A Season of Miracles (28 page)

Robert looked up at Jillian, then at Connie. He placed the book on the desk and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head, stretching his legs out under the desk.

He smiled at Connie. “Milo said to tell you that you weren't necessarily the maid.”

“What?” Connie gasped.

“Milo talks to him,” Jillian murmured. “In dreams.”

“He's here now,” Robert said, still watching Connie.

“Oh, really? And how does Milo know?” she demanded.

Robert shrugged. “He says that he was Justin.”

“Oh, sure. Milo was the loyal, trustworthy Justin, honest and brave. You were the great warrior, and Jillian was the lady. And now you're telling me that I didn't even get to be the maid?”

“Souls stay the same, so the belief goes. We're not all necessarily the same sex when we return. If you believe in that kind of thing,” Robert told her intently.

“So who was I?” Connie demanded. “The wicked Sir Walter?”

Robert shook his head. “Connie, how on earth would I know? It's just a book. And I'm half crazy. I see ghosts, for Christ's sake.”

Connie frowned, backing toward the door. “What did I ever do to you?” she whispered to Robert. “I encouraged her to love you,” she said, looking as if she were about to burst into tears.

“Maybe you did,” he told her, rising, following her. Jillian watched him with astonishment and dismay. “But you
are
up to something,” he said to Connie softly.

Connie looked as if she were ready to flee. She bit her lower lip, backing away. “Well, she married you, right? The dynasty is created.” She stared at Jillian. “Does this mean you're firing me now? Oh, and what about my husband? Is he out, too? After all, he works for Daniel, and there's bound to be a power struggle.”

“Connie, stop it,” Jillian protested. “Robert and I aren't taking over the company. Douglas is alive and well, and Daniel excels at his job. What is the matter with you?”

Connie suddenly burst into tears and fled.

Jillian glared at Robert, who didn't even seem to notice. He was just watching Connie's departure speculatively, eyes narrowed.

 

When it was time for bed that night, Jillian managed to get upstairs early, far ahead of Robert, and lock the door against him. She couldn't believe what he was doing.

Attacking her family.

And now her best friend.

She lay in her bed and whispered aloud softly, “Milo, help me. I'm the one who needs it.”

But if Milo was there, he remained silent.

That night, she dreamed again about the burning. Fire all around her. A blaze, leaping up. Flames licking her flesh…

She screamed so loudly that she woke the whole house, and when Robert burst through her locked door to grab her and shake her, she was so terrified that she fell into his arms sobbing.

“Jillian needs a vacation,” Theo whispered softly as they left her doorway.

Only Douglas remained, watching the two of them.

Robert straightened, holding her protectively to his chest, smoothing her hair. “It's all right, sir,” he said stiffly. “We flew to Vegas. We're married.”

“I should have suspected” was all Douglas said, then he turned and walked away.

It was late Saturday morning before Jillian was able to get to sleep again.

J
illian was working, intent on the gold taking shape in her hands, and she was content.

Then Connie burst into her office.

“What is it?” Jillian asked.

“I
almost
had an affair with him.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

Connie swallowed, smoothing out a wrinkle that didn't exist in her skirt. Her wide blue eyes fell on Jillian again. “Daniel,” she whispered.

“Joe
works
for Daniel.”

Connie nodded, swallowing again. “I know, and I love my husband. He's fiercely loyal to Daniel, too. He was watchful when Robert first came. I think he hated Robert at first, because he thought he was here to oust Daniel.”

“Connie,” Jillian asked carefully, “what about the ‘almost' affair?”

“We met for drinks a few times and discussed an affair.”

“But you didn't…”

“I saw him a few times. We talked. We had drinks. We almost…”

“But you didn't?” Jillian repeated.

Connie shook her head.

“Does Joe know any of this?”

Connie shook her head vehemently. “I know you think I should tell him, but the point is, nothing happened. And if I tell him…”

“He'll accost Daniel, he'll want to quit, he'll want you to quit.”

Connie nodded. “And it's over. Really over.”

“Why are you telling me?” Jillian asked.

“You're my best friend,” Connie said softly. “We're supposed to share.”

“Ah,” Jillian murmured a little skeptically.

“And because Robert is watching me. He's suspicious, and I don't see why he's so suspicious of me. The one you need to watch is Griff.”

“Why Griff?”

“He's always talking about marrying you, which of course he can't do now, since you're already married. You see, Griff isn't Daniel. Griff would have to marry you to get the kind of power Daniel has.” Connie sighed. “You won't tell him, will you?”

“Joe? I'd never tell your husband a thing like that, Connie. Anyway, I think you're right. Nothing happened, let's just leave it alone.”

“Watch Griff,” Connie warned her.

“I will,” Jillian promised solemnly.

Connie left the office, Jillian staring after her. She could watch Griff. She could watch everyone. But as much as she watched, she didn't seem to be able to
see
anything.

She hadn't had the dream again since she left the house in Connecticut. Robert had moved half his things into Douglas's house, and he was with her every night. The new ad campaign was in full swing, and sales were skyrocketing. She was delighted, since the company was turning over a percentage to the charities of her choice.

The entire city was decked out for Christmas, and she could feel that she was really doing something for the children who needed help. Those with cancer, with AIDS, with other diseases, or with just bad luck in life. Orphans, children with debilitating injuries…

On top of that, she adored Robert more every day.

But she was still watching.

And worse,
he
was still watching.

 

Their days had been going smoothly. So smoothly—so busily—that Robert had almost begun to believe he had imagined the danger that had haunted them. Maybe the cat
had
eaten a rat. Maybe a branch
had
just fallen and a saddle girth had just worn through.

And maybe he had only imagined the ghost of Jillian's late husband.

Connie was still angry with him; he could tell every time he saw her. And he still didn't know what she was hiding.

He had to be vigilant still. There were undercurrents still humming through the offices. Douglas and Daniel continued to be at odds with one another. They kept their differences to Douglas's office, but Robert could sense the tension.

The office emptied out early that day. The executives of Llewellyn Enterprises were due on the ice at Rockefeller Center, where they were treating a group of underprivileged children to skating, dinner and a Broadway show. Jillian had gone over hours ago with Daniel.

Dealing with a major cable company had kept Robert at his desk later than he had intended. In the middle of his call, he realized he was missing one of the contracts he needed. Apologizing to the VP on the other end, he left his office, wishing he hadn't let his temp go for the day.

No one was around. Swearing, he hurried along the hall to Daniel's office, calling out to him. Daniel had apparently left, and Gracie was gone, as well.

Swearing some more, he looked through the papers on Gracie's desk. Nothing. He went into Daniel's office and opened his top drawer, hoping that the pertinent information would be in plain sight.

He froze where he stood.

A box of rat poison was shoved into the rear of the drawer, half hidden by a sheaf of papers.

 

Rockefeller Center was fabulous, Jillian thought. The night was beautiful, crisp and cold, and the famous tree was huge, and lit in all its usual glory. She, Eileen and Daniel were already on skates, greeting the kids as they arrived. They ranged in age from five to fifteen, and their excitement at the night out, their pure pleasure in putting on skates and sliding across the ice, was a humbling experience.

“Look at that little girl,” Eileen whispered to Jillian. “Isn't she the cutest little thing you've ever seen?”

Surprised—Eileen didn't tend to be the warm and cuddly type—Jillian looked past her cousin to see the child to whom Eileen was referring. She was young, tiny, with golden ringlets and huge blue eyes. She looked a little lost, just standing on the ice, waiting.

“She's adorable,” Jillian said.

“I'll bet she can't skate,” Eileen told her.

“The big ones are usually around to help the little ones.”

“Why don't you go help her?” Eileen suggested.

“I can, but if you think she's so cute…”

“I'm not good with children the way you are. You go help her. I'll watch.”

Jillian stared at Eileen in exasperation. “You don't know if you're good with them or not, you hardly ever talk to them!” But there was a single tear forming on the little girl's cheek, as Jillian skated over to her. “Hi. Want to try taking my hand?”

The child looked up as Jillian stretched out a hand. The little girl took it, and they started around the ice. Jillian talked, pointing out the tree, the decorations, shop windows across the street. The girl was very small, so it was easy to catch her and help her along any time she started to slip. Still, though she smiled at Jillian, she never spoke.

Later Jillian passed the little girl to one of the older boys, who was steady on his skates. She helped some of the bigger children, especially one chubby little boy who was having problems in front of his friends. “Relax,” she whispered. “Take both my hands and we'll cross over. We'll look great, I promise.” She winked. He flushed, but he paid attention, following her every lead. After a while she heard the other boys calling out to him with a note of envy in their voices. Pleased, she left him with a little girl who had been trying to do the same easy glide.

She skated over to the edge, heading off the ice to take a seat beside Sister Catherine, one of the nuns in charge of the orphans. Sister Catherine was young, very pretty and popular with the children—and with adults, as well. Eileen had been sitting there, watching the action, chatting with the sister. Jillian gasped, smiling. “I can't believe it. I'm out of air.”

“This is a wonderful thing you're doing,” Sister Catherine told them. “Not to sound jaded or anything, but most corporations simply give money to charity. They get tax breaks for it and, often, more than the value of the donation in free publicity. Not that I mind that—I don't care what it takes to get help for the children. But you Llewellyns all come out here yourselves. Time is far more precious than money.”

Eileen laughed softly. “Remember how I used to hate this when we were kids? I always thought that the orphans would be dirty or something.”

“Ah, but you were a big history buff, and you always got through it by pretending that we were the medieval nobility, washing the feet of the poor on holy days,” Jillian reminded her, smiling.

“I was such a brat,” Eileen admitted. She pointed out over the ice. “There's Theo. Showing off.”

“And Daniel, looking like a pro.”

“Gracie's on the ice—look!” Eileen said. “She's really good. I never saw her out there before. She can really skate.”

“Maybe she's moving fast because it's so cold,” Jillian mused, winking at Sister Catherine.

Sister Catherine laughed back. “The air
is
cold tonight, but the children never mind that. They enjoy this so much. The Christmas season is so special for children.”

“And for Jillian. She never grew up,” Eileen teased.

“Well, you've heard this before, but Christmas is for the child in all of us. And naturally it's one of the biggest events in the year to me,” the nun said, smiling.

The little blond girl Eileen had commented on earlier, her smile almost as big as the Christmas tree, came skating toward them, wobbling only slightly. She gave Sister Catherine a beatific smile, beaming with pride.

“Jenny, you're doing so well. You're skating,” Sister Catherine said and applauded.

Jenny nodded, then looked shyly from Sister Catherine to Jillian. She struggled for a minute, then said a soft, barely whispered “Thank you.”

“Sweetheart, you're welcome.”

As Jenny skated off, Jillian realized that Sister Catherine was staring at her. “What?” she said, touching her face. “Did my nose grow?”

“No. No, there's nothing wrong with you at all. It's just that…I've never heard Jenny talk before. Her parents died traumatically just a year ago, and she was left screaming for help, which came too late. I believe that's the first time she's spoken since then. It's a miracle.”

“It's great, but I don't think it qualifies as a miracle,” Jillian said.

“Isn't a miracle when the unbelievable happens—not when a little girl with nothing really wrong with her decides to talk again?” Eileen asked skeptically.

“I believe in miracles big and small,” Sister Catherine said, grinning. “I accept them in all sizes, and I just say, ‘Thank you, Lord.' This was a little miracle. And do you know why I get lots of little miracles?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm willing to let them happen.”

“Jilly needs a miracle,” Eileen said casually.

“Eileen…” Jillian murmured.

“Why? Maybe I can help,” Sister Catherine said, looking at Jillian curiously.

“She keeps dreaming about fires and burning up,” Eileen said. “And then she screams.”

“I haven't had the dream in a while,” Jillian murmured.

“Were you ever in a fire?”

“No,” she said, then thought about the book and Morwenna's horrible death. “Not in this lifetime,” she added lightly.

“Well, they say dreams mean something,” Sister Catherine said.

“Maybe she sees her family as tendrils of flame, lapping at her soul and sanity,” Eileen intoned dramatically.

Sister Catherine grinned. “Dreams are usually a nighttime reflection of the daytime world. Remember being a child and telling Santa what you wanted for Christmas?”

“Sure,” Jillian said.

“Now,” Sister Catherine told her, “since we're a bit too big for Santa, what you do is this—you just look up, find the brightest star and say, ‘Merry Christmas, Jesus. Happy Birthday. This year, please, for Christmas, I'd very much like to stop dreaming about fire.”

“I like it,” Eileen said. “And you can add, ‘Please, protect me from the bogeyman.'”

“I've got it,” Jillian said out loud. “Dear Father, please, for Christmas, no more nightmares, and protect me from all evil.” She added silently.
And please, please, please, don't let the bogeyman be someone in my own family.

“You know,” Sister Catherine said, turning her gaze upward, “
He
can give better than any department store Santa.”

“I'll remember that,” Jillian said. Then she jumped up. “Look at the time. It will be a miracle if we make the play.”

“Trust me, we'll be there on time,” Sister Catherine said calmly.

“And how do you know that?” Eileen asked.

“I told you, I get all my little miracles. I just believe that they'll happen.”