A Roux of Revenge (10 page)

“You mean if you hired a former love from your past and they were staying in your apartment?” Elias was silent for a moment. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be thrilled, but I do think I’d have a bit more faith in you than you’re showing me right now.”

Lucky hated to admit it, but Elias had a point. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . if Paula were a different person . . .”

“Different
how?”

“There’s something about her that just gives me the willies. I can’t explain it.” Actually, Lucky thought she could probably explain it quite well to anyone but Elias. She recalled the slow smile and the movements that reminded her of a cat preening itself.

“Now you’re being silly.” Elias smiled and leaned down for a kiss.

Lucky turned her face up to him. The kiss, when it came,
felt like a perfunctory action, a necessary chore. It bore no resemblance to the heat and ardor he had shown on her threshold on prior nights.

“This week will be crazy for me. I’ve got to get Paula acclimated to our procedures. I have three patients scheduled for surgery in Lincoln Falls over the next few days, and all the rest of the stuff that goes on in the Clinic, but I’ll give you a call
in a day or so. We can go someplace special for dinner, if you like.”

Lucky nodded. “Sounds great.” She was glad the light from the hallway sconce was dim. She hoped the worried expression on her face didn’t show. “Good night.” Lucky turned away and slipped her key into the lock.

Elias hurried down the stairs and out the front door. Lucky leaned over the banister and watched his retreating
back.
Damn, Paula
, she thought.
You don’t fool me one bit.

Chapter 15

L
UCKY HEARD THE
front door of the apartment slam as Janie left for work the following morning. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow, unwilling to face the day and embarrassed at
her behavior the night before. She felt as if she had carried on the argument with Elias in her sleeping state. She cringed when she reviewed her words to him. As much as she was angry at his comment about her jealousy, she had to admit he was right. She was angry. She was jealous, and no doubt with good reason. She hadn’t misread Paula’s intent that day in his office—the strange woman’s familiarity
with him. Lucky was certain Paula had designs on Elias, a desire to renew their past relationship, for whatever reason. She was certain of it.

It wasn’t that Elias had actually
done
anything unforgiveable. She didn’t believe he had. It was just that in all the time they had been together, he had never even mentioned a prior important relationship. What else hadn’t he mentioned over the past
eight months? She took a deep breath. Her blood pressure was probably rising, and she hadn’t even crawled out of bed. In fairness to Elias, she had never actually
asked
about his love life before they were together. In truth, because she didn’t want to know. She was well aware she had been falling deeply in love over the past months. She wanted to leave the past unspoken. She had had boyfriends
in college and after, and never felt any of her relationships or friendships worth mentioning to him. They simply weren’t important anymore. What was significant was the fact that this striking, educated, urbane woman who had sat so close to Elias in his office the day before had actually been heavily involved with him. And now she would be working with him every day.

Lucky wanted to cry.
She felt a heaviness in her chest. No matter how she covered up her feelings, the fact remained that Elias couldn’t help comparing the two women. And she, Lucky, would definitely be found wanting. She wasn’t sophisticated. Pretty, yes, in a girl-next-door sort of way, but highly educated, no. Involved in the same profession? No. She ran a restaurant. A restaurant in a small town. How could she possibly
compete with the glamorous, accomplished Dr. Paula Sarens?

She knew she had to stop obsessing about the situation with Elias. There were other things to take care of this morning, getting her apartment to herself again for example. As much as she loved Janie and didn’t really mind the fact that Janie was staying with her for a few days, the breach between Janie and her mother needed to be
healed. This couldn’t go on forever. It was time to have a real heart-to-heart with Miriam Leonard.

• • •

M
IRIAM SAT AT
the kitchen table, nervously wringing her hands. Her eyes were rimmed with red. She had obviously been crying on a regular basis. Her face was swollen, and now she was doing her best to maintain some semblance of control. Two cups of coffee were on the table along with
a pitcher of cream and a sugar bowl. Miriam sat, stirring her coffee. She stared into the mocha-colored mixture for several minutes, lost in thought.

“Janie told me,” Lucky spoke.

Miriam looked up quickly. Her hands started to shake.

“In all fairness, I more or less pried it out of her. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I just had to get to the bottom of it. I couldn’t watch her sulk and
carry on needlessly.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Miriam took a shaky breath. “You had every right, Lucky. I’m sure it’s been a burden on you, having her there.”

“No burden. But I wish she’d talk to you. I’m sure it’s breaking your heart.”

Tears sprang to Miriam’s eyes. “You have no idea. I’m sure you’ll think I’m foolish, but I really never thought this day would come. That my
past would come knocking on my door so to speak. She caught me in a vulnerable moment; otherwise, I never would have told her. You see, the other day, I found an envelope in my mailbox. A blank envelope, nothing written on it at all, and inside was a forget-me-not. You know those little blue flowers with the yellow centers. It was from him. He must have left it. Only he would know about that flower.
He knows where I live—where Janie lives. Her father . . .” Miriam hesitated. “Janie’s father has found us and . . . well, he must know that she’s his daughter.” She laughed ruefully. “How could he not? The resemblance is striking.”

“And your husband—Doug? Did he know?”

“Oh, yes. Douglas saved my life. Literally. You see, my family . . .” Miriam looked at Lucky, a frightened look on her
face. “We were travelers . . . gypsies, I guess you’d call us. It’s impossible for you, or anyone like you, to understand.”

Lucky could feel Miriam closing down, guarding her words. “Why do you say that? Someone like me?”

“You . . . you had a home, a real home. A real identity. A birth certificate, a driver’s license, an education, for God’s sake. The way I grew up, none of that was possible.
We lived under the radar. None of us had . . . has . . . a real identity in the outer world. Oh, we knew who our parents were, our brothers and sisters, and we were given names, but that was all.”

Miriam stared out the kitchen window at her garden. Her face had taken on a far-off look. “My name was Morag. We moved constantly. We were always warned to stay away from strangers—people who weren’t
like us—anything to avoid involvement with the outside society, particularly the authorities, border guards, police, school systems. Someone like you, you have a real history, so did your parents. You had ancestors, official records, lives that were lived aboveboard. We had nothing like that. Truly we were second-class citizens or worse—not even citizens.”

“You didn’t know where your family
came from?”

“We knew our ancestors were from Nova Scotia. Originally Scottish. And we always maintained a connection with that place, but we traveled constantly. The men would pick up work wherever they could, and every few years we’d return to Cape Breton. We speak . . .” Miriam caught herself quickly. “They speak Gaelic, our dialect. We would always speak Gaelic when we were with our own
people. But we also spoke English and French—had to in order to survive, especially traveling through Quebec and New England.”

“But if you had no identity papers, how were you able to cross borders?”

“That was nothing. Our people knew all the byways, all the small roads and fire trails. We usually knew which country we were in, but it didn’t matter to us. Countries, nationalities, those
things had no meaning for us.”

“How did you come to leave? Was it not the life you wanted?”

Miriam laughed ruefully. “I never knew there was any other kind of life. There were ‘us,’ and there were ‘the others’ that we must at all costs not become involved with. We were told we’d be taken from our parents; the police would arrest us; we’d be put into homes with strangers. It was drilled
into our heads. Our only safety was in obeying the rules.” Miriam took a sip of her coffee and looked around her kitchen. “This,” she said, indicating the walls of her home, “this was unheard of, unthought of, something that we could never hope for. In truth, something we should not even want. It was a strange, xenophobic mentality. To me, now, it feels as though I was raised in a time period that
would have made sense several centuries ago.”

“And you left that life?” Lucky asked.

Miriam shook her head. “I never intended to. I never knew anything else. We didn’t have books to learn about the outside world. I could speak three languages, but I couldn’t read or write any of them. Can you believe that? How helpless we really were in terms of the real world.” Miriam paused to take a
sip of coffee. She seemed calmer now that she was speaking of her past. “It was a strange world, stranger than you could ever imagine. We . . . we had certain rituals.” Miriam pursed her lips, as though aware she had gone too far.

Lucky’s curiosity was piqued. “Rituals?”

Miriam stared into her coffee. “I never realized until many years later how strange this tradition was.” She paused
for a long moment, lost in thought. “Once a year, at the winter solstice, someone, one of the adults, would be chosen to be the Keeper.”

“The Keeper?” Lucky asked.

“Yes.” Miriam nodded. “The keeper of the secrets. It was considered an honor but it was a terrible burden as well. Every adult in the clan had to confess one secret to the person chosen as the Keeper. Something they had never
told anyone else. Something that they never
would
tell anyone else. And the Keeper could never, upon pain of shunning, reveal those secrets. When I look back on that now, I am horrified. When or how this practice started among us, I don’t know. Perhaps it was invented as a form of confession, a method of chastisement. If someone knew a terrible secret about you, something shameful you had done,
something dishonest, something you had lusted after in your heart, then you’d be forced to admit to yourself you could no longer commit that transgression. I imagine it had the effect of keeping everyone in line. The purpose of everything we did was to keep our clan together.”

“I couldn’t even imagine being put in that position,” Lucky said. “And you’re right. What a terrible burden to bear,
and to never be able to speak of it.”

“I never intended to leave,” Miriam continued. “I fell in love . . . with Eamon. Eamon MacDougal, Janie’s father. And he with me. We were so young, but we loved each other with an intense sureness that only the young can experience when they know nothing of life. We were so certain we would be together.” Miriam took a deep breath. “But it was never to
be.

“Our clan . . . our extended family if you will, was, simply put, a completely patriarchal society.” She looked up quickly. “I don’t mean to say that women were held prisoner, nothing like that. The women supported this structure. What else could they have possibly done? They all grew up like me; they knew no other life.” Miriam sighed deeply. “You see, I had been ‘promised’ to another
man. My father had arranged the marriage. I begged and pleaded with him, but he had made up his mind. He didn’t know about Eamon. It wasn’t easy, but we were able to keep our involvement secret. Although, when I look back on it now, I think my father suspected, and for whatever reason he insisted I must marry another man. I was out of my mind with grief, with rage, and no amount of argument could
change my father’s mind. He was set in his ways. He wasn’t violent, but he was . . . a throwback, you’d consider him.”

“How awful!” Lucky tried to imagine what it would be like to have your life choices irrevocably set by another.

“Yes.” Miriam smiled slowly. “How awful.” She was silent for several minutes. She took another deep breath and continued. “Eamon and I hatched a plan. He was
as determined and rebellious as I. We decided that if our families wouldn’t allow us to be together, we’d run away. We’d leave, and for better or worse, we’d make our way in the world. At least we would be together.” Miriam closed her eyes. “I loved him so very much. He was my life, my future path; I was sure of it.

“When the day came, I slipped away into the woods. We were camped about a
hundred miles north of here. I know that now, but I didn’t at the time. Eamon was to follow. But he never came. I waited at the spot we had agreed upon. I waited for three days. I had taken only water with me. I had no food. And after three days, I was growing weaker.”

“Had he changed his mind?”

“I thought so at the time. I cried bitter, bitter tears. On the last day I finally had to admit
to myself that Eamon would not be joining me. Something had gone wrong. He had lied. Or he had changed his mind. I didn’t know why, but I was devastated. I was starving, half frozen during the night, and terrified as well. Eamon had abandoned me. There was no other explanation. I couldn’t go back. If he didn’t love me, there was nothing left for me. I didn’t want to live any longer and . . .
I’m ashamed to admit this now, but in my delusional state, and I’m sure I was delusional with hunger and grief, I decided to kill myself.