Her Secret Past

by Amanda Stevens

  As Amy stood, she returned the woman’s perusal. Like Lottie, she appeared to be in her fifties, with a long, handsome face, wide-set, hazel eyes and a smooth cap of dark brown hair. Her skin was lightly suntanned, her large hands smooth and bejeweled with two enormous amethyst rings. Her lavender pantsuit, exquisitely tailored and deceptively simple, made her at once one of the most stylish and most formidable-looking women Amy had ever seen.

  For a long moment, no one said anything, but Amy sensed an undercurrent in the room she couldn’t define. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lottie shift uneasily and wipe her hands on her apron before the larger woman, obviously satisfied with what she saw, swooped down on Amy and scooped her up in a smothering, fragrant embrace. “My gawd!” she cried, as if overcome with sudden emotion. “What’s the matter with y’all, anyway? Any fool can see this child is Amber! Oh, my sweet girl, you’ve finally come home to us! My prayers have finally been answered!”

  Over the woman’s shoulder, Jasmine said dryly, “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this is Corliss Witherspoon. Our aunt.”

  At the sound of Jasmine’s voice, Corliss released Amy long enough to pull a lace hankie from her sleeve and dab at her eyes. “Why, Jasmine Louise, I’m so glad you’re here for this momentous occasion,” she said in a suspiciously sweet voice. “You and I are going to have ourselves a little talk, dear heart.”

  “What about?” Jasmine pouted.

  “As if you didn’t know. About the company you’ve been keeping, that’s what.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, Aunt Corliss. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  Corliss arched a brow. “Oh, I can’t, can I? We’ll just see about that. And you—” She whirled on Lottie. “What in tarnation are you thinking, letting her traipse all over the county with that man? Emmett must be rolling over in his grave—”

  “Corliss,” Lottie said, her voice steely soft. “I don’t think now is the proper time.”

  Corliss stiffened, as if readying herself for battle, then, like a balloon slowly deflating, she said to Jasmine, “I’ll deal with you later, Miss Priss. But for now—” She turned back to Amy, giving her another once-over. “Lord a-mercy, girl. What’ve you been doing to yourself? You’re as skinny as a fence post, and you’re not nearly as pretty as I remembered you.” And with that, her eyes teared again and she grabbed Amy, clutching her to her breast as if she were afraid to let her go.

  Amy thought, in wry amusement, of the stranglehold the rosebush out front had on the persimmon tree.

  Lottie rose and cleared her throat. “You’ll stay to supper, won’t you, Corliss?”

  Reluctantly, Corliss released Amy and blew her nose noisily on the lace hankie. “What are you having? You know I can’t eat beef. Or pork. And all that salt you put in your casseroles goes straight to my arteries.”

  “I’ll fix you a salad,” Lottie murmured, her mouth twitching in amusement or annoyance, Amy wasn’t sure which.

  “Bottled dressing gives me gas, but I reckon I can take an antacid,” Corliss grumbled, somewhat appeased. “Besides, it’ll give me a chance to visit with my niece. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we, dear heart?” She wrapped an arm around Amy’s waist. “That goes for you, too,” she added over her shoulder, and Amy glanced back to see Jasmine squirm under her aunt’s accusing glare.

  “That’s settled, then.” Lottie headed toward the doorway, as if anxious to escape. “Mena, will you give me a hand in the kitchen?”

  Mena started to rise, but Corliss snapped, “Not so fast. I need to have a word with Philomena.”

  Mena paused, her face flushing a dark, guilty red. “Wh-what did I do?”

  “I didn’t see my ad in the Journal today.”

  Relief washed the color from Mena’s cheeks. She said in a rush, “Oh, that. I told you it wouldn’t run until Saturday, remember?”

  “I want a full-page ad,” Corliss warned. “In big enough letters so’s even that fool Marcelus Beau-camp can’t miss it. ‘You keep that damn dog out of my flower beds, or I’ll fill him full of buckshot and have him stuffed like a Christmas turkey!’ I’ve got my 12-gauge pump loaded and ready.”

  Lottie turned at the doorway. “Oh, Corliss, you wouldn’t. Marcelus loves that dog.”

  “I wouldn’t, would I! You wait and see if I won’t. And don’t act so all-fired high and mighty with me, Lottie Mae. Who was it slipped Junior Crouch’s favorite coon dog a little rat poison when he got into your prize tomato patch, hmm?”

  * * *

  LOTTIE SERVED DINNER that evening on the enclosed back porch, with ceiling fans slowly whirling overhead and moths clinging to the screen, trying to find a way into the light.

  The food was delicious, succulent baked chicken seasoned with rosemary, sweet potato puffs, a bowl of fresh sliced tomatoes, and corn bread dripping with honey. Even Corliss had trouble finding fault with the meal, though she certainly didn’t offer up any compliments. She cleaned her plate, wiped her lips daintily on a linen napkin, then announced she had to get home in time for Wheel of Fortune.

  Likewise, Fay excused herself, muttering something about a phone call she had to make. Lottie and Mena stood and began clearing the table, but when Amy offered to help, Lottie wouldn’t hear of it. “Not on your first night home. You and Jasmine need a little time together. Why don’t you take a walk?”

  Jasmine started to protest, then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  Hardly overwhelming enthusiasm, but Amy welcomed the chance to talk to her sister alone. They left the house through the back door. Darkness had fallen, and the evening was balmy and redolent with roses, honeysuckle and magnolia blooms. Lightning bugs darted through the trees as Jasmine led them through the garden gate.

  “There’s a path over here. Let’s go down to the river,” she suggested. The moon was up, full and round, crowning a sky studded with summer stars, and Amy could see clearly the mossy trail that led past the outbuildings.

  “It’s quiet out here tonight. Just you, me and the cicadas.” Jasmine’s voice sounded a bit ominous in the darkness. “Sometimes at night, when I leave my bedroom window open, I can hear kids partying down by the bridge. I’ve been known to climb out my window and join them.”

  Amy wasn’t sure what role she should assume here. Big sister? Casual listener? She said tentatively, “I hope you’re careful.”

  Jasmine laughed, a harsh sound that seemed far too old for someone her age. “That’s good, coming from you. Where do you think I got the idea? Daddy caught you crawling out your window once, and you told him you must have been sleepwalking, like you used to do when you were a little kid.”

  “Did he believe me?”

  “Of course. You were his little darling. He even took you to see a doctor to make sure you were all right. You played along without batting an eye.” Jasmine’s tone was half contemptuous, half admiring.

  Amy frowned. The road to discovery was not proving to be as smooth as she’d hoped. She wondered fleetingly if she should have stayed in Houston, been content to live her life as Amy Calloway, because Amber Tremain was turning out to be a person she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to know.

  A whippoorwill sounded in the woods, the plaintive cry like a distant memory. “I don’t have any idea what I was like back then,” she said softly, almost to herself.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.” Jasmine stopped on the path, reaching down to rescue a magnolia blossom that had fallen from one of the trees. The petals looked milky soft in the moonlight. She held it to her cheek and closed her eyes. “Being a Tremain is like riding a bicycle. You never forget how.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jasmine shrugged. “You can do whatever you want, regardless of who you hurt. Like running off the way you did. You broke Daddy’s heart.” Her voice turned bitter, and she moved away from Amy, as if afraid of revealing more than she wanted to. “But, hey, I’m the last person to blame you for leaving this place. I
can’t wait to get away from here.”

  “I wouldn’t do anything rash,” Amy warned her. “It’s not all that much fun out there in the real world.”

  “And you think it’s been a party here, stuck in the same house with the wicked stepmother and her evil twin offspring?”

  “Has it really been that bad?” Amy asked doubtfully. “Lottie seems really nice.”

  Jasmine glared at her in the moonlight. “Don’t let that Betty Crocker act fool you. Lottie can be cold when she wants to be.”

  “Like poisoning a dog?”

  “Among other things.” The path narrowed, and Jasmine took the lead, saying over her shoulder, “I bet you didn’t know she was seeing Daddy before our mother died, did you? Lottie’s the reason Mama jumped off that bridge.”

  Amy sputtered in shock, “You mean…Lottie and our father—”

  “Were doing the horizontal mambo. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Jasmine made a gagging sound.

  Amy didn’t know what to say. For a few moments, they both fell silent as she struggled to digest everything her sister had told her.

  When they came to a fork in the path, Jasmine pointed to the right. “This way. The other trail leads down to a bog. You don’t want to go there, especially at night, when the bobcats and water moccasins like to come out.”

  Amy wasn’t sure whether to believe her sister or not, but chill bumps rose along her spine. “Is it safe for us to be out here like this?”

  “Safe enough, if you know where to step.” Jasmine smiled over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  Amy didn’t doubt that. Jasmine appeared to be a young woman with a definite purpose, and her aim at the moment seemed to be in keeping Amy off balance, perhaps even in nudging her back to Houston.

  They crested the top of the embankment and stood gazing down at the water. A fine mist hovered in patches over the river, subduing the moonlight as it danced upon the surface. The evening took on a hushed quality, the stillness only broken by the occasional plop of some night creature taking to the water.

  Several yards from where they stood, the old river bridge loomed out of the haze, its girders like the bloody sails of some vast, ancient ship. “When I was here earlier, I had no idea I was so close to Amberly.”

  Amy thought she saw her sister shudder in the moonlight. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to drive across the bridge. I don’t think a car has been over it in years.” She paused. “Come on. Let’s go down to the water.”

  They took off their shoes and sat on the sandy bank. Jasmine still wore the cutoffs and top she’d had on earlier, but Amy had changed into a skirt and sleeveless blouse. She undid several of the buttons on the long skirt so that she could curl her legs underneath her. Jasmine stretched out on the sand, folding her arms beneath her head as she gazed up at the sky. She seemed more relaxed than she had all evening, but the river had the opposite effect on Amy. She sat, tense and waiting.

  “I need to ask you something,” Jasmine said after a bit.

  Amy shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  Jasmine raised herself on her elbows, studying the water. “What did Con say to you earlier?”

  “I told you. He doesn’t believe I have amnesia. He seems… hostile toward me.”

  “He used to be crazy about you.”

  Something in Jasmine’s tone made Amy turn and stare at her. Amy wondered if her sister knew about the marriage, if that was what this conversation was leading up to. Her heart started to pound. “You certainly couldn’t tell it by his actions today.”

  Jasmine frowned at the water. “You didn’t feel anything for him? Leftover sparks or something?”

  “What are you getting at, Jasmine?” Amy drew up her legs, wrapping her arms around her knees as she watched her sister’s face in the pale light.

  Jasmine shrugged. “It’s just that Con and I have become…friends.”

  An alarm sounded somewhere inside Amy. “He’s…a bit older than you, isn’t he?”

  Her sister threw a handful of sand toward the water. “What difference does that make? I like older men. Besides, Daddy was almost ten years older than Mama, and he dated her big sister first, too.”

  “Corliss?”

  Jasmine nodded. “She introduced them, and Mama was just about my age when she and Daddy got married.”

  Amy said carefully, “You’re not thinking of getting married—”

  “It would be my own business if I were,” Jasmine retorted defiantly. “I’m eighteen and I can do what I want. But don’t worry,” she added grudgingly. “Like I said, Con and I are just friends.”

  She sounded almost disappointed, and as much as Amy wanted to believe her sister, she suspected Jasmine would like the relationship to become something more. Eighteen was a very vulnerable age, and a man like Conner Sullivan could be irresistible.

  Amy toyed with the idea of relaying to Jasmine what Con had told her earlier, that he and Amber had been married the night she disappeared. But somehow Amy couldn’t bring herself to do it, maybe because she wasn’t quite ready to believe it herself. Instead, she said quietly, “How did the two of you get acquainted?”

  Jasmine smiled, her features looking very youthful in the moonlight. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “It was actually pretty dramatic. Some of us were having a party down here on the bridge one night. Things got a little out of hand, and one of the girls fell into the river. Most of the guys were too drunk to even notice, and the rest of us panicked. Tara would have drowned if it hadn’t been for Con. He appeared out of nowhere, jumped into the river, pulled her out and then gave her CPR. The paramedics said he saved her life. After they took her away, he just…disappeared again.”

  “That’s incredible.” An image of the way Con had looked that afternoon flashed through Amy’s mind. The dark eyes, the grim features…

  Who would have thought such a man would turn out to be a hero?

  “Ever since then, I’ve felt a…connection with him,” Jasmine said. “I’ve gone to see him a few times, and I can tell by the way he looks at me that he feels something for me, too.” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. “Did you know he was in the service for a long time, and that he was almost killed down in South America?”

  “He told you that?”

  “Oh, no way. He’d never say anything like that. He’s very private. But Mena wrote an article about him when he first moved back to Magnolia Bend last year, and there’s been some talk around town. He has a snake tattoo on his arm, and someone told me that it meant he’d been in the special forces, one of those secret commando groups that are trained to kill with their bare hands.”

  Amy wasn’t sure how much of what Jasmine had just told her she could believe. Gossip was rampant in small towns, but Conner Sullivan did have the look of a man who could very well be a trained killer.

  She shivered, remembering his arms around her on the bridge. Remembering that if everything he’d told her was true, she was still married to him.

  “Anyway,” Jasmine was saying, “that’s why I asked you if there were any sparks left when you saw him earlier. I don’t want to see him get hurt again. Not by you.”

  Her bluntness stung Amy. “I don’t intend to hurt anyone.”

  Jasmine met her gaze in the moonlight. Her eyes were like chips of topaz. “Maybe you don’t intend to, but that’s what always happens when you’re around. People get hurt. Con and Daddy and—” She broke off, turning back to the water again.

  “And you?” Amy asked with sudden insight.

  Jasmine lifted her chin. “You didn’t hurt me. I couldn’t care less that you left. In case you haven’t noticed, I turned out just fine.”

  “I’m glad.” A deep sadness came over Amy for all the pain her leaving had caused, for all the years she’d lost. If she’d stayed, would she have been able to redeem herself by now? Would she and Jasmine have become close, like sisters should be? Would she and Con…have lived together as man and wife?<
br />
  A thrill of excitement raced through her at the thought of sharing that man’s bed.

  Trying to block the image, she asked hesitantly, “So what did I do back then that was so terrible? How did I hurt people?”

  “Among other things, you let us all think you were dead.”

  “You really think I did that on purpose?” Amy bit her lip. “No one really knows what happened the night I disappeared.”

  “So what? I know what happened after that. Daddy almost died, he was so worried. I can still see him standing on one side of the bridge and Con on the other while they dragged the river for your body.”

  Amy could almost see it, too. She felt chilled all the way to her soul. “Why did they think I might have drowned?”

  “Because they found your shoe floating in the water. And because you and Daddy had a terrible fight that night over Lottie. You hated her back then for what she did to Mama. You accused her of stealing some antiques or something, and then you told Daddy that if he didn’t make her and the twins leave Amberly, he’d be sorry. When you didn’t come home that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mama.”

  “You mean he thought I might have killed myself?” Amy asked, the chill inside her deepening.

  “Not exactly.” Jasmine’s voice grew cryptic. “He thought someone might have killed you.”

  Amy’s heart thudded against her chest. “My God,” she breathed, her voice hoarse with shock. “Who would have wanted to kill me?”

  “Con, for one.”

  Amy gasped. “Con—”

  Jasmine gave her an almost defiant look. “Daddy thought he’d killed you in a fit of jealous rage or something. Con always did have a wicked temper, and you’d been hanging around with him a lot that summer, leading him on. Everyone in town knew you were just seeing him to spite Daddy.”

  Amy couldn’t speak. She sat helplessly watching her sister in the moonlight, feeling as if she were drowning for real this time.

  Jasmine almost casually twirled a lock of tawny hair around one finger. “When you didn’t come home, Daddy had the sheriff go out to Con’s trailer and arrest him for your murder.”