Fourteen

A nna gasped when she opened her eyes no longer in a vehicle but in a room. She rubbed her eyes and gave them time to adjust. Dark mahogany enhanced the intended grandeur, and the angled corner fireplace with structured, precise carvings drew immediate attention.

The light tried to find its way in, but the frosted window perfectly aligned with the fireplace, blocked it, and created an eerie shadow. The shadow obscured a life-sized painting of a girl picking spring flowers in a garden. Although bright and cheery, the painting somehow surrendered to the shadows, allowing them to conquer it.

With nothing out of place, the impeccable appointments made her skin crawl.

She reached for the lamp. But the dull bulb caused the shadow to grow.

Dizzy, she slid her feet toward the bedside rug. She stopped to get her balance in a deafening silence that revealed the smallest sound. The wooden floor squeaked, announcing her departure. She winced, rolling her shoulders forward as she reached for the doorknob. She turned it while sliding the door open, then jolted. Martha stood outside.

"I have been waiting for you to wake up." Martha spoke as if it were typical to get into a car and wake up in a house.

"Where am I?" Anna stomped toward her. "What is going on?"

"Come downstairs with me." Softening her tone, Martha hooked a finger around the knot of pearls. "I have much to explain."

That line again? No longer trusting her, Anna glared. "You've been pulling my strings long enough." Wasn't she smarter than this? If so, it was time she started proving it. And yet, when Martha turned, Anna followed her down the hallway toward the stairs overlooking the grand entrance, a gold-toned chandelier dangling above.

As they continued toward the railing, the stairway curved, leading the way down. Pictures hung along the walls, and one caught her eye. It had to be her grandmother. She'd first seen Sabina's picture when she'd gone through her mother's wooden box after her death. Her grandmother, an attractive young woman, had been on her horse, Ruby, with her hair flowing in the wind on a sunny day. Several other pictures and interesting trinkets had remained in the wooden box now in the metal cave at the bank.

"Who is this?" Anna tried to ask without showing any emotion.

"Don't pretend you don't recognize your grandmother."

Anna stopped and made no effort to hide studying it. Her arms crept around her middle, hugging herself as if she could hold in the unsettling feelings. How strange to see this likeness hanging here, in a house she'd never visited or heard of until now. Her grandmother was much younger in the painting than in her mother's photo of her, and the artist captured the same carefree glimmer at a younger age.

Inching closer, she put her hand over her mouth and held back a slight gasp. The object around her grandmother's neck—surely, it was the locket from the envelope.

Did this younger version of her grandmother have any similarities to the woman in the locket? Obviously, that couldn't be her grandmother because of her age, but perhaps there was some family resemblance. Anna wasn't sure. All she could see was the strong resemblance between this painting and her mother. Both women had high arched foreheads and strong cheekbones. Even a little of herself, like the dimple in her left cheek and the long line of her nose, teased her from this portrait. Her eyes burning, she blinked faster and faster.

The next portrait was of an older man. Anna saw a dark cloud and felt an icy breeze swirling around it.

Tugging the pearls back and forth, Martha followed her glance. " That is your great-uncle Atticus."

Anna didn't comment. Her mind was starting to clear, and her questions were not being answered.

"How did I get here? To this house?"

"You must have been exhausted. You fell asleep in the car. I decided the best place for you to rest would be here."

"I don't remember anything after the first few minutes of the drive. No way—I mean, absolutely no possible way—did I sleep that soundly."

"I'm telling you the facts, dear." The endearment grated as Martha played up that sweet, concerned voice again. "You must have been exhausted, and you still haven't eaten. Why don't we get you something to eat?"

Dare she eat a meal Martha prepared? Anna eyed her companion, tapping her forefinger on her lips. What was she worried about? She'd been out cold. Martha could have harmed her already. She was famished, uncertain where she was right now, and needed time to figure things out. She'd play along.

"Yes, I'm hungry."

"Come along, then." Martha reached the final step. Her heels clicked and clacked like a horse on the road as she clogged across the marble floor toward one of the many corridors, leading Anna along.

An aromatic smell of rich French coffee and sweet fresh pastry drifted along the hall. When Anna's stomach rumbled, Martha chuckled. "You are hungry."

The tantalizing smells increased as they approached their destination. Cheery voices chattered, and pots and pans clattered before they entered a pristine kitchen where a sturdy woman directed the others. Her apron displayed signs of today's menu, yet she remained tidy and gave the intended impression of cleanliness and order while the young woman at her right responded to her commands.

Something rattled and clunked in the corner. As Anna turned, a stocky man hurried out the side door. The others had also turned toward the noise and then toward Anna and Martha.

"Can we help you?" the woman in charge asked.

"Bessie, this is Anastasia, our guest. She's hungry, and we're looking for something for her to eat."

Bessie didn't reply to Martha. Was there some animosity between them?

Then Bessie smiled at Anna. "I'll put something together, and we'll serve it in the Ruby Dining Room."

Martha let out a slight gasp, the pearls bouncing as she jerked back a step before she collected herself. "We'll wait in the study."

Bessie kept staring at her. Uncomfortable, Anna ducked her head.

"This way." Martha beckoned, and Anna once again followed.

But docile or not, she'd record every detail about the house in her memory. She may need to leave on her own soon, and she'd best know all her options. The sounds and smells faded, and they entered a room with dark wood. Bookshelves barricaded the walls, and firm brown leather chairs held positions an exact distance apart as if preparing to attack. No pictures or personal items softened the precision, unless that lone brown pillow on the wooden window seat counted. Anna shivered. Even with its expensive furnishings, it felt empty and lifeless.

When Martha eased into the chair closest to the door and smoothed down her teal slacks, Anna whirled toward her, hands on her hips. She wanted answers, but not from books. "I'd like to know why you contacted me."

"I realize you're frustrated. I'll tell you everything soon. It might be better if we wait until after our meal."

Another stall! Anna almost stamped her foot. "I've waited long enough. It's time for some answers."

Martha opened her mouth as though about to make another excuse. Then she closed it and let out a sigh. "What do you know about your mother's family?"

"I don't want to discuss what I know. I want to discuss what you know."

"Understandable, but I need a place to start."

"Start at the beginning as you know it. I'm ready to hear what you have to say."

Martha rubbed her eyebrow. Her left eye was twitching again. "Your great-grandfather Peter was a hardworking man. The oldest of six children, he carried much responsibility growing up. While this affected him throughout his life, he was an honest man, dedicated to his family, though rigid. He expected much—maybe too much, not only from himself. His hard work turned into success. He felt his children should follow in his footsteps of independence and somehow have the same strengths he possessed. As I said, his expectations were unrealistic and demanding."

Anna tried to remember any stories about her great-grandfather. "Mother never spoke of him. She never spoke of any relatives."

"Humph. Well, he had two sons and one daughter—Alexander, Atticus, and Sabina." Martha straightened her blazer sleeve as if waiting for a response. When none came, she continued.

"Alexander died when he was only four. Your great-uncle Atticus and your grandmother grew up together. Though several years apart, they were close until your grandmother met your grandfather. Their disagreement on the relationship caused a rift. Atticus always believed the relationship was her way of rebelling against their father. They didn't speak again, and I heard Atticus changed after their conflict. I didn't know him at the time. I began working for him after Sabina disappeared."

Disappeared. Anna shivered. The one time Mother spoke of her mother, Sabina, what had she said? "Mother loved her horse, Ruby, and often went on long morning rides. One morning, she didn't come home. Later that evening, the horse limped back with her saddle covered in blood and dangling. My mother wasn't with Ruby. Her body was never found."

But Martha was speaking. "I did hear, though not directly from him, that sometime after their fight, Atticus grew a beard and pulled back from society. He became reclusive for years, even though he was still young. When something happened to your grandmother, when she disappeared, Atticus was the first to blame your grandfather."

Anna didn't respond. She was here for answers, not to provide them. But her mother had said much the same thing, hadn't she? "The primary suspect is always the husband, and so it was for my father. Heartbroken, he had to deal with pointing fingers and wagging tongues, along with raising a child alone. It broke him. He became angry. Unkind. Began to drink. Never really recovered."

Anna pivoted toward the door as she smelled something wonderful coming her way.

A young woman carried in a tray. "I hope you're hungry, miss. Cook loaded this up with a variety of sliced moist meats, au gratin potatoes, cut fruit, salad, and an abundance of yum." Chirping away, she bent to slide it onto the table beside Anna, the tray larger than the pedestal table. Then she straightened as she pushed small purple-rimmed glasses higher up her freckled nose.

Behind her, a jolly plump woman brought a coffee carafe, a water pitcher, and petite cakes.

Surely, such nose-tickling foods were safe to eat. Anna breathed it in and filled her plate.

She ate all of her delicious selections, finishing with coffee and the most amazing piece of strawberry pie covered in a sweet glaze. Then she frowned. Martha, sitting there composed in her suit and pearls and coiffured bob, hadn't taken a bite. While devouring the food, Anna managed to forget about her. Now, with a full stomach, it was all back.

Why hadn't Martha eaten?