Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Over to your right. Higher. Yes, that’s it.” Arianna nodded to the man hanging the art, then stared down at her notebook to see where the next canvas should be placed. The graph paper she’d used to sketch her arrangements allowed her to calculate very precisely where each piece be hung.
Deliveries had been coming in at a rapid pace all week. After countless hours arranging artwork on paper, she’d finally be rewarded. Now the fun could begin—seeing her ideas come to life. She found it difficult, however, to maintain control when she could only be in one room at a time. There was a flourish of activity happening in several of the rooms, and every deliveryman, furniture assembler and art hanger pelted her with questions. “How high? How low? Which room? Which floor? How many? What color?” Her head began to spin.
I sure could use a partner, she thought for the tenth time today. She sighed.
Standing in the huge family room, still issuing directions, she admired the valances that had recently been hung atop the large picture window, which showed off the view from the back of the house. The landscapers had finished their work there. Beautiful. Gardens of flowers—asters, lavender, chrysanthemum, just to name a few—covered the grounds. Itching to get a closer look, as her work for the most part confined her to the indoors, she swung open one of the French doors. “I’ll be right back,” she hollered to Jack, one of the hired hands. “Feel free to take a break. You’ve earned it.” And so had she.
She felt like a naughty child hiding from the babysitter, but she needed some fresh air, and the flowers beckoned her. The moment she opened the door, a cool breeze carrying an exquisite floral fragrance tickled her nose—aww, the light, innocent scent of primrose—what a paradox. She shook her head. Almost involuntarily, she started down the path that led around the garden. Her eyes danced from flower to flower. Then there were the trees and shrubbery: boxwoods, hydrangea, and dogwoods. She took her time smelling each variety of flower and admiring the carefully placed shrubs and trees. This really was an English garden. She’d been transported.
When she reached the farthest end of the garden, she looked back at the house, admiring the view from a different vantage point. Even from the back it was beautiful. She then turned to take in the contrast of the surrounding terrain. Her breath caught as she saw a man on horseback just up the ridge. Is that, she walked forward a few steps, maybe…I think it’s Christopher. He’d mentioned he rode in the area, but it was the middle of the week. He should be working.
He moved at a slow canter, so Arianna called out to him. “Christopher, is that you?”
He jerked as if startled and squinted into the sun. “Arianna?” His voice sounded strained.
“Yes, it’s me.” She waved, happy to see him, as always. She began moving toward him. He seemed to hesitate before he nudged his horse to meet her halfway.
When they were finally close enough to have a conversation, she stopped short—her heart lurched. Christopher looked ill. Unshaven, he had the beginnings of a beard along his jaw-line, lending him a rugged, out-doorsy look. She didn’t like how gaunt his face appeared and how dark circles framed his empty eyes—his intense blue irises had faded to gray.
“Are you feeling okay?” She tried not to sound alarmed.
He shrugged and looked past her. “I am well enough. And you? Have you had any further unwanted encounters with Mr. Somers? You’re not here alone, are you?” A flicker of panic lit his eyes.
“Are you kidding? The place is crawling with people. That’s why I’m out here.” She gave him a guilty smile. “And don’t worry; I’m doing what you said to do—staying out of Mr. Somers’ way. What’s going on? You don’t seem yourself.”
His lips pulled into a tight line. He fidgeted in the saddle but didn’t say anything in response to her question.
“Do you have time to talk? I’m taking a little break from the craziness going on inside.” She motioned to the house. He continued to stare off somewhere as if he were choosing the correct answer. “Come on, Christopher. You’ve always been there for me when I’ve needed you. Please let me return the favor.”
He finally looked at her and gave her a single nod, then dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby tree.
Arianna sucked in a breath. The horse he’d been riding was magnificent—a rich chestnut color with a black mane and tail, white socks covering the bottoms of all four legs. And the size—it was huge. “Your horse is beautiful. What’s its name?”
The question seemed to bring some life back into Christopher’s eyes. He patted the horse. “Her name is Maida Vale.”
“Maidabell?” She tilted her head in question.
“Maida Vale,” he repeated. “I named her after a favorite area of mine in London. She reminds me of home.”
They found a clump of grass under the tree he’d tethered Maida Vale to and sat down together.
Christopher didn’t seem inclined to say anything, so Arianna began the conversation. “I don’t know what it is you are going through, and I know you won’t tell me, but isn’t there someone who can help you? It hurts me to see you like this.”
He began shaking his head before she finished her sentence. “There is no one who can help me, Arianna. I do not even know how to help myself. The problem is”—he shrugged—“complicated.” His voice was just above a whisper.
She hated seeing him this way. There must be something she could do. After all he had done for her—driving her when she’d needed a ride, taking her to Denver, paying for her car repairs, sitting with her when she’d needed a friend after her run-in with Mr. Somers—she felt desperate to help him with this burden. She reached out to touch him, but he flinched.
“This was a mistake.” Christopher began to rise. Ari tugged on his hand, bringing him back down beside her.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything, or even talk at all. If it helps, can I just hold you?” She didn’t know what else she could do, but she did know that the comfort of a loved one’s touch had helped to heal her aching heart on many occasions. She moved closer and put her arms around him. He tensed, then relaxed a fraction and pulled her tighter into an embrace. She felt like he was holding on for dear life. Her heart hurt for him, but she was happy that he’d not pushed her away. She should be in the house doing her job, but right now Christopher mattered more.
He rested his head on top of hers. With her hand resting on his chest, she felt his heartbeat slow to a less frantic pace.
After several long minutes, he loosened his grip. Putting his hands on both sides of her face, he looked deep into her eyes. “Just being with you helps me, Arianna,” he whispered. “Thank you.” He lowered his face to hers and grazed her lips with his. She shivered and longed for more but knew what a mistake that would be.
Before she could reply, he stood and began to mount his horse. She helplessly observed him, feeling desperate once again.
She watched silently as he galloped away. He looked so natural on a horse, as if he’d ridden all his life. She turned back to the house—the house of secrets—made her way through the gardens and slipped in the back door.
Activity still buzzed all around her, but she barely noticed. Fighting off the heaviness she felt for Christopher, she returned to her lists and charts.
****
Images of Christopher haunted Arianna for the rest of the week, but she had a job to do, and he’d left her no choice but to put him in the far reaches of her heart and move on. She couldn’t help him with something he was so unwilling to share with her. For the first time since this assignment had begun, she looked forward to Friday, anticipating more correspondence from Sarah.
Sarah didn’t disappoint. While Ari nonchalantly went about her work, she spied the shy young woman making her way up the stairs to her bedroom, where Ari hoped she would read, then write, in her journal.
When all was quiet that evening, Ari once again crept into Sarah’s room, pulled the journal from between the mattresses an
d began to read.
Dear Journal,
A, thank you for reading and responding to my correspondence. I am so happy you are willing to become my friend. Your trip across the country sounds very pleasant. Can you tell me more about your family? My travels have not been as extensive as you might have imagined. I do miss England, though.
You have met my family, and I daren’t write too much about them, except to say that we were once happy, like you and your family. Someday, I wish to be happy once again. Perhaps then, you and I shall become best of friends. Yours, S.
Arianna pondered each word Sarah had written. Her travels had to have been extensive, unless they’d flown from England straight to Colorado, only to have Mr. Somers go berserk and hold them all prisoner. That didn’t make sense. Nobody came to the United States from England without touring New York, Chicago, even California.
Then there was the part about being happy once. Arianna couldn’t help but wonder what had changed to put an end to their happiness. Nor could she imagine being happy with Mr. Somers as her father—anywhere.
Wait a minute. Her pulse quickened. Christopher had said that Mr. Somers had once committed some kind of crime. Maybe they were trying to keep a low profile in Colorado.
She could wonder all she wanted, but she knew she should steer clear of too many questions. She would play it safe and describe her own family.
Just as she put pen to paper, a creak on the stairs startled her. She froze. More creaks. She closed the book and scanned the room for somewhere to stash it.
“Miss Miller?”
Too late.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Arianna took a deep breath to calm her rapidly beating heart. She put the book to the side of her, hopefully out of sight, then turned her attention to the voice in the doorway. She cleared her throat, certain a frog had taken up occupancy in the last few seconds. “Yes?”
“We forgot the ottoman that goes with the chair in the master bedroom. The door was unlocked, so I told the guys I’d check to see if you were still here. Since you are, I’ll just have them bring it on up.”
A whoosh of air escaped her lungs. “Of course, Jack, go right ahead. I’ll be here for a few more minutes.” He nodded and left the room.
Once again, she picked up the pen, her hands clammy as she began to write.
Dear Journal,
S, I would be happy to tell you about my family. I had a very happy childhood. My father worked as an accountant and my mother, a nurse. I also had a younger brother, Seth. We’d probably be considered a typical American family. My father used to love the outdoors, so we spent many weekends hiking or camping. Those are my fondest memories. Sadly, nearly three years ago, while I was away at college, my family was involved in a fatal car accident. It was early December, and as you know, Colorado roads turn very icy. My parents and brother were heading home after attending a Christmas concert at Seth’s school. As they entered an intersection, another car ran the red light, or maybe he couldn’t have stopped because of the ice—it doesn’t really matter now. He slammed into my family’s car, spinning them out of control in the middle of the intersection. Oncoming traffic from both directions smashed into them. The car that ran the red light sped off. Witnesses at the scene told police the red Cadillac had come from a bar down the street.
Ari began to second-guess the wisdom of writing the whole sad account of her family’s deaths to someone she barely knew, but something about it felt right. After all, Sarah’s happy life had seemed to end just as abruptly as Arianna’s had. This might help Sarah to trust her.
She continued.
It has been very difficult to adjust to a life without my family, but thankfully I have a good job and several friends who have helped me through it. I hope I can be that kind of friend to you. Sincerely, A.
Arianna realized that, for the first time since it had happened, she’d given a summary of the accident without becoming emotional. Perhaps, out of a deeper concern for Sarah, she had found a way to face her own grief.
****
“Who’s texting me so early on a Saturday morning?” Ari moaned, reaching for her phone.
She scrubbed at her eyes to bring the small screen into focus. Christopher. Ever since their encounter on the rise behind the Somers’ house, she’d worried about him. Whatever had bothered him back when they’d argued clearly had not been resolved.
She read the text. Would you care to go riding with me today? Hope sprang in her heart. Not a hope they would get back together, more a hope that he would allow her to help him. No matter how their relationship stood, she wanted Christopher to be happy. He deserved it. He was a good man. A true gentleman—when he wasn’t pushing her out the door and out of his secret life.
It took her a minute to process what he meant. Horseback riding, she realized. She wrote back, I’d love to, but I’ve never ridden a horse.
Christopher replied, You can ride with me on my horse, if you would like.
Then yes, but only if you let me take you to lunch after. I think you’ve been starving yourself. There seemed to be an extra pause before his response came.
How soon can you be ready?
Ari breathed a sigh of relief. She’d thought he might have changed his mind. Is thirty minutes okay?
Perfect; see you then.
Ari jumped out of bed and frantically began rummaging through her closet. Her temporary resident status meant she didn’t have too many choices. She settled on some blue jeans and coral-colored, button-down shirt. Cotton, so she wouldn’t get all sweaty in the summer heat.
She applied some make-up and heard the rumble of Christopher’s squad car pulling up after she’d finished weaving her hair into a loose braid. She opened the door just as he began to knock.
She appraised him, hoping to see some improvement from earlier in the week. He still looked too thin, but his eyes flashed with a smidgeon of the old familiar sparkle she’d loved so much—a small comfort.
As they drove to the corral where he stabled his horse, Arianna kept the talk light. She didn’t want him to change his mind.
He saddled the horse with a double seat saddle, something she’d never seen before, and gave her a brief explanation of how he would help her mount up; then, in one fluid motion, he wrapped his strong hands around her small waist and hoisted her atop the horse. Apparently, he hadn’t lost any muscle. She tried to will away any shivers of excitement that accompanied his touch. Before she knew it, he was on the horse behind her.
“Just hold onto the pommel.” He reached around her and touched the raised front of the saddle. “I will keep an arm around you so you needn’t fear falling.” He clicked his tongue and they were off.
At first they moved at a slow trot, then sped to a canter. The faster they rode, the more enlivening it felt. No wonder he liked to do this so often. Ari lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. She could get lost in this moment. She allowed her body to relax against Christopher’s warm chest.
They rode along the ridge where Ari had spotted him just days before. “There are riding trails all along here.” He moved his hand in an arc, directing her eyes to the many paths surrounding them. “I come here often.”
She took in the view of the house from the horse trail. It was beautiful, but so out of place. “Do you ever wonder why the Somers chose to build such a pretty house out in the middle of nowhere?” She hoped she hadn’t stepped into that imaginary pile of secrets of his.
Christopher sat silent just long enough for her to panic, then answered, “I am certain Mr. Somers has some very specific reasons for building his fortress away from the bulk of society.”
A chill snaked down her spine as she recalled his admission of knowing something of Mr. Somers’ depraved character. She wondered if it would be safe to tell him about her journal conversations with Sarah. She decided to give it a try. After all, in for a penny, in for a pound—or so they would say in nineteenth century England.
“I haven’t spoken to S
arah since my encounter with Mr. Somers, but I have corresponded with her.” She felt Christopher’s arm stiffen around her waist. “Don’t worry—it was Sarah’s idea.” She went on to explain what Sarah did to initiate their conversation and how grateful Ari was to be there for her.
“You are communicating through her journal?” His arm flinched, then hardened again.
“Yes. She really needs a friend, and we are careful and hide the journal between the mattresses, so no one will find it.” She wished she could see his face. He’d become silent, and she wondered if it had been a bad idea to share anything about Sarah.
Finally, he spoke. “I trust you will keep the conversation light, just in case her father should find out.”
“Of course. I care too deeply about Sarah to do otherwise.” Not to mention what he might do to Ari.
“Do you want to gallop?” he asked.
She adjusted her position. “I guess. I’ve never—”
Before the words were out of her mouth, Christopher had flicked the reins and Maida Vale bolted into a sprint. She galloped as if she were being chased—furiously fast. Ari thought it would be bumpy riding at such a break-neck speed, especially sitting so close together on the saddle, but instead, found it smooth and exhilarating. She felt completely secure with Christopher’s strong arm wrapped around her.
The wind whipped at her braid. She felt him move his arm from her waist to pull it back over her shoulder. She let go of the pommel with one hand to hold onto the braid so it wouldn’t hit him in the face. Maida Vale chose that moment to leap over a small boulder. Ari began to lose her stability and found herself falling. Fear seized her heart, but before she could move into a full-on panic, Christopher hollered something to the horse and had both arms wrapped around her. Maida Vale slowed, then stopped while Christopher pulled her back onto the saddle. Her heart pounded wildly from the terror of almost being thrown. Christopher seemed to sense her fear. He gently rubbed her arms to calm her. She couldn’t keep from shaking.
Time Twist Page 17
