I shrugged. “It went as we expected.”
He didn’t seem at all concerned about the will which surprised me. If he still felt anything for me, it certainly didn’t include jealousy. Then realization dawned and I grimaced. No one has told him!
“David…” I began but his look of quizzical innocence so disarmed me I couldn’t continue. The others had obviously tried to “protect” David, just as they had me. What surprised me most was that even his own father didn’t have the foresight to prepare him for the shock. Like the cowards they were, they’d left it up to me.
“Let’s go to lunch,” I said. “We’ve got some talking to do.”
* * * * *
David paced up and down, his beige deck shoes leaving unstable craters in the loose sand. He rarely indulged in cigarettes but now he puffed angrily, blowing smoke out through his nostrils like a dragon. Little beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and upper lip and he wiped them absently with a handkerchief. It was one of the few times I’d seen him this upset.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “The old coot must’ve been mad!”
I bristled at this attack on my father but I understood his anger. Hadn’t I reacted in just the same way?
“No, David, if he were crazy, we’d have grounds to dissolve the will.” I was trying my hardest to remain calm.
“Oh, that’s right, Suzanna, make jokes! Don’t you care at all? Do you have any idea what this means?”
He stopped in front of the picnic table where I sat, his hands on his hips, cigarette clamped in one corner of his mouth, his fair hair lifting in the wind.
“Yes, I do,” I replied evenly. “And I wasn’t making jokes. You seem to think you’re the only one who’s been upset by this. How do you think I feel? Do you think I want to marry Grant Fenton?”
He continued to glare at me until gradually my words registered and his expression softened. “I don’t know what to think,” he said. “I just can’t believe Dad or Colin didn’t tell me about all this before.” He turned his head and gazed down the beach, dotted with the last of the truly dedicated sun worshipers.
I shrugged. “I’m sure they thought they were protecting us.” This was Giles’ argument and I hoped it would work on David.
He snorted. “From what? From the truth? What? Did they think that by not telling me, it would all go away?”
I grimaced, recalling my identical but futile tirade. “They’re just cowards, I guess.”
He began to pace again, stooping at intervals to pick up a stone to heave violently at the azure waves. Finally, his rage spent, he came to sit down beside me and took a deep, steadying breath.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked away, knowing I couldn’t tell him just yet and add yet another blow to his already battered ego.
“I’ve taken the will to an attorney in Manistee to see if there’s anything I can do to get out of this. Until I hear from him, I don’t intend to do anything.”
“And what if he says there’s nothing you can do?”
I frowned. “Well, I’ll make a decision then.”
Thankfully, he didn’t pursue this line of questioning, lapsing into thoughtful silence. When he did speak again, it wasn’t what I expected.
“Has Colin talked to you about the marina?”
“Yes.”
“It sure puts me in one helluva mess! If we go along with this farce, I lose you. If we don’t, I lose my business.”
I chose not to take exception to his use of the word “we”. This wasn’t the time for petty grievances. Perhaps it would make him feel better to think he had a say in the matter.
“You know,” I said hesitantly, “the will says that the marriage need only last one year. I’ve been thinking, well, that’s not really so long—and it would, of course, be a marriage in name only.”
He didn’t reply right away, which disappointed me. Again, I’d hoped for outrage, a declaration that he couldn’t bear to see me marry another man, no matter how innocent the arrangement—anything to indicate he felt some sense of devotion to me. Instead, his infuriating logic switched on and he sighed with resignation, taking my hand absently.
“I suppose if it’s the only way…”
“Besides,” I added haughtily, “you seem to have forgotten it was me who broke off our engagement.”
He smiled calmly. “I haven’t forgotten.”
His attitude was patronizing and it became crystal clear to me that he’d never taken our breakup seriously. Livid, I jerked my hand away and bundled up the remains of our sandwiches to deposit in a nearby rubbish bin.
He stood up and watched me. “Have I said something?”
I squinted at him against the sun. “Not at all,” I said through clenched teeth. “But I’ve really got to get home.”
Always the pacifist, he followed me without a word back to his car. We didn’t say much on the short drive back to the marina but as I started to get out of the car, he caught my wrist. “You’ll let me know as soon as this lawyer gets back to you?”
I searched his face but found nothing there to ease my irritation.
“I’ll let you know,” I said. With an aplomb even Kong would’ve been proud of, I turned on my heel and marched to my car, driving off before my frustration got the better of me and I said things I’d regret.
On the way home, I inspected the roadside, glancing down the many fire trails cut through the forest. There was no sign of the figure who gave me such a fright. On impulse, I swung the car into the drive leading to Spindrift. There were no iron gates barring the way here. Giles loved his privacy but wasn’t obsessed with it as Leo was. Also, as a retired physician who had inherited a comfortable sum from his wife, he didn’t have to worry about being invaded by reporters or sightseers as did someone with a powerful name in high finance.
Spindrift wasn’t small by any means but it was compact, surrounded by stands of pine, maple and oak. Its brick walls blended with the rusty autumn leaves and the shadows dancing across its face lent it chameleon-like camouflage. A little stream gurgled past one corner and cut across the front yard to lose itself in the forest. The drive traversed this stream with an arched wooden bridge which barely let out a groan as my car rumbled across.
There was no lawn, only a modest rock garden with a stone path that led from the drive to the front door. Rambling ivy stretched parasitic tentacles across the entire south wall, surrounding the recessed front door.
I pressed the doorbell and waited, breathing in the musty aroma of decaying leaves, moss and pine. A squirrel darted down from a nearby oak and paused to eye me suspiciously, his tiny paws pressed to his chest, his tail flicking with uncertainty. Deciding I was no threat, he scurried, snuffling, along the ground and snatched an acorn in his teeth. At that moment, the front door opened causing the squirrel to drop his prize and dart back up the tree.
“Suzanna!” Giles smiled warmly. “What a surprise! Do come in.”
He held the door open and I went past him into the cooler recesses of the house. Here the earthy autumn scents followed, tinged by a richer medley of linseed oil, leather and wood. The hall in which I stood was dark except for the muted sunlight filtering in through narrow etched and frosted windows at either side of the door. The floor was gray slate, the walls paneled in rich cedar and two potted palms contributed to the wooded atmosphere.
Giles appeared genuinely glad to see me.
“I had lunch with David and just didn’t feel like going home yet,” I explained.
“Well, I was only cleaning up a bit,” he said. “Martha will be here soon and I do like to help as much as possible. Unfortunately, I’m hopeless when it comes to domestic chores. She’d be furious if she knew.”
I laughed, knowing as well as he that his meager attempts at tidying the house would go unnoticed under Martha’s critical eye.
I followed him down the long, narrow passage to a huge living room, dazzling in comparison. A massive wall of glass ros
e to a cathedral ceiling, very reminiscent of a Swiss chalet except, instead of snow-capped mountains and grassy foothills, it framed rolling dunes, forested windbreaks and the glittering turquoise of the lake beyond.
The house was split-level. The room we now occupied jutted out from the hill supported by heavy uprights that created a cavern-like area below. This was paved with brick and screened in as a patio. From one side of the house, wooden steps followed a steep, winding descent through overhanging trees to meet up with a path to the beach. It was a far cry from Beacon’s manicured lawns and gardens but it suited the environment and I found it charming.
I descended the two steps to the sunken sitting area, which was carpeted in soft blue and bordered by cream-colored well-stuffed sofas and chairs. I accepted Giles’ offer of coffee and sat down as he disappeared into the kitchenette. Bordering the sitting area were huge rectangular planters, lush with a variety of ferns and greenery that delighted in the warmth and light of the room.
“How did the reading go?” he asked, placing a steaming cup before me and settling down in a nearby chair.
I shrugged. “I was hoping it’d be different from what we all expected but unfortunately, Colin’s sources were all too accurate.”
He frowned. “And have you decided what you’re going to do?”
I shook my head. I was tired of answering the same questions. Besides, I had something else on my mind.
“Giles,” I began, then hesitated. How should I approach the subject? “David didn’t know about the will,” I said, leaving the statement to pose its own question.
He set his cup down, appropriately sheepish. “I know. I just couldn’t find a way to tell him.” He glanced up, his even, white brows coming together. “You told him?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “I suppose he’s furious.”
“He has every right to be.”
His expression changed to one of worry and I softened. “I think he understands now, though. He’ll just need time to adjust.” I swirled the coffee in my cup, watching the reflections dance on the lip. “I think if we all just look at this as one short year, it’ll be easier to accept.”
“So, you have decided.”
I tilted my head. “If I’ve no other choice, yes.”
He was obviously relieved and I wondered why. But, of course, David’s business future would be of primary importance to him. Love and marriage, to an old-fashioned man like Giles, was secondary to financial success. It was a common belief among men of his era that career, money and power were the keys to happiness and a wife and children were simply ornaments attesting to that success. There was no point in resenting this attitude. It wasn’t one he’d consciously adopted. Giles was set in his ways. It would take another generation to open the way for change.
“Well,” I said at last, “we’ve still got ten days to decide. Perhaps we’ll find a more recent will before then.”
I meant the remark to sound light and jovial but Giles choked and nearly dropped his cup.
“I was kidding!” I exclaimed, pounding him on the back until he caught his breath. He smiled an apology through watery eyes and finally recovered himself.
“Don’t surprise me like that,” he gasped, half-laughing. “You don’t really think…?”
“Of course not! Dad was too organized.”
He nodded, satisfied and rose to pour another cup of coffee. I watched him with a puzzled frown, wondering why I was suddenly so suspicious of everyone—even Giles, whose reaction smacked of something more than just surprise.
I didn’t stay much longer at Spindrift. I could see a bank of black threatening clouds piling up in the distance and knew it would rain soon. Giles walked with me to the car, mentioning he wouldn’t be around for dinner since he had a previous engagement in town. I thanked him for his hospitality and put the key in the ignition.
Then I remembered the incident on the highway. “Do you happen to know if there are any campers in the woods between here and Ludington?”
“No, not that I know of. Why? You haven’t had any trouble?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I just thought I saw someone standing in the road.” I smiled, realizing how silly it sounded. “The more I think about it, the more I think it was just my imagination.”
He shook his head. “You’ve had a lot on your mind, Suzanna. But perhaps it was a hitchhiker. You know, there are more and more of them around these days.”
“Yes. Perhaps you’re right,” I said. But I didn’t think the person or thing I saw was a hitchhiker. The apparition stood quite immobile in the center of the road and disappeared too suddenly after I stopped.
“Do try to get plenty of rest,” he said with concern. “If you need anything to help—a mild sleeping tablet or something—please let me know.”
I thanked him, bade him farewell and headed for home.
I passed Martha’s little pink car, honked and waved. It must be nearly three. I wondered idly if Martha and Giles would ever tie the knot. They seemed so suited to each other and Spindrift literally cried out for a woman’s presence. But as I turned in at Beacon and waved to John, I scolded myself for matchmaking when my own life was turned upside down just because Leo had attempted to do the same.
A warm front blew up from the Gulf while a line of cooler polar air descended from the north. The two met, mingled and fluffed up into a turmoil of confused thunderheads, becoming saturated as they moved like giant sponges across the huge sweep of the Great Lakes. Having noted the unexpected warmth of the winds replacing the cooler morning gusts, I changed into jeans, T-shirt and canvas shoes to stroll down to the little plot where Leo’s ashes were so recently buried.
It was a modest grave. A marble slab about two feet square was set flat into a fresh mound of earth. The dirt was neatly smoothed but much too stark and raw. The other stone was identical, except its surface was weathered and comfortably lackluster. It blended naturally, having sunken over the years into the thickly established grass surrounding it.
I gazed pensively at both stones. Giles had overseen Anna’s cremation and subsequent burial. Leo had refused to attend the ceremony, retreating to his study with a case of whisky to deal with his overwhelming grief. Even after his recovery from that tormented period of mourning, he rarely visited the grave.
The spot was shaded by a huge, gnarled black cherry tree. A scattering of the tiny, bitter berries lay squashed into dark purple stains on the path, trodden upon by attendants at the funeral. It struck me that only a few days ago, my father had been alive and well. His name, with the dates of his birth and death so newly etched in the stone, leaped out and seemed such an inadequate testimonial to the man he was.
If only he hadn’t gone out to the pool that night! If only someone had been with him!
I put a hand to my face and swept away tears. “If only I’d been there!” I didn’t mean to say it aloud and the sound of my voice was loud in the stillness of early evening.
“Prob’ly wouldn’t ’a done no good, even if you was there.”
I spun around, startled. Rudy Coleman stood a little way off in the darker shadows at the forest’s edge. As I turned, he moved closer, limping from some ancient injury that stiffened with each change of weather.
“God, you frightened me,” I exclaimed. “You shouldn’t creep up on people that way, Rudy.” Then, as my heart returned to a normal beat, I softened. “Sorry. I guess I’m pretty jumpy these days. How are you?”
He inclined his head and dropped his eyes to the stones at my feet. “I reckon I’m as fit as can be expected.”
We were both silent and I too, looked down at the markers.
“Wouldn’t ’ave made no difference if you’d a-been here,” he repeated. “When He says it’s time t’ go, well, there ain’t nothin’ no mortal can do about it.”
He took his battered brown hat from his balding head, rubbed a gnarled hand over his scalp to smooth back the few wisps of white hair that danced in the rising wind, then
settled the cap back in place.
“I was gonna drop some grass seed here,” he said, as if it were a normal continuation of the conversation. “Seems there’s a storm comin’ though, so’s now I’ll have to wait ’til mornin’.”
I noted the seed bag in his hand and nodded. I couldn’t honestly say I ever understood Rudy. He was a loner, happiest when left to go about his business undisturbed, yet he was part of the very foundations of Beacon, putting every bit of his own patient endurance into the upkeep and perpetual regeneration of the estate. He rarely spoke to anyone, yet seemed to be everywhere at once—clipping hedges, weeding garden beds, patching, painting, mending, hammering. It seemed an impossible amount of work for just one spindly old man.
But Rudy was by no means frail. The lean, stoop-shouldered, leathery veneer he presented belied the lithely muscled, tough individual he really was. I had no idea how old he was but could swear his appearance hadn’t changed in all the years I’d known him. I would be disappointed if he appeared before me dressed in anything other than the familiar old bib overalls, heavy work boots and shapeless brown cap.
A flicker of lightning cut across the converging clouds on the horizon and soon a rumble of thunder rolled in. I turned my face to the sky and saw the first fingers of black edging their way over the trees. The wind carried the damp musky smell of rain.
“Guess we’ll have to get in out of this,” I remarked.
Rudy didn’t shift his gaze from the stones. “But y’ know, Miz Suzanna, sometimes I wonder.”
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I get this feelin’. Like mebbe this might not o’ been th’ doin’ o’ the Almighty.”
“I don’t understand.”
He looked at me but I couldn’t read his eyes in the shadows.
“I had a dream, missy,” he said. “Mister Dirkston, he comes t’ me and says, ‘Rudy, don’t let ’em get away with it!’ His head’s all bloody from where he fell, an’ he just points to it an’ keeps sayin’, ‘Don’t let ’em get away with it!’”
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