Persuasion

by Martina Boone

  “Or kids interested in catching a glimpse of the gold. Whoever it was, we probably scared them off, and they’re not likely to be back.” Eight turned to head back to the dig.

  “I wouldn’t bet on that.” Berg had come up so silently that he’d given them no warning. His head was down, and a few feet behind Eight and Barrie, he stopped to examine a broken twig that Barrie hadn’t even noticed.

  Barrie watched him curiously. “Is Cassie doing better?”

  “She won’t talk about anything, so it’s hard to say. Andrew and Stephanie are with her.”

  Barrie tipped her head at the unfamiliar name, then realized Berg must have been referring to the blond girl who’d been supervising the setup the day before.

  “What did you mean about not betting on whoever it was not coming back?” Eight had gone from studying the broken twig Berg was still idly twirling between his fingers to studying Berg himself.

  “Come on. I’ll show you.” Berg led the way back, taking a slightly different route. “We want to stay clear of the way they went, just in case.”

  Barrie cut a sharp look at his profile as she walked beside him. “In case of what?”

  There was something different about Berg, a quiet sureness that had settled around him. Or maybe it had always been there, and Barrie just hadn’t seen it. “We had some grid stakes pulled up this morning. Nothing serious,” he said. “We assumed it was kids playing pranks, but based on those footprints, whoever was watching stood here for a while and came back several times. The prints cross over and over each other.”

  “Maybe it was a lot of different people,” Barrie ventured.

  “Just two. A small guy wearing a size-nine shoe and a big guy wearing a size thirteen, and there’s a bottle of beer kicked under the cabin that hasn’t had time for the label to fade or get wet.”

  Eight’s expression took on the familiar stillness that meant his attention was completely engaged. “What did you say you were studying again? Apart from archaeology?”

  “I was in the Marines for three years straight out of high school,” Berg said, studying him back.

  Barrie remembered Berg talking to Cassie down by the angel statue, telling Cassie about his parents taking him to cemeteries, about how much he’d wanted to escape their preoccupation with the past. But whatever he’d seen as a soldier had sent him running straight back to archaeology. Barrie couldn’t blame him—it had to be far less painful digging up gravestones than burying your friends.

  “That must have been a hard transition for you,” she said.

  Berg was silent long enough that she didn’t think he was going to answer at all. But then he shrugged. “It cured me of feeling sorry for myself, I’ll tell you that. My parents never needed much apart from their work and each other, so I convinced myself I wanted to go do something that really mattered. The one thing you learn in places like Afghanistan is that you can’t solve problems until you understand how they became problems in the first place.”

  Crouching beside him to peer beneath the slave cabin, Barrie scanned the ground for another beer bottle, or anything else that shouldn’t have been there, but she felt nothing from her finding sense apart from the usual pull of loss that spilled from the hidden room and the migraine that warned her she wasn’t where she belonged.

  “Do people with PTSD get better?” she asked.

  Berg’s expression sharpened. “Everyone’s different. It can take months or years of thinking you’re perfectly all right before you realize you’re not. Even longer than that to heal. Other times, by the time you start to experience flashbacks, you’re already starting the healing process.”

  He paused as the crack of a twig suggested someone else was coming, and Barrie glanced back to find Cassie moving toward them. Berg’s voice grew deliberately, if only slightly, louder. “PTSD isn’t what most people think,” he said. “Anyone can have it, no matter what they’ve been through. Big traumas, small ones. It’s not about what happened so much as what you do to process that event. Too often, people hold themselves accountable for things beyond their control.”

  “You’re psycho-babbling at me again, Iceberg.” Cassie emerged from around the cabins. “Stop it. I’m nothing like your soldiers. I keep telling you that, but you don’t listen.” She stopped beside Berg, the fraying hems of her jeans spilling around her dirty Keds and her face pale and drained. Then she swept a glance from Berg to Eight, and her smile reappeared. A wide, lethal smile that would have seemed like the old Cassie if not for the dead eyes that Barrie was coming to associate with the aftereffects of the flashbacks.

  “Now, don’t you listen to any of this crap that Berg’s trying to sell you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He wasn’t even a shrink in the Marines, he was a sniper. I’ll bet he didn’t mention that he killed people. Lots of people. Men, and even a pregnant woman with a bomb once.”

  Her face was carefully schooled, and she had managed to wipe away her tears so that except for the cold emptiness that had darkened her eyes, she looked like nothing had ever happened. She glared at Berg, daring him to contradict her, daring him to fight her or yell at her for repeating something she had obviously been told in confidence.

  Barrie recognized what Cassie was doing: pushing Berg away, just like Barrie sometimes wanted to push Eight away. It was always easier to kick someone out than to let them in.

  “That was my job, Cassie. I killed people to save other people,” Berg said quietly.

  He spoke with no trace of self-consciousness, as if he didn’t care whether Cassie, or any of them, took his response or left it. Underneath the words, though, Barrie couldn’t escape the cold fact that when he’d been looking through a scope, it had been part of a process of deciding whether someone needed to live or to die, to be killed because they were likely to kill someone else.

  If Cassie thought Berg was weak or easily manipulated, she was likely to be very much mistaken. And whether through a scope or without one, Barrie suspected he saw a lot more than most people.

  Maybe that was exactly what Cassie needed.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The whole experience at Colesworth Place left Barrie shaken and unsettled. Eight dropped her back at Watson’s Landing, and despite the fact that they’d been at Colesworth Place too long and he was running late, he walked her up to the base of the steps as usual.

  “I’m sorry I can’t stay to help with the horses,” he said.

  “Pru and I will be fine.” Barrie spoke almost absently. In truth, she had so much to think about that she was almost glad he had to go. Or maybe she was just relieved to be home, to have her headache gone, to have the calm of Watson’s Landing wash back over her and push the ugliness of Colesworth Place away. “Go have your meeting. I’ll see you later, and tonight will be great. We can celebrate when you get back.”

  He stepped close and pulled her to him. The wind off the river blew her hair forward, and he caught it and started to tuck it behind her ear, but then he thought better of it. He wound it into a bun, broke off one of the white roses from the bush at the bottom of the steps, and spiked the stem through to hold it in place.

  “I wish I thought you were happier about me going to school here,” he said.

  Barrie pulled him out of sight of the boat on the river, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Tapping his bottom lip with her finger, she said, “That’s a bookmark from me right there, baseball guy.”

  Eight went down the path whistling, “When Will I Be Loved” by the Everly Brothers, and Barrie winced, because the lyrics about being lied to were truer than he realized.

  She caught herself humming the tune when she and Pru stood together beside the stable waiting for Alyssa to back the horse trailer to the entrance a half hour later.

  “I have to admit, I’m nervous,” Pru said. “I know I want to do this—the horses, the restaurant, all of it—but I’ve been basically useless for twenty years. . . .”

  “Hardly useless. You took care of this who
le place.” Barrie took Pru’s hand and squeezed it as the trailer came to a stop in front of them. “Anyway, every magic garden needs its Sleeping Beauty.” Tilting her head, she considered, and added with a grin, “I wonder if that fairy tale is where the idea of a late bloomer came from. And doesn’t it feel good to be doing the things that make you happy again?”

  “This feels right. Doesn’t it? Watson’s Landing hasn’t been the same without horses.”

  Dressed in jeans, low boots, and a yellow T-shirt, Alyssa came around the back of the trailer. “You two ready?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.” Pru went to undo the latch on the other side of the ramp.

  They let Batch down first. He backed down the ramp, placid and apparently nerveless, stepping carefully in the green shipping boots that wrapped around his legs for protection. Left alone in the trailer, Miranda whickered anxiously.

  “Can I?” Barrie asked as Pru moved forward to get the mare.

  “Sure. Go and unclip her lead. She might be calmer with you there.”

  After scrambling up the empty side of the double trailer, Barrie slid under the partition beside Miranda’s head. The foundness clicked into place again the instant the mare nuzzled at her hand.

  “Hello, sweetie.” Barrie released the trailer tie and picked up Miranda’s lead rope. “I think you’re going to like it here. I wasn’t sure at first, either, but the place grows on you.” She found herself using the same soothing tone on the mare that Berg had used on Cassie, and she hated that she was still thinking of Cassie even when she was trying not to. She couldn’t help it, though. Cassie, like Charlotte and Obadiah, Mark and Pru and Mary, the restaurant and the horses, had somehow gotten all wrapped up in her mind with the need to put things back the way they were supposed to be.

  The yunwi darted in to pet Miranda the instant the mare was off the trailer. She lowered her head to snuffle at them as they gathered around, blowing hard enough to send them tumbling for a moment. But they came back. Miranda’s ears pricked to watch them as if she saw them clearly, and looking at Batch, Barrie realized he saw them, too.

  A half hour later, after Alyssa had gone, Pru and Barrie watched the horses in the pasture. There was an electricity in the air that hadn’t been there before. The yunwi raced the horses along the fence line, clearly happy. Pru didn’t notice—she had never truly seen the yunwi as anything but shadows, and in the light of midday, Barrie imagined they were even harder to see. But to Barrie they were more present than ever. When they tired of chasing the horses, they gave up and came back obviously content.

  “I think you were right, Aunt Pru.” Barrie linked her arm through Pru’s elbow.

  “Was I right about anything in particular, or only in general?” Pru asked, as she turned to go back to the house.

  “About getting the horses now instead of later.”

  Pru took Barrie’s face between her hands and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t know what I did all those years without you here. It’s been a big adjustment for you though, hasn’t it? I know you’re troubled about something, and I wish you would talk to me about it. But whatever it is, I trust you to work it out.”

  Barrie couldn’t push words past the lump of love, gratitude, and guilt that had wedged itself into her throat. She gave a long, slow nod instead.

  They worked companionably together in the kitchen, prepping for the rehearsal dinner. Barrie lost track of time in the soothing task of cooking, then she looked out the window and spotted Eight and Seven bringing the Away across. She spun Pru around and untied her ruffled apron from around her waist.

  “It’s almost five o’clock. No more work for you tonight,” she said.

  Pru tried to snatch the apron back. “Don’t be silly. We’ve barely even started.”

  “Mary and Daphne will both be here to help, and you”—Barrie pushed Pru through the swinging door to the corridor—“are going to go make yourself pretty, because you and Seven are going to be the guests of honor.” She cut off Pru’s objection and nudged her aunt to the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. “You and Seven need to pretend to be arriving guests,” she called as Pru climbed the steps. “Seven is going to sail you both down to Watson’s Point, then phone us when you leave there so we can practice the timing and make sure we have everything ready down at the dock.”

  “Why don’t you and Eight do that?” Pru asked. “It should be you.”

  “We are going to take the hors d’oeuvres down and greet the guests.”

  Standing on the dock twenty minutes later, Barrie hid a smile as Seven took Pru’s hand and helped her onto the swaying boat. Eight slipped his arm around Barrie’s shoulders, and they watched the Away grow smaller. As it passed the speedboat down by the creek, Seven stopped to speak with the occupants.

  Barrie reluctantly turned away. “We better get back to work.”

  “As you wish,” Eight said, laughing just a little.

  They set out some of the stout pillar candles along both sides of the dock and covered them in plastic hurricane cylinders. Next they put tea lights inside paper bags weighted with sand and placed the sacks along the length of the path that led down to the expanse of marsh grass. By the time Seven phoned to say he and Pru were coming back, the candles and lanterns flickered and the AquaLeds glowed orange beneath the water. The fairy lights twinkled throughout the trees.

  Eight cupped the back of Barrie’s head and brought his mouth to hers.

  The river was mercifully empty. Whatever Seven had said to the occupants of the speedboat, they had turned and headed back toward Watson’s Point almost immediately. Barrie let herself get lost with Eight, lost in the sensation and the warmth of kissing him, until the Away appeared in the distance. Kissing Eight left no room for thought or doubt, but when she stepped back as the Away passed the subdivision and neared the Colesworth dock, the doubts flooded in again. As much as she wanted Pru to be happy, after the way Seven had treated Eight about the binding, Barrie was going to hate it if Pru and Seven ever married.

  “Tell me again why we’re matchmaking,” Eight said, “if you don’t want them to be together.”

  “I want Pru to be happy, so it isn’t about what I want.” Barrie tugged her hand free and turned to remove the wire cap from the bottle of champagne set out in the bucket on the small serving table they had brought down from the parlor.

  “But you don’t like my dad.” Eight caught her shoulders as she tried to turn away.

  “I don’t not like him,” she said.

  A corner of Eight’s mouth tipped upward. “Is that even English?”

  “Sometimes a double negative isn’t wrong.” Barrie glanced up and couldn’t help smiling. With his hair fallen into his face and his eyes gleaming, teasing, Eight was as unconsciously adorable as the dog that lay waiting for him across the river on the Beaufort dock.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” she asked, changing the subject. “You’ve never introduced us.”

  “Her name is Waldo, and I haven’t introduced you because you haven’t come to Beaufort Hall yet.”

  “I haven’t been invited.”

  “In that case, consider this your invitation. Tomorrow morning, I have to go see the coach in Columbia again. I’m not sure when I’m going to be back, but, hopefully, you’ll be done with the appraiser. I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “Money. The scholarship. Right.” Barrie gave an emphatic nod. “You asked why I don’t like your dad. I hate the fact that he would try to use your college education to control you. He—”

  “He what?” Eight tilted his head and watched her. “You’ve been wanting to tell me something for days. What did he say to you the other night?”

  Barrie bit her lip, caging the words because once she said them, she wouldn’t be able to ever take them back. Just one more try, she decided as the Away bumped the dock. She would talk to Seven herself.

  Eight grabbed the line Seven threw to him and tied it off while Seven took down the sails. After helping Pru
disembark, Seven narrowed his eyes at Barrie. “Any problems here?”

  Watching her aunt, Barrie shook her head. Pru’s face looked flushed and alive, her hair ruffled by the wind into a cloud of loose curls that framed her face. It was the expression Barrie had been hoping to see Pru wear, she realized, and if Seven could make Pru look like that, she could forgive him a lot. She handed Pru a glass of champagne, and Pru looked at her across the rim.

  “Thank you,” Pru whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” Barrie said.

  Barrie tugged Eight up the path back toward the house. Pru and Seven followed more slowly, stopping to pick up bite-size crab cakes and miniature green tomato tarts from domed serving trays Daphne and Mary had pre-positioned on the tables. By the time they reached the porch, Barrie had the candles lit and the wine all poured.

  Hand to her mouth, Pru halted at the top of the steps and took in the candlelit table set for two beneath Barrie’s makeshift chandeliers. She turned to Barrie with tears in her eyes.

  “You deserve this, so sit down and relax.” Before Pru’s reaction could get them both crying, Barrie nudged Pru toward a chair. “Besides,” she added, “Eight and I wanted a chance to help with the cooking, remember? This is fun for us.”

  It was fun. They worked well together, falling into an efficient rhythm as they cooked, but the proximity made Barrie all too aware of Eight. The work and the heat and the way he watched her made the kitchen seem to shrink.

  Barrie turned from the oven with the blue cheese soufflé held between two oven mitts and found him watching her. A shiver of happiness ran across her skin.

  “Do you two want to give that a rest for a bit?” Daphne rolled her eyes and came to take the soufflé from Barrie and set it on the counter. “The kitchen’s hot enough without you two raising the temperature. Also, some of us are trying to work around here.”

  “You leave ’em alone, Daphne.” Mary smiled indulgently. “They’re doin’ fine. And that soufflé smells like a slice of heaven. I’d say a little romance didn’t hurt it none.”