attached.”

  “Would you do that – for me?”

  Troy took her wrists and pulled her close. “That, and so much more.”

  “I’m sure I’d have lost my nerve ages ago. Thank you, Troy.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Hopefully, after today your father won’t toss me out on my head.”

  “I’ll not let him. I’m old enough to make my own decisions now.”

  Henry Forester walked in the open door just as she finished uttering the declaration.

  “Oh, it’s that kind of meeting, is it?” Henry’s voice mocked everything love stood for.

  Ms. Fletcher ran for the cups and coffee pot. “Let’s sit at the table and talk like mature adults.” When no one moved, she motioned toward the table and said, “Well, sit down everyone.”

  Before sitting, Bethany hugged her father.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “I want you to know that I love you, that’s all.”

  “Now I know I’m in trouble.” He glanced at Troy. “Are you taking notes, boy? Might come in handy someday when your gal gets all uppity.”

  The comment was ignored much to Bethany’s relief and the group settled. Troy began. “I will act as an unbiased go between, for the subject is one that has created much conflict and grief to your family. Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Forester?”

  “This whole get-together is beginning to worry me. Can’t we just talk? Making it all sound like a court case,” said Henry.

  “Papa, talking is the goal. We need to unravel a past that has caused dissention and heartache far too long.”

  “I might have guessed. It’s that cursed trunk that’s got you digging up graves that should be resting in peace.”

  “Peace? I doubt my mother rests in peace,” said Bethany. “Papa, honesty is sadly lacking between us and for me to move forward, I need answers. That’s all I ask.”

  Troy cleared his throat. “Mr. Forester, this is what we know so far concerning the life and death of Simone Forester.” Troy divulged their findings; of the unborn child, Simone’s first love, the trip to the cabin in the hills and the two tragic lives discovered there. “And those men were also present on that fatal day but refused to tell of the role you played. Something about an arrangement.”

  Jane Fletcher inhaled sharply and spilled coffee into the saucer. Henry Forester laid his hand on hers to steady it as he searched her face. Tears pooled in her eyes and she nodded. “I’m so tired of it all, Henry,” she said.

  The man smiled and removed his hand. He turned his gaze on his daughter. “You were so young and emotions ran high. I took the easy way out not giving a thought to the little girl who’d never know her mother and worse, how that might affect the young woman she grew into. I’ve wronged you, daughter, and I apologize.”

  “That means a lot to me,” Bethany said. “Do you think your baby girl is old enough to handle the truth now?”

  “Whether you are, or not, this is what you’re demanding, and I know your soul will not rest until you put it behind you.”

  Bethany appreciated that he understood the need driving her. She remained silent and glanced at Troy.

  “So, sir, are you ready to tell us what happened on that fateful day?”

  “Two weeks prior, I began to suspect that your mother might be seeing another man. The tension in the house, the way she looked at me, Jane’s showing up to watch Bethany, all new and unwelcome to my home. One Monday, I pretended to leave for the camp. She never suspected that I stayed behind in Spruce Hill, hiding in the background to study her habits. Simone’s daily treks to Lookout Rock confirmed my hunch, and the anger grew unbearable. One day something inside exploded and I followed her.”

  “And I followed him,” Jane said, her voice shaky with emotion. “Chris had left Lookout Rock after the baby died, but at this point he’d returned from his wanderings, which thrilled his father to no end. But Uncle Christopher didn’t know what to do when Simone started showing up and he detected signs of the sickness returning. For a while she stopped coming, attempting to do the right thing by your father, but when the fever hit Chris, she was back again, more guilt-ridden and confused than ever. My uncle had sent for me, requesting I help him with his son’s illness. I was only seventeen, but I’d done some nursing and needed a fresh start after the war. A few days later I arrived in Spruce Hill to do what I could to help.”

  Henry took over. “Chris Bascall was unstable, but Simone could only see the one who’d rescued and taken her in when she first arrived in town. I only met Simone Charter after she’d lost the baby and Chris had abandoned her, running from the grief of losing the child he’d imagined as his own. Of course, at the time I knew nothing of her background, just that she showed up one day in Spruce Hill and agreed to be my wife. You’d swear she was a mail-order bride the way she jumped in. She was young and pretty and when I came from the camps, she kept me company. But I didn’t know she’d agreed to marry me out of desperation and heartbreak. Chris stayed away for five wonderful years. He returned, his mind somewhat healed, and she ran to him – secretly – but it was quite obvious he held her heart in the palm of his shaky hands.”

  “I met your father in town, Bethany and begged him not to confront the couple. I was so afraid for my cousin Chris. To this day the boy is fragile, but I suppose you know that if you went to the cabin.”

  “I think our visit did him good. His mind was clear and he spoke of the child and the woman he loved. Said I looked like her and that seemed to settle him.”

  “I’m glad,” said Jane.

  “Well I’m not. You had no business traipsing up there digging up ghosts,” said Henry.

  “What’s done is done, Mr. Forester. Perhaps speaking of the past will heal it,” said Troy.

  “It better or this is all for naught. Just something to make my daughter hate me.”

  “I could never hate you, Papa.”

  “Nor do I, Henry, despite what happened at the lighthouse. The arrangement suited all concerned, and Simone was never the wiser,” said Jane. “I followed your father to the lighthouse, Bethany, and arrived in time to witness the showdown already underway.”

  Henry grunted and took up the tale “Simone was there with Chris when I burst in unannounced; sipping tea and conversing with the man like it was normal for a married woman.” Bethany heard the pent-up anger in his voice ignite the blaze of betrayal anew. “She fought back. I learned that day about her real beginnings in Spruce Hill. All the while she yelled, the man on the settee watched and cowered, and I remember hating him for hiding behind a woman’s skirts.”

  “Uncle Christopher heard the commotion and came running about the same time I arrived on the scene,” said Jane. “He took the offensive and started pushing and shoving Henry, then the fists came out and horrid badmouthing that made my skin crawl to hear. I watched Simone grab young Chris’s hand and race for the stairway. They climbed upward, and when a break came in the fighting, the men now bloody from the exertion, followed.” Ms. Fletcher was near tears. “The scene plays in my head over and over, even after all these years.”

  Again, Henry’s hand covered hers. “Going to the balcony was a mistake. No room to fight and no place to fall except to the ground or worse yet the water below. The space beneath t
he guard-rail was pretty wide open back then, just the one steel rod wrapped around the perimeter of the light with vertical bars every few feet to hold it in place. No one knows who executed the fatal push. It was like a house of cards, bodies ricocheting off each other. Chris and Simone were at the edge. Chris grabbed the rail but Simone fell and slipped through the opening to her death.”

  Bethany’s heart stopped beating. “It was an accident? Papa, why would you tell everyone she was insane and committed suicide?”

  “Her lover went berserk on us. His father and Jane tried to settle Chris while all I could do was stare at the rocks below. Her body was long gone from sight. No one survives a drop like that, and with a storm brewing, she got pulled under the waves like a rag doll.” Henry looked at his daughter. “I never planned for it to end that way.”

  Bethany released the tension fist that lay in her lap and stretched her fingers to get the blood flowing. Her voice showed remarkable control. “Unleashed anger always ends badly. The sad thing, Papa, is you never learned from it. You erased every memory of her from our home and left me alone for months to work through the results of your jealousy.”

  If regret had a name, they would paste it on Henry Forester’s forehead. He buried his face in his hands and shuddered, “I made a mess of it. I’m terribly sorry, Bethany.”

  “Perhaps the only sorry you feel now is in the fact that you’ve been caught!” Bethany could not stop her voice from raising. “You seemed able to live the lie when I knew nothing.” Her voice choked. “I’m so disappointed; not only in what you did to my mother’s reputation but what you did to me. And Ms. Fletcher – how did she feel obligated to live with your agreement all these years?”

  Jane spoke. “Your father was frantic, Chris inconsolable, Christopher angry, and I suppose I was in shock. The whole scene left us unnerved and confused. None of us were thinking straight. Suppose that’s what made the suicide idea acceptable. Your mother was not insane, Bethany, but hopelessly in love with a man who walks in and out of sanity at a moment’s notice. Your father agreed to protect the Bascall’s involvement, provided they leave town and I come to live at the house and help bring up his now, motherless child. Guilt of my family’s involvement has kept me here all these years. That, and I grew attached to the young lass.”