Against a Brightening Sky (11 page)

Closing my eyes was easier than seeing his face. I braced myself against the side of the truck as it lurched around mountain curves and gears slipped on steep inclines, reciting to myself all the little things I wanted to remember to tell Mama and Papa when I saw them.

I would see them again. I had to believe for the wish to come true.

The light was rose colored with dawn when the truck stopped. Men shouted, giving orders and instructions on where to park, to get the gate closed as soon as the truck passed through. The air was colder and I guessed we'd moved higher into the mountains, farther from cities and people who might know us.

New guards, strangers, untied the door flap and began grabbing satchels. The man who'd guarded us all night eyed us, fingers flexing on his rifle and licking his lips. My sisters and I sat still, waiting for the order to climb down.

A new face appeared in the opening, an officer, younger than the man who'd watched us all night. He touched his cap in greeting and nodded. “Don't just sit there, Private. Get out and help them down.”

The man who reeked of fish and cabbage didn't move. I wouldn't look away from him. If he meant to shoot me, he'd do it while looking into my eyes.

“Did you hear me?” The young officer scowled. He smacked the old man on the back of the head, hard. “Get out. Now!”

Our jailer clambered out of the truck, muttering curses, and stalked away. The officer watched him go, clearly angry. He waved to the group of guards who'd taken our bags. “You and you, help the ladies down and take them to their rooms. The rest of you carry their bags.”

The men helping us down had pistols in their belts, not rifles, but I'd grown used to guards with guns. My sisters followed the men carrying our belongings into the house, into our new prison. I looked back before going inside to see the officer watching. He touched his cap again and smiled. I turned away quickly, heart pounding and tears burning my eyes.

His kindness was a trick to make us trust him. I couldn't allow myself hope or to think we might have a friend here.

The hurt would be all the worse when hope was yanked away.

*   *   *

The parlor clock's chimes woke me at midnight. I bolted out of bed, running down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of water. Washing the taste of fish and gasoline out of my mouth was all I could think of. I'd be sick otherwise.

Moonlight spilled into the kitchen over the top of the shutters, allowing me light to see. My hand shook while filling a glass from the tap, but I managed to rinse the taste from my mouth without dropping anything. I filled the glass again and sat at the table, thinking and trying to make sense of it all.

I'd had this dream before, seen these faces. The difference was that this time I'd remembered each detail, clear and vivid. Not knowing their names, or who these four sisters were, didn't make the echoes of their fear any less real. The one thing I knew without question was that these young women were dead in some far-off land. Ghosts.

All the strange and unexplained things in my life came back to ghosts and what they wanted from me.

Gabe still slept when I got back into bed, quiet and at peace. More than anything, I wanted to tell him about what I'd seen, to have him help me puzzle out what it meant, but I couldn't be selfish enough to wake him. Morning would be soon enough. In the morning I'd tell Dora as well.

I turned away, staring out into the darkened room. The princess ghost watched me from the dressing table mirror, her image crisp and bright in the dim light. Looking into her eyes, I knew that what I'd dreamed was true, a memory of something real.

The princess knew too. I drifted off to sleep, wishing she could tell me everything.

 

CHAPTER 6

Delia

I rang Dora's house early the next morning, knowing she'd probably still be sleeping, and spoke with Randy. He promised to give a message to Dora and readily agreed to pick Gabe up on the way to the station.

Stiff and sore to the point of hobbling, Gabe still insisted on going in to work. Nothing I said managed to change his mind. He was as stubborn as Isadora maintained and twice as obstinate, so I soon gave up trying. But if I couldn't convince Gabe to stay home, I wasn't above recruiting others to watch over him for me. I'd feel easier about his going if Randy or Marshall were with him. Sam would take over sometime in the afternoon and bring Gabe home for supper.

The truth was that I understood his need not to let the case grow cold. Even a day away from the investigation would let memories turn vague, leads grow faint or vanish completely. Gabe didn't need to say that finding the people responsible for the riot and massacre at Lotta's fountain ate at him. I knew my husband well. He wouldn't rest until he found them.

Neither would I. Too many oddities, arcane and rooted in the world of the living, revolved around events in the square. My hope was that solving one puzzle might be the key to unlocking them all.

Once Gabe and Randy left, I washed dishes and tidied the house. The princess ghost shadowed me from room to room, her image reflected in every windowpane and mirror, each shiny white tile around the tub, and every piece of cutlery in my kitchen. Seeing the ghost's face peering up from the surface of my tea was an odd experience, but I drank lemon-laced chamomile down in any case. She wasn't really there.

My cat, Mai, followed me as well, batting at the princess and trying to pry her loose from wherever she appeared. Mai soon grew bored with hunting a ghost she couldn't catch and gave up. She stalked back to the bedroom with her tail held high, the picture of wounded pride.

One ghost made me think of the others. I'd recounted my dream of the four sisters to Gabe, but he'd no better guess of what the nightmare meant than I did. Now all I could think of was the unfamiliar style of the house they were taken to, the clothes these young women wore, or the scent of snow riding the wind as they climbed out of the truck. Ghosts came to me for reasons of their own. Clues as to what these four wanted from me lurked in the images I remembered.

Gabe had his mystery to solve and I had mine. The idea that the two were related in some strange way wouldn't leave me alone but going over what I knew failed to turn up a connection. I couldn't help thinking Gabe's might be the easier task.

Shortly before noon, the front bell rang. Dora swept in the instant I opened the door, already tugging off her black driving gloves and stuffing them into her handbag. Her roadster was parked at the curb. The dress under her fur coat had black silk full skirts, a white lace collar, and pearls scattered over the white silk bodice. Her clothes were far too stylish and elegant for tea in my kitchen. My call had disrupted her plans.

She shrugged out of her full-length beaver coat and passed it to me. “Forgive me for not being here sooner, Dee. I thought I'd given Randy sufficient instruction on when to wake me and under what circumstance. And yet he persists in believing that waking me before ten is dangerous. I haven't the faintest notion where that idea came from.”

I hung her coat on the hall tree, all the while struggling to keep a straight face. “Perhaps the time you threw a bedside lamp at him left an impression.”

Dora waved a hand dismissively, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Randy overreacts to my moods. All that aside, he still should have told me you'd called right away, not waited to ring me from the station. I was already dressed and leaving to meet an acquaintance of Sadie's downtown for lunch. Melba something or other.”

I led the way to the kitchen, aware that Dora kept an eye on the princess as we walked. The ghost kept pace, her reflection shimmering in and out of view on vases and picture frames. I suspected she was eavesdropping on our conversation. “Melba Andersen? I'm sure I read something about her heading up the local ladies' temperance union. I don't picture a teetotaler as your ideal lunch companion.”

“Nor do I.” Dora's nose crinkled up. “She wants to hire me. Apparently Melba needs me to perform an exorcism.”

I stopped just inside the kitchen door and stared, not at all sure I'd heard right. “You can't be serious. Melba attended one of Katherine Fitzgerald's charity functions a few weeks ago. Sadie dragged me along for company. Melba decided to begin holding forth about the evils of spiritualism over the soup. She didn't conclude until well after dessert.”

“I'm completely serious. From what Sadie said during our phone call, Melba is quite earnest and very frightened. I'm taking this seriously as well, at least until I have all the facts.” Dora took her customary place at the table, retrieving a cigarette case and matches from her handbag. “I rescheduled our meeting for half past two so I could come see you. Why don't you fix us some tea?”

I did as Isadora asked and refilled the teapot with hot water from the kettle, gathered clean teacups, applesauce muffins, saucers, and a dish of sugar cubes, and set them on the table. Dora stirred sugar and lemon into her tea, but her whiskey flask wasn't anywhere in sight. That she drank less was another sign of Randy's influence and that she was happy with him, something I was thankful to see.

The princess ghost watched us from the window above the sink, a vantage point that gave her full view of the kitchen. Her image filled the entire window, partly veiled by lace curtains and sunbeams. She appeared bright eyed and eager, as if she'd waited for Dora's arrival and for me to tell about my dream.

Perhaps she had been waiting. I glanced at the ghost before sitting across from Dora and pouring tea for myself. Not for the first time, I pondered what role the princess played in the events of the last few days. That she'd saved my life, as well as the lives of Libby, Sadie, and the children, outside the jewelry store was clear. But that was all I knew, that she'd wanted me alive.

I shook off my concerns about the ghost and plunged into telling Dora about the dream. Holding off the fear was easier in the light of day. I let Dora's bright blue eyes be the anchor that held me here, in my own life, and kept me from drifting into another. It wasn't me shut into the back of a truck between my sisters, or marched into a strange house, unsure if I'd live to see another morning. Looking into Isadora's eyes, I could remember that life belonged to a stranger.

Dora sipped tea and, other than a raised brow, refrained from comment. Once I'd finished, she stared into her teacup, swirling sodden black leaves so that they clung to white china in delicate patterns. She set the cup aside and looked me in the eye. “You never heard names, never caught a glimpse of the fourth sister's face?”

I shook my head. “No, no names. I only saw the women sitting on either side, and for the life of me, Dora, I can't remember what they looked like. I never saw me … who I was.”

“I thought that might be the case.” She turned to watch the princess in the window, long lacquered nails tapping a staccato rhythm on the tablecloth. “Even minor royalty generates the kind of hate and secrecy you described, especially in time of war. The temptation is to say your new ghost is the fourth sister, but that isn't possible. She's formed from old memories, and no matter how strangely she behaves, that fact remains unchanged. We've established those memories can't be yours or mine. There's someone else involved, a person we're not aware of yet. That person is still very much alive or the ghost would vanish.”

“Maybe that's why she came. To make me aware so I can find the person who remembers her.” I picked apart a muffin, mounding the crumbs on a saucer. What disturbed me was the very real possibility I might already have found that person. The pain that might cause Dora if the ghost was somehow related to her friend Sunny didn't bear thinking about. “And don't bother to lecture me on assigning benign motives to the dead. I do know better. If the princess wasn't such an unusual spirit, I wouldn't be thinking along those lines.”

Dora beamed at me fondly. “I've spent four years teaching you to think on your own and follow your instincts. Far be it from me to scold when you do.” She patted my hand before pouring more tea for both of us. “Besides, I don't lecture, I advise. But if it's any comfort, in this case, I think you're right. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the ghost and your dream all arise from the memories of the same person.”

“The fourth sister.” I studied the princess ghost, struck by how her appearance had altered in a few short days. When I'd first seen her, she'd been stiffly posed to the point of being wooden, with almost no expression at all. Now her face was animated, her eyes bright and aware. I gestured toward the window. “I think I'd remember seeing the princess, but I don't. I can't say if she was part of the dream or not.”

“She may never have visited that house or ridden in that truck.” Dora sat back and cradled her teacup in both hands, her expression troubled. “You need to keep in mind that this is how someone close to the princess remembered her, an old memory that likely hails from a happier time. There's no pain or sorrow associated with the way the ghost looks, at least none I can detect. She's dressed very formally, maybe for a portrait or an official function. I keep thinking I should recognize the court style of her clothing, but I've been away almost twelve years. I've forgotten more than I thought.”

“Knowing what court she was part of would make it easier to discover her identity.” My tea had grown cold. I crossed the room and poured the dregs into the sink. Leaning against the drain board put the princess behind me. I'd grown used to her watching, but not having her looming in the background made it easier to think. “And please don't take this as me being flip, but I'd assume a limit to the number of princesses in Europe.”

Dora retrieved a cigarette from her case, lighting it and dragging smoke deep into her lungs before answering. She kept staring at the ghost behind me. I saw the same faraway, troubled look in Isadora's eyes she'd had while watching Alina.