Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  “How much have you been told?” she asked.

  “Not much,” he said. “And what I have heard, I only vaguely remember. I’m hoping you’ll fill me in.”

  “I will, but it won’t be easy to hear.”

  He winced from his physical discomfort. “Don’t coddle me,” he said. “Your mother and I were run off the road—that I remember. The police have tried to talk to me, and the nurses are scurrying around like mice. They won’t let me see a newspaper or hear the radio. There’s more to this than a car accident.”

  She took the pitcher on his nightstand and poured some water into a glass. Holding it to his mouth, she said, “I’m going to tell you everything.”

  “I want to know now,” he said after taking a couple of sips of water. “Not next week when you think I might be feeling stronger.”

  “The news I have can’t wait.”

  He looked curious and concerned, his eyes eager that she start unfolding the events of the last several days. She sat back down and began the long and complicated tale, fearing he would not be as unaffected by Leyton’s death as the rest of them were.

  “He’s dead, Father,” she said, glancing at her hands in her lap. “I know the news is painful for you.” When she looked back up, her father’s head was resting against the pillow, his eyes squeezed tight. Despite everything, she knew he had once loved Leyton like a son.

  Her father was quiet for a good ten minutes. Julianna could see that his throat was tight and he refused her offers of water with only a quick shake of his head. She, too, felt tearful, not from grief but from seeing pain in a man she once thought had no sensitive emotions at all.

  When he finally spoke, his words were not what she expected, his bereavement not spent on Leyton. “If Leyton hadn’t died, I would have wanted to kill him myself.”

  “What?”

  “I trusted him with everything, yet he stole from what our family built. He tried to destroy me, tried to destroy your mother . . . and then he went after you.” He slammed his fist onto the bed, then grimaced.

  “What kind of a monster did I force upon our family?”

  She couldn’t find words to answer him, so she just sat quietly, waiting for him to speak again.

  “You said a man pushed you down when Leyton fired the gun. Who was he?”

  Oh boy, she thought, taking a long breath and hoping the answer didn’t cause him to relapse. She gripped the arms of the chair she was sitting in. “Jace McAllister is the man who saved my life.”

  He looked at her as though she was joking. “I don’t believe in ghosts, Julianna, so you had better explain.”

  She did, sometimes having a difficult time believing the amazing story herself. Her father listened and watched her face. For the first time, she went all the way back to the very beginning, when Jace worked for Leyton at Southern Gold. From there she built the story of a good man who sought justice in his own way but later saw the mistake of taking the road he traveled. She talked of Ambrose Point and the plans they made, ones Leyton destroyed before bringing her home for a marriage she didn’t want.

  “I suppose you want to be with him,” her father said, his tone neither derogatory or encouraging. He stated it like an obvious fact.

  “He’s the love of my life and the father of my child. Yes, I want to be with him.”

  Where will you go?”

  “That depends,” she told him. “If he lives as Jace McAllister, the world will know our story and we’ll return to Ambrose Point. If he lives as J.M. Tanner, we’ll live quietly someplace where he won’t be recognized.”

  Her father stared at the foot of his bed. He seemed to be carefully considering the situation. “Is there any reason to live as J.M. Tanner?” He asked after a couple of minutes. “Leyton is gone, the Liptons are gone—weren’t they the only threats to your well-being?”

  “As far as safety goes, there’s no reason to live as the Tanners,” she said cautiously. “But if we live as the McAllisters, other lives will be affected. Your life, Mother’s life. Everyone will learn that I married the man who robbed our banks, that Leyton wasn’t Mari’s father—”

  “That’s hardly going to hurt her.”

  “That’s true, but what about you and Mother? Won’t this hurt your social position, influence customers of the bank?” They were sincere concerns, and she leaned forward in her seat, speaking earnestly.

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen, Julianna?” He stared hard into her eyes. “We’ll lose some friends, we’ll lose some customers. But we’ll also find out who our real friends are, now won’t we?” He shook his head. “After Leyton, I want to know who in my life is genuine and who is not.”

  “I understand.”

  “This story about you and Jace is too phenomenal to keep under wraps. It would find its way out, I promise. Besides, haven’t we had enough secrets, Julianna?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then don’t try living with an identity that isn’t yours.” He rested his head back on his pillow and looked at the ceiling. “Live freely.”

  “I want that.” She smiled. “Do you realize that we just had our first father-daughter talk?”

  He smiled but couldn’t keep the look of guilt from his face. “It’s long overdue.”

  “We have the future, though,” she said, suspecting that was all they had. Any and all talks would be about things that happened from this day forward. Never would they venture back into the past and discuss the years already gone, the lost years that could never be retrieved, and perhaps that was for the best. Too many turbulent waters had passed under a shaky bridge that was on the mend. To turn around and try to swim back . . .

  No, she didn’t want to do that. Forgiveness, she realized, came in different ways, and sometimes it was best to just wipe the slate clean and begin again. A brand-new relationship starting from scratch.

  She reached over and took her father’s hand. They averted their eyes, almost shyly, then found their way back to each other.

  Forgiveness.

  Julianna knew that she and her father had both just found it.

  The next evening, Julianna went to the funeral home. Visitation had ended, and the funeral director was about to lock the doors when Julianna came up the steps. The director smiled the somber smile of a greeting mixed with sympathy and held the door open for her.

  She went first to the visitor’s sign-in book where the signatures were scant. For a man who wanted a king’s adoration, who counted prominent figures among his friends, the final numbers were pitifully small. Three. Only three people deemed him worthy of their final respects.

  Next, she stepped into the funeral parlor, empty except for the deceased himself. There were no carnations to saturate the air, no flowers at all surrounding him, and no personal mementos tucked inside the casket.

  He was alone, completely alone.

  With some hesitation, she approached the casket. It was gunmetal gray with white lining, where Leyton lay in his finest black suit, not a single blond hair out of place. She felt uncomfortable standing before it, her arms behind her back and her eyes unable to look into the mannequin-like face.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” she said to his lifeless body. “I haven’t got a single tear for you, Leyton. I just . . . you were a smart man. You had some good in you, I know you did. I’ll choose to believe that you really did want to help bank customers in the beginning but somehow lost your way. That ambition you were so proud of went on to become your demon, and greed became it’s companion, Leyton. It didn’t have to be that way. You could have had everything you wanted and still have been a good person.” She winced over the awful memories this man had made for so many people. “Some would say I should hate you, but really . . . I’m just sorry for you now.”

  She spoke the truth. She was sorry for what was now a weeping soul, one that recalled the events of life on earth but found no forgiveness, resolution or chance to start again.

  He had a lot to
regret. And he had an eternity to do it.

  There was nothing more to say. She turned to leave, but gave a startled pause at the sight of a woman curled up on the opposite side of the room. She was in a chair nearly hidden within an alcove, and the funeral director must not have seen her when he began locking up for the night.

  It was Polli Raffton.

  She was an unexpected mourner, but her quiet presence spoke volumes. Suddenly, Julianna understood why she had been the recipient of Polli’s curt attitude, why she had felt the secretary’s cold shoulder as well as her burning gaze.

  Julianna made her way to the back of the room, her approach jolting Polli from her hunched position. She started to rise from the seat, looking frightened.

  “No, stay,” Julianna said.

  Polli slowly returned to her seat, her eyes not leaving Julianna. By the time Julianna reached her, though, Polli’s head dropped as if in shame and her hands gripped the arms of the chair.

  “I don’t know what Leyton was to you or what you hoped he might become,” Julianna said, “but I’m sure you never believed him capable of what he did.”

  Polli looked up, and Julianna saw that she harbored more than the heartbreak of love lost. There was also the sadness of betrayal, the emptiness of dreams that had died a sudden death. Polli was what so many other people had been—one of Leyton’s victims.

  Julianna sat next to her. The women didn’t look at each other but stared at the casket. The room was plain, so sadly plain, lacking the warmth of family and friends, wreaths of condolence, and other signs that the deceased would be missed.

  “Time will go on, Polli,” Julianna said in the starkness, “and so will you.”

  Polli said nothing, but weakly nodded her head.

  “Most people don’t have Leyton’s traits,” Julianna went on. “I hope you won’t measure other men against him. To do that would be an injustice, to them and to yourself.”

  For the second time in five minutes, Julianna knew she had said all there was to say. She got up and left then, pulling her coat about her as she went back out into the winter night, finding its dark chill friendlier than the lonely funeral home.

  It was the last time she ever saw Polli with an I.

  With interest, Richard watched Jace McAllister come into his hospital room. He eased himself higher in the bed and waited for McAllister to reach his side. When he did, Richard didn’t give him a chance to be the first to speak.

  “When you were robbing my banks, McAllister, back before I knew your real identity, I wondered how I might feel to see the People’s Bandit face-to-face.”

  “And how do you feel, Mr. Sheffield?” Jace asked. “Seeing me here?”

  Richard gave him a direct stare, aimed right into his eyes. “If you’re the man Julianna says you are, I feel like you’re here to make retribution.”

  Jace reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a folded check. He handed it to Richard, then waited for him to open it and see the amount it was written out for.

  Like Jace, Richard knew exactly how much money had been taken from his banks. He read the amount of the check, refolded it, and placed it on his nightstand. Turning his full attention back to Jace, he said, “You stole from me, McAllister, but you’ve paid me back, down to the last dime. For that, you’ve earned my respect.”

  “I appreciate that. But what about your blessing?” Jace asked. “Will you give that to Julianna and me?”

  “You saved her life,” Richard said, his tone both factual and gratuitous. “For that, I owe you.” He then retrieved the check from the nightstand and ripped it down the middle.

  Jace shook his head. “I was wrong to take from your banks. No matter what drove me to do it, nothing justifies it.” He nodded toward the torn check. “That money belongs to you.”

  Richard couldn’t hide the sorrow from his face. “I was the one who was wrong,” he said. “Nobody has a right to misuse their knowledge the way I did.” He wadded up the torn check and tossed the pieces toward the wastebasket. “That’s that, McAllister. As for having my blessings, it’s like I said—you saved Julianna’s life, and I owe you for that.”

  “I don’t want your blessing because you think you owe me something,” Jace said. “I only want it because we’ve agreed that the past is dead.”

  “The past.” Richard lolled over the word for a minute, then issued Jace a challenge. “When the truth is told as I think it should be, the past will be paraded before all eyes. Do we, as men, have the backbone to let the world scrutinize our actions?”

  “Only if we agree that it’s a story about the past,” Jace answered. “Otherwise, we won’t be able to move beyond it.”

  “And that’s what you want, McAllister?” Richard was testing him.

  “It is.” Jace was firm. “As far as being in-laws, I realize that you and I might never play golf, but I love your daughter. Her happiness is my first concern, and I think you know that’s the best gift a man can give his wife’s father.”

  Slowly, thoughtfully, Richard nodded his agreement. He was through examining the man.

  Except for one more question. “You play golf, McAllister?”

  “I used to,” Jace said. “But not lately, no.”

  “I suppose not,” Richard said, imagining a prison surrounded by stone walls and barbed wire. “I guess it was rather hard to get up a foursome.”

  “There were plenty of foursomes,” Jace assured him. “And lots of guys who wanted to take a shot at something. The eighteenth hole just wasn’t one of them.” He started for the door, wanting to leave while the air was lighter. He was halfway across the room when Richard stopped him.

  “McAllister, you’ve got my blessing.”

  Jace’s shoulders eased in apparent relief, and he returned to the side of Richard’s bed. “Thanks,” he said, extending his hand. “I won’t let you down.”

  Again, he tried to leave, and again, Richard stopped him. This time, just as his hand was about to turn the doorknob.

  “Say, McAllister, about the golf. What’s your handicap?”

  If the weather in mid-March was any indication, then the month would go out like a lamb. The afternoon sun drenched the patio of Dreamland, and there was only a hint of coolness in the breeze that wafted through the gardens. The flowers had not fully awakened, but tiny buds were appearing, and all was richly green.

  Hope was in the air.

  Virginia hugged Julianna long and hard. “You’ll be back July Fourth?”

  “Sooner,” Julianna promised as she threw a glance at Jace. “We’re going to visit once a month. Ambrose Point isn’t that far from here.”

  “Yes, but July Fourth is a date, right?” Virginia said as she held her new diamond up to the sun. “I haven’t formally asked, but you know I want you to be my matron of honor.”

  Julianna joined Virginia in admiring the ring. “I’m planning to be, invitation or not.”

  Virginia hugged her again. “You have to go, but it’s like I’m losing half of my heart.”

  “Never.” Julianna’s voice wavered. She didn’t want to cry, though, and averted her tears by moving on to another subject. “Besides, we’ve still got our brilliant Blair Burkett.”

  “I’ll expect new scripts every few weeks.” Virginia smiled and sniffed at the same time.

  “Otherwise, I’ll drive down to Ambrose Point and yank you away from Jace.”

  “You’d do better to yank teeth,” Cassie said as she came up on their conversation. She squeezed Julianna’s hands. “Did you like your going away lunch?”

  Everything was delicious, Cassie, like always.” She nodded toward her parents, who were seated at the iron patio table. “I feel better leaving them, knowing you’re here to look after things.”

  “They’ll be fine. Cassie here knows how to handle the both of them.”

  You have to take care of yourself, too.”

  Cassie beamed. “I’ll be fine. Better than fine . . .”

  Julianna gave Cassie
a curious gaze. “You look like you’re about to burst.”

  “I’ve been saving my news for today,” she said excitedly. “And now, it’s about to gallop out like wild hogs. You know my ham radio and how I’m always messing around with it?”

  Julianna nodded. Cassie had been operating the radio more and more lately, doing what she called “polishing her preaching.”

  “The pastor from Meadow Baptist Church heard me. Don’t know if you know this or not, but one of the church members runs a radio station—nothing big like WYRC—but . . . I got my own radio show!”

  Julianna’s jaw dropped, and she threw her arms around Cassie’s neck.

  “I’ll be on for fifteen minutes every Sunday night,” Cassie said. “Pastor says folks’ll tune in just to hear the lady preacher, so maybe I’ll get a lot of listeners.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” Julianna said as she let go of Cassie’s neck.

  Suddenly, Cassie looked embarrassed and tried shooing Julianna away. “Don’t brag on me yet. Go on, now, and say your good-byes.”

  Reluctantly, Julianna stepped away from the woman who had taken such good care of her, the woman who helped prepare her for the day she would leave them all.

  “You’re ready to fly, child. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “I’ll always need you.” Julianna’s eyes glistened.

  Cassie went to her then and grabbed her to her chest, holding her in the bear hug that had always felt like a safe haven. She embraced her for a long time, stroking her hair like she used to do when Julianna was little and frightened by a nightmare. Only, today didn’t compare with a nightmare. It was the continuation of a dream that began the night Julianna learned that Jace McAllister was still alive.

  “All right, now,” Cassie said firmly as she released Julianna. “Go kiss the others.”

  Julianna went to Jimmy Mac and Chester, both who hugged her then broke away, mumbling something about chores needing to get done.

  Scotty Reidman was next, slouched against the brick patio wall and wearing his lopsided grin. “It’s just so-long,” he said, giving her a light punch on the arm. “The boys and me, we’ll be at the Starlight Beach Club next weekend.”