The Ghost (31 page)

Send word to the garrison, Sarah, if you ever need me. They'll know where I am, or they can send out an Indian scout to find me. It was an offer he made to none, but in her case he meant it, but she thanked him and shook her head.

We'll be fine, she said firmly, and believed it.

And if you're not?

Tour friends will tell you, she smiled, between the soldiers and the Indians, there seem to be few secrets in this part of the world. There was more truth to that than she knew, and he laughed at what she was saying. Considering how remote they were, everyone seemed to know what everyone else was doing. It was no different than Boston, in some ways, though it took longer for news to get around.

I'll come back again this way next month, he said, without waiting for an invitation, to see how you are, and if you need help with the house.

Where will you be until then? His life intrigued her. She could easily imagine him living in the long houses of the Iroquois among his friends, or traveling in their canoes with them, for long distances on the rivers.

I'll be up North, he said simply. And then he said something very odd to her in response to what she had said the night before. You won't be alone here forever, Sarah. It was something he believed as well as felt. But she surprised him with her answer, and the quiet look in her eyes, which confirmed it.

I'm not afraid to be alone, Fran+oois, she said clearly, and meant it. She had accepted that fact of her life for a long time, better that than to be chained to a man like Edward, or another one like him. Even the Indians gave their women the right to leave a brave who abused them. Her supposedly civilized world didn't even do that. I have no fear here, she said with an easy smile, balancing on her beloved rocks while he watched her. At times, she looked almost like a child. And old as she thought she was, to him, she was barely more than a girl, and she looked it. There was still something young and trusting in her eyes, as she looked at him.

What are you afraid of then? he asked, mesmerized by her as she sat down on a smooth, warm rock that had been warmed by the sun all morning.

I was afraid of you, she laughed, terrified in fact ' that was wretched of you, she scolded him now, comfortable enough to tell him how desperately frightened she had been. I fully expected you to kill me.

I was so angry at you, I wanted to shake you, he confessed, ashamed now of the terror he had caused her. All I could think of was what a Mohawk war party would have done, and I wanted to frighten you all the way back to Boston, to save you. But I see now that you're far too stubborn to be influenced by the sensible arguments of an honest man.

Sensible! Honest! She jeered at him. How honest were you, masquerading as an Indian warrior, scaring me to death? That's hardly a sensible argument' if you ask me, now, is it? She was laughing at him by then, and as he sat next to her, splashing his bare feet next to hers, their arms were agonizingly close, but not quite touching. It would have taken nothing to put an arm around her, to pull her close to him and hold her. But even knowing her as little as he did, he sensed the high wall around her, and he wouldn't have dared to approach it. I'll get you back for it one day, she said calmly, I'll put on a terrifying mask, and come and frighten you in your lodge.

I think I'd like that, he said, leaning against the rock, looking at her, as they basked in the warm sun together.

Well, then I'll have to think of something much worse to do to you. But in truth, she couldn't. Having lost a wife and a child, the worst had been done. It didn't matter to him that his marriage would not have been recognized by the court, his native France, or even the settlers. For him, the Iroquois bond that had tied them together was sacred enough to last a lifetime.

You had no children in England, did you? he asked casually, almost sure that she didn't, and thinking that the subject was safe enough. But he was wrong. He saw immediately in her eyes the enormous pain he'd caused, and wished that he could tear out his tongue as he watched her. I'm sorry, Sarah ' I didn't mean ' I thought '

It's all right, she said gently, looking at him, with worlds of wisdom and sorrow in her eyes. All my children either died at birth or were stillborn. Perhaps that's why my husband hated me so much. I failed to provide him with an heir. He has many bastards, all over England, I believe, but I never gave him a legitimate son. Of the six that died, she said in an anguished tone, looking out over the water, three of them were sons.

I'm so sorry, he said softly, barely able to imagine the grief she must have gone dirough.

So was I, she smiled sadly. He was relentless, he wanted an heir at any price, and I think he would have beaten me senseless until I produced one. He got me with child again and again, and even then he beat me, not enough to injure the child, just enough to remind me that I was dirt beneath his feet. I used to think he was quite mad sometimes, and then I thought I was ' I used to sit in church and pray that he would die' . Francois cringed just thinking of it, and then as though to share his grief with her, he told her of Crying Sparrow and their baby, and how much he had loved them. He said he had thought he would the of grief when they were both killed in an Indian raid on their village. He had thought he could never care about anyone else again, but now he was not as sure, although Sarah was very different than anyone he had known. But he was surprised himself how much he cared about Sarah, despite the little he knew of her. He did not say as much to her, but they had each had their private sorrows, they each carried a heavy burden on their heart. It had been a long time for him now, but he could see in Sarah's eyes that her wounds had not yet healed. Her last child had died only a little over a year before, but the pain was not as sharp now as it had once been. She had had such a happy, easy life since she'd come here.

They sat in the sunshine for a while, thinking of the confidences they'd shared and the pain it eased, and she marveled at the fact that the man who had frightened her so much six months before had just become her first real friend since she'd been here. She was almost sorry that he was leaving, and as they walked back to her house in the late afternoon, she asked him if he'd like to stay for another meal, but he said he'd best move on, he still had far to travel. He said he had promised to meet up with his men farther north, but the real reason was he didn't trust himself with her if he stayed close to her for too long. And he knew from talking to her that she was not ready to take anyone into her life yet. If he wanted to be close to her, all he could hope for was her friendship.

She gave him stores of corn bread and ham and bacon to take with him when he left, and he reminded her to buy guns and ammunition. She still had his musket, and he waved as he rode away from her, bare-chested again, his hair flying in the wind, the only thing that set him apart from his adopted brothers was that he would not wear their breechclout, but instead he wore buckskins, and moccasins, and walked on silent feet, just as they did.

She watched him until he left the clearing, and when she went back into the house, something bright caught her eye on the table where they had dined the night before, and when she went to look, it was the bear claw necklace, and the string of bright green beads he'd been wearing the night before at dinner.

And as Charlie put the journal down again, the phone was ringing and he could see from the light that it was late afternoon. He felt disoriented, having just come back from a moment in time distant by two hundred years. He assumed it was probably Gladys. When the phone had been put in he told Gladys and the office in New York his phone number, and of course he faxed Carole, who really had no reason to call him.

But when he answered, he gave a start. She hadn't called him since he left London. And he hadn't called her himself in nearly two weeks. It was Carole, and he couldn't help wondering if she'd come to her senses. Maybe Simon had done something terrible to her, or maybe she finally missed him. But whatever the reason for her call, just listening to her voice seemed delicious to Charlie.

Hi, he said, still lying in bed, as he had been since that morning. He had just put the journal down, and could still envision the green beads Francois had left her on the table. How are you? His voice and his smile were warm as he lay there thinking of Carole.

You sound funny. Are you all right? She worried about him, more than he ever suspected.

I'm fine, he explained. I'm in bed. He had his head on the pillow, and he sounded relaxed. He couldn't help thinking that she'd love the house. He wanted to tell her about it. He had wanted to ever since the first time he'd seen it. But first, he wanted to know why she'd called him.

Don't you do any kind of work anymore? She sounded nervous and she still didn't fully understand what had happened in New York. She still wondered if he'd had some kind of nervous breakdown. It wasn't like him to just walk out on a job and take six months off, and now he was talking about lying around in bed at four o'clock in the afternoon. To Carole, it sounded awful, and highly suspicious.

I Was reading, he said, sounding hurt, but he didn't tell her what. I'm just taking some time for myself, that's all. I haven't done that in years. And after all she'd done to him in the past year, she ought to understand that, but in her busy legal world, it was not the kind of thing that normal, healthy people did. You didn't just walk out on an important job, and spend the next six months in bed, reading.

I'm not sure I understand what's happening to you, Charlie, she said sadly, and he laughed when he answered her. He was in great spirits, now that she had called him.

Neither do I. So what's up, why did you call me? In London, it was nine o'clock at night. It was easy to believe that she had just left the office, or so he thought. Actually, she was still at her desk, but she had told Simon she was going to call him. They were meeting at Annabel's at ten o'clock and she knew he'd ask her about it. Are you okay? She hated hearing what a good mood he was in, she didn't want to spoil it, but she wanted him to know before she told anyone else, and before he heard it from any of their old friends. Word always got around London very quickly.

I'm fine. Charlie, there's no way to tell you this, except straight out' . Simon and I are getting married, in June, after the divorce is final. There was an endless silence, and she closed her eyes and bit her lip. For an eternity, Charlie said nothing. He felt as though he had just been hit in the stomach with a boulder. By now, it was a familiar feeling.

What do you expect me to say? he said, sounding sick suddenly. Beg you not to? Is that why you called? You could have just sent me a letter.

I wouldn't do that to you, and I didn't want you to hear it from someone else. She was crying, telling him was turning out to be much worse than she thought. And although she couldn't hear Charlie, he was crying too, and wishing she hadn't called him.

What difference does it make who I hear it from? And why the hell are you marrying him? He's old enough to be your father for chrissake, and he's just going to dump you like he did all his other wives, Charlie said, fighting for his life now. He Couldn't let her do it. He felt as though he were flying down a hill out of control, and he couldn't stop as he tried to warn her about Simon.

Two of them left him, Carole corrected him, and Charlie made a bitter little sound at his end. He only left the third one.

Great recommendation. What does that make you? Number Four? How charming. Is that what you want? Why don't you just have an affair with him? You already did that, he said, beginning to turn nasty.

And then what? She slammed the ball back at him now. He made her feel terrible, and she didn't have to call him. She had just done it to be nice. What do you expect from me, Charlie? To come back and start all over again where we left off? How would you even know I'm back? Neither of us were ever there, we were just two executives sharing a house and a fax machine. Christ, that wasn't a marriage, do you know how lonely I was? she said, sounding anguished, and listening to her, he felt sick. He had never noticed.

Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say something instead of just going out and fucking someone else, goddammit! How was I supposed to know what was going on in your head, if you never said anything about it?

She was sobbing now, and there were tears running down his cheeks. I'm not sure I knew myself, she said honestly, until it was over. I think we were so busy running away from each other all the time that I stopped feeling after a while. I was just a robot, a machine, a lawyer ' and every now and then, when either of us had time, which wasn't often, I was your wife.

And now? He wasn't just torturing himself, he wanted to know. He needed to know, for himself. Are you happier with him?

Yes, I am, she admitted to Charlie. It's different.We eat dinner together every night, he calls me three or four times a day if we're apart. He wants to know what I'm doing. I don't know what it is, but he makes more time. He makes me make more time. If he goes away, he takes me with him, or he comes with me, if he can, even if he just flies over to Paris or Brussels or Rome or wherever I am, for the night. He was infinitely more attentive.

That's not fair, Charlie said, looking unhappy, you both work for the same firm. I wasn't even as close as Paris for chrissake, at least not all the time. Half the time I was in Hong Kong or Taipei. It was true, but there was more to it than that, arid they both knew it. They had let something between them die, it had just slipped away while they weren't looking.

It wasn't just the trips, Charlie ' you know that. It was everything. We stopped talking to each other ' we never had time to make love ' I was always working and you were always jet-lagged. It was truer than he was ready to admit, and her reference to their absentee sex life only made it worse. He was not enjoying the conversation.

And I suppose a sixty-one-year-old man is going to make love to you every night? What does he have, an implant? Give me a break, Carole.