Whisper Falls (39 page)

“I'm glad you like it.” She nodded against my chest. “Did I hear you speaking to someone?”

“My grandmother.”

“Were you using a phone?”

“I was.” I leaned back to gaze at her. “We'll spend the night at my grandparents's house.”

Susanna stiffened, then wiggled free of my arms and walked to the windows.

“What will they think of me?”

I came to stand next to her, anxious to smooth away the tension from her expression. “They'll think you're beautiful and wise. It won't matter to them where you're from.”

“But how will you explain how different I am?”

“I don't think I'll have to. We have these things in this century called cults. They're often run by people with unusual views on religion, and they sometimes kidnap children and treat them badly. My grandparents think that's what happened to you. They'll blame the cult for anything you do that they don't understand.” It would get more complicated later, but Gran and Granddad would be manageable for the next few days.

“Are your grandparents rich like you?”

“They do fine. They have a house on a lake in Chatham County. It's deep in the woods. They can't even see the houses of their neighbors. It might be more comfortable for you.”

She gulped. “Do they know Alexis?”

“Yes.” I linked my fingers through hers and was glad to feel her grip my hand tightly. “Don't worry about Alexis. No one in my family liked her.”

She was breathing hard, not looking the least bit reassured. “This sucks.”

I choked down a laugh; she was already picking up some of our words—correctly, too. “Why does it suck?”

“I stopped going to school when I was ten. I have so many scars. I know nothing about how your world works. And I—”

“Stop, Susanna, please,” I interrupted. “You sacrificed your future for your sister. You loved a bunch of little kids whose father beat you viciously. And you never gave in. You're the best person I've ever known. My family will adore you.”

She scrunched her face as if in pain and looked away from me. “When will we leave?”

“In a few minutes, after I change your bandages again—and after you've had something to eat.”

“How will we get there, and how long will it take?” Her voice shook.

“We'll go in my truck, which is like a fancy carriage, only it's a lot bigger. And enclosed. And it doesn't have horses, but it does go fast. We'll be there in less than an hour.”

She nodded but didn't say anything.

“We'll do this at your pace, however you like. You're going to be fine. I promise.”

She met my gaze, pale and calm. “I'm ready.”

Mark's truck had nothing in common with a carriage except that they both moved people. On the outside, this machine was big, black, and noisy. After Mark lifted me inside, he strapped me to a slippery seat with a belt that nearly choked the breath from my body.

Worst of all, his truck moved at a frightening speed. I made an attempt to watch at the beginning of the trip. But as other vehicles moved past us at even greater speeds, I found it best to keep my eyes shut for the remainder of the trip. I pressed a hand to my roiling stomach and prayed that I would not be sick in his fine, horseless carriage.

“We're here,” he said.

I shook off the apprehension of the last hour and looked around me. We sat in a small clearing in the woods. A house made of logs rested between us and the glimmer of a lake. A garden with tall cornstalks and vines heavy with vegetables flourished to one side, while flowers crowded into any spot around the yard where a beam of sunshine might stray.

This place didn't feel nearly so foreign.

He left the vehicle and walked around to lift me down. I couldn't hide a wince as my aching legs took my weight. My whole body felt battered and bruised.

A door slammed nearby. An elderly man and woman waited on a wooden porch with no roof.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, his hands warm at my waist.

“Yes.” I sucked in a relieved breath, glad that the rushing ride had ended.

“Don't worry about how to say or do things. You'll be fine, and I'll be right beside you.”

“Okay.” I tried to smile at him. I wasn't sure if I succeeded.

He linked his fingers with mine and led me to his grandparents. When I sought to tug my hand away, he wouldn't release me. Were such signs of affection no longer private?

“Hello, Susanna,” the elderly woman said. She had the same amber eyes as Mark and a sweet, welcoming smile. “I'm Norah, and this is my husband, Charlie.”

The elderly man bobbed his head once.

“Hello.” I would have to use their Christian names for now, since they'd given me no last name to use. How very familiar. “It is nice to meet you.”

“We're glad to meet you, too. Come inside, dear.”

The front room took up half of the house and had no ceiling, but extended straight to the beams of the roof. I marveled at this room that soared two stories high—unusual and majestic.

There was a stone fireplace, and a wooden floor waxed to a lustrous shine. Rugs in bright colors lay scattered about. They had two large sofas and several chairs in pleasant shades of brown. The furniture looked more comfortable than elegant, a choice that I applauded.

“Mark,” his grandmother said, “can you tell me about Susanna's ankles?”

I looked around to find the other three staring at my feet. How odd that I had forgotten them. The pain had not left me. It had merely lessened. Yet there was so much to see in this new place that my mind had been occupied otherwise.

Mark sighed. “You need to take a look at them, Gran, to check for…stuff.”

“What happened?” Norah asked, her gaze shifting from her grandson to me.

How much of the truth should I share? When I looked to Mark for guidance, he gave me an encouraging nod.

“My master shackled me three weeks ago. He was afraid that I would escape.” I couldn't stop a tiny smile of satisfaction that his fear had come true.

Her eyes widened, but she did not comment further. Instead, she gestured for me to follow her. “All right, dear, let me show you the most important part of the house. The bathroom.”

I trailed after Norah down a short hall. She stopped halfway to push open a door.

“Would you like to have a moment of privacy, dear?”

“Yes, please.”

There were things in this room that needed explanation, things that Mark had not explained at his house and I had been too dazed to ask about. At one end stood an empty closet with a glass door and no shelves. Beside the toilet sat a fat spool of white paper. Lined up on the counter were two bottles with spigots on top. Would it be better to discuss these things with Norah or Mark?

Probably Mark. The answers might be embarrassing to discuss with a man, but there might be some things even a “cult girl” should know.

When I finished relieving myself, I opened the door to find Norah in the hallway waiting for me. Behind her on the wall was another lifelike painting. A photograph. It held two little girls, the older with short blonde curls, the younger with long hair of a rich, dark red. They both had amber eyes. I paused in admiration.

“May I ask who they are?”

Norah nodded. “My daughters.” She pointed to the blonde one. “That's Sherri, Mark's mother. And the other is my other daughter, Pamela.” She turned to me, a sad curve to her lips. “She died five years ago.”

“Does this reminder not pain you?”

“Forgetting her would pain me more.” She inclined her head. “Did you leave a lot of loved ones behind?”

“Yes, ma'am.” The kindness in her voice nearly undid me. “My mother and sister are still there. And several children I tended.”

“Do you worry for their safety?”

I shook my head. “They live in better circumstances than I did.”

“Maybe you'll see them again someday.”

The ache of unsaid good-byes rippled through me. “I do not think it likely.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, pulling me into her embrace, “you've done a courageous thing today. Let yourself grieve. Don't be surprised if you're sad and confused for a very long time.”

I rested against her, weary, without tears. Could the sadness ever completely fade? Perhaps not. But it was so lovely to have her understanding.

“Well, now. Are you ready to return to the living room? I want to see what Mark did to take care of your ankles.”

Mark and his grandfather were talking, sitting across from one another on sofas. They stopped when we arrived. I perched beside Mark and waited, unsure what to do, while Norah knelt at my feet.

He whispered into my ear, “It's fine to relax. She loves fussing over people.”

While his grandmother exclaimed over my wounds, I reclined into the sofa, my body sinking into the soft cushions.

Charlie stared at me from beneath beetled brows. “Mark's been telling me about your ordeal, Susanna. I'm sorry I couldn't have beaten up the bastard alongside him.”

Norah looked over her shoulder. “Charlie, really.”

I turned toward him, fighting the urge to smile—and yawn. “I am grateful for the sentiment.”

He grunted. “This is a beautiful place we have here on the lake. Stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Charlie stood. “Mark, I could use you down at the dock.” He gestured toward the door.

Moments later, I saw them walk past the windows on the side of the house and disappear in the direction of the lake.

“Susanna, I'll re-dress your ankles, but I'm going to give you something to ease the pain a little.” She patted me on the knee and then disappeared from view. I didn't move, the desire to drowse too strong.

I dutifully took the pill she offered and then observed, through half-closed eyelids, Norah carefully removing the bandages and applying fresh medicine. Eventually, I allowed my attention to drift.

It was all so peculiar. When I had awakened this morning, I had been bound by chains. My thoughts had been fixed on this day, the children I loved, the sister I missed, and the numerous chores that stood between me and returning to my straw pallet. I had refused to think of the future and the unfathomable event that would require Joan Hinton to replace me. Only a few hours later, I had lost both the chains and my loved ones.

A new future stretched before me, yet I could not compel my mind to think on it. There was too much to learn, too much to see, too much to feel. The enormity of what lay ahead pressed against me, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to weep and hide.

Closing my eyes, I yielded to Norah's ministrations. She was gentle.

So very gentle.

And I was so very tired…

* * *

The cushion beside me shifted.

“Hey, sleepy head,” Mark said. “I hate to disturb you, but you'd better get up now.”

My eyelids fluttered open. Had I fallen asleep?

“Your grandmother must think I am terribly rude.”

“No, she thinks you're exhausted.” He smiled at me. “She and Granddad went to the store to get more bandages and stuff.”

“They left us alone?” I tried to smile but yawned instead. “This is another difference in our centuries. It is not proper for us to be without a chaperone.”

“They trust us to make the right decisions.”

“Do you deserve that trust?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

His face wore such a sorrowful expression that I had to chuckle. “It would be tempting to see how true that is.”

“Oh?” His eyes lit with anticipation. “Go for it.”

I lifted my face for his kiss. It was sweet and brief and lacked the fascinating heat of our earlier kisses. Yet I liked this kind, too.

“You saved me.” I tucked my head against his shoulder.

“We've saved each other—in more ways than I can count.” He pressed a kiss to my brow. “I couldn't let you die, Susanna. I would've come back every day until you were safe.”

“I owe you so much.”

He laid light fingertips against my lips. “You don't owe me a thing. You're alive. That's the only thanks I need.”

I nodded in acknowledgement of his statement, but knew this wasn't the last time we would speak of it. My gratitude would never end.

He brushed his mouth against mine. “Now, is there something you would like to do?”

“Indeed, there is.” I sighed happily. There was much to learn. I was ready to start. “I want to understand some items in the bathroom.”

* * *

We ate our dinner at a table by the kitchen. The food was simple: chicken, potatoes, and green beans. They drank tea, sweetened with sugar and poured over chunks of ice. It was strange, but I drank it, nonetheless.

“Have you had enough, Susanna?” Norah asked, eyeing the food still on my plate.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said with an apologetic smile. “It is delicious. I am…”

“It's okay. I'm done, too.” She pushed back and stood. “You and I will sit outside on the deck and watch the sun set. Mark and Charlie can handle the dishes.”

So they called the uncovered porch a “deck.” The list of words I must remember grew longer with each sentence.

And the gentlemen doing chores? Mark and his grandfather would clean up while Norah and I sat and talked. It might take me a while to adjust to such a truth—but I would, no doubt, grow to love it.

As Norah and I crossed to the front door, she said, “You have beautiful hair. So thick. And such a gorgeous shade of brown. Did you wear it down where you used to live?”

“No, I had to wear it up on my head under a cap as I worked.”

“That's a shame. But no more. You can wear it any way you like now.” Norah's eyes took on a shiny glow. “Would you let me brush and braid it while we visit?”