Nothing Hidden Ever Stays

by HR Mason

  The awkward silence lingered a moment too long, and Aubrey was nearly ready to turn around and leave. Just then, a woman sporting a giant smile and exuding an air of kindness walked toward her. The woman’s friendly face was like a life preserver being thrown Aubrey’s way. She had long, straight, sandy-blonde hair, was tall and thin, and she was wearing a pink pin-striped apron.

  “Hello there. Are you eating alone today?” Her wide smile immediately put Aubrey at ease, a phenomenon that rarely occurred.

  “Yes, I’m always alone,” Aubrey answered with the slightest smirk.

  “Come this way. I’ll put you at my favorite table, the one back there in the corner, away from all of the prying eyes,” the woman answered with a grin and a wink of understanding.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. I despise being in a fishbowl,” Aubrey replied.

  Aubrey slid into the corner booth, and the woman handed her a menu.

  “My name is Rebecca, and I’m the owner, by the way.”

  “My name is Aubrey. Aubrey Ross.”

  Aubrey waited for the woman to flinch when she revealed her last name was Ross. She expected Rebecca’s warmth to turn frigid. She suspected the woman might even ask her to leave. But Rebecca did none of those things. She just continued to smile kindly.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Aubrey. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu, and then I’ll stop back. I recommend the french toast. I promise you; it’s the best thing you’ll eat today.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion, Rebecca. I think I’ll forgo looking at the menu and just order the french toast, then. I’m starving.”

  “I’ll go tell the cook, who happens to be my husband, Jake. I’ll bring you some coffee too. You look like you need some,” she laughed.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “I know people, and you have the look of a girl who could use a coffee. I’ll be right back.”

  Rebecca pivoted on her heel and walked toward the kitchen. She called out the order, grabbed the coffeepot, and headed back to Aubrey’s table. She filled a large mug with the steaming liquid and scooted it toward Aubrey, who accepted the offering gratefully. She inhaled the scent, took a sip, and sighed with contentment. It was exactly what she needed.

  “That’s delicious. I’m from Seattle, and I’m a bit of a coffee snob, so I know a good cup when I taste one,” Aubrey said between sips.

  “You’re from Seattle, huh? Rossdale must be a big change for you,” Rebecca replied as she slid into the booth and sat across from Aubrey.

  “Yeah, just a bit. I’ve never lived anywhere but there, so I don’t have a lot to compare it to, but Rossdale is a whole different world.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “And I’m pretty sure I don’t quite fit in.” Aubrey glanced around the room. “Then again, I’ve never really fit anywhere, so I’m used to it.”

  “That’s something a person should never get used to,” Rebecca said kindly.

  Aubrey wasn’t sure how to respond. Conversations that burrowed beneath surface matters usually made her nervous. She’d so rarely encountered genuine kindness and caring in her life that it was a completely foreign concept. Yet something about Rebecca calmed her. Although it was strange, she liked the woman. Aubrey wasn’t a conversationalist, but Rebecca made her want to try.

  “Have you always lived in Rossdale, Rebecca?”

  “Oh, yes. Both sides of my family have been in this town for a couple hundred years. I’ve never lived anywhere else,” Rebecca replied with a laugh.

  “Your whole family lives here?”

  Aubrey couldn’t imagine having a family. She couldn’t fathom being connected to another person.

  “Yep. My parents and grandparents live just down the road from me and Jake. We got married a couple of years ago and decided we wanted to be close by when we have our own kids. My brother, Hank, lives just a few miles away too. He’s the sheriff in town,” Rebecca explained.

  “The sheriff is your brother?”

  Aubrey thought back to the previous night. She hadn’t exactly been kind to him.

  “Hank’s a pretty great guy, even though we fight like cats and dogs most of the time.” Rebecca giggled.

  “Yeah, I actually met the sheriff last night,” Aubrey began.

  “Oh really?”

  “He stopped by the house because all the lights were on. Apparently wasting electricity is a crime around here.”

  “Well, Desolate Ridge has been empty for months. Hank was probably just making sure it wasn’t an intruder or something,” Rebecca told her.

  “I never thought of that,” Aubrey admitted. “I suppose I was on edge, being in a strange house and all.”

  “That makes sense. Being inside that house would put anyone on edge,” Rebecca said with a raised eyebrow.

  The woman seemed to regret her words as soon as she said them. Her eyes grew wide, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

  “Oh, Aubrey, I’m so sorry. That was rude. I shouldn’t have said that about your family’s house. It’s just that… well… Desolate Ridge has always been a bit of an urban legend around here.”

  “An urban legend?”

  “Yes. People are basically terrified of the place.”

  Aubrey shook her head. “I don’t really understand any of this. Until a few days ago, I had never even heard of Desolate Ridge, or Rossdale.”

  “You didn’t know about your family’s house?”

  “Everything has been thrown into my lap, and no one has told me anything. I know nothing about that house or the Ross family. I always thought being an orphan was tough, but I’m beginning to believe that may have been the easy part,” Aubrey explained.

  “What do you mean? You didn’t know your family?”

  Instinctively, Rebecca reached across the table and placed her hand over Aubrey’s. Under any other circumstances, Aubrey would have flinched at the touch of a stranger. She couldn’t figure out what it was about the other woman that made her feel so comfortable, but Rebecca had an innate, genuine kindness that drew Aubrey in.

  “It’s such a long story, Rebecca, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear the sordid details of my miserable life.” Aubrey shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

  A bell rang in the kitchen, signaling her food was ready.

  “I’ll go grab your order. Be right back,” Rebecca said as she rose from the table.

  Rebecca returned promptly with a plate of the most delectable-looking french toast Aubrey had ever seen.

  “I’m going to leave you alone so you can eat your meal in peace, but I just want you to know I’m really glad to meet you. I can’t imagine what it must be like, being in a new town, in a strange house, and searching for answers,” Rebecca said.

  “Thank you. That’s really nice of you. I’m not… used to that sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “Kindness.”

  A look of deep sorrow passed over Rebecca’s face. She paused a moment, then continued. “Are you free the day after tomorrow, Aubrey?”

  “Free? For what?”

  “My family is coming to my house for dinner, just like they do every Sunday, and I’d really like it if you’d join us.”

  “You want me to join you and your family for dinner? You don’t even know me.”

  “Yes. It seems like you haven’t received a decent welcome to Rossdale, and I’d like to fix that.”

  “Oh, no, I really couldn’t do that. I don’t want to be a bother, or an intruder,” Aubrey answered with a shake of her head.

  “It’s no bother at all, and my parents would love to meet you. My grandparents will be there too. They’ve lived in Rossdale forever. Maybe they can answer some of your questions about your family.”

  Rebecca’s words stopped Aubrey in her tracks. She wanted information, and Rebecca was offering that possibility.

  “All right. That would actually be helpful. As long as you’re sure no one will mind,” Aubrey repli
ed.

  “I have just officially made you my new friend, which in my mind qualifies you as family, so no one will mind you being there. In fact, we’ll expect it.”

  Rebecca winked and smiled widely before leaving Aubrey alone to finish her meal. She gobbled up the french toast, drank another cup of coffee, and paid her bill. Rebecca handed her a slip of paper with her address scribbled on it, then waved goodbye.

  Aubrey headed across the street to Lawson’s General Store, where she filled a cart with food staples, as well as a few splurge items she wouldn’t ordinarily purchase. It was the first time in her life that she carried her groceries to the checkout counter without a second thought about how much everything would cost. Cammie Lawson was working at the register once again, and she gave Aubrey a curious glance but said nothing. Aubrey simply smiled politely, not wanting to initiate a conversation with the girl.

  She loaded her groceries into the car and headed back toward Desolate Ridge. She hadn’t wanted to make the trip into Rossdale, but the experience wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Somehow, against her better judgment, she’d made a friend. It was a first.

  Aubrey pulled up to the gate of Desolate Ridge and watched it slide open, then traversed the winding driveway through the thicket of trees. As the house came into view, she paused for a moment to take it all in. Knowing it belonged to her still felt surreal, but she was gradually accepting the reality.

  As Aubrey started to pull the car into the garage, she glanced toward the attic window. The woman in the white gown with the cascading hair was up there once again.

  11

  Desolate Ridge — 1841

  Byron Ross watched as his wife, Emilia, and their son, George, frolicked through the lush, rolling yard of Desolate Ridge. Emilia gathered her skirt and petticoat as she flounced across the grass in an effort to make their young son laugh. The pearl necklace Byron had given her on their wedding day rested on her dainty neck. A frilly linen cap adorned her head, but Emilia’s golden spaniel curls bounced delightfully free of the restraints. A thin shawl covered her delicate shoulders. Byron thought his wife was as lovely as a porcelain doll.

  George, just two years old, grinned widely at his mother. The lad noticed his father gazing at them through the window. He giggled, waving his chubby hands and motioning for Byron to join them. The young boy created a handsome picture in his tunic suit. A flat cap covered his chestnut waves, which he’d inherited from his ancestors. The proud father loved his son more than life itself.

  Byron watched as Emilia danced across the lawn. He believed having a beautiful wife was a double-edged sword. Emilia Duncan had been the belle of every ball, the most desired debutante in the county. Byron had set his sights on her. He had wanted her, and she had chosen him from among all of her suitors.

  He should have felt a sense of pride in being the one to win her heart. Most men would have been happy about such a conquest. The problem was, no matter how hard he tried, Byron Ross wasn’t like most men. He tried to be, but his true nature had become increasingly difficult to conceal.

  His father, Marshall, had always excused Byron’s strange behavior; after all, it seemed to run in the Ross family. Byron had known from a young age that there was something wrong with him, just as he’d always known there was something wrong with his father.

  Byron wasn’t like other boys, but he didn’t know why. Perhaps it had been precipitated by the disappearance of his mother, Marie, when he was just an infant. Byron was told that one day his mother simply vanished, leaving him behind.

  There had been rumors of impropriety and scandal surrounding the strange circumstances in the disappearance of Marie Ross, but no one knew what really happened. Or if they did, the facts had been buried long ago.

  He didn’t understand the source of his deranged thoughts, and yet they had always been there, causing his blood to boil just a little too savagely. Byron couldn’t contain the heat, and the anger would flow like hot lava, bubbling right through his skin. He could always see it coming, yet he was powerless to stop it.

  Byron also had visions, terrible images of destructive behaviors he felt compelled to execute. He was hounded by voices warning him that horrible things would come to pass if he didn’t obey the compulsions. It was maddening, exhausting, and all too much to bear.

  When Byron was younger, he’d been able to quiet the voices if he tried hard enough. He’d figured out ways to mute the whisperings in his brain. He’d ignored the visions, and sometimes, they went away completely. But since the birth of his son, they seemed to be getting worse, coming more frequently and gaining in momentum.

  Byron didn’t know if he could control the impulses much longer. Rather, they seemed to have increasing control over him. Something told him the voices wouldn’t be silent until he obeyed their commands.

  Byron’s eyes settled once again on his young wife and son. Lately the voices had been telling him he shouldn’t have a wife at all. The whispers in his brain hinted that sooner or later, Emilia, his lovely, pure, gentle angel, would begin to understand the monster that lived inside her husband. When that happened, everything would be ripped from his grasp. Emilia would take George away and leave Byron behind.

  If Emilia really knew the man she was married to, she would run as fast and as far as she could.

  Byron Ross knew he wouldn’t survive the loss of his son. If that happened, it would surely be the end of him. There was only one answer—in order to keep Emilia from taking his son, he had to get rid of her.

  There were many ways to do it. If he staged the event correctly, no one would suspect a thing. The voices had told him the way it should happen. All he had to do was go along with the plan. He would miss his wife, but he would think about that later.

  The couple loved to dance together, and Emilia’s favorite spot to waltz was on the second-floor landing of Desolate Ridge. She loved to look at the world below her as she and her husband twirled across the room, saying the height made her feel as if she were flying.

  The voices told Byron that solving his problem would be easy. All he had to do was dance with his wife. When their bodies moved close to the railing, and he pushed her, just a little, he could set her free. She would never have to stop loving him. She would never have to discover the darkness that lived inside him. She would never be able to take George away.

  Byron wanted his beautiful Emilia to fly forever as the angel she was. Maybe then the voices would stop.

  12

  The next day, Aubrey had just finished creating a to-do list when she heard the crunching of tires in the driveway. Spooked by the image of the woman in the attic, she’d barely been able to sleep the previous night. Instead, she’d whiled away the seemingly endless hours of darkness by writing down questions she needed answered. She’d also put together a list of tasks to be completed before she could sell the house. The sooner she could get the money from Desolate Ridge and be on her way, the better.

  She saw two men and a woman get out of the car in the driveway. She assumed they must be Mr. and Mrs. Bonaventure, and their son, Anson. Carlton had mentioned the couple and their son were the caretakers who came every day to work on household tasks. They hadn’t shown up the day before, but Aubrey guessed they were giving her time to get settled. She watched through the window as the trio approached the front door.

  Mr. Bonaventure was a frowning, sturdy-looking man who appeared to be in his midsixties. He had salt-and-pepper hair and barely a wrinkle on his face. It was obvious he performed manual labor for a living, as he seemed strong and stout.

  Mrs. Bonaventure appeared to be about the same age as her husband. She was pleasantly plump, wore a comfortable smile, and had the look of a woman who was used to being in charge. Her face was pretty, and Aubrey imagined she’d been quite a beauty in her younger years.

  Their son, Anson, was a handsome, dark-eyed, raven-haired man with broad shoulders, large arms, and a trim physique. His face was youthful, even though she imagined he must be
in his forties. He glanced around anxiously, as if he would rather be anywhere but there.

  Aubrey heard the doorbell ring, and she was surprised, having assumed the caretakers had a key and would therefore come right in. She decided they must be respecting her privacy, waiting for her to answer the door.

  Aubrey rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. She hated meeting people. She hoped they wouldn’t expect small talk, because conversation didn’t interest her in the least.

  She opened the door and tried to smile, but it came across as more of a smirk.

  “You must be the caretakers,” she said.

  “We are the Bonaventures. It is so nice to meet you, dear. We’ve been excited ever since Mr. Wayfair told us you were coming.” Mrs. Bonaventure gushed as she pulled Aubrey into a hug.

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. Physical affection made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like to be touched. Caught off guard, she allowed herself to be engulfed in the other woman’s arms, although she didn’t return the gesture. She stood there stiffly, waiting for it to end.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a hugger. I forget not everyone feels the same,” Mrs. Bonaventure explained as she released Aubrey. “My name is Coral, this is my husband, Michael, and that’s our son, Anson.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Aubrey answered quietly.

  Mr. Bonaventure scowled and nodded slightly before disappearing into the other room. He seemed to be a man of few words. His wife didn’t suffer from the same affliction as her husband. She prattled on without taking a breath, and Aubrey tuned out the chatter somewhere after the second sentence. Instead, her focus rested on their son, Anson.

  He hadn’t spoken, but he also hadn’t left the room. He stood behind his mother, his hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to disguise the fact that he was staring back at Aubrey. She pretended to listen to Mrs. Bonaventure’s ramblings, but she was as riveted on Anson as he was on her.