Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  Like Meredith, watching the water, drawing on the tiny hope that maybe . . . just maybe.

  And now it was Julianna’s turn to watch the water, though she couldn’t do it in the literal sense, like Meredith and Isabel had. She wouldn’t be living by the sea, and she hadn’t lost Jace to its anger, but she knew . . . how well she knew the stunning disbelief, the wretched pain of giving him up to eternity.

  They were alike, the three of them. No matter that they lived at different times and knew different stations of life. They had all loved in the best of ways; they had all lost in the worst of ways.

  Isabel, Meredith, me, Julianna thought as three tears trickled lazily down her face. Kindred spirits.

  Unknown to Julianna, though, there was one thing that kept her from truly joining Isabel and Meredith in their loss.

  Jace wasn’t dead.

  How glad Sheriff Tucker Moll of Ambrose Point was to get a call from Jace one week after his arrest. He had a new name now, along with a new home in some Midwestern prison.

  And that’s where the ball dropped. Tucker just couldn’t figure it out, and he was pretty darn good at figuring things out. This case, though, had him scratching his snow-white head more than usual as he wrestled with so many unanswered questions.

  Originally, Jace was going to turn himself in, do his time, and that was it. Tucker, who had secretly loved Meredith and thought of Jace as a son, had willingly served as the middleman to work things out with the FBI. Jace had given them Lightfoot’s whereabouts in exchange for a shorter sentence and protection for Julianna. Because the FBI wanted Lightfoot more than they wanted Jace, the deal was pretty easy to make.

  So why didn’t it pan out? The best Tucker could figure, somebody had leaked the plan to Lightfoot and his southern thugs. But who could it have been? They’d been awfully tight-lipped about the plans. He had a funny feeling that Leyton Drakeworth, the snake, had his dirty hands in it. It was just beyond Tucker how he or anyone else could have found out. All Tucker had known for sure was that one of Lightfoot’s ole boy snipers took a shot at Jace while the FBI was transporting him to his barred home for the next five years. At least now he knew the shooter missed, thank God. But it was close, and the FBI said the only way to protect both Jace and Julianna was to let the world think the attempt had been a success. If the Lightfoot gang knew the truth, they’d never let up on Jace and wouldn’t think twice about hurting Julianna as a means of retaliation. No, they couldn’t chance it. Lightfoot and the whole bunch needed to think Jace was dead and gone. Plans had changed.

  Like Tucker, Julianna was supposed to be told the truth that Jace was very much alive. As far as Tucker knew, she had been.

  But had she?

  Tucker hadn’t heard a peep from the woman, and he was beginning to wonder. Tucker himself hadn’t heard the truth until after the radio guys were reporting the killing as if it was verified fact.

  He assumed Jace could confirm it for him when they talked. But the voice he heard coming over the line didn’t belong to the optimistic, determined, man’s-got-to-do-what-a-man’s-got-to-do Jace he knew. The voice was flat and weary, the voice of a man who had been beating his head against an unyielding door, his mind retracing every step as he tried to figure out where things had broken down.

  “This FBI agent, a guy named Sam Siebert, said Julianna had a change of heart,” Jace relayed to Tucker. “Said he couldn’t believe the way she acted, but that she made it clear she wasn’t going to go along with any plans.”

  “Even when he told her you were alive?” Tucker asked. “He told her, right?”

  “Swears he did,” Jace answered. “But said it didn’t seem to make a difference.” There was a short pause, then Jace continued. “He said her exact words were ‘I don’t want any part of this mess anymore.’”

  Tucker winced, imagining how much those words must have cut to the core. “It’s just hard for me to picture something like that coming from Julianna.”

  “Siebert said she wants a divorce.”

  Tucker winced again. “I don’t know what to say, Jace. I just don’t know what to say.”

  Silence filled the telephone line for what seemed an eternity. Tucker grew uncomfortable, wanting so badly to say something, something like “she’s not worth it” or “forget the girl.” But he knew that was crazy. Telling Jace to forget Julianna was like telling himself to erase all traces of Meredith. It couldn’t be done. He’d never professed his love to the young widow, but he sure had felt it. He used to make his way out to the lighthouse just to check on her, even though he had no reason to think she needed him to do that. Truth was, he just wanted to watch her long dark hair whip back from her face as she told him some story about her morning or the night before. Meredith could tell a good story and make fly swatting sound like an adventure, all the while her laughter reminding him of wind chimes playing in the sea breeze. But everyone in town knew Meredith had given her heart to one man, Jace’s father, and that he’d taken it with him when his ship went down. She wasn’t open to loving anyone else, and the closest thing she ever said to Tucker about courtship was that she’d rather a man give her a handful of wildflowers than a bunch of red roses. That’s why Tucker had been leaving wildflowers on her grave every week since she’d died from injuries she got during a tropical storm that hit the Point almost fifteen years ago.

  Finally, Jace spoke. “Find her.”

  “I already have a good idea where she is,” Tucker said. “I guess she’s back home with that Drakeworth.”

  “I can’t believe that’s where she wants to be.”

  “Me neither.”

  More silence, then, “See what you can find out about her.”

  Tucker grimaced into the phone. “You might not like what turns up.”

  “I have to know.”

  Tucker respected that, understood Jace’s need to have answers.

  “And when I find her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “It’s the safest thing,” Jace explained. “I have to believe that things aren’t as they seem, that Drakeworth is behind this mess.”

  The words only bolstered Tucker’s own suspicions. “You could be right as rain about that one.”

  “Given his dealings with Lightfoot, I’m betting he’s the one who tipped off the ole boy.” There was a smolder to Jace’s voice. “Though I don’t know how he found out the plans.”

  “They’re dangerous men, Jace.”

  “Yeah, but they think I’m dead and maybe that’s the safest thing for Julianna right now.”

  “Could be.” Tucker ran a frustrated hand through his white hair. He didn’t know, he just didn’t know. There were so many scenarios that might explain this mess.

  “If the agent told Julianna I’m still alive, she had to have an important reason for blowing our plans out of the water,” Jace went on. “That’s all I can believe.”

  “Me too,” Tucker resolved, deciding to give Julianna the benefit of every doubt.

  “In the meantime, she knows how to reach me—through the agent or through you, but it has to be her move.”

  “Okay.” Tucker heaved a heavy sigh, thinking of the agony Jace must be feeling right now. “I’ll do what I can.”

  They hung up then, and Tucker did the only thing he could do to get information about Julianna. He didn’t have legal cause to contact fellow authorities for help, nor did he have money to hire a P.I. or the time to do the job himself. For now he’d have to rely on a subscription to Julianna’s hometown newspaper and hope that a prominent family like hers would have photographs and society write-ups from time to time. It was a start, anyway.

  Three weeks later, Tucker’s first issue showed up in the mail, bringing news that twisted his heart into knots.

  Miss Julianna Sheffield Weds Mr. Leyton Drakeworth.

  Well, one thing was for sure—Tucker would rather yank out his own teeth than send this newspaper clipping to Jace.

  He’d made
a promise, though, had given his word to a distraught man that he’d pass along any news about Julianna. Any and all, good or bad.

  So she married the snake, Tucker thought, scanning the write-up for a wedding date, his face going sour when he saw it was a week after Jace’s alleged death. He had to wonder what Jace had really been to Julianna. Some kind of summertime fling? A little walk on the wild side before going back to the ritzy world she really belonged to? It just didn’t sound like the woman he’d met, the one who’d had it in her heart to forgive the man who had robbed her family’s banks. Besides that, what was she doing marrying Drakeworth while she was still married to Jace? Now the woman had two husbands, which the last time Tucker checked, was flat out illegal in most states. She had struck him as smart enough to know that. Lord, if he hadn’t heard with his own ears that the FBI agent told her Jace was alive, Tucker would swear that Julianna still believed Jace was dead.

  He tried to draw upon his earlier decision to give her the benefit of every doubt, but this was hard. Darn hard, and he didn’t fancy having to be the messenger of such news. He could follow up on her being a two-time bride, but Jace was convinced there was a reason for whatever she was doing. Tucker would trust that, ignore his badge, and sit on any legal questions for the time being.

  Still, Jace has got to know about this wedding. Tucker gave an inward growl, his stomach flopping with dread. What a rotten position to be in. Hating it, he cut the story from the paper and folded it in half then slid it into an envelope and hastily scrawled Jace’s address on the outside.

  The house on River Drive was Leyton through and through, starting with the massive trees that nearly blocked its view from the street. Like Leyton, they cast a solemn canopy of shadows across the house.

  The inside was a museum, an exhibit of furniture that was a true reflection of the elaborate Baroque styling of Louis XIV. Leyton had spent a fortune on each piece and was adamant that every chair, table, cabinet, and desk be defined by Louis XIV’s monarchy—otherwise, off with their heads.

  “It’s French influenced by Italian,” Leyton was fond of saying. “Many Americans find it far too aristocratic for their homes.”

  Not to mention too uncomfortable to sit on were Julianna’s thoughts on the furniture.

  “I’ve turned into such a complainer,” Julianna commented to her mother and Cassie. “The outside of the house, the inside of the house—nothing suits me. The servants Leyton hired are so stoic. I don’t think they could smile if their lives depended on it.”

  “Mr. Leyton probably docks their pay if he catches ’em smiling,” Cassie said.

  Julianna’s mother laughed. “At least they’re day servants and you don’t have to tolerate their sourpuss faces around the clock.”

  The women were picnicking in the backyard. It, too, was a forest of towering trees, but they had found a small clearing where they could put down a blanket and a basket of food. Julianna and her mother sat on the blanket, but Cassie had brought her favorite chair from Dreamland’s back porch. Stuffing it in Miss Audrey’s car had been a bit of trouble, but it was better than trying to situate her big self on the ground.

  “As far as not liking the house,” Cassie said, “it’s on account of the company you keep. It’s coloring your thoughts.”

  Nodding at Cassie’s diagnosis, Julianna leaned back on her hands and watched the Holiday River move sluggishly past the grounds, looking like liquid silver as it mirrored the overcast sky. Her eyes lingered for a moment then scanned the treetops, their leaves tinged with yellow and russet. It was mid-September, but the afternoon was warm.

  “I know that I’d see things differently if I was living here with Jace,” she admitted.

  Her mother unwrapped a small loaf of bread and then rummaged through the basket for a butter knife. “As always, Cassie is on the mark.” Frustrated, she sat back on her heels, a pout on her face. “Where is that silly knife?”

  Julianna sat up straight and peered into the basket. “There it is, Mother, on top of the cake.” She knew her mother couldn’t elaborate on Cassie’s words, nor was she able to talk much about Jace.

  Julianna wondered if her mother could relate to her quest for love, though. The truth was, she didn’t know if her parents were happily married. They didn’t seem to be unhappy, but their life was one of events to attend and events to host. There were board meetings for him and club meetings for her. He oversaw the business, she oversaw the home. They did usually meet up in the evenings to eat dinner together, often followed by radio time before going to the same bedroom. But did her mother feel like a priority? A confidant? A valued voice and a desired lover? Julianna really didn’t know, but since coming home, she seemed to detect a hint of sympathy in her mother’s eyes when Julianna spoke of Jace. She had told Julianna that she couldn’t help but be moved that he had sacrificed everything for her sake—but there was still the troubling, haunting, angering fact that he had robbed the family banks.

  It was a large pill to swallow. Julianna respected such feelings and hadn’t expected the few people who knew to see it as an act of grand and unconditional love. It was a wild tale to hear, one that raised eyebrows as well as questions. And though the impulsiveness of this love did not diminish its depth, people needed time to accept the shock, if they ever could.

  Seeming to read Julianna’s mind, her mother said, “Darling, I’m still grasping it all.”

  “I know,” Julianna said. “I’m just glad you aren’t disowning me and that maybe we can find our way to each other.” She managed a small, quick smile. “I’m also honored that you’re missing your club meeting to picnic with me, your bleak and mournful daughter.”

  “You’re more interesting than that meeting.” She smiled gently into Julianna’s eyes, where there was dullness from a grief that was nearly too raw to talk about. “The girls are discussing Sweet Creek’s Christmas party, and it’s only September!”

  “You thrive on planning parties,” Julianna reminded her.

  “Yes, I do like a fine affair, but I’ll never again be on a committee that oversees doilies.”

  Cassie chuckled. “You always been like Lazarus’s sister, Martha. Runnin’ around like a chicken gone lost its head. Even Jesus told her she worried about things that don’t matter.”

  She threw Cassie a knowing look. “Now, Cassie, if Jesus was coming to dinner at Dreamland, you would shout orders like a general and shoot cannon balls at anyone who upset your kitchen.”

  Now Cassie laughed. “Reckon I would be a mite riled up, it bein’ the Lord and all comin’ for supper.”

  Julianna’s mother cut a slice of bread and spread a thin layer of butter across it. Quietly, she said, “Julianna, after you left, I started thinking about my life and all the silly things I worried about. I didn’t just skim the surface but made myself dig deep, and . . . oh, darling, I just hated what I found.”

  Julianna cringed, not liking the pain her disappearance had caused her mother. But she hadn’t forgotten her own hurt as her mother had driven away to meet with the caterer despite Leyton’s fresh assault in the garden. She could still see his raised fist, how she’d trembled afterward, and how sure she’d been that her parents would finally see Leyton for who he was. But of course her father had explained it away. In retrospect, she now saw that her mother had been given news that was a shock to her safe and orderly world. Inside, she had been reeling, so she did the only thing she knew to do, which was move on with the show. It was exactly what she’d done at the engagement party when the bank got robbed—composed herself and carried on.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Mother, but I had to be with the man I loved.”

  Her mother patted Julianna’s hand. “I don’t want you berating yourself. You’re a warm and loving woman, which is amazing considering how hard your father is and how—how I spent so many years focused on some of the least important things.” She nodded toward Cassie. “It’s her influence that made you the good person that you are.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t go makin’ me swell up and turnin’ proud,” Cassie said, wagging her finger at a plate of fried chicken. “Anyone mind me taking a few of those drumsticks? Important thing, Miss Audrey, is that you got yourself some wisdom. Get wisdom, and you’ll know how to find everything else that counts.”

  Julianna’s mother scooped potato salad onto her plate. “I’m really going to try to be a better mother.”

  “You are a good mother,” Julianna said.

  “Miss Audrey, you can start by making your girl eat.” With her toe, Cassie nudged Julianna’s empty plate. “Feed yourself, child. You’re so pale, I’ll bet you don’t have a reflection. You’ll waste away if you don’t eat.”

  “I’m pale, but far from wasting away,” Julianna said as she reached for the chicken. “When I do lug myself out of bed, all I do is listen to the radio and eat. I’ve probably gained ten pounds since the cruise, but I just can’t get full.”

  “That’s grief,” her mother said.

  “Leyton calls it gluttony,” Julianna said, scowling.

  The mood lightened as Virginia arrived with her usual head-turning flair. Dressed in slacks and a silk blouse, she breezed through the wooded grounds like a statue goddess come to life, her long legs gliding across the acorns and twigs that covered the path weaving through the trees. Seeing the women in the clearing, her blue eyes widened with delight, and her smile switched on like a light.

  “Hello, girls!” she called, giving them an exuberant wave. Her fingers held a lipstick-tainted Lucky, its smoke curling behind her like a ribbon.

  “Well, hi there.” Julianna patted the blanket as an invitation to sit. “What brings you here?”

  “Just wanted to say hi,” Virginia said as she lowered herself onto the blanket. She stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles then leaned back on her hands and turned her head toward the treetops, tossing out her waves.

  “It’s nice to see you, Virginia,” Julianna’s mother said. “How have you been?”