Breath of Dawn, The (38 page)

He searched her face for sincerity, for the loyalty he’d taken for granted until envy made her as sharp as vinegar. “All right, Hannah. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Relief washed over him, but when he opened the door, the minister was there.

“A word, Markham.”

“Sir?” His heart rushed with such violence he swayed. Had they found the old man? He gripped the doorframe.

“Please come out and close the door. I don’t want Hannah to hear.”

They couldn’t have connected him. No way he’d been seen. He stepped out and closed the door.

Thomas Reilly spoke softly but firmly. “Markham, I can’t allow you to take Hannah.”

He stared, baffled. “But . . . you . . .”

“I’ve given my blessing, yes. But she is too innocent to grasp the temptations involved in this situation. If you intend to take her with you now, I’ll perform the ceremony before you leave this house.”

“She wants a wedding, Thomas.”

“When you’ve resolved matters with Quinn, we’ll have a reception. The congregation will see we’re all united. Until then, you can leave my daughter or take her with you as your wife. There are no other options.”

This was the man who’d built his own following, whose judgment they trusted. Utterly. He’d thought him weak, but it was the opposite. He wasn’t getting Hannah past him. Markham bowed his head. “It’ll be my honor.” The pain worked in behind his eyeballs before he thought to unclench his jaw.

A
t the grocery mart, Erin purchased meat and bread and produce for a few meals, unsure how much they would need. She’d bought one-way tickets so she and RaeAnne could individually return home whenever they each needed to. She was sure Rick and Noelle wouldn’t mind RaeAnne using the cabin if she stayed longer. Forty years was a lot of catching up. Four years would be a lot—if that ever happened.

Climbing into the rental car, she imagined her mom and Hannah, making plans, dreaming dreams. Hannah’s wedding would be a special event for the whole church, and if Markham was the groom, blessed by her father, their shepherd, then someone else must be responsible for the collapse of their miracle. She blinked the tears and shrugged. Hannah wouldn’t have made her a bridesmaid anyway.

She dried her eyes with her sleeve and drove to Rudy’s store. She parked and went in, remembering all too well her dash inside with Markham on her trail. Rudy looked up from the stool behind the counter and grinned. “Hi, Quinn. I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

“Only for a day or two. I had to say hi and thank you for last time.”

“You sort of did.” He touched his cheek.

She smiled. Morgan’s eyes had smoked a little when he asked about that kiss. “You haven’t seen Markham lately, have you?”

“He was hanging around the Boar for a while, asking about the Maserati when your sister thought it was yours.”

She frowned. “How did Hannah know about the Maserati?”

“She saw it getting towed. Had a fit about the dent like something bad happened to you.”

Erin groaned. “I’m trying to forget that dent.”

“It’s not that bad. Back quarter panel.”

“A couple grand, you think?”

He blinked. “I’m no expert.”

Meaning way worse. She covered her face.

“Hey!” Rudy rose from his stool. “You’re married.”

“Oh.” Her ring glittered in the clear winter sunlight as she lowered her hand. “We’re trying not to let Markham find out.”

“Who’s we?” He searched her face. “You and Morgan?”

She nodded.

“I thought you’d just met.”

“Uh-huh.”

He pulled a slow, goofy grin. “Another Morgan legend.”

“No, please. You can’t tell anyone. Not until we figure out this other thing.”

“Don’t worry.” Rudy raised his hands. “I’ll just laugh about it myself, sitting by the fire and toasting you two.” He looked at her hand again. “But if that’s the case, you better take off the ring.”

“Markham’s not here now.”

“Well, people talk. That bling could be seen from space.”

A laugh caught her. “Did you say bling?”

“Hey, I read magazines. What do you think I do in here all day?”

All laughter aside, she hated to remove the ring that meant so much more than the first time she’d slipped it off with hardly a thought. But she put it in her pocket and said, “I’m glad you know, Rudy. And thanks for keeping the secret.”

“So where’s Morgan?”

“He’s in New York.” Another pang of apprehension caught her. She needed to know what was happening. “I’m here with Vera’s daughter, RaeAnne.”

He frowned. “You sure it’s okay?”

“I know Markham’s somewhere else right now. But I guess if you see him, I could use a heads-up.”

“I don’t have your number.”

When he pulled out a thick, old flip phone, she told him her new number. Likewise, she keyed Rudy’s number into the new smartphone Morgan had given her, assigning a speed dial. If she needed to call Rudy, it might be in a hurry.

He smiled ruefully. “I’d have asked for this under other circumstances, if it were anyone but Morgan making moves Thanksgiving night.”

“Making moves?”

“He’s so smooth, you didn’t even know.”

Morgan claimed he fell in love before she served the pie. And he’d conveyed that to Rudy. How had she missed it? And then she realized—Livie ran interference.

Her gaze fell to the fishing flies. “Do you tie these?”

“Sure.”

“They’re excellent. My Pops ties his own flies. I always thought they were too pretty to hang on the end of a line for a fish to swallow.”

“They don’t actually swallow it if you set the hook right.”

“I know, but it’s still been in that fishy mouth and all drenched and drowned in river water.”

“Sounds like you fish.”

“Not for a while.” She couldn’t help the wistful tone that came with thoughts of Pops. If Markham married into the family, would she ever go home?

“Ever ice fished?”

She shook herself back to the conversation. “No.”

“Want to?”

“Well . . .”

“I’m going out in the morning. You haven’t fished until you’ve fished on a frozen silver mountain lake.”

She looked up at Rudy. “What time are you going?”

“Meet here about six thirty. Be on the lake for sunrise. It’s a ways off the beaten track.”

“That sounds wonderful.” It was not part of the plan, but RaeAnne and her dad would want time without her around. And who better than Rudy to be with? “Yes. I will.”

His broad smile spread. “Great.”

“Well, I guess I better get back to RaeAnne. See you in the morning.”

“See you, Quinn.” Being called that by him and RaeAnne jangled a little, but also felt right. She’d been Quinn here. She’d been Quinn everywhere she wasn’t Morgan’s wife.

When she got back to Ray’s condo, RaeAnne joined her in the kitchen to make sandwiches for supper.

“Quinn, it’s like an ocean of stories I’m trying to pour into a thimble.”

“You don’t have to learn everything now. You have your dad. You can make time together, talk on the phone, write e-mails.”

“He doesn’t have a computer.”

“Letters, then. Old-fashioned letters.”

RaeAnne could hardly keep the smile from her face. “He said I look like Mom, but I feel like there’s some of him too.”

“Of course. And have you noticed Vera named you after him? Ray, RaeAnne.”

RaeAnne pressed her fingers to her lips. “She did, didn’t she.”

Watching the truth unfold for the daughter who’d made presents for a dad she’d never seen, felt as good as anything could. “How does he seem—you know, mentally?”

“He takes some meds, but nowadays who doesn’t?”

“Would he mind if I ask him about the cellar?”

“No. I told him you found Vera’s journal down there and started me looking for him. He’s not self-conscious.”

They brought the sandwiches into the other room. Ray had turned on the TV to the America Movie Classics channel but kept the sound off. He smiled when they returned.

“You know what your mom loved?” he said. “Silent movies. The old pitted, jerky silent movies. We’d put them on here and laugh and laugh.” His eyes got misty. “I miss her.”

Erin said, “How did she end up living in that house, Ray? The one built on the asylum cellar.”

He shrugged. “Just a fluke, I guess. It was selling cheap, and she wanted to be up here.”

“But did she know . . . ? You know . . . about . . .”

“Sure she did. I told her. But she was Vera.”

“And there wasn’t any reason she . . . wouldn’t want to? Be there, I mean?”

He stayed quiet awhile, then rested his hands on his knees and rubbed slowly. “I wouldn’t go there. That’s why she always came here.”

Erin gave it a second, then said, “Because . . .”

He studied her. “Not great memories for one thing.”

“Were you there at the end? When it burned?”

He looked down at his large but somehow delicate hands. “You’d think they would have known. With so much else, they should have known.”

“Known what?”

He stood up and searched the couch for the remote, then set it on the arm and sat down again. He looked at her. He blinked. “RaeAnne said you felt the bad stuff.”

Her chest quivered. “I felt something in the cellar, maybe heard something.”

He nodded. “Then I guess it’s still happening. I hoped it got burned up with . . . Brandy.”

RaeAnne sat perfectly still. Erin felt a dread, but couldn’t stop wanting to know. It wasn’t morbid curiosity; it was the same compulsion that made her seek answers from the professor. It seemed important for reasons she couldn’t explain.

“Ray, what happened to Brandy?”

After six hours of weepy Hannah, Markham wanted to run off the road. The simple rite had not been the wedding she’d imagined. No matter how many times he told her they could do it over, she kept coming back to the same refrain. “But we’re married. It won’t be the same.”

“Listen to me, Hannah. Do you know what a wife does?”

“Of course. Love and cherish and obey.”

The simplicity of her words made him wish anything in life was that basic. “Those were the vows, but do you know the physical responsibilities?”

She flushed scarlet. “Of course I do.” Her lip quivered.

He spoke softly. “If you stop crying, we’ll wait for that until you have the ceremony you want.”

Hannah blinked wet eyes and gulped. “You would do that?”

He would do anything to shut her up. “It’s right and good for us to be joined, but to soothe your tender heart, yes. It’ll be as if we’re not married until you have your special wedding.” Why was that so easy to promise? Because he didn’t want her, or because something bigger was taking place in his mind?

“Oh, Markham.”

“But I’m serious, Hannah. You’ll stop crying, you’ll stop whining, and unless I address you, you’ll stop talking. Understand?”

“Yes, Markham,” she answered in tremulous tones. Then silence.

Oh, the peace. He hadn’t really intended to marry her. At least he didn’t think so. He didn’t care what words the minister spoke. He’d played the role as he had so many others. Gwen cried. Hannah cried. Thomas looked stern, yet proud. Maybe in a small part somewhere inside, he felt gratified. Their delusion had no end.

Or did they see something he hadn’t fully grasped? Maybe it wasn’t a con. Maybe somewhere in the process, what he pretended became true. What was the line between faith and illusion? He had done little more than the Reverend Thomas Reilly to form the thoughts and behavior of his flock. While the divinity credentials of Pastor Markham Wilder were phony, wasn’t it possible the calling was true?

It would explain his flawless performance, the fervent response. When he called on God, God appeared. The visions, the prophetic words were God’s own. Was it possible that if Quinn hadn’t interfered, the miracle would have come?

And maybe, with her elimination, it still could. He imagined leading Hannah back into the church, the minister at his side, the hush of the confused and wounded crowd. He saw himself raising
his arms and calling out to heaven and the money Quinn stole multiplying in baskets until they overflowed.

The roar of the crowd. The holy ecstasy. Wasn’t it possible—if only Quinn was brought low. He saw her being dragged in and cast down to the floor. He had forgiven, but the others cried for blood.
She must pay for her sin. Like the woman caught in adultery. Stone her. Strike her.

He gripped the wheel. No. He couldn’t desire such violence. Not anymore. Not ever again. He had exacted his final retribution. And yet there must be a reckoning. Quinn must repay not only what was Caesar’s but likewise what was God’s. She must acknowledge him, and beg
his
forgiveness. Now, that was a vision to contemplate.

Soon they’d be in Juniper Falls. He considered the plan he’d formulated before his awakening and found it sound as far as it went. The first order had to be recovering the funds, and then, of course, the multiplication. With Hannah as bait, he could lure Quinn anywhere. But he liked the symmetry of bringing her back to the place he’d found her, the place she’d eluded and embarrassed him. This time he would have complete control.

They entered the sleepy winter town where he and Hannah would stay in the house Morgan Spencer bought for Quinn. Again the symmetry. He and his wife in place of Morgan and his. Pure and chaste Hannah and her prophet. A pregnant harlot and the worldly mogul. A white queen and a black queen, and a knight to defend each.

He took the road to the ranch and once again turned into the narrow drive. Quinn might have fled without living there, but the house was hers, he was sure. When he checked back with Lydia, there was still no name attached to the title. Spencer had hidden the sale the same as all his properties. For Quinn, his wife and the mother of his “babe.”

Another flash of anger caught him. Four years he’d been imprisoned and demeaned because of Quinn’s interference. He wanted her to know that suffering, to suffer it herself. He didn’t have years, but he could make each day seem like a year. It would be purification. He formed a deep, satisfied sigh.