25. ~ Breaking Point ~

CHAPTER 25

I jumped out of bed and flew downstairs to the kitchen and straight to the telephone. My fingers trembled, making it difficult to dial Oak's Place.

"Zaira! It's me, Florence."

"Florence, I didn't think you'd call."

"Please tell me. How is Alex?"

"Mr. Sterling is fading fast. I'm afraid it's just a matter of time."

"Zaira, tell him I'll be there soon."

"He is unconscious."

"Tell him anyway."

"You are seriously coming?" Zaira questioned.

I understood her incredulity. From her perspective, it had been a short time since I said Mrs. White could care for him. I blamed myself for my willingness to believe in her hateful tale without giving Alex the benefit of the doubt. "Yes, I'm coming. Zaira, please forgive me for what I said earlier. I was confused, but I understand things now."

"It's all right. No harm done."

"Were you able to find a doctor?"

"No. No one will drive out to Geneva until tomorrow."

"I'll find someone. Zaira, please watch over him. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Florence, he—" Her words were cut short, replaced by Mrs. White's cold voice.

"You have nothing to do here," she hissed. "You would do well not to set foot in Oak's Place again."

"You're wrong. You're the one who should have nothing to do with Alex. I know what you've done, and I'm coming to settle the debt."

"You're a fool!" She hung up.

I heard the clamor of voices outside. The sisters had returned from the fundraiser. The door flung open, and they entered, chatting merrily. Thankfully, they didn't linger. Granny and Sister Callahan came inside last.

"Granny! Alex is deathly ill. Dr. Petersen is out of town, and no one else will come until the morning. We must find Dr. Ferns."

"What's going on?" Sister Callahan asked from where she rummaged through the pantry, probably for a late snack.

I ignored her. "Please, Granny, help me."

"Calm down, child." Granny took hold of my shoulders, her eyes fixed on mine. "If he is so ill, why didn't you stay with him earlier?"

"I can't explain right now. We must find Dr. Ferns."

"I don't think he practices medicine anymore." Granny would've insisted on an explanation any other time, but perhaps because of the urgency in my voice, she desisted. "He is quite aged, I fear, and at this time of night?—"

"That's exactly why we need to find him. We need his experience."

Granny shifted to a cupboard. "Well, he might make an exception." She pulled out the phone directory and flipped through the worn pages. "It won't hurt to try."

I moved around impatiently, listening to the ticking of the clock on the counter, mercilessly giving time the advantage over me.

"Oh, child, he is not listed here, and I don't know where he lives."

"I have to get someone." A sob formed in my throat.

"Whining won't solve anything. Yes, yes, you need a doctor. Mr. Sterling is severely ill, and it's late at night." Without encouragement from us, Sister Callahan entered the conversation. "There is one person who surely knows where to find Dr. Ferns. He is well-informed on all that goes on in town."

"Who?" Granny and I asked in unison.

"The priest, of course."

"Yes, yes. Friar Thompson is a good friend of Dr. Ferns," Granny exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Of course he is. Priests and doctors often converge at people's deathbeds," Sister Callahan added.

I didn't appreciate the significance of her statement, but it was undeniably true.

"We just left Friar Thompson at the parish. He should still be awake," Granny said encouragingly.

"Let's call him," I urged.

Granny picked up the receiver. After several tries with no answer, she hung up for good.

"He leaves us no option but to visit him." Sister Callahan readjusted the veil on her head ready for action.

"You are right," Granny concurred. "Friar Thompson won't mind. He is such a dear."

"Right, then. Fannie, stop fiddling while Rome burns and go start the car," Sister Callahan ordered.

Minutes later, we were on our way to the parish. The wind howled through the deserted streets, causing the trees to bend and sway while dust and debris swirled through the air, clouding our path.

"Be careful," Granny cautioned as I parked the Buick alongside the curve by the church. "There are lots of things flying around."

"Do be careful," Sister Callahan echoed.

"I'll be back soon."

Pushing into the wind, I skirted the building, fighting the branches of the overgrown vegetation on the way. Evidently, Friar Thompson wasn't fond of gardening. I came to the portico and tapped on the door. Seconds passed. No response. I knocked again. Nothing. Perhaps he couldn't hear my knocking above the wind.

A hand descended on my shoulder, and I spun around with a gasp.

"Allow me," Sister Callahan said, using surprising force as she called on the door.

"We had to check on you. You took too long." Granny joined us, her black habit swirling about her in the wind.

"He might not be home," I said.

"Fiddlesticks. He was here when we left the fundraiser. Besides, where would he go at this hour?" Sister Callahan pounded on the wood. "Either he sleeps like a rock or is as deaf as a post."

After yet another pounding, light shone through the window. The lock turned, and Friar Thompson formed in the doorway, looking dazed.

"Father, please forgive the disturbance," I said promptly. "We need your help."

"What's the matter?" His gaze jumped from me to Sister Callahan and back to me.

"We must find Dr. Ferns. Do you know where he lives?" Granny stepped into view from behind Sister Callahan.

"Sister Dolores," Friar Thompson exclaimed, "you shouldn't be out in this weather. I thought you were back at the monastery."

"I was?—"

"Let's not deviate from the topic." Sister Callahan interrupted. Dressed in her red habit, she appeared quite menacing. "Dr. Ferns. Where does he live?"

"Why do you need Ferns?" Friar Thompson glanced at his watch and raised an eyebrow as if to say, "This late at night?"

Sister Callahan sighed, growing impatient.

"Mr. Sterling is extremely sick. Dr. Petersen is out of town, and anything else will take too long," I explained hurriedly.

"Dr. Petersen is out of town? Are you sure? I saw him this morning. He didn't mention anything about leaving."

"That's the information we have," I replied.

"Right, then," the priest relented. "Ferns lives on the outskirts of town, close to the lake."

"On the outskirts?" Granny repeated. "I thought he lived nearby."

"He moved after he retired. It won't be easy to find his house if you've never been there, especially at night," he cautioned.

"You'll have to come with us, then," Sister Callahan declared, "and why don't you answer your phone?"

"The phone line is down." A sudden awareness crossed his face. "Oh, I see. You must've tried to call me. That's why you came."

"Yes, yes!" Sister Callahan threw her hands in the air as if thanking heaven for finally opening the priest's understanding.

"Will you show us to Dr. Ferns's house?" I asked. "Please?"

He observed us for an instant. "Come in. I'll grab my keys and cloak. You can follow me there."

We stepped into the waiting area.

Time presented yet another challenge. I had to get to Alex. "Granny, could you bring the doctor to Oak's Place? Do you think Friar Thompson would mind? I don't want to lose another minute."

"He won't mind," Sister Callahan assured. "We'll ride with him."

I smiled for the first time that night. Sister Callahan would ensure the priest cooperated. She was becoming my hero quite rapidly—a hero who knew how to succor others, even in unconventional ways. Like Granny had said, Sister Callahan, though a bit rough around the edges, could teach us a great deal. My soul filled with appreciation for her.

"Of course, child. Go ahead," Granny said. "We'll catch up with you once we find Ferns."

"Thank you." I gave Granny a heartfelt hug, and though I worried that Sister Callahan might squeeze my ribs, I hugged her as well.

Without the sisters in the car, I drove wildly, gas pedal to the floor. It wasn't long until the heavens opened, and rain pelted the windshield. The wipers produced a devilish screech, unable to keep up with the downpour. I had to slow down. Hang in there, Alex. Please. Don't you dare leave me.

Though I had no doubts about my previous life or our relationship, I still found it difficult to wrap my mind around all of it. Not in my wildest dreams would I have thought anything like this was possible. However, it was, and I soon would face the person who'd murdered me and my baby in a most ruthless manner. Confrontation wasn't probable; it was certain. We could no longer exist under the same roof.

Her audacity floored me. Indeed, she'd plotted to get rid of me again since I first arrived at Oak's Place. My resemblance to the woman she had killed must have stunned her beyond reason. Now that I thought about it, letting me step into the foyer that morning must have been one of the hardest things she ever did. And since Alex knew my name from my call with Zaira about the ad, though Mrs. White tried, thanks to Mr. Vines, she couldn't send me away. Ultimately, she had woven an astonishing, credible story to separate us that would have worked if not for supernatural intervention. I winced at how skillfully she manipulated the situation to simultaneously deceive Alex and me.

I could not help but think how Alex must have felt—a broken man who allowed himself to dream, to love once more, only to have his heart broken again. When Alex had come into my office and saw my tears, along with the pictures in my hands, he'd assumed Mrs. White had told me the truth, that he believed me to be his deceased wife, pushing me to think he was on the brink of madness.

And then there was Mr. Vines, her faithful accomplice. In a way, I felt a twinge of pity for him. He was caught in a pernicious love. Unfortunately, he, the only person who could back my allegations, would die before betraying Mrs. White. The word die nauseated me. She was capable of killing.

"He was always sick, always in pain. Poor fellow. Death was a relief to him." Alex's words about Mrs. White's husband, Frederick, struck me full force. My mind went blank for a few seconds, allowing the new idea to form. Alex had described his illness.

"I've been faithful to you through it all, even Frederick," Mr. Vines said the night I overheard their dreadful conversation at Forti Radici.

"Don't you dare threaten me!" Mrs. White had retorted.

Had Mrs. White murdered her husband? Was she slowly killing Alex the same way? Perhaps with a poison administered in moderation to avoid suspicion? It could be. Since the crash of the stock market, killing by poison had become more common.

Moreover, I knew it was also preferred in England. I just had never imagined it could happen close to me. Although, after my awakening, nothing seemed far-fetched anymore. With this new insight, I threw caution to the wind and floored the pedal once more.

When at last the Buick jerked to a halt in front of Oak's Place, my adrenaline surged. I ran for the shelter of the porch and thankfully found the door unlocked. I burst into the foyer, and the wind gusted through the corridor to where Mrs. White stood with Mr. Vines, both with suitcases in hand.

"You vile woman!" The memory of the snake in the stall hit me, followed by Sunny's desperate thrashing. I dashed at her, consumed with rage. "How dare you lie to me!"

I had seen many expressions on her before, but her current look of terror trumped them all. The time to confront the past had come. And as impossible as it seemed, she must have feared I was indeed the same woman she'd murdered. At the very least, she must be conscious of what she did and the lies she told me.

Reacting on pure instinct, I pushed her with a force that surprised us both. Her head bounced off the wall, and for a moment, her eyes lost focus. She dropped the suitcase, locked eyes with me, and lunged. We struggled back and forth, each movement a calculated motion of attack and defense. And amid the wrestle, my fingers caught her rosary. The string snapped, the black beads splashing onto the floor.

Mrs. White gasped as if I had disassembled her soul instead of the rosary.

"Don't worry. You'll need more than an organized set of prayers to atone for what you've done," I sputtered.

"Restrain her, you fool," she barked at Mr. Vines, who watched with perplexity.

When I glanced at him, she managed to free her arm and clocked me with an open-handed blow. My skin burned, and my head spun, but I was happy to return the favor with even more force.

"Mr. Vines! For goodness' sake! Do something!" she cried.

With one swift movement, he wrapped his spindly arms around my waist, wrenching me away.

"Alex didn't kill his wife. You did! You threw the snake in the stall to scare the horse." I twisted to look at Mr. Vines, seeking an ally. "You know. You were there. You must stand for the truth!"

Shock registered in his eyes, but his loyalty held him bound.

"Enough of this," Mrs. White hissed, regaining control. "You have lost your mind."

"Yes, but unfortunately for you, I have regained it."

"Whatever your delusions are, you are too late. Mr. Sterling is almost dead."

"How can you be so cold-blooded?" I twisted in vain to break free of Mr. Vines. "But I shouldn't be surprised when you killed your husband!" I took a shot in the dark, but I knew I'd hit the mark when I saw the astonishment in her face.

"Don't you speak of Frederick. He has nothing to do with this."

"You killed him, didn't you?" I accused, sensing her weak spot.

"You have no idea the hell I lived in knowing there was no cure for his illness. My heart died a little each time he groaned in pain, each time he cried for help—help that would only come one way."

"Deborah, stop! Don't say anything else," Mr. Vines urged.

"Don't you tell me what to do," she responded. "For the longest of time, my dear Frederick begged me to free him from his misery. ‘It's a noble deed, my dear Debby, what you do for me. I'm sorry I've become so useless. I'm sorry you have to do this,' he would say. So yes, judge me all you want. I poisoned him to end his torture."

"If you understood how terrible it is to lose a spouse, why did you kill m—Alex's wife?" I corrected for the sake of clarity. "Why?"

"The rotten creature had it all and appreciated nothing. General Sterling deserved better. My Frederick always said Alex would be the perfect match for me. For years, I waited. I even convinced him to move to America, hoping he would forget. Then you came along, unearthing the past. You gave me no choice but to finish what I started. You forced my hand."

"You are poisoning Alex. Why? He has done nothing to you." I continued to attempt to free myself of Mr. Vines. I wanted to get to her, but he wouldn't allow it.

"I've given him the best years of my life, yet he doesn't even notice when I enter the room. I suppose I'm not good enough for him, not pretty enough, not young enough, not rich enough! Never enough!"

"You can't force love. It's not his fault. Your obsession consumes you."

"Frederick said the general was the right man for me, and my Frederick was never wrong." She closed her eyes and sighed as if her words were liberating, as if she had waited eons to let them out.

In a heartbeat, I saw what had eluded me all this time. Lunacy. Was it a product of her suffering early in life or of her wicked acts? Perhaps both. Within the inmost parts of my soul, my anger turned to compassion, and I pitied her, this miserable, lamentable soul.

"Florence, what's the matter?" Zaira popped into the corridor, and her gaze swept to Mr. Vines. "What's going on here?"

"Let go of me." I gave one harsh pull and finally broke free. "It's a long story, Zaira."

Like a rat from a sinking ship, Mr. Vines picked up the suitcases. "Come on, Deborah. Let's go."

Never breaking eye contact with me, Mrs. White squared her shoulders and laced her arm with Mr. Vines's. She smiled scornfully. "Of course, you have no proof. And there are things you don't know and will never know."

They walked out the door into the night.

Part of me, the part that would have been happy to get even with Mrs. White and maybe even get in a few more satisfying blows, wanted to charge after her. But a wiser part let her go. Right now, just as she said, I had no evidence of her crimes, and I needed to get to Alex. Sooner or later, in this life or another, possibly both, Mrs. White would face justice. And that knowledge was enough for me.

Zaira locked the door behind them. "Florence, what just happened?"

"I think Mrs. White and Mr. Vines poisoned Alex."

Zaira's eyes widened in horror, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Granny will be here soon with a doctor. Please watch for them."

"You really think they poisoned him?" Zaira choked on the question.

"I'm afraid so." The thought that they might return swirled through my head. "Where is Mr. Snider?"

"He retired to the cottage for the night."

"Go get him. We need him in the house."

"I'm not sure that's possible."

"Why not?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it didn't feel right to divulge Mr. Snider's problems. Considering everything else, I guess it's the right time."

"Quick, please tell me." I had to get to Alex.

"He suffers from severe war trauma. It usually hits him at night, and more often than not, he is heavily intoxicated—it's his way of dealing with it."

"Intoxicated with what?"

"Whiskey, rum, vodka, you name it. He has bottles stashed all over the grounds. That is why Mrs. White fights with him but can't let him go—because Mr. Sterling won't allow it. On the contrary, he's often tried to get Snider the help he needs."

"And that's why his wife left him, isn't it?" I felt for him.

"I'm afraid so. Anyway, I just came from the cottage, and, I'm sorry, but he is legless."

I should have known. The morning I went to the cottage looking for Zaira, I found Mr. Snider hung over. That's why he'd tripped over things and looked so disoriented. "No matter. Bring him to the kitchen and pump him with coffee until it flushes the alcohol out."