10. ~ Following the Heart ~

CHAPTER 10

My happiness lay in coming to work, being with Alex, and feeling his closeness. No matter how often we were together, my stomach always twisted with anticipation. As the Buick rumbled down High Banks Road, sweet images of the past days and our time together—reading in his office, horseback riding, strolling through the gardens, playing games—ran through my head. While grateful for his affection, desire, and respect for me, I remained frustrated by his continued reserve.

Would the love I saw in his eyes ever be enough for him to break free of the past and explore a life with me? I dreaded the answer. He hesitated to visit the monastery and meet Granny. And he pulled away from me every time Mrs. White reminded him of how "out of place" and "inappropriate" our relationship was, which she did in subtle ways. Now and then, the conversation I heard between them not long after I came to Oak's Place made me think.

"I was trying to move on, but it hurts so much. Why does she have to haunt me?" he had said.

"Let her go. It's the rational thing to do."

"After all these years of suffering and regret, how can I?"

"You are playing a dangerous game. But if that's what you want, you'll have to tell her the truth," Mrs. White had told him.

What truth had Mrs. White so concerned? Should I know about it? Alex's health complicated matters. He had been ill five out of the last twelve days. Again, I wondered if his physical ailments played a part in his emotional and intellectual suffering or the other way around. Whichever, I feared I would lose him to a faceless enemy, one I could neither fight nor defeat. Especially when Alex wouldn't allow me near him when he was sick. He'd retreat behind closed doors, battling his demons alone.

As I parked the car in the courtyard, I said a silent prayer that he would feel well today. However, each time I let myself hope, a feeling that my dream would turn into a nightmare pricked my heart.

I got out of the Buick and started toward the house but stopped in my tracks. With quick, short steps, Zaira disappeared into the trees. Considering her schedule, it seemed odd she'd be out for a walk at this hour. Interestingly, her mysterious outings had stopped during the renovation. And now that I thought about it, I hadn't seen the trespasser for a while. Of course, as I had invested most of my time in my relationship with Alex, I might have failed to notice a few things. However, with the renovations completed, the old routine might make a full return.

My curiosity getting the better of me, I followed her at a distance, careful not to attract her attention. My heartbeat thumped in my ears, my conscience reminding me I shouldn't be spying. When she suddenly stopped, I hid behind a large white oak. For once, the verdant forest sided with me, concealing my presence amid the low branches as I peeked at Zaira.

Highlighted by the sunlight filtering through the canopy above, a man about Zaira's age came into view, and she let out an exclamation of joy. They clasped each other in a passionate display of affection. Zaira's disappearances and questionable explanations fell into place. She sneaked out of the house to meet this man.

I backstepped, hoping to leave undetected, when a rustling in branches overhead caught my attention. An old crow with dusty gray feathers jumped from one branch to another, moving toward me.

Please don't give me away. A few more steps. Almost out of view—almost there.

The bird shifted above, his eyes intense on me with surreal intelligence.

Please don't.

He emitted the most mournful sound, making my skin crawl.

Zaira spun toward the noise, her gaze landing on me. "Florence!"

Oh, please, Earth, swallow me. My cheeks burned hot as the couple neared. "Zaira, I'm so sorry," I offered. "I didn't mean to . . ." I couldn't finish.

"It's all right. Someone was bound to see us sooner or later." Zaira sighed. "This is Oliver, a friend from town."

"Nice to meet you." A well-built man, Oliver's brown hair and bright smile nearly put me at ease.

"Likewise. Please forgive my intrusion." I turned to leave.

"Florence, don't tell Mrs. White about this," Zaira pleaded. "See, Oliver used to deliver the milk, and when she realized we'd grown fond of each other, she discontinued the service—you know, her no-visitor policy. She won't tolerate this indiscretion, as she'll call it. She made it clear that I can do whatever I like on my day off, but even then, not at the house."

"Don't worry. I won't say anything." Though I disagreed with Mrs. White's obsessive control and Victorian ways, I somewhat sympathized with her. She did her best to run a tight ship, and the staff breaking the rules must make her feel like her boat would sink.

"Thank you, miss." Oliver smiled. "Just so you know, Zaira tried to stop me from coming, but I refuse to see her just once a week. Even when I try hard not to come, I can't help myself."

The man in the woods. Oliver watched the house. It was creepy, but love had a way of producing irrational and sometimes risky behavior. This I knew from sad experience. My thoughts skipped to my previous assumptions. I laughed at the idea that the man could have been someone hunting Alex from his past. Or worse, a ghost roaming the woods. I sighed inwardly, relieved to have fewer mysteries to worry about.

The other man who knew the woods like the palm of his hand now crossed my thoughts. "Does Mr. Snider know about this?"

"Yes. I couldn't keep it from him. He caught me slipping out at night and spotted us together a few times," Zaira replied.

Then it dawned on me. "That morning in town, the lavender tea was an excuse. You spent the night there."

Zaira pursed her lips and nodded.

"I'll see you at the house." I retreated, wondering whether Mrs. White might already suspect Zaira's "indiscretion" and Mr. Snider's cover-up. Could it be the cause of her hostility with the groundskeeper? At least the conversation I had overheard between them suggested that much. However, I sensed something more.

Zaira. I smiled. She was in love and shouldn't have to meet Oliver in secret. Could Alex change the rules? Should I bring it up? No, I should stay out of it. Despite having allowed the workers on the grounds for the renovations, he still seemed to need seclusion. I walked past the Buick, climbed the front steps, and entered the house.

I found Alex in his office, standing before the window. His eyes darted from the statue of the lady and child to me, traces of guilt and resentment in them.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" I started toward him, anticipating his embrace.

"Not well." He raised his hand, stopping me. "I don't want you to see me like this."

I froze. "It wouldn't hurt to get another opinion."

"They'll provide the same diagnosis. It is what it is."

"I'm not convinced." I desperately wanted to help him, but it seemed he had given in to his fate.

He squared his shoulders and beheld me with alarming seriousness. "You should walk away before you get hurt."

"Walking away is the only thing that will hurt me."

"There is nothing I can offer you—nothing besides money."

A wall of fear and despair stood between us.

"That's not true, and you know it," I said defensively.

His gaze returned to the statue. It was evident. His heart belonged to the woman represented by the sculpture. I wondered if she had loved him the same as he loved her. "You should find someone your age, someone who can fully be yours."

His obstinacy angered me. "Is that what you want me to do? Leave so you can feel sorry for yourself, hoping the dead will come back to life?"

"You could never understand. When you love the way we—" He shook his head angrily.

I tried to hold my tongue, but the hurt compelled me. "I could never compare with her. Is that it? She was just too wonderful, wasn't she?"

"The problem is the opposite. You remind me too much of her. Too much!"

In a good or bad way? It didn't matter. I could not change the past or his disposition. "Very well. Tell me to never return, and I won't." Tears burned behind my eyes, but I contained them.

After a moment, he turned away from the window, his gaze lost in time, trapped in the memories. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead, he left the office without looking at me.

Interpreting his silence as a signal for me to go and consumed by insecurity, I left the house. As I fumbled through my pocket for the car key, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the brush. I shifted to get a better look, and a scream caught in my throat.

The trespasser stood there, closer than ever, and it was not Oliver. Though I couldn't see him clearly in the shadows, I couldn't deny it. He looked and moved about with the translucence of glass.

A ghost. I stood transfixed while the boundaries of reality blurred. Mrs. White said we all had shadows to chase us and to chase after. I supposed my childhood gift, or curse, for seeing the dead remained present. However, unlike the monk, this specter seemed aware of the mortal realm and of me. Yes, it was clear now—he haunted me, and I had to know why.

It might have had something to do with the accumulated frustration and hurt from my encounter with Alex, but I needed answers. Chills ran through me as I plunged into the vegetation, never losing sight of him. The closer I got, however, the farther it seemed he slipped away. Oh no, you won't escape me. I had no idea what I would say to him or what would happen if I even had the chance, but I had to try. I increased my speed to almost a trot. As if playing hide-and-seek, he moved behind a tree. I reached the spot, out of breath, my eyes darting about the area. He was nowhere in sight.

"Show yourself! Who are you? What do you want?"

The ensuing silence challenged my courage more than if the ghost had struck me. Not seeing or hearing him, I didn't know what to expect. I shrieked in anger. Had I chased a mirage? Had I lost my mind?

Before anyone spotted me, especially Sister Callahan, I headed straight to my bedroom. I couldn't deal with her just now. Zaira's relationship with Oliver, the argument with Alex, and the ghost had my emotions swinging from sanity to lunacy, and my head spanned from trying to place fact and fiction in their proper places. Whenever I believed I had taken a step forward in uncovering Oak's Place's mysteries, something pushed me backward.

I dropped onto the bed, rubbing my temples. Alex's rejection stung me most. He hadn't told me to leave and never return, but he hadn't asked me to stay. The tears that had threatened me all afternoon, at last, streamed down my cheeks. I loved him but feared he didn't feel the same way. "You could never understand. When you love the way we—" he had said. I buried my face in my pillow to muffle my sobs as I released the tension and pain. Thoughts came and went until I drifted asleep.

"Child, may I come in?" Granny called.

When I hesitated, the door creaked open. "Florence, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Granny. Nothing."

"You can't fool me. I saw you running across the courtyard hours before you were supposed to be home—which, if I may say so, is quite rare these days."

I hadn't told Granny much about my relationship with my employer. But there was no need. She knew.

Granny sat on the edge of the bed. "Oh my, you've been crying."

"I'm so confused." I sat up and faced this woman who loved me unconditionally—this woman I trusted.

"Oh, child, you are in over your head, aren't you?"

"I feel so foolish and so lost. How did this happen to me?"

"You are not foolish. It happens to almost everyone at some point."

I broke down in tears, and she pulled me into her arms. Granny listened patiently as a torrent of emotions spilled out. "He will never love me as I love him. His heart dwells in the past, and I can do nothing about it. Why can I not accept that and move on?"

"Let me tell you a story." Granny let go and sat up a little. "I was a novice at Cambridge when I fell in love with a dazzling man. I was ashamed and felt extremely guilty for it. I was betraying my beliefs, my morals, and the church?—"

"You were in love?" I felt terrible not to have ever considered the possibility. True, she was a nun, but she was also a woman.

"Madly."

"Wait, if you hadn't taken the vows, you could have changed your mind, right?"

"Yes. I could have, but he couldn't."

My eyebrows shot up. "He was a priest?"

She nodded. "That's one reason why I moved back to the States. I couldn't bear to be close to him. He went on to have a successful career in the church, becoming a cardinal at a fairly young age."

"I can't imagine how hard that must've been." For the first time that day, I managed to stop feeling sorry for myself.

"That was the easy part." Her eyes were misty, but she contained the tears. "Years later, I returned to England and found him on his deathbed. What he told me still hurts, Florence." She averted her eyes. "He said he always loved me."

"Oh, Granny!"

"And he couldn't die without telling me. He said he'd have left everything for me, but he didn't dare interfere because I was a novice. He convinced himself to ignore his feelings and stay on his religious path. That day, child, was the saddest day of my existence." Her tears spilled over.

I had never seen her cry, and it broke my heart. "Did you tell him how you felt?"

"I did. He died with a smile on his face, holding fast to my hand." Granny placed her glasses in her pocket, retrieving a handkerchief to dry her eyes. "We both lived not knowing the truth and suffered greatly because of it. Don't get me wrong—I love serving in the church, but there is something greater than that, something I didn't understand until it was too late: the love between a man and woman." She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "I'm telling you in hopes that you'll avoid the mistake I made—once time is lost, you can't get it back. Mr. Sterling may have heart wounds, but you might be able to help him heal. This is, of course, if he loves you and wants you in his life. You must find out if that's the case, and if it is, you must fight for him. Florence, do you truly love him?"

"I do."

"Well then, speak to him. He is waiting downstairs in the kitchen."