3. ~ Unavoidable ~

CHAPTER 3

A gray mist hovered about the streets the next morning as I steered the Buick onto the quiet main street. The newspaper boy waved at me as he pedaled past the car, his bicycle loaded with a stack of papers. A black-and-brown shaggy cat jumped off a store awning and ran up the pavement. Other than the boy and the feline, the day was too young for the usual buzzing of town.

I glanced at my wristwatch and slowed down, not wanting to show up to work too early. However, I couldn't deny that my heart throbbed with anticipation at the idea of another chance encounter with Mr. Sterling. Considering that I hardly knew the man, the desire was unnerving so I brushed it off. When I again looked at the road, I noticed a woman come onto the sidewalk from an alley. The ends of her red hair escaped the scarf wrapped around her head. I pulled to the curb and rolled down the window.

"Zaira. Good morning."

"Oh, good morning." She smiled, but I noticed a nervous twitch in her lips.

"Where are you headed?"

"Uh." She averted her eyes. "I came to . . . buy some lavender tea. See, I can't go a day without it."

"Did you find some?"

"No, the stores are closed."

I checked the time again. "They won't open for another half hour," I noted, but surely, she knew that. So why was she in town at this hour and on foot? "Are you going to wait?"

"Oh no. I ought to get back."

"Would you like a ride?"

"That would be lovely." As Zaira got in, I noticed that the slight tremor in her lips had now extended to her hands. "Please, don't mention this to Mrs. White. The only day I'm supposed to leave the house is my day off."

"Don't worry. I won't." I smiled reassuringly. "Listen, I can come back during lunch and get the tea if you'd like."

"Oh no. It's all right. Chamomile will do until Saturday."

As I pulled away from the curb, I had the distinct impression she wasn't being truthful with me. This wasn't an isolated event. "People in this house have a tendency to vanish when one needs them," Mrs. White had said.

"Unless, of course, Mrs. White does the shopping before that," Zaira further said.

"What about Mr. Sterling? Does he ever come to town?" I couldn't miss this chance to satisfy my curiosity, especially when Mrs. White wasn't within earshot.

"Not if he can help it."

"I know his health is delicate, but leaving the house once in a while might do him some good," I said casually.

"After all he's been through, I reckon socializing is the last thing on his mind."

"What do you mean?" I lingered at a stop sign to stretch our time together.

"Well, from what I know, he once had it all—a happy marriage, a remarkable career, and, of course, money." Zaira might have felt indebted for the ride, for me not reporting her escape, or perhaps just happy to divert the topic from her outing, but she spoke freely. "That changed when his wife passed away in childbirth."

Though I had carefully analyzed his documents, I found no information to confirm his marriage, as if it had been meticulously removed. "Wait, Mr. Sterling has a child?"

"No, the baby died too."

"Oh, that's terrible. Poor Mr. Sterling. I can't imagine what he must have gone through." My heart hurt for him. I understood the yearning to have a family, to feel the security of belonging.

"I know. Mrs. White is convinced his sickness is psychological, a result of his losses. That's why, after his parents' demise, she convinced him to move to America. She hoped his health would improve in a different environment. And it did for a while, but not for long. He saw a handful of physicians, including one here in Geneva, but no one could help him."

"She might be right."

"She might. Death wreaks havoc on one. I lost my brother and three of my cousins to the Great War. It took our family a long while to overcome the gloom and move on with our lives. And we mustn't forget that Mr. Sterling fought in the war too. The poor fellow has had more than his fair share of suffering."

Another idea surfaced. "On the other hand, his body might be terribly ill and damaging his mental and emotional self."

"Hmm, I suppose it could go either way." Zaira removed her scarf and weaved her fingers through her hair as the Buick turned onto Oak's Place property. "Please, Florence, don't repeat our conversation. You know how much Mrs. White disapproves of gossip and speculation. And, truth be told, all I said might be just that. I heard it through the grapevine and years after it happened. I became acquainted with Mr. Sterling just before we came to the States."

I sat at my desk, a mass of inquietudes vying for my attention. Front and center lay Mr. Sterling's tragic story and my growing desire to learn more about him—a desire that continued to baffle me.

My hand trembled as I extracted a folder from the drawer. It contained his release papers from the British Army. I flipped through the papers until I found the image I had already studied several times, the eyes staring into my soul from the depths of the past. Someone had attached a picture of General Alexander Sterling in a uniform decorated with ribbons and medals, his eyes radiating a happiness that had since been lost. I assumed it was taken before the loss of his family. For surely they were the source of his joy.

Resisting the temptation to steal the photograph, I trapped it within the folder and returned it to its place. More times than I cared to admit, I wished I could take it to the monastery, where I could ponder upon it in the solitude of night. Thankfully, I had enough sense to remind myself I was here to do a job. Nothing else.

Raised voices from outside drew me to the slightly open window. Up the path, Mrs. White and Mr. Snider engaged in a heated argument. Mrs. White passionately flung her hands into the air, reinforcing whatever it was she was so upset about. Mr. Snider growled something and walked away. Not ready to end the fight, she took after him.

What in the world caused such enmity between them? I didn't have time to explore the answer, for as soon as they disappeared, my gaze darted to the obscure figure of a man amid the trees. With a gasp, I jerked back and pressed my hand to my heart. The man retreated into the woods and disappeared before I could get a closer look. Did he watch the house? Unlikely. Mrs. White mentioned the adolescents cutting through the woods. Maybe she was right, after all.

I continued to scan the area until my stomach grumbled, yearning for a cup of tea—the perfect fuel to keep me going until supper. Before turning from the window, I looked at the grounds once again. It was eerily still. Just in case, I pulled the window closed, the latch clicking. I then made my way to the kitchen, still bothered by the trespasser's presence.

There, I turned on the faucet, filled the kettle, and placed it on the stove. Where can the tea be? I found two lavender boxes on the shelf in the first cupboard I searched. How is this possible? As far as I knew, Zaira hadn't returned to town, and neither had Mrs. White.

In short order, the kettle hissed. I placed a teabag in a cup and filled the cup with hot water. I moved to the table, watching the steam rise like a ghost leaving its host. The clock near the fireplace ticked a steady rhythm as I savored the drink. Time—keeper of the past, builder of the future, master of our lives. Mr. Vines described it as an illusion, but it felt real to me. Why did I feel I was wasting it and as if something more pressing should be done with my life? If only I knew what that might be.

Zaira emerged from the corridor, raking her hand through her hair.

"Look what I found." I lifted the teabag by the tag and smiled.

She looked at me as if I had said the stupidest thing she'd ever heard.

"It's lavender tea." I raised my eyebrows in question. "You said we were out."

"Oh. Yes . . . yes," she exclaimed. "There were two boxes hidden in the pantry behind the coffee tins. I'm afraid I missed them."

Did the tone in her voice or the improbability that she had indeed missed them tell me she lied? And if so, what had she been doing in town?

"Hmm." My eyes narrowed.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" She swiftly brushed aside the tea dilemma.

Nice? "I wouldn't mind a little sunshine. It's a bit too gloomy for me."

"True, very true," she said as she moved about picking up things and putting them back down absentmindedly.

I got up to add more water to my cup. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you."

I turned from the stove. "What's the matter, Zaira? Why are you moving about like a fire burns unattended somewhere?"

"It's just so strange," she muttered.

"What is?"

"I . . . shouldn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"The thing is . . . I was in the courtyard, and . . ." She rubbed her forehead, revealing exasperation.

"Did you see the trespasser?"

"What trespasser?"

"I saw someone in the woods, but if not that, then you must have heard Mrs. White and Mr. Snider quarreling."

"What?" Her face contorted in confusion. "No, none of that, though you'll have to tell me about it later."

"What, then? Tell me."

"When I came back inside, I walked past your office. The door stood slightly ajar. I thought it strange since you've been keeping it open." Zaira lowered her voice to a whisper. "I peeked through the gap, and there he stood, hovering over your desk, going through your purse."

"Who?" I assumed she spoke of Mr. Vines. With his incomprehensible riddles and slinking steps, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd sneaked into my office. "Mr. Vines?"

"No, for heaven's sake! Not Vines."

"Who, then?"

"Mr. Sterling, He was in your office."

"Mr. Sterling? I thought he lay sick in bed."

Zaira shrugged. "I'm just telling you what I saw."

"I hoped he liked my face powder and lipstick," I joked.

Zaira's eyebrows knitted. She did not find it funny. Neither did I, but it seemed unlikely that Mr. Sterling would do such a thing.

"Did he see you?"

"I don't think so. I retreated as fast as I could, mortified by his actions."

I mulled over the information in my head. No matter how I looked at it, it just didn't add up. Maybe Zaira was just confused, but it didn't seem very likely. Still, I had to double check, "Are you sure it wasn't Mr. Vines? He is tall and lean too, and I left the lights off in my office."

"Be that as it may, I'm not blind. Besides, I saw Mr. Vines changing the car oil on the side of the house before I came inside." Zaira hurried to the kettle. "I suppose I need some tea after all—and an aspirin. I have worked myself into a fit of emotion."

My better judgment begged me to let it be, but I couldn't. I rapped on his door, the sound echoing through the hallway. Where I got the courage to do so I didn't know, but I'd acted impulsively, and now that his voice invited me in, it hit me.

Mrs. White had been clear. "Under no circumstances is he to be disturbed." Too late, it occurred that maybe "the rules" weren't hers but Mr. Sterling's. What would he say when he saw me? What would I say? I couldn't accuse him of rummaging through my handbag. Maybe I should move on and pretend I hadn't knocked. I'd spun on my heels to do just that when the door opened to reveal Mr. Sterling.

"Miss Contini." His forehead creased with curiosity.

"I didn't mean to bother you." I had to tread lightly.

"Come in, please."

I stepped inside and instantly felt the warmth of the bright fire in the hearth.

"How may I help you?" He gestured for me to sit at his desk while he took his place on the opposite side.

"I'm sorry I wasn't in my office when you came looking for me earlier. I thought you might need my assistance."

Before responding, he beheld me for an uncomfortable minute, his eyes burning into mine. "You are mistaken. I have not been to your office."

I took no comfort in knowing I wasn't the only one telling tales, for either Zaira or Mr. Sterling prevaricated. And I couldn't very well argue with him, for I'd only hoped he would realize I'd seen him and tell me the truth or at least make up an excuse for being there. "I must be seeing things," I blurted, instantly regretting it, for I openly questioned his truthfulness. This was his house, and I couldn't prove he had violated my privacy.

"You wouldn't be the only one," he answered disconcertingly.

"Mr. Sterling, I shouldn't have bothered you." I stood. I had to end the discussion before I lost my job. "I'm sorry."

"Are you sorry you're lying or that I wasn't in your office?"

"Excuse me?"

"Considering I didn't visit your office, are you apologizing for lying? Is it an excuse to see me?" His bluntness startled me. A whipping would have been less humiliating.

Even when an excuse to see him hadn't occurred to me, now that he mentioned it, I realized I had jumped at the chance. Yes. I had wanted to see him, speak to him—but now I regretted it. But he would never know. Worse yet, I couldn't implicate Zaira to defend myself.

"So, Miss Contini? Your answer?" he pressed in a soft tone.

"I might be mistaken. Perhaps Mr. Vines visited my office. But I assure you, I'm not lying." I hoped heaven and the host of saints Granny prays to would forgive my lies. My dishonesty since arriving at Oak's Place, I feared, just about matched my honesty for the past twenty years.

"Right, then."

Right, then? Did he believe me? Or was he now sure I lied? I wasn't about to ask. I moved to the door.

"How is your arm?" he asked. "Did it heal all right?"

My arm? That was the last thing on my mind. "It did. Thanks for asking."

He produced a disarming smile, and I felt frustrated to be drawn to him.

At five o'clock that evening, I left Oak's Place, still struggling to shake off thoughts of my encounter with Mr. Sterling. Had Zaira lied? If her trip to town hadn't been related to lavender tea, I suspected she had been deceitful not just this once. On the other hand, if Mr. Sterling rummaged through my purse, he wouldn't simply admit to it. It would be too humiliating, especially when nothing justified the behavior. But then, of course, Zaira could be mistaken, and he had been looking at something other than my handbag.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, certain I missed something important. The chilliness in the air brought my inner discussion to an end. I looked at my white knuckles. I was freezing. I pulled over to retrieve my gloves from my purse only to realize I had left them at work. Going back was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bitter cold felt unbearable, and I would need them tomorrow. I turned around, the wheels of the Buick squealing against the pavement.

I arrived at the house at dusk, planning to retrieve my gloves and leave unnoticed. But upon entering the foyer, I heard raised voices coming from Mr. Sterling's office. Pressed against the wall, I inched down the corridor.

"You don't understand," Mr. Sterling argued.

"Oh yes, I do. You are fooling yourself. Today was close. Way too close," Mrs. White refuted. "You need to move on. Look at you. You're killing yourself."

"I was trying to move on, but it hurts so much. Why does she have to haunt me?" he exclaimed in a broken voice.

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

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

"You play a dangerous game. But if that's what you want, you'll have to tell her the truth."

"I can't do that. She won't understand. I don't understand it myself." Mr. Sterling sounded almost helpless.

The noise of a chair scraping the floor escaped the room, as if someone stood abruptly. My heart hammered against my ribs, warning me that I couldn't be caught eavesdropping. I backed away and tiptoed to my office. I found my gloves and left the house with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Whatever Mr. Sterling and Mrs. White discussed might remain a mystery, but they could never know I'd heard them.

My confrontation with Mr. Sterling now seemed remote, replaced by this latest incident. What truth did they speak of? Most importantly, who haunted him?