“I haven’t prepared the schedule, but I’m estimating four to five weeks for design, three to take bids, seven or eight months once we choose the contractor.”
She sipped her tea. “How soon do you need my design?”
“There’s some leeway on landscape. Why?”
“I’d like to start by uncovering what’s left of the labyrinth.”
Smith pressed the napkin to his mouth. “You’ll bring in a crew right off?”
“Not immediately. I want to explore what’s there myself first.” Though usually she would bring in a crew to clean up and prep a property, she felt drawn to unearth some portion of the labyrinth herself. She wanted to grasp the mindset of the original creator, and how better than using her own hands to uncover his work?
At the appropriate time, she would bring in others to assist her in creating the gardens, pools, and . . . helipad. But the labyrinth would be different from anything she had done yet. “About this confidentiality agreement—”
“Not negotiable.” Smith shook his head.
“You’re all right with that? Even though we could publish—”
“You saw the fees for service, Tess. Gaston’s paying for privacy.”
“He’s paying for secrecy.” The money was way over anything she’d earned on a comparable project, but she would be re-creating an authentic seventeenth-century labyrinth. How could she keep that to herself? She knew from consulting on other historic sites that, even if it were declared a historic landmark, Rumer Gaston would have the right to deny public access. The vast majority of national landmarks were privately owned and partially or completely restricted to the public. He wasn’t destroying, but rather restoring the site—for his private use.
While she couldn’t fault him for that, the right attention could have her creating prayer walks across the country, the world. It would improve awareness and recognition of her specialization and all the possibilities therein. She imagined a photo shoot featuring Petra—though she’d never seen her—with the labyrinth as an exotic backdrop. Rumer Gaston might want privacy, but she’d bet Petra preferred celebrity. “Maybe I can change his mind.”
Smith quirked a brow. “That I’d like to see.”
He didn’t have to sound so skeptical. She didn’t pretend to be hard-nosed or irresistible, but she could be persuasive when she felt strongly enough. She had stood her ground on a wetland issue and won. If she could do it for something like that, how much more for this labyrinth and the ones that might come from it? So when Smith slid her the contract, she signed it. She was in this with them—for better or worse.
They drove from the restaurant to the inn where Bair had reserved her a room. The white historic house with a river view and formal gardens seemed a charming place to stay, and she thanked him for arranging it.
He blushed to the tips of his russet hair. “My pleasure.”
Driving aside, she absolutely could not imagine him bludgeoning anyone.
“We’ll see you tomorrow.” Smith raised a hand in casual farewell, the same gesture and tone he’d used so many times on campus, making her believe he’d be there just as he’d said.
The realization rushed in that closure was going to be painful. How would she accomplish it with months of working together? That seemed more like salt than balm. But he was right. She’d do anything for the chance to work on that labyrinth, even face him every day. She had plenty of experience facing things she’d rather not.
Her room was light and airy from a window with a priceless view of the river in one direction and in the other, the forest that she itched to capture on paper. Though she created her designs with software, she was never without a sketchbook. Meeting with clients, park officials, other architects, and consultants, she readily drew what they envisioned as they discussed it.
It was a professional skill but also a passion. She took the sketchbook out and drew the river scene as far as she could see. Then she drew the near shore. Using colored pencils, she drew one of the inn gardens abundant with autumn blooms. Though it had not been designed with the care she would have given, she captured it all as the sinking sun cast the sky with an apricot wash. Her tension eased.
She had been edgy since arriving. Smith had done and said nothing to indicate he realized the wreck he’d made of her six years ago. Granted, her emotional stability had been shaky before they met, but until he’d come into her life, she hadn’t expected anything good. He had infected her with optimism and left her vulnerable to disappointment.
She shook herself. Personal healing was no longer her primary goal. If her guess proved accurate, the labyrinth pattern matched the four-quadrant, circular Chartres Cathedral floor labyrinth. Someone had carried its design across the ocean to duplicate it in living earth on a new continent. She imagined the faith and reverence with which that peace labyrinth had been formed, then the devastation that followed.
As the sun disappeared, casting the scene in pewter gray, Tessa turned from the window. She could dream all she wanted of restoring its original purpose, allowing its path to be a means to peace and growth. But if no one knew about it, what chance was there of that? As Smith had indicated, Gaston’s pockets were deep enough to keep any secrets he wished.
Smith stretched out on the single bed in the trailer bedroom and released a long sigh.
“Now, that is what I don’t get.” Bair shifted in the covers of his bed across the room.
“What?”
“Why the sigh, when you’ve got a lovely woman from your past and months to make something of it?”
Smith squeezed the bridge of his nose. “First off, she’s not a woman from my past in that sense.”
“What sense?”
“The sense you mean.”
“I don’t mean any sense.”
“Right.” He’d expected Tessa to surprise Bair, but hadn’t counted on his fixating.
“She’s quite easy on the eyes. Brassed off with you, though.”
Smith stared up at the ceiling. “That’s nothing new.”
“Still . . . I wouldn’t be wasting this chance.”
Smith gave his pillow a smart slap. “If you fancy her, Bair, see that it doesn’t interfere with the project. Gaston’s adamant about that maze.”
“Fancy her! I’d think you’d be the one.”
Smith settled back down. “You think I should chat up the woman who thinks I’m a shade above Attila the Hun for reasons known only to her?”
“But that’s just it. Who holds a grudge for six years against someone who doesn’t matter?” He rose up on one elbow. “Didn’t you see the way she looked at you?”
“Yes. One of those looks stuck six inches deep.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“I’m here to do a job, and Tessa’s here to do the same. That’s all.”
“Fine, then. Do your job.”
“And you do yours.”
“Well, I don’t know. If you’re not interested—”
Smith rolled to his side. “Bair, Tessa’s not . . . She’s got issues.”
“So’ve I.”
“Hers are pervasive.”
“I’m a great problem solver.”
Smith frowned. “I thought you liked Katy.”
“Katy’s a nice girl. I’m just keeping my options open.”
The irritation that came with the thought caught him by surprise. “Fine, then. And good luck.”
“Just like that?”
Smith heaved a sigh. “Like what?”
“Nothing,” Bair grumbled. “Go to sleep.”
Smith tossed. When sleep hadn’t come a full hour later, he rolled to his back and stared up at the darkness. He’d known this could get complicated; Tessa embodied complicated with her short fuse and oversensitivity. Bair had seen only the admittedly attractive surface. Scowling, he flopped over to his side and forced his eyes closed. Maybe it was best to let Bair have a go. No, best would be three professionals getting the job done without complication.
Not supposed to be there. Things should not be where they were not supposed to be. And the trailer had been there too long.
It might be planning to stay. It should not, but might, because they had put it there.
And they had been all around and down and over the place they should not be. He smelled them when he came out, heard them when he was in. Their voices made him shake. Their eyes peering through the light with no pain at all.
He laid the metal spyglass on the ground near the trailer door. He would have liked to keep it, or smash it, but more than that, he wanted them to take everything and go. He stretched out his finger and ran it along the metal side of the trailer as he circled it in the moonlight. His finger jumped and dragged over the trim around the door, beneath the windows, the seams.
They were not supposed to be there. Not supposed to be. He needed them to go, but how could he make that happen? Fists clenched, he gave the trailer one last glare, then crept into the night.
CHAPTER
5
Silver gray light filtered through the giant oaks and loblolly pines as Tessa moved through the forest, her boots squelching in the mulchy ground, the scent of wet earth and leaves surrounding her. She’d left the car on the road so she wouldn’t alert the men, since she really wanted to study the property alone. Smith had apparently sensed nothing yesterday at the labyrinth, and she didn’t want him distracting her again.
Pausing at the tree line, she studied the meadow, adding its grassy fragrance to the heady organic perfume. She leaned against the ash gray trunk of a shagbark hickory and gazed up through the branches, studying the pinnate leaves hinting at the true gold they would soon flaunt. The green, leathery husks of the heavy nuts were turning brown and brittle. Soon they would fall, the husks splitting open around the hard nutshell that mallards and wood ducks, squirrels and raccoons could feast upon. It amazed her to think that the saplings she’d planted would one day be like this tree, old and storied.
She stepped into the meadow, absorbing the scene as the rising sun began to change everything around her, turning silvers to gold, grays to green and brown. A trio of white-tailed deer raised their heads, ears angling forward. Finches and orioles overlaid the morning with song as the deer sprang away. The dewy grass misted with the rising warmth. She crouched down and dug, cupping a handful of rich, pungent earth. Had it lain fallow for over two hundred years? She breathed its scent, always amazed at the complexities of the differing soils, and smiled to think she was a connoisseur of dirt.
She lowered herself to sit cross-legged and watched the transformation from dawn to day. She noted the slope of the land, possible drainage issues, natural vegetation. She observed the fall of sunlight at this time of day, and she would note it throughout the next hours.
All of this would impact her design. But what she wanted to do before anything else was unearth the labyrinth, learn what she could from its remains, read every clue the records might reveal, and lovingly restore it. Even though that was far from her typical job description, she didn’t get hung up on titles and hierarchy. Her sense of purpose stirred. She was meant to do this.
There were so many things to consider, to discover. Had the monks followed the Chartres model of sacred geometry in placing the labyrinth to mirror an element in the church itself? The rose window in Chartres, if folded down, would perfectly overlay the pattern on the floor. She probably couldn’t hope that Smith’s design had taken any of that into consideration. He hadn’t even been sure it was a labyrinth.
“Tessa?”
She turned as Bair reached the edge of the field and called, “Everything all right?”
She waved. “Yes, fine.”
“I’ve got you set up in the office.”
“Okay.”
He seemed unsure whether to wait or go back without her. She sighed. “I’ll be right up.”
Bair rubbed his meaty hands as she joined him in the trailer. “That desk is for you. There’s an outlet underneath.”
“Thank you.”
Smith’s desk was against hers. It held a few stacked folders, a silver laptop, and a few preliminary sketches. Bair’s held the fax, printer, phone, and heaps of folders. He turned and bumped his thigh, caught the landslide, and manhandled it back onto the surface.
“What is all that?”
“Detritus from old and possible projects I’m organizing until we’re fully underway here.”
Intern grunt work. “Why are you guys on-site, instead of Smith’s office?”
“Gaston wants Smith on the premises, start to finish. A bit of a control thing. I’m here because Smith thinks this might prove an instructive experience.”
“Oh.”
He leaned close. “I don’t think he liked the idea of staying out here alone. Lose your mind that way. Especially when you’re as sociable as Smith.”
She remembered that about him.
“It is out of the way, should something happen.”
“What could happen?”
“You know . . . stuff.”
“So you’re watching his back?”
He shrugged. “Always have. He was a skinny kid, and smart. Not a good combination.”
She smiled. “No?”
“Not when he let people know it. Plus he wore glasses. If I hadn’t walked alongside, he’d have had more than his share of scrapes.”
“What was in it for you?”
“Did I mention he was smart?”
“He did your homework.”
“Not entirely.” Bair flushed.
She didn’t want to think of Smith as a boy, didn’t want to think of him at all.
“There’s tea brewed,” Bair said. “And Smith bought some instant coffee, in case you prefer it.”
“No one prefers instant coffee.” Yet there was Smith, making assumptions. “I brought my own iced green, though it’s in the car I left outside the gate, in case you guys were still sleeping.”
“Let me have your keys; I’ll drive it in for you.”
“Thanks for the offer, Bair, but my name’s on the rental, and I’ve seen you drive.”
“I’ll take it like a church mum. And I, um, transferred the rental to the company.”
She canted him a skeptical glance, then surrendered her keys. “The tea’s in a Nalgene bottle in the console. My briefcase is on the seat.”
“Right.”
As he exited, Smith came through the inside door in a blue button-down Oxford shirt and crisply pressed jeans. His hair was barely towel dried, his glasses slightly fogged, sleep softness still in his face.
“Didn’t you sleep well?”
“It shows?”
She had not intended to notice or comment on anything personal, but he looked uncharacteristically rough around the edges. She nodded.
“I tossed all night. You’ll laugh, but I think this property is haunted.”
A frisson crawled her spine as she recalled her sensation of being watched. “By what?”
“I’ve no idea. And don’t tell Bair. I’d never hear the end of it.”
He crossed the office toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”
“I ate.” And she didn’t want anything from him that wasn’t directly job related.
Bair carried in her tea, briefcase, and a rather nice engineer’s level that he held up to Smith. “Didn’t we leave this set up yesterday?”
Smith nodded. “We did.”
“What’s it doing lying out by the door?”
Smith frowned. “I don’t know. I left it covered on the rise beyond the foundation.”
Tessa looked from one to the other, reading their perplexity and hoping it had nothing to do with the haunting Smith had just mentioned.
Smith rubbed his face. “One of us must’ve carried it back; I just don’t remember doing it.”
“I wouldn’t have left it on the ground.”
Smith wouldn’t have left it either, Tessa knew. He’d never been careless with his tools or any of his belongings, n
ot like other guys whose dorms looked like hazardous waste dumps. His natural orderliness stemmed from his highly organized mind. If he said he’d left it, he’d left it. But if neither had carried it back, who had?
She cleared her throat. “You mentioned monastery records?”
Smith made a move, but Bair beat him to it, rummaging behind his desk, then laying a large portfolio on her desk. “That’s what we have so far. Gaston’s collected them.”
“Thanks.” As the men moved to the kitchen for breakfast, she withdrew two matted etchings depicting front and back views of the original chapel and cells. Her breath caught when she saw a circular window that overlooked the green hand-inked labyrinth.
Excitement welled up, and even more so when she found a handwritten document that described the prayer walk’s dimensions:
Four steps in and turn to the left, twelve strides form the first curve. The pattern is regular yet intricate and interlaced, as are our lives.
Were these the words of the labyrinth’s designer?
The cross is the center, the path leading to the blood sacrifice that is our hope and our salvation.
Blood sacrifice referred, of course, to the crucifixion and death of Christ, but had there been a physical cross at the center? Or was it the symbolic destination of the pilgrimage?
Smith leaned his lanky frame in the kitchen doorway. “We’re completing the plot plan today, Tessa. If you want measurements for the labyrinth—”
“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” She pointed to the back-view etching. “Just tell me that window is in your design.”
When she’d finished organizing her workspace, Tessa gathered her sketchbook and pencils. Being around Smith stirred up memories that muddied her mind like a jar of sand and water, though Smith didn’t seem fazed at all. Maybe he’d never felt as much as she’d thought.
He had listened and cared when she’d opened up in ways she hadn’t before—outside of therapy. She could have sworn his compassion was real. But what did she know? She didn’t have a mother guiding and advising her, though she wondered what Mom could have told her. I know how it is? I trusted the one I loved too?
The Edge of Recall Page 4
