He leaned his head against her and closed his eyes, shuddering. "Will...will you stay with us, Mary? Until...until it's over."
"I'll stay as long as you need me."
She released him and pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the bed. Taking Audrey's hand, she raised tear-filled eyes to Jack. "Don't let go of Audrey's hand, Jack. If we keep holding on to her, she'll know we're here."
Her heart felt as if it would break into tiny pieces and she resolutely blinked away her tears. The time had come for her to be the strong one. Not only for Audrey, but also for Jack.
Chapter 42
Mary struggled to maintain her composure as she drove Jack back to the plantation to collect his things. Their painful vigil was over. Audrey had finally succumbed to the terrible cancer that ravaged her body. Six hours after she entered the hospital, she gently passed from this lifetime onto the next, never regaining consciousness.
Jack had already made arrangements to take Audrey's body back to New York for burial. He asked Mary to accompany him, but she declined, realizing that he needed time to grieve. Even though Audrey's death had been expected, it was still a shock. He didn't realize it yet, but he needed to work his way through the various stages of grief. Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to help him, she couldn't. This was something he had to do alone. Only then would he be ready to start again.
Jack moved like a statue, his face etched in misery and grief. She watched as he packed his clothes, then Audrey's. As they walked back to the living room she spotted Audrey's blue sweater lying on a chair. She wordlessly picked it up and held it out.
He held it in his hands for a few moments, then started to shake. Tears poured from his eyes, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight.
They remained wrapped in each other's arms, lost in shared grief. She wasn't sure just how it happened, but Jack's touch somehow changed from comfort to a caress. His hands slipped under her shirt and began to massage her skin in slow, deliberate movements. The desire that lay thinly veiled between them flared to life, carrying her along like a stick racing through a raging river. His kisses deepened, and she pressed her body against his. Her hands moved of their own accord, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his shoulders.
Jack's kisses burned like fire as they blazed a trail down her neck and shoulders. Pieces of clothing littered the floor as they made their way to the bedroom. Their bodies joined together in perfect union, and they slowly began the sensual dance of the ages, an instinctive, rhythmic union of males and females performed since the dawn of time. Ever so slowly, Jack increased the tempo, until their bodies cried out in protest, and their passion erupted in an explosion that left them both satiated and dazed.
When it was over, she lay cradled in his arms. He tenderly kissed her back and shoulders and she burrowed closer to him. For several moments they lay silent, enjoying the peaceful aura of a love that had finally found fulfillment. Eventually she stirred, and he sighed, realizing their time together had come to an end.
He lifted an arm and stretched it across his forehead. "Mary, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. Can you ever forgive me? You must think I'm the biggest jerk in the world."
She shook her head. "It's all right, Jack. I think we both needed comfort, and things just got out of hand. Don't be sorry. I'm not."
He rolled to his side, resting his weight on one elbow. "I want you to come back to New York with me. I don't think I can do this alone."
She shook her head, sighing softly. He just didn't understand. "I can't, Jack. It wouldn't be right for me to go with you. You need to take Audrey back to New York. I have to stay here, to find out what happened to Magdalene and Jean-Pierre."
Grief washed over him. His face crumpled and silent tears rolled down his cheeks.
She pulled him close as she shed tears of her own. "It's okay to cry, Jack. It's a natural part of grieving."
He eventually regained control and pulled away. "I don't know why I keep crying. It's not like her death was unexpected. I just don't understand why I feel so lost."
She patted his shoulder. "It's because you loved her, Jack. Believe it or not, I loved her, too. It's okay to grieve for someone you love."
Silently they moved from the bed and dressed. He wrapped his arms around Mary one last time, then picked up his suitcases. "I'm ready to go."
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Poor Jack, he was still hurt because she wouldn't go to New York. She thought about changing her mind, then realized she was doing the right thing, even if he didn't see it.
Neither spoke until he got ready to board the plane. She hugged him tightly and whispered, "I love you, Jack."
Two tears rolled down his face. "I love you too, Mary. I'm sorry I'm being such an ass."
She wiped away his tears. "Don't worry about it. I'll still be here when you return. Take care of yourself."
He walked away and she vowed that this would be the last time they'd ever be separated.
As she traveled back to the plantation, she wondered what Elizavon would do about the house. Obviously her attorney would file a claim for damages, but then what? She glanced at the date on her watch, and gasped when she realized she'd been at the plantation for nearly three weeks. So much had happened, it hardly seemed that long.
Only one week left, and she still hadn't found her answer. With the kitchen destroyed, there weren't any rooms left to search. She chewed her bottom lip as she mulled over a course of action. Maybe if she rechecked some of the rooms, she might find something she missed. It was worth a try.
She decided to spend one last night at the plantation since the storm's intensity had been downgraded and less than one-quarter inch of ice was expected. As she parked in the driveway, the plantation stood dark and silent, contrasting sharply with the excitement of the previous night. Water still dripped from the eaves and a thick layer of soot covered the roof, but aside from that, everything seemed almost normal. At least in front.
She opened the door and reached for the light switch, but nothing happened. Puzzled, she checked another room, then realized the firemen must have turned off the electricity. Great, now what was she going to do?
She suddenly remembered the lanterns Jack bought in town. The supplies must still be in the trunk of the rental car. It didn't take long to find them and bring them into the house. When daylight faded into darkness, she lit all three and placed one near the door, one near the window, and the other on the table next to the sofa. With all three lanterns going, the room seemed brighter than normal. She recalled the hand-carved rocking chair that used to sit near the fire, and a vision of Magdalene mending quilts by lantern light flashed through her mind.
The chill on her arms dragged her thoughts back to the present. She retrieved several logs from the porch and started a fire. Her tense muscles began to relax as the warmth from the fireplace and the glow of the lanterns gave the room a peaceful feeling. If only Jack could have been here. As she sat on the couch, memories of Audrey flooded her mind. She tried to block them out, but they persisted, bringing the despair of grief with them.
She closed tired eyes and willed her body to relax. The last twenty-four hours had been the worst of her life, and she needed to sleep. Maybe if she counted sheep she'd drift off...
A cold, yet familiar presence woke her. She opened her eyes and drew the blankets closer. Magdalene stood nearby, hands outstretched.
"Help me, Mary."
"I'm trying, Magdalene," she said. "I've searched and searched, but can't find anything."
"Please, Mary," Magdalene begged.
Maybe Magdalene could help her. "Magdalene, can you show me where to look?" she asked. "If not, can you at least point me in the right direction?" She got off the couch and walked toward her. "There's not much time left. Elizavon's attorney will be here any day, and I need to find the answer before he arrives. Please, Magdalene, show me the way!"
Magdalene lowered her hands and floated d
own the hall.
In her haste to follow, Mary nearly tripped over the coffee table. "Magdalene, wait for me," she cried.
The transparent figure hovered at the end of the hall.
"Is this were I need to look?" Mary asked.
"No," whispered Magdalene. She pointed a ghostly index finger to the left.
"That's the kitchen," Mary said. "Should I look there?"
Magdalene continued to point, then dissipated in front of her.
Mary shivered as a blast of cold air blew through what used to be a window. One thing was certain. She'd have to wait until morning to continue her search. It was too cold to do anything about it now.
She added more logs to the fire and dragged another blanket from the bedroom. At least now she knew where to look. Even though much of the kitchen had been destroyed, she still intended to examine every inch of it, charred or not.
She rested her head on the sofa and closed weary eyes. Her lips drew into a smile as she realized the answer to her past now lay within reach. By this time tomorrow, it would all be over. She finally knew where to look.
Chapter 43
The cold, more than anything else, woke her. Mary blew on numb hands and pulled both blankets around her while she massaged her legs and arms in an effort to restore circulation. Blood flow eventually returned, relieving the tingling sensation of pins and needles. Grimacing, she dared the bitter cold outside and carried in several pieces of firewood. Minutes later, tendrils of smoke drifted up from the pile of kindling as piece after piece caught fire, igniting the one next to it. Encouraged by the waves of warmth finally emanating from the fireplace, she dragged the blankets off the sofa and crept as close as she dared.
Despite the bitter cold, excitement crept along her veins. Today was going to be her day! Magdalene had shown her where to look, and she didn't intend to leave this house without an answer. As warmth slowly crept back into her body, she ventured into the kitchen and grabbed a small open pot from the sooty cabinet. She scrounged around until she found the tea bag canister and a semi-clean coffee cup. On her way out, she tucked an unopened container of bottled water under her arm.
Although precariously balanced on the burning logs, the makeshift teakettle heated quickly. Refreshed by the hot tea, she felt ready to tackle whatever lay ahead. When her stomach growled relentlessly, she remembered that she hadn't eaten, so she raided Jack's grocery bags in the car. There wasn't much to chose from, but all she needed was something to plug the empty hole in her stomach. She settled for instant soup and crackers. It wasn't until the grandfather clock chimed eleven that she realized she'd slept most of the morning away, and didn't have many hours of daylight left.
Damp, smelly soot clung everywhere--walls, floor, ceiling, and cabinets--making the kitchen appear dark and dim. She grabbed an old chair and propped it against the back door to allow more light into the fire-ravaged room. Ignoring the cold, she surveyed the clutter and started her search at the back, working her way toward the hall. Thick, wet soot clung to her face, clothes, and skin, but she gritted her teeth and kept at it. Damp cloths wiped area after area free of soot, revealing the peeled and blistered paint underneath. After about an hour, her arms cramped from the constant exertion, but she refused to quit. The answer had to be here somewhere.
Her enthusiasm turned into disappointment as she completed her circuit without finding a single clue. Damn, damn, damn! According to Magdalene, the answer lay in the kitchen, but where? Somehow she'd missed it. She sat with her back to the open doorway and surveyed the room. Across one of her shoulders, a pale sliver of light cast a hazy glare across a hole in what used to be part of the kitchen floor. Disgusted, she tossed a broken canister into the hole, and heard a strange noise. She repeated the exercise, and again heard the ping as the metal can contacted something solid.
That was odd. There shouldn't be anything under the house but dirt. Curious, she rose to investigate the noise. She peered into the hole, and couldn't believe her eyes. Racing back to the drawing room, she grabbed one of the kerosene lanterns, lit the wick, and thrust the lantern into the dark hole.
Sure enough, there was something solid under the floor--a wooden door! Evidently the force of the water the firemen sprayed under the house to control hot spots must have removed the layers of dirt covering it.
Her heart raced and blood pounded in her ears. It wasn't in the house at all! The answer lay beneath her. Of course! Where else would you hide a tunnel--except beneath the house!
No wonder she hadn't found anything! She'd been looking in the wrong place. The hole was too narrow for her, so she pried up enough boards to allow access. She crawled into the hole and placed the lantern on the ground next to her.
Dirt still covered portions of the wooden trap door. She used a broken board to pry it free, then held her lantern over the opening. Spider webs and dust covered most of the entrance, but she made out several steps, descending into darkness.
Would it still be safe enough to check? Memories of her nightmares surfaced, and she reluctantly closed the trap door. She'd have to find a piece of rope long enough to tie around her waist. That way, if she fell through, she could still pull herself up to the surface.
She raced into the house, but didn't find anything suitable. What was she going to do now? The sound of a car coming down the drive interrupted her thoughts. Peering out the window, she recognized the sheriff's car. Maybe he had a rope!
He seemed surprised to see her. "I came by to check on the house." He rubbed a finger down her cheek, looked at the soot on it, and frowned. "What's going on? I thought you were leaving."
She shook her head. "No, Jack left to take Audrey back to New York. I'm staying until my aunt's attorney comes down." She tapped him on the arm. "I know this sounds like a strange request, but do you have any rope? I've found a hidden tunnel and I want to check it out."
He placed a restraining hand on her arm. "I'd be careful about doing that, Miss Corbett. A lot of these old houses have tunnels that were used to hide runaway slaves. Most of them are very dangerous and could cave in at any time. My advice is to forget about it. That way you won't get hurt."
She shook her head. "You don't understand." Her voice rose as she tightened her grip on his sleeve. "I have to know what's in that tunnel, Sheriff. It's very important." She held out her hands. "Please, let me borrow your rope."
"Let me take a look at the tunnel you found first. After that, we'll talk."
She sighed. It was obvious he wasn't going to be cooperative, so she decided to humor him--for the moment. She led him into the kitchen and watched as he disappeared into the hole.
His voice rang out from underneath the floor. "It's still pretty solid, but if you're determined to investigate it, you'll need to hire a couple of men to shore it up." He climbed out of the hole and dusted his hands. "Maybe we better have that little talk now. Before you do anything stupid, like go down there after I leave." Placing a hand under her arm, he guided her back to the drawing room.
Disgusted, she collapsed onto the couch. "What do you want me to tell you?"
He tossed his hat on the coffee table. "Everything. Make sure you don't leave anything out, like the fact that someone's been staying here with you."
She shook her head. "This is going to take a while...
"...and that's why I have to know what's in the tunnel."
He scratched his chin. "If I hadn't been here through all this, I would've said you'd lost your mind. However, since I was, I think I'll believe your story--for now." He picked up his hat. "I meant what I said about your not going into that tunnel."
She started to argue, and he held up his hand.
"If you give me any trouble, I'll slap you in jail. And don't think I can't do it, either, Missy. We do this my way, or we don't do it at all. Understand?"
She sighed, too tired to argue. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"
"I know one or two laid-off construction workers you can hire to shore it up. Shouldn't cost ve
ry much, and they ought to be finished in a day or so."
"How do we get in touch with them?"
He picked up his hat. "It's getting late. Why don't you follow me into town and while you check into a hotel, I'll give them a call."
"All right. I'll just get my stuff together." She studied him for a few minutes. "Why are you so concerned about me, Sheriff?"
A slow grin spread across his face. "Believe it or not, I like you. You kinda remind me of my favorite niece." His voice took on a gruff tone. "Besides, it's my job to serve and protect. And somehow, I think you need more protecting that most folks."
The clerk at the main hotel wasn't very polite, but at least he didn't refuse to give her a room. Mary took one look at her disheveled reflection in the mirror and decided a hot bath was in order. No wonder the clerk looked surprised when she walked up to the counter. She chuckled as she realized the man must've felt sorry for her--she looked like a "bag" woman!
After a thick lather of soap, followed by hot water to wash away the dirt and grime, she felt almost human. Engrossed in rinsing out her clothes in the tub, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang. Who could be calling her here? It couldn't be Jack--he didn't know she'd left the house.
"Mary Corbett."
"It's Sam Laroux, the sheriff. Just called to make sure you didn't have any problems getting a room."
She smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Thanks, I'm fine. Were you able to locate those men?"
"Yup. They'll meet you at the plantation tomorrow morning around seven. It's gonna cost two hundred bucks plus supplies. Is that okay?"
"That's fine." She cleared her throat. "Thank you for everything, Sheriff. I really mean it."
"No problem, Miss Corbett. It's my pleasure."
She thought about calling Jack, but decided to wait until after they knew something definite. Once the tunnel revealed its secrets, she'd give him the details.
Blue Moon Page 29
