Secrets in the Stone

by Radclyffe

  “Then how…” Adrian realized she was prying. But how could Rooke have never brought anyone home? She must’ve misunderstood. Trying to cover her confusion, she unfolded the paper Rooke had given her and spread it out on the table between them. “So. Anything special here I need to know when I discuss this with my grandmother?”

  Rooke pushed back in her chair as if Adrian had dropped a snake between them. “The total is $15,800.”

  “I see that. I was just wondering…”

  Adrian frowned when Rooke stood abruptly and walked into the other room. She waited a moment and, when Rooke didn’t return, followed her. Rooke stood with her back to her, bent over a large table in the middle of the room, her arms braced on it, her head lowered. “What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you? I’m not doubting your figures. I just wanted to be sure I understood everything. You don’t need to review it with me. I’m sorry…”

  “Stop.” Rooke turned, the expression on her face one Adrian had never seen there before. She looked resigned, almost defeated. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all. It’s me, okay?”

  “I don’t understand,” Adrian said quietly.

  “I can’t read it.”

  Adrian looked down at the paper in her hands, then back at Rooke. “What part can’t you read?”

  “Any of it.” Rooke picked up their jackets and handed Adrian hers. “I can’t read anything at all. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  Reflexively, Adrian reached for her jacket, a thousand jumbled thoughts careening through her mind. This wasn’t a third-world country. This wasn’t some isolated pocket of rural Appalachia. How was it possible that in a community like this a child did not learn to read? And why had Rooke, as an adult, not taken steps to change that? She thought of her grandmother’s veiled comment about Rooke. She’s slow. But Adrian knew that wasn’t true. Rooke was far too perceptive, far too sensitive, too bright to be impaired in that way. But what then? Why…

  The back door slammed and Adrian was left alone with her questions.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Adrian found Rooke leaning against the front of her truck, her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, her face turned away from the house. Away from Adrian. Although her pose looked relaxed from a distance, the set of her shoulders and the tight line of her jaw said otherwise.

  “Hey,” Adrian said, coming up beside her.

  Rooke finally looked at her, and her eyes were so bleak all Adrian wanted to do was put her arms around her and hold her. She wanted that so much her chest ached, but she was afraid Rooke might misinterpret her actions as pity and she was absolutely certain Rooke would not want that. She contented herself with running her fingers down the arm of Rooke’s jacket.

  “Can we take a walk?” Adrian said.

  “Where?”

  Adrian smiled. “Show me Stillwater.”

  Rooke hesitated and Adrian was afraid she was going to say no. She didn’t know what she would do then, but she couldn’t bear to feel the barrier that had suddenly sprung up between them. Ordinarily, she welcomed barriers, and she was always the one erecting them. She decided how close she allowed anyone to come. More than one lover had complained that she wouldn’t let them in, wouldn’t share enough, and that was probably the main reason why she’d never had a serious long-term relationship. Most of her affairs were casual and mutually convenient and the few times they’d drifted toward something deeper, she’d pulled back. Breaking those connections, even with women she’d slept with, had never left her feeling as bereft as Rooke’s sudden withdrawal.

  “I started research for a new article,” Adrian said casually, propping her hip against the truck next to Rooke as if they weren’t standing outside in fifteen-degree weather. As if Rooke hadn’t just told her something she still couldn’t quite take in. “I’m going to do a series on cemeteries.”

  “Cemeteries.” Rooke shot a quick look at Adrian. “Why?”

  “Not cemeteries per se, actually.” Adrian tried not to smile, but she loved that Rooke always wanted to know. She didn’t seem to take things for granted or make assumptions. Her uncluttered, grounded view of the world was terribly refreshing. “Grave markers. Their design, the symbols that have been used over the centuries to indicate all kinds of things. Family associations. Superstitions. Religion. Social and economic status. It’s like the gravestones are history books with their own language. If we know the language, we’ll know how to read them.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. God. Could she have picked a worse time to bring up this subject?

  “I’m sorry,” Adrian said quickly.

  “What for?” Rooke grimaced. “I’ve had a long time to get used to what I can’t do, and what people think of me.”

  “I’m not people.” Adrian shivered, more from the coldness inside than the lancing wind that blew ice crystals from the surface of the snow into her face like tiny, invisible knives. “Damn it, I’m doing this really badly. Take me to the older part of the cemetery, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  “All right. But you’re going to get wet.”

  Adrian laughed, relieved to see Rooke’s shoulders relax and hear the teasing in her voice. “You mean more than I am now?”

  “The paths aren’t cleared. We could wait—”

  “No.” Adrian grasped Rooke’s hand and tugged her away from the truck and toward the one road into the cemetery that had been plowed. Her relief was short-lived. Something was wrong. Even though both their hands were bare, she couldn’t feel Rooke. She’d lost the sense of her, and the absence of that quiet strength made her ache. Adrian feared if Rooke took her home now, she would never have another chance to restore their lost connection. “My friends tell me that when I get started on a project, I’m like a dog with a bone. I can’t let up.”

  “Okay, if you want to go exploring, we will.”

  Rooke withdrew her hand from Adrian’s and the hollow place inside grew larger, and so did the pain of loss. Did Rooke really think she would find her lacking because of what she’d just confided? Of course she did, because very clearly others had. She doubted there was anything she could say to combat those old hurts. She would have to convince Rooke that what mattered to her was the woman she was, the whole person, not just one aspect of her. She’d need time to show her, and hoped they would have it.

  “You’re elected tour guide,” Adrian said, trying for a casual note.

  “You have to put your gloves on,” Rooke said, removing her own from the inside pocket of her jacket.

  When Adrian pulled on her leather gloves, Rooke took her hand again. Adrian clutched Rooke’s arm against her side, happy for the slightest bit of contact. Before long she was holding on even tighter to keep her footing on the icy surface as Rooke led her off the semi-cleared road into a section of the cemetery where the stones were obviously very old. Most were marble, and on many, the engravings were so worn by the years that the names and dates were illegible.

  “There—the matching crossed hands on those two stones,” Adrian said, indicating two markers side by side jutting from the snow. “According to what I’ve read, those symbolize—”

  “Relatives,” Rooke said. “Sometimes marriage.”

  “Yes,” Adrian said eagerly, pointing to another marble marker with a scrolled top and the image of a bird in flight carved above the names. She hadn’t come across that in her initial research. She looked at Rooke questioningly. “What about that one?”

  “The soul—the birds are usually shown rising, because—well, you know. Heaven and all. The lamp is for innocence, the lily for purity, the anchor for hope.”

  “You know all about this, don’t you? Of course you would.” Adrian shook her head. “I could have saved myself a lot of time on the computer yesterday.”

  Rooke shrugged. “There’s probably a lot more I don’t know. I’ve only seen this cemetery and some of the small family plots in other parts of the county. According to
what you said, symbols might be different in other places, right? Depending on what the people were like who lived there.”

  “Yes,” Adrian said softly. “Exactly.” She hesitated because she didn’t want to make Rooke self-conscious, but she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know that Rooke could not read. She could only imagine how hard it had been for Rooke to share something so personal, and she wouldn’t treat the subject as if it were something Rooke should be ashamed of. “How do you know all of this?”

  “It’s the family business. I know it the same way I know how to do the carvings.”

  “Does your father do this too?”

  “No, my grandfather said he didn’t have it in his blood. He joined the army instead. My great uncle taught me. I started when I was eight. Simple stuff.”

  “So will you explain to me about the other symbols?”

  “Yes, if you want me to. When the weather lets up, we’ll come back out and I’ll show you. Some of the earliest markers at Stillwater are right here,” Rooke said. “These are the founding families.” She pointed to a large obelisk-type monument with a simple cross at the top surrounded by many small rectangular markers. “The Brewsters. Harold and Hannah were the first. Then, their children—Matthew, Thomas, Lydia, and James.”

  Adrian followed Rooke’s hand as she pointed to each smaller stone in turn, reading off the faint names on the stones. She looked from the stones to Rooke. “I thought—”

  “I’m not reading them,” Rooke said gruffly. “My grandfather told me who they are.”

  “And you remember them all?”

  Rooke smiled faintly and nodded.

  Adrian dragged Rooke by the hand to the next grouping. “Well?”

  “The Smiths. Reginald and Elizabeth. Their sons, Arthur, Charles, Robert, and Thomas,” Rooke said, pointing to each gravestone. “Their daughters Elizabeth, Margaret, Roberta, and Anne are buried with their husbands further down this row.”

  “Oh my God. That’s amazing!” Adrian turned and took in what she could of the cemetery. It stretched beyond the crest of a tree-lined hill farther than she could see. Dominic had said Rooke knew the story behind all of the stones, but she hadn’t taken him literally. “Tell me you know everyone here.”

  “I do. I remember things like that.”

  Adrian couldn’t contain her astonishment and wondered how it could be that people like her grandmother had no idea what a remarkable person Rooke was. She couldn’t restrain her need to let Rooke know just how special she found her. Guided by instinct, she took off her gloves and pressed her palms to Rooke’s face. “You’re amazing.”

  The wind howled and snow danced in the air like spirits released from the grave, but Adrian didn’t feel the icy cold. Heat emanated from Rooke, reaching to Adrian’s very core. She saw herself standing before a great stone hearth in a vast hall, torches flaming on the walls, huge arches disappearing into the darkness overhead. Thick furs covered the stone floors and hung over openings chiseled through the thick walls. In the shadows, a warrior watched. Adrian sensed great strength and great power. And more—passion and desire. Belonging. The yearning for those feelings was so strong she felt herself drifting into the dream, even while part of her knew it was not real. Would never be real.

  “Adrian.” Rooke’s arms came around her and her embrace was very real. Rooke held her close, shielding her from the biting wind, and brushed her hair back, searching Adrian’s face. “We need to go back. You’re shaking and pale again.”

  “Your skin is warm,” Adrian said thickly, wanting to stay by the fire, surrounded by thick walls of stone and fierce passion. But Rooke’s call was strong, and the vision receded, leaving her a little disoriented. She let herself lean against Rooke for just a few heartbeats. Rooke felt so good.

  “Damn, I was an idiot to bring you out here,” Rooke said gruffly.

  “Don’t say that.” Adrian’s voice came out hollow and weak and she forced herself to straighten, even though it meant moving away from Rooke. “You are not responsible for me. I wanted to come.”

  “I’m responsible for my own bad judgment.”

  “Stop.”

  “Come on,” Rooke muttered. “Before we get into another power struggle and freeze.”

  Adrian didn’t argue, because Rooke was right. She was cold to the bone. Rooke kept an arm around her shoulder, putting herself between Adrian and the wind as they walked back to the house. Instead of taking her to the truck, Rooke turned up a path toward a big cement-block building that looked like a garage. Rooke unlocked the door and guided her to an overstuffed chair in front of a wood-burning stove.

  “I’ll get the fire going and you’ll be warm in a few minutes.” Rooke quickly stacked logs from the pile next to the stove and lit them. Then she knelt in front of the chair where Adrian had kicked off her boots and curled up with her legs beneath her. Rooke reached out as if to rest her hand on Adrian’s knee and then moved it to the arm of the chair at the last moment. “How about hot chocolate? I don’t have tea here.”

  “Where are we?” Adrian asked, looking around at the cement floor and counters covered with tools. “I thought you said your apartment was here. Tell me you don’t consider this an apartment.”

  Rooke grinned. “My shop. I live upstairs, but the stove down here is better. So, hot chocolate?”

  “That would be great. And you can stop looking so worried. I’m all right.”

  “You’ll be even better in a few minutes.” Rooke straightened. “I’ll be right back.”

  Adrian waited until she heard Rooke’s footsteps fade, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She didn’t want Rooke taking care of her, although Rooke’s tenderness made her feel special, something she’d never thought she’d wanted before. Still, she didn’t want to appear weak. Now that her head was clear, she needed to figure out what was going on. She’d always been open to heightened sensation, especially when she was emotionally vulnerable or intensely connected to someone. At odd times she would also pick up energy from strangers, but lately she seemed to be more susceptible than ever before. Maybe with Rooke it was because she wanted a connection between them, but she couldn’t offer the same explanation for Melinda. She’d be just as happy never to experience the disconcerting reactions Melinda stirred in her again.

  Adrian sighed. Melinda was a question for later. She glanced at her watch. She owed Melinda a phone call too. It was almost ten. And before she made that call, she needed to decide what she was going to do about Melinda and Rooke.

  *

  Rooke set the cup of hot chocolate down gently on the packing crate that she used for an end table next to the chair in which Adrian was sleeping. She checked the fire and added a log. When she turned, Adrian was awake and watching her. Adrian no longer looked pale, and it might have been the dim light in the room, but the bruises beneath her eyes seemed lighter too. She appeared relaxed and peaceful. Rooke liked the way she looked, curled up in the chair. Almost at home.

  “How are you feeling?” Rooke asked.

  “Well-done.”

  Rooke grinned. “It’s not that warm in here yet.”

  “Says you.” Adrian pulled off her sweater and stretched, feeling as rested as if she’d just awakened from a two-hour nap. In fact, she felt wonderful. When Rooke’s eyes narrowed and dropped to her breasts, she remembered that she hadn’t put a bra on under the T-shirt she’d layered beneath her sweater. The instant she realized Rooke was staring at her breasts, her nipples tightened. A breath later, she was wet and ready. She fought to keep anything from showing in her expression and picked up the hot chocolate.

  “Thanks for this,” Adrian said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rooke sounded tight and strained and Adrian was afraid to look at her. If she saw that intense fascination in Rooke’s face again, she was likely to explode right there in the chair. She sipped the hot chocolate and ordered her body to behave.

  “This is where you do all your work?” Adrian chan
ced a glance and was only halfway disappointed that Rooke appeared to be engrossed in something on the ceiling. At least one of them had some control. Work ought to be a safe subject, and Rooke was clearly an expert in the subject she was currently absorbed in.

  “Yes,” Rooke said.

  “How do you carve the names if…”

  Rooke met Adrian’s gaze. “If I can’t read them?”

  “Yes.” Adrian kept her voice carefully neutral, as if they were discussing an everyday occurrence. She never wanted to see that defeated look in Rooke’s eyes again.

  Rooke’s stomach became leaden. No one had ever asked her to explain how she worked before. Everyone seemed to assume what she was capable of, or what she wasn’t. She had learned not to care what others thought of her, but she desperately wanted Adrian to understand. Crossing to the counter, she picked up several sheets of paper and offered them to Adrian.

  Wordlessly, Adrian took them and leafed through them. They were all drawings of gravestones. The designs were all different—some were completely plain, others ornate. Above each marker, a name was hand printed in simple letters. On the stones, the same name appeared several times in different styles, from block lettering to ornate script. Adrian frowned.

  “You need to interpret for me,” Adrian said.

  “When I carve a symbol, like a bird, on a marker, I don’t carve the same one every time,” Rooke said.

  “Okay. That makes sense.”

  “The letters are symbols, like the bird or a tree or a lantern. I can carve symbols, I just can’t…” Rooke sighed and she rubbed her forehead as if it hurt.

  Rooke’s hand was shaking and Adrian heard the frustration in her voice. God, she wanted to understand, and she was making it worse. “That’s okay. You don’t have to…”

  “I want to,” Rooke said fiercely. She paced a few steps, her back to Adrian, then spun around. Her body was taut, her hands clenched. “I want to tell you.”

  “Okay,” Adrian said softly. “Can I ask you a question?”