6. ~ A New Beginning ~

CHAPTER 6

Winter's grip loosened as February ended. I watched the woods through my office window, the east sun melting the last traces of snow. However, no signs of new life appeared. The tree branches remained bare, the gardens colorless. A shadow rose behind me, and shivers crawled up my spine. I swiveled, afraid to find a ghost there, but instead, I saw the eyes that haunted my dreams.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Mr. Sterling said promptly.

"I . . . didn't know you were back." I couldn't help but notice he looked younger, healthier.

"Late last night." There ensued a moment of silence in which our eyes didn't meet. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yes, thank you. How was your trip?"

"Interesting."

He inched closer, and our gazes locked. His eyes showed a deep tenderness, and I suddenly felt as if I had slipped into one of my dreams. Escaping the moment's intensity, I said the first thing that came to mind. "I have the list you wanted."

"The list?"

"For the renovation."

"Oh yes."

I moved to the desk and handed it to him. "These are, in my opinion, basic but much-needed improvements."

Mr. Sterling dropped the paper onto the desk without looking at it. He then took my hand and pulled back my sleeve to reveal my bracelet. His finger traced the engravings on it. "Florence Contini . . ." He drew closer and whispered, "If I told you this bracelet was why I went to England, what would you say?"

His closeness, his touch, made my head spin. Who was this man who made me forget I had a brain?

"I would ask you why."

He lifted my hand and pressed it to his heart. "All I can tell you is that my heart is beating again, thanks to your bracelet."

"What do you know about it? Please tell me." My words broke the spell. He released my hand and stepped back.

"Forgive me. I don't know what I was thinking." He retrieved the list. "I'll look over this." He walked out, leaving me happy at his return yet confused by his interest in my bracelet. Nothing had changed. I was slowly getting accustomed to the mysteries at Oak's Place.

I sat on one of the benches scattered throughout the garden, contemplating some of the things I had written on the list I gave Mr. Sterling.

Reface the exterior of the house.

Repaint the interior in light colors.

Replace windows.

Resurface fireplaces.

He hadn't gotten back to me, and I feared he might not like the suggestions. Were they too drastic? Too much change? I lifted my face to the weak sunshine. Before me rose the statue of the lady and child. I marveled at the details. Since my conversation with Zaira, I suspected the statue reminded Mr. Sterling of his late wife and child. Were they the specters who haunted his life? The newspaper in his office suggested that greed might have been the reason for his wedding. Was there something more significant than grief behind their loss?

Like a flash of lightning in the night, Mrs. White's prayer shot through my head. "O merciful God, take pity on those souls who have no friends and intercessors to recommend them to Thee, who, either through the negligence of those who are alive or through the length of time, are forgotten by their friends and by all. Spare them, O Lord." Could she have been praying for the late Mrs. Sterling? And if so, why would Mrs. Sterling have had no friends?

Footsteps approached me from behind on the garden path. I straightened on the bench and waited.

"Of course, I'd find you here with the lady." Mr. Vines gestured to the statue.

"It's an impressive piece."

"Remarkable indeed. The lady who traveled all the way from England. She neither slumbers nor lets others rest." His cunning gaze descended on me.

"Does the lady have a name?" I ventured.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe it." A self-satisfied smile filled his face.

"Try me. You might be surprised."

"Some names, Miss Contini, are buried deep in another time from whence they can't escape, yet now and then, they are heard and felt, loud and clear."

"Hmm . . . a mystery, then?"

"One developing right in front of our eyes."

Surely, he mocked me. "If what you say is true, I'm bound to solve the mystery, right?"

Like the flip of a switch, his countenance changed, and his scornful mood passed. "Let me ask you something."

"Certainly." I got to my feet.

"Are you afraid of snakes?"

"Snakes?" What an odd question.

"Yes, snakes."

I'd occasionally encountered them in the monastery gardens but never cared for them. "No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"No reason at all. Have you seen one around here?"

"No."

"If you come out often, you will. They like to bask in the sun on the pavers."

"I will remember that," I responded with confidence. His disturbing riddles upset me, but I wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing that.

Mrs. White hurried in our direction.

"I leave you in good hands." Mr. Vines started back toward the house, whistling softly.

"There you are. Only you would be out in the cold," she hissed.

"It's not bad."

She extended the list of renovations to me. "Mr. Sterling approved the project. He added a few things and would like to start right away."

"I'll see to it." I kept my excitement hidden beneath a mask of calm. "Thank you."

With the current economy, finding people to work on the renovations proved a swift process. Mr. Sterling approved a construction company from Yates County, and the transformation of Oak's Place began. As one perk of the workers' presence, the house staff's quarreling diminished considerably. And curiously, even the trespasser seemed to have taken a break from the woods.

I came to the house earlier than usual to clear my office for the painters. My arms heavy with books, I made my way to the dining room, from whence came the most mesmerizing music I'd ever heard.

Mrs. White hovered near the fireplace, observing Mr. Sterling at the piano. He played a soulful melody that made my heart ache. I placed the books on the table and joined the housekeeper. Her countenance was unstable. I thought she would cry, but instead of tears, I saw anger in her eyes.

"It's been almost twenty years since he played," she muttered and left the room.

Mr. Sterling stopped playing, and without turning to look at me, asked, "Did you recognize the melody?"

"I didn't."

"Hmm. I thought you would."

"Should I have?"

"Most people do. It's Beethoven." He left the piano. "What do you think of the paint?"

"It's perfect." The cream color highlighted by the sunshine coming through the new window conveyed a peaceful, welcoming feeling.

"I hope these changes help you feel more comfortable."

"I think everyone will enjoy them." I was flattered that he cared.

"It's difficult to believe it's the same house. It looks so different."

"It feels different." I hesitated for a moment. "Do you agree?"

"Indeed. It feels like a blank page full of possibility." His fingers brushed my cheek, and my heart hammered against my rib cage. Did he have more than the renovation in mind? "You had a bit of paint there."

"Oh, thank you. It's from the front door. I didn't realize it was wet."

He grew closer and touched my face again.

"I ought to finish clearing my office." I turned and hurried away, my sense of exhilaration mirroring the butterflies in my stomach.