The Widow's Walk (26 page)

Stunned, Garrett leaned back against the sofa then turned to look at Constance. She was trembling noticeably and there were tears in her eyes.

“Do you honestly think we should do this?” he asked her. “It sounds crazy to me.”

Constance wiped her eyes.

“What part of all this has ever seemed sane?” she answered. “The only thing that I know for sure is that I believe Brooke. Even so, this is not something that I can ask of you. You should not be forced to risk your life, simply because you and I somehow found each other across time.”

“But if I don't do it, then you will die, and I will become as trapped by all this as you are now,” he said. “Plus, our episodes are coming faster and faster, and although I can only speak for myself, I simply can't live like this anymore.”

“This is a decision the two of you should make in private,” Brooke said. “I cannot tell you what to do. I can only state what is in these two books, and how you must proceed if you wish to try breaking free of the
mora mortis
.”

“So that's it?” Garrett asked. “You have told us all that you can?”

“Yes, Garrett,” Brooke answered. “I'm afraid so. If you are looking for more, I can't give it to you. All the two of you can do now is to decide whether you want to go through with it. I know the decision is horribly difficult, but you have no more need of me.”

When Garrett stood from the couch, Constance followed suit. They were clearly upset, but at least now they had their answers. Garrett turned and looked back into Brooke's eyes.

“Thank you,” he said to her. “I have no way of guessing what will happen, but without you, we would never have known how to go forward. I'm afraid that neither Constance nor I are any good at this sort of thing.”

Brooke gave them a short smile.

“One should never criticize oneself,” she said, “when there are always so many other people willing to do it for you.”

Despite the ominous news, Garrett couldn't help but return her smile.

“Before you two go, I have a request of you,” Brooke said.

“Anything,” Garret answered.

“I would ask that should one or both of you survive, please return here and tell me. In the short time that I have known you, I've come to like you both very much.”

“Of course,” Garrett answered. “And Constance thanks you, as well.”

With that, Brooke escorted them back upstairs. It had begun raining again, each falling drop seeming to impart a sense of fresh gloom over everything. Someone, Garrett noticed, had wisely closed all the French doors. While Constance and Garrett watched, Brooke again situated herself behind her massive desk.

“I have something I want to give to the two of you,” she said, “and I will tolerate no argument in this.”

She reached for two things and scribbled down a few lines on each with a fountain pen. When she was done she blew the ink dry, inserted them into a vellum envelope, and sealed it. She then handed the envelope to Garrett.

“That is not to be opened until you are off the grounds,” she said sternly. “Agreed?”

“Very well,” Garrett answered.

Brooke then took up a piece of blank stationery and her fountain pen.

“Take these from me, would you please?” she asked. “I would very much appreciate having your particulars, should I need them later. Your phone number, e-mail address, things like that . . .”

“Certainly,” Garrett answered as he stood up from his chair and took the items from her. After completing his task, he handed the items back to Brooke.

“Thank you,” Brooke answered.

She then pressed a button mounted to her desktop, and in short order William reappeared.

“Please escort Dr. Richmond back to his car, would you, William?” she asked.

“Of course, madam,” he answered.

“Thank you again,” Garrett said to Brooke. “Meeting you has been an honor.”

“And I feel the same about you,” she answered. “
Bonne chance,
Garrett.”

A
BOUT AN HOUR LATER
, Garrett took an opportunity to pull over to the side of the road.

“Why do you stop?” Constance asked him.

Garrett removed Brooke's vellum envelope from his blazer.

“I have to know what this is,” he answered. “I can't wait any longer.”

“Would you care to hazard a guess?”

“I think it's her last instructions to us, perhaps something that she hadn't the heart to tell us in person. If so, it could be bad.”

After staring at the envelope for a few moments, at last Garrett opened it. The first piece of paper read simply:
To help with whatever trials lay up ahead . . .

The second article was a handwritten check on Brooke's personal account that read:
Payable to Mr. Garrett Richmond in the Amount of: $100,000.

Chapter 27

Three weeks had passed since the fateful day of their meeting with Brooke Wentworth. Because Garrett knew he would do a poor job of teaching his seminar, he asked the college administration if someone could take over for him, and they agreed. The closing on his condo took place, and he was now living full-time at Seaside with Constance. It was a Spartan existence with him sleeping on the couch in the dining room, and Constance in the master bedroom. Jay's crew had finished renovating Seaside's exterior and had begun working on the inside. Yet hanging over their heads was the decision of trying to free Constance from the
mora mortis
. They had discussed it often over the course of the last three weeks, each time without agreement.

Constance did not want Garrett to risk his life for her, even if it meant her possible freedom. Garrett had countered by saying that if nothing were done and Brooke Wentworth was right, then he would become destined for the same sort of imprisonment that she was now suffering, anyway. But most importantly, if no action were taken, then Constance would literally begin to fade away until there was nothing left of her. And to their great concern that process had already begun.

Ten days prior, while they were sitting on the dining room sofa and talking about their problems, the light from the fireplace danced across Constance's face, and for the first time Garrett noticed a strange sort of translucence there. No difference could be seen in her clothing, but anywhere her skin was exposed he saw the same frightening phenomenon. It seemed that Constance had begun dying for real, and it was happening before his very eyes.

Wanting to be sure, he put off telling her. But to his horror, with each passing day he saw her form grow paler. When at last he broached the subject, Constance erupted into tears. She had been aware but hadn't wished to discuss it because she did not want to upset him further. And now, some three weeks since their fateful meeting with Brooke Wentworth, they were again sitting on the dining room sofa, trying to agree upon the right course of action.

Garrett picked up the bottle of red wine sitting on the cocktail table, and he poured some for himself. After taking a measured sip he put the glass down and looked into Constance's eyes.

“We simply must try and free you,” he said gently. “Surely you see that! At first I thought Brooke was crazy. But so far, everything she told us has come true. She knew all about the flashbacks, she realized that you were feeling ill, and she also predicted that if no action was taken to free you from the
mora mortis
that you would begin to fade away. I can't lose you Constance . . . I just can't.”

His eyes becoming tearful, Garrett took a moment to dry them. Constance was dying a little more each day, and he could easily see her deterioration. Because he loved her so much, he would do anything to try and save her. But as Brooke had said, neither of them could do this alone. In order to succeed, his love for Constance must be strong enough to survive the ordeal, and her trust in his love for her must be equally resolute, lest they both perish in the attempt. But anything, Garrett reasoned, was better than the alternatives that Brooke had described.

“I simply cannot do it,” Constance said. “I know that it means I will soon die,” she added. “Even so, I cannot let you risk your life that way, no matter how much you love me.”

Garrett stared at her longingly. He respected her emotions, but at the same time he had become utterly convinced that she was wrong. And watching her suffer a slow death for his sake was something that he just could not bear.

As he looked into her eyes, he again felt all his love for her come roiling to the surface, and with it also burgeoned the same overpowering sexual need for her that he had experienced so many times before. But this time, he chose not to fight it. This time he decided to follow his heart and see where it took him. He impetuously took her into his arms, and he kissed her.

To his surprise, she did not ask him to stop. Instead, he felt her body rise and her lips part to meet his, their tongues entwining in a passionate, purposeful kiss. As his ardor for her increased, Garrett ran his hands through her hair and he rather harshly pulled her closer. Breathing heavily, Constance briefly removed her lips from his and whispered the single word: “
More . . .”

Suddenly both Garrett and Constance began to lose consciousness, their hearts, minds, and souls slipping away to another place and time. Knowing full well what was happening, before passing out fully Garrett did his best to help cushion Constance's fall.

W
HEN
G
ARRETT AWAKENED
, as in one of his previous flashbacks, he again found himself in Seaside's master bedroom. Also like before, the room was completely furnished with Constance's antebellum furniture. Whale oil lamps, again telling Garrett that he had once more gone back in time, supplied the light. Night had fallen, and several of the windows were open, indicating a seasonable time of year. When he looked more carefully about the room, he finally saw Constance. She was sitting up in bed, reading a book.

Moments later, Adam entered the room, carrying a tea tray. There was a pot of tea, two cups, some napkins, and what appeared to be a small selection of fruit. As Adam set the tray down on one of the nightstands, Constance smiled.

“And what have we here?” she asked.

Adam began pouring her a cup of tea.

“A late-night snack,” he answered. “Truth be told, this was Eli's idea.”

Just as Constance began taking her first sip of tea, there came an urgent pounding on the bedroom door.

“Who's there?” Adam asked.

“It's Emily!” a voice shouted from the other side. “You've just got to open up!”

Adam opened the door to find Emily Jackson standing there. She had a horribly distraught look on her face. She wore a nightgown, and in one trembling hand she held a lit whale oil lantern. Adam cast his gaze up and down the hallway and quickly ascertained that she was alone.

“Emily?” Adam asked. “What's wrong?”

“It's Missy Charleston!” Emily shouted. “Her baby's coming and it's a breech! Miss Constance just has to come, cap'n! She's the only one who knows what to do!”

“Constance!” Adam shouted.

Constance was already out of bed. Still wearing her nightgown, she quickly donned her robe and a pair of slippers. Wasting no time, Adam and Constance left the room and hurriedly followed Emily down the hall. After some initial hesitation, Garrett chased after them.

The moon was full and the grass was laden with cold dew as they rushed toward the barn. At first Garrett couldn't imagine why the barn was dark until he remembered that the cellar was an Underground Railroad station, and lighting the lamps would be far too risky. On entering the barn, Adam swung the trapdoor open, and the four of them went down the stairs. During this entire time, neither Adam nor Constance seemed to realize that Garrett was there with them.

The scene belowground was grim. The main chamber, lit with whale oil lamps, was full of slaves crowded around one of the cots. Atop the cot lay a screaming woman, her husband by her side and holding her hand. The woman, covered with perspiration, was naked from the waist down with her legs splayed wide. Blood and embryonic fluid covered the bottom half of the cot and had also soaked part of the ground beneath it. From one of his earliest conversations with Constance, Garrett now remembered her telling him that she had been a midwife, but at the time he had never guessed that he might actually see her talents put to use.

Constance immediately ran to the stricken woman's side and took her hand.

“Missy,” she said loudly. “Your time has come, and I am here for you.”

Constance reached down and pressed her palms atop the woman's swollen abdomen, trying to confirm whether the child was in fact a breech. As she did, Missy screamed manically again.

Standing back from the stricken woman, Constance wiped her forehead with the back of one hand.

“Is it—?”

“Yes,” Constance whispered, answering her husband. “Emily was correct—Missy's child is a breech. And if the baby is not delivered properly, they both might die.”

Constance returned to Missy's side and looked down at her. The terrible pain and fear Missy was experiencing had conspired to produce so tortured an expression on her face that Constance could hardly bear it. Then Missy screamed again, her cries resonating through the subterranean chambers.

“Missy,” Constance said to her calmly, “I have to try and turn the baby now. The pain will be terrible but this must be done before I can deliver your child, otherwise it will be born with the cord around its neck, strangling it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Constance,” Missy answered. Her pain was now so all-encompassing that she could barely get the words out. “Just save my baby . . . save my baby . . .”

Bending down, Constance lovingly ran one palm over Missy's forehead.