That didn’t work either.
I knew she must have tattled that I was leaving, because Ian had shown up earlier that afternoon, demanding I speak with him.
I stood at the front door, not wanting Ian to come in.
His gaze was intense, eyes pleading. “Come on Margaret, we have to talk. You can’t just leave like this.” He glanced behind me and saw my suitcase leaning against the wall. His eyes pleaded with me.
“You know why I have to go, Ian. Things change, I’m having a baby. I can’t stay here. My family, my life, would be ruined.”
Ian tried to push forward through the door and I blocked him. “Please Margaret; just let me in so we can talk about this.”
“No Ian. I’m going away, any hopes you had of us being together can’t be. My life is too complicated and I won’t ruin yours.”
Ian tried to grab my hands but I hid them behind my back. I did not want to hear what was in his mind. It would break my resolve.
“Please Margaret, let us say our goodbyes properly at least. I know I have to respect your wishes but I still need you as a friend. Let me take you to dinner.” He took off his hat and looked at me beseechingly.
I hesitated, “I don’t know…I have to get up early to go to Grandma’s and…”
“I need this, Margaret. I’m begging you.”
I could feel myself starting to cave. I didn’t want to hurt him.
“All right, but nothing fancy. And just as friends.”
“I understand. Shall I pick you up at six?”
“That’s fine.” Before he could change my mind about anything else, I quickly shut the door in his face.
So we dined together. Two civilized human beings having a nice meal. Afterwards, we walked along the beach. It felt better out there in the open air with the stiff ocean breeze teasing small waves into dancing along the shoreline. It was less strained between us. I did my best to be upbeat.
“I’ve never seen you eat so much!” Ian said, smiling at me.
I laughed. “It tasted sooo good. You should have ordered the lobster ravioli. It was so much better than your spaghetti.”
“What on earth’s wrong with spaghetti?” he caught hold of me and swung me around.
“It’s boring,” I said giggling, making a feeble attempt to wriggle free.
“Boring is it? Well let me show you something with a little more excitement.” He leaned closer and covered his lips with mine.
I felt my body tingle, and a surge of desire raced through me.
“Mmmm,” I murmured, “Not bad, I suppose.” His body was warm, protecting me from the cool wind. I could feel his heart pounding against mine.
He tilted his head back to look at me. “Not bad? Is that all? Well, I can see we’ll have to do something about that.” His eyes held a naughty twinkle.
He kissed me again and I let myself be enveloped by the warm aroma of spices and pasta. His lips, soft to the touch, sent my senses reeling. Nothing else in the world mattered.
Damn the consequences.
He pulled back and took my face in his hands. “Marry me, Margaret. I love you,” he said huskily. “We can keep the baby, if that’s what you want. I will love it no matter what. It’s still half you.” He placed a hand to my belly. “I just want to be with you, Margaret.”
Shocked back into reality by his words, I moaned. “I just don’t know Ian; you’d be taking on so much! Is that really the way you want to spend the rest of your life? It’s not just the baby; it’s all the other things too.”
“I want everything, all of you, please say yes,” he said pleadingly.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure…”
“Margaret, do you love me?” Ian asked, taking both of my hands in his.
“More than anything,” I whispered.
“Isn’t that enough?” He swept me up in a tight embrace and kissed me again with a burning passion.
“All right, yes!” I exclaimed, matching Ian’s desire with my own.
Ian let out a whoop and picked me up and spun me around. For the first time since my sister died I felt deliriously happy.
“Say it again,” he said, spinning me wildly. “Say yes!”
“Yes!” I screeched. “Yes!” I joined in his laughter. He sealed it with a kiss, and my heart soared.
I wanted to stop time and stay in that moment forever.
29
Margaret, September 1939
My wedding day was beautiful; the sun’s rays sparkled on the water, creating millions of miniature jewels. It was just Mama, Daddy, Aunt Bette, Heidi, Ian and I. Ian’s parents had died a few years before. Mama was on cloud nine; she’d had the preacher set up a wedding date within the week. All of her headaches disappeared. With the zeal of an officer leading its troops into battle, she took charge of all the arrangements. She moved about the house with gusto, motivated I’m sure by the fact that she wouldn’t be having a bastard grandchild after all. It was just such a relief for her to have all the ends of this story tied up nice and neat.
Mama brought some of the fall flowers in from the garden, making a brightly colored bouquet of marigolds and gerbera daisies. She took more flowers and placed them around the front of the church. All the wooden pews were empty, but it didn’t matter to Mama. She had placed gold ribbon down each side of the seats and a cluster of white candles in each window to fill the spaces.
Ian and I stood up in front, with Heidi and Mama on my side and Daddy on Ian’s. Aunt Bette sat up front next to Mama in one of the pews, surprisingly quiet. Preacher Douglas was wearing his usual Sunday best; a too-small white dress shirt with the buttons about to pop off and his tight navy blue suit straining at the seams. Preacher Douglas was very fond of his wife’s apple pie and it really showed.
I wore my best dress; a creamy colored cotton with tiny blue flowers. There were small capped sleeves and a soft sweetheart neckline. Fortunately it left plenty of room for my little belly, without showing a thing.
I could hear Mama crying softly as Ian and I exchanged vows. I was nervous Ian might change his mind about all this. But he didn’t.
When it was all said and done, I think we all breathed a sigh of relief.
I was now Mrs. Ian Ingall, and I prayed that there would be nothing but good things ahead for us both.
We walked out of the church into the bright fall sunshine. Everything was wonderful, but I shivered with cold despite the warmth of the day. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I had the feeling something was about to happen.
30
The Watcher, September 1939
They were kissing in the moonlight. Oh, how sweet. Maybe that was a good thing; let them enjoy their moment. Death was so final. There was always such victory in helping another achieve it. It was more magnificent than birth.
I followed them home under the moonlit sky. As they approached Ian’s house, I eased myself into the shadows of the night, my profile hidden by the trees, and all the secrets of the dark. I was feeling generous; I could have easily ended it all then, but I just watched as they kissed.
I wanted Margaret. Before I killed Ian, I would show him that she was mine. I steamed inwardly; frustrated that on this night I couldn’t afford to indulge in such games. I had a task to do and mustn’t be sidetracked.
She had something I needed.
The light came on in the bedroom above Ian’s practice. The curtains were open and they were wrapped in each other’s arms. He embraced her, then eased back slowly, undoing her dress button by button. He worked his way down the delicate fabric, and gently slid it off her shoulders. I could feel a mixture of nerves and bliss coming off Margaret in waves. I allowed myself to feel her energy, and connect with her. They twined their fingers together and she leaned her head on his chest. He picked her up off the ground, and placed her on the bed. The lights went out with the sound of a switch, and then there was darkness. I enjoyed watching others for pleasure, so I waited until their union was sealed. When I no longer felt Margaret’s eupho
ria from every caress, I forced myself to disconnect with her. I focused my mind. Back to business.
I slithered as close to the house as the inky black night would allow.
The sound of footsteps coming down the hall caught my attention; I froze. Ian must have decided to check that the front door was locked. Or maybe even get himself a late-night snack. Whatever it was people did. My mind raced, it would be easier to lure him outside than to try and go in.
I scanned the porch for something that would get his attention. I spotted a large potted fern in a red ceramic urn. Carefully, I stretched out and gave it a shove. It crashed heavily, sending shards of pottery everywhere.
It worked just as I’d known it would. Ian came out of the house like a dog drawn to a bone. He was cautious but not fearful; I grew more disgusted with him. This was too easy; I had a hunger in my gut waiting to be filled.
Ian’s voice rang out into the stillness. “Who’s there?”
The air stayed silent. Let the show begin. I moved forward with the stealth of a lion hunting its prey. I reached for the back of his neck. I pressed my fingers down, releasing bolts of electricity into his spine.
He struggled, “What the…?” Then his body twitched and lurched forward, crumpling to the ground.
I laughed softly. “Piece of cake.”
I dragged the now-unconscious Ian out to the bushes, checking to make sure no one was watching. You could never be too careful. I could keep Margaret asleep from here, lulling her mind to conform to my will.
A noise from the bushes, what was it? Ian was still passed out cold. Through the branches I could see he was lying right where I’d left him. A pair of cat’s eyes glittered at me in the moonlight. It leapt out of the bush and a flash of blue caught my eye. It had an amulet around its neck. I could feel its pull—its power. I craved that amulet even more than I wanted to kill Ian. I’d heard of its legend, the danger, but it didn’t matter. All I wanted was to follow that blue light. In a trance, I left Ian and followed the little grey cat down the beach road. I had no choice; the glow of the amulet lured me in like a magnet. Ian could wait; I would leave him for now. If by any chance he’d seen my face, it truly didn’t matter. I would appear differently next time. He’d never recognize me. We could start anew.
I heard the soul seekers screaming in my head. They told me to stop. I felt them pulling at my mind, trying to change my will.
But even they were powerless to the magic.
And so was I.
31
Ian, September 1939
I awoke to find myself bloody, my head pounding. I was face down in the bushes outside my practice. How in the world had I landed here?
I slowly sat up, the world spun for a few seconds before it came into focus. I wondered how long I’d been unconscious. It was still dark outside, so it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. The memories of what had happened flooded back. I remembered hearing a loud crash when I’d come down to lock the front door. A strange man had stood silhouetted against the railings of the porch. I stepped outside to see who it was and he had lunged at me. I remember the look in his eye. He had wanted to kill me. He was tall and lanky, with a mop of blonde hair. No one I’d ever seen around town. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I stood up and was about to head back to the house when I noticed something glittering in the moonlight. I reached down and picked it up. I turned it over in my hands; it looked to be a nice silver cigarette case. I wondered if it belonged to my attacker. Head throbbing I decided to not worry about it and put in my pocket. I wanted to get back in bed before Margaret got up and realized I was gone. I hurried back inside. I was still a bit shaky but a quick self-examination led to me to believe I would be fine.
There was no point keeping this from Margaret, she would only read my thoughts, and I hadn’t the skill to know how to block her. But for tonight I could give her the peace she craved.
I went upstairs, stripped off, wiped the dried blood from my forehead and slipped quietly into bed.
Margaret, September 1939
I’d awoken the moment he’d crept into the room.
I rolled over and smiled contentedly. Despite everything that happened to me, I had married the man I loved and he adored me. I was truly blessed.
I waited until he drifted off to sleep, then stretched out my arm and brushed the hair from his forehead. It was then I noticed his unkempt appearance and the dirt smudge on his cheek. I took his hand to discover what he had been up to.
I sat up in bed, shocked by the revelation. A man attacked him? It was part of his dream and I could see it worried him. I didn’t recognize the face of his attacker either. Who was this strange man that wanted to hurt us?
I carefully put Ian’s hand back on the bed. He looked so peaceful; I didn’t want to wake him. I just watched him breathe.
Somebody wanted Ian dead and it probably was because of me. We both sensed it. Yet still he stayed. His love was true and strong.
I didn’t know it then, but Ian’s love would never fade, he would never give up on me, on us.
32
Emma, December 2005
I held the faded parchment in my hands, unable to believe it. I was afraid to open it. Dreams didn’t come true. At least, not like this. Yet here I was, the morning after my dream, holding an ancient letter. Impossible or not, I had to know its contents. I carefully slid the paper from its envelope and stared down at the yellowed page, my hands shaking as I opened it. The words were in a language I didn’t recognize. It was strange but in the dream, I’d read it easily. I straightened up, this was ridiculous, I was letting my imagination run wild.
“Emma, get a grip. Dreams are just fantasies; that’s all they are,” I said to the empty room, trying to reassure myself. I looked down at the paper again, wanting to know what it all meant. The thought crossed my mind that if anybody knew, it would be Granna.
I swallowed my pride (which was considerably less than my curiosity) and tried to think of ways of explaining how I’d found the letter—why I was drawn to her desk of all places. I had a creepy feeling she was going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. Somehow I got the sense that being a freak was about to become the least of my problems.
I found her sunning herself on a gaudy orange chaise lounge in the backyard. It was her favorite spot. Her eyes were closed, absorbing the sun’s unusually warm winter rays filtering through the clouds. Her white hair created a gauzy halo around her face. She looked so peaceful. I hated to disturb her. Maybe I’d just go back in the house and…
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, Emma Diamond?” she said sharply.
I spun round, her eyes were still closed. How did she do that?
“You could start by telling me about that paper in your hand,” she murmured.
A shiver ran down my spine. This was just too weird.
“It’s nothing, Granna. I can come back later, you rest,” I replied.
Her eyes popped open. “Rest is for the old and the weary and I don’t consider myself either one. Now come sit down and tell me what’s rattling around in that mind of yours.”
I plopped down unceremoniously into a flower-cushioned green wicker chair next to her. I sucked in a deep breath. “Okay here it goes. I found this really old letter or document I’m not sure which. It was upstairs in your writing desk, hidden away in a small compartment. It’s written in a foreign language. I thought you might understand what it says, since it did come from your office.” I looked hopefully at her, looking for some glimmer of recognition.
Granna gave a knowing smile. “Ah yes well, it is my desk.”
She was being smug, but I decided to take the high road and ignore her. I handed over the letter.
Granna put on her glasses and skimmed it over. “Well, do you know what it says? Is it in code?” I asked impatiently.
“No, no dear it isn’t code; it is, I believe, Ancient Greek, which makes sense I suppose since we do have Greek ancestors.”
&nbs
p; “Do you know any Greek?” I leaned forward eagerly.
“I’m afraid not,” she replied. Granna handed the letter back to me, looking thoughtful. “You know,” she said after a minute, “there is one thing I can tell you. Whatever message that letter contains, you were supposed to find it. It was meant for you.”
“But it was in your desk,” I protested.
She looked at me curiously. “That desk has been in my family so long I couldn’t even tell you where it came from.”
“Oh,” I said, sinking back into the chair, trying to hide my disappointment. “I wonder who put it in there. It looks very old. And how can you be sure it was meant for me? If the desk is that old, anyone of our ancestors could have found the letter.”
“No Diamond. The letter is for you,” she said very firmly. “Now let’s go see what we can do about getting it translated. Besides, a storm is coming, we should get inside,” she said looking up as some ominous black clouds moved over the sun. She patted my knee and smiled at me with a twinkle in her eye. “It will be a new adventure for both of us.”
“Granna, this computer of yours is top of the line,” I said, as I ran my fingers over the keyboard. “It puts mine to shame. Your editor must worship you.” Granna and I were back in her office. She stood over me while I pulled up the search engine on the internet.
Granna smiled. “Well, something like that. I suppose if you make someone a little money they come to like you whether they are inclined that way or not.”
“A little? Granna, you have more bestsellers than I care to think about. It makes me feel like a failure.” It was pretty pathetic, I know, but I couldn’t help it. It was hard to live in her shadow sometimes.
Granna turned my face away from the computer screen. “Look at me Emma. You’re not a failure, far from it. You have a destiny to fulfill that will change the way you see life. It’s far bigger than you realize. Everyone has a destiny.”
The Soul of the Sun (The Argos Dynasty) Page 10
