Marta Perry (3 page)

Meredith approached the wrought-iron gate and stopped, hand on the cool metal. The grounds surrounding the house were professionally cared for, she felt sure. She couldn’t picture Victor cruising along on a riding mower, or Laura deadheading the chrysanthemums.

Meredith’s breath caught. It looked as if the way had been paved for her. Laura, her face hidden by a floppy-brimmed hat and a pair of dark glasses, sat on a wrought-iron garden bench, motionless. Was she admiring the gold and bronze of the mums, or staring into space?

Even as she watched, Laura stood. She paused, as if she’d forgotten what she was about to do, and then drifted wraithlike along the path between the rosebushes.

She wouldn’t get a better chance. Meredith slipped through the gate and hurried toward the rose garden.

“Laura?”

Laura turned at the sound of her name, her expression, or what Meredith could see of it with the barrier of the glasses and hat, oddly stiff. For an instant she seemed about to speak but instead made a gesture, which Meredith decided to interpret as an invitation to join her.

“I hope you don’t mind my dropping by without calling first,” Meredith said.

“Of course not.” The polite words took a visible effort. “It’s always nice to see you, Meredith.” Laura pulled off the dark glasses, managing a smile. “I was just enjoying...” The sentence trailed off, as if it took too much effort, and she gestured vaguely at the roses.

“Your roses have been beautiful this year.” They were about past their prime now, a sentiment that could apply equally well to Laura.

What had become of the prettiest girl in the valley? In recent years, Meredith had thought Laura resembled a child’s fashion doll with her perfect face, perfect hair and perfect clothes. Today she looked...empty. There seemed no life at all in the blue eyes half-hidden by drooping lids.

“Yes, lovely,” Laura repeated. “The gardener does it all.” She cupped one overblown blossom in her hand. “You wanted...” Again the sentence trailed off.

Fortunately the flowers had given Meredith a reasonable excuse for her presence. “The church women’s group is having a flower stand at the Amish school auction tomorrow. If you’d like to donate some of your blossoms, it would be appreciated. I could come by early tomorrow and pick them up.”

All of that was true, although not, strictly speaking, her reason for being here. Still, she was bending the truth for a good cause, wasn’t she?

Laura nodded, her attention still on the rose in her hand. “Fine, fine.” Her fingers tightened on the rose, and with a quick wrench she pulled it off. The flower disintegrated in her hand, petals scattering on the flagstone path.

The sudden violence of the gesture made Meredith’s stomach twist. She tried to think of something to say, but came up empty. If she intended to bring up Aaron, she’d better do it.

“These are too perfect,” Laura announced. She caught another of the full red blossoms and subjected it to the same fate.

“You...don’t care for the red ones?” That was an inane question, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

“Too perfect,” Laura said again. She reached out as if to destroy another bloom, but then her hand fell to her side, the animation draining away as quickly as it had come.

“I wanted to ask you...” Meredith began.

“The little white roses grow wild along the edge of the field.” Laura swung on her, frowning. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, feeling as if she’d stumbled into some dark version of Wonderland. Everyone knew the wild roses that grew with abandon if given a chance. They practically had to be firebombed to be gotten rid of.

“Those are real roses, don’t you think?” Laura’s expression turned dreamy. “Aaron brought me those.” She smiled. “You remember. He’d scratched his hand on the thorns, but he said it was worth it. I kissed it to make it better. You remember, don’t you?” Her tone demanded an answer.

“Yes, I remember,” she soothed. “That’s a nice memory.”

Why was Laura so insistent that she remember? Maybe she was thinking of the three young girls following her and Aaron around that summer. They’d never given away those secret meetings between Laura and her Amish lover. Maybe that idea had planted itself in Laura’s apparently scrambled thought processes.

“I remember a lot about that summer,” she went on, watching Laura’s face for a reaction. “Aaron really loved you.”

“Yes.” Laura’s smile was dreamy, and she stroked her cheek with one of the despised roses. “He loved me. We were going to get married. But then—” She stopped, her expression shifting in an instant. “It all changed. Why did it change?” She grasped Meredith’s arm, her nails digging into the skin. “Why did it change?”

“I don’t know.” Meredith fought to keep her voice soft. “Why did it?”

“I don’t know, either.” Laura’s face crumpled like the roses. “That last night...”

“What about that last night?” Her heart thudded in her ears.

“That night—” Laura’s breath caught on a sob.

“It’s all right, Laura. Don’t worry about it.” Meredith put her arm around Laura’s waist.

She was ashamed of herself, tormenting this poor creature by asking questions. And yet, even though she’d come here for that reason, she hadn’t had to bring up the subject. It was as if her presence was enough to send Laura’s thoughts back to that lost summer.

“You have to know,” Laura said. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “You know, don’t you?” Her eyes pleaded with Meredith.

“I’m not—”

“Well, Meredith. What a surprise.”

She spun around to see Victor puffing across the lawn toward them, his round face caught between anger and worry, it seemed.

Meredith moved a step, aware of some insensible desire to shield Laura’s tears from her husband.

“It’s nice to see you, Victor.” She managed what she hoped was a natural-looking smile. “Laura and I were just discussing the possibility that you might donate some flowers for the women’s association stand tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow, is it?” He seemed to respond automatically while scanning Laura’s face, perhaps gauging her emotional temperature. “Yes, I’m sure we’d be happy to do so. Anything for a good cause.” He edged around her to take Laura’s arm, patting it. “Isn’t that right, Laura?”

“That’s right,” Laura parroted, her expression blank.

Meredith’s stomach gave a decided wrench. Definitely time to beat a retreat. Laura wouldn’t say anything else with Victor there, and judging by the way he grasped her arm, he had no intention of leaving Meredith alone with her.

“I’ll stop by in the morning to pick them up,” she said.

“No need.” Victor waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ll have the gardener drop them off first thing. Down at the fire hall grounds, right?”

“Right.” Most outdoor events of any size were held there, and the twice-yearly auctions to support the local Amish schools were a fixture.

“Good, good.” His attention on Laura, Victor began nudging her toward the house. “Time you were having a rest, dear. You know you’ll get a headache if you stay out in the sun for very long.”

Laura nodded, face empty. She walked toward the house next to him, as docile as a doll.

Poor Laura. Everyone in town knew about what Victor called “her visits to a spa.” The kind murmured of a nervous breakdown, while others speculated on rehab, drugs, alcohol. No one knew for sure, but the woman was clearly hurting, lost in one tragic event in her past.

Meredith hurried to the gate. She’d made a mistake in coming here. Anything she did to uncover the events of that summer was bound to cause pain to someone. She should never have gotten into this.

CHAPTER THREE

Z
ACH
HAD
COME
to the conclusion that being back in Deer Run had turned him into a coward. He’d tried to walk over to the old house after his meeting with Jake Evans, but he’d wimped out. Twice.

Too many bad memories—memories he’d effectively buried for years but never quite gotten rid of. His boss had been right. He should have come back years ago to settle up with Deer Run once and for all.

He walked down Main Street, not sure where he was going but knowing he didn’t want to go back to the bed-and-breakfast. He couldn’t leave, and he wasn’t ready to face the house yet. The tiny post office, its flag fluttering in the breeze, sat where it always had, and the imposing red brick of the bank still stood on the corner. There was a bench between them where a guy loitering to meet the girl he was forbidden to see could spot her coming out of her house.

He’d imagined that the years would make it easier—that he’d have forgotten Meredith and that he’d have come to terms with his father. Instead, the shadow of his old man could still turn his spine to spaghetti. And as for Meredith...

When he’d seen her, the years had telescoped and he’d been a love-struck seventeen-year-old again. At least he hadn’t let her see that, he trusted.

Neither of them was the same person now, and imagining anything else could lead to disaster. He had to figure out how to make peace with his memories, and he’d better do it fast, because Meredith was walking down Main Street toward him.

He sucked in a breath, telling himself to play it cool. She hadn’t seen him yet. Her gaze was fixed on the sidewalk, and something had upset her usual equilibrium, setting a frown on her forehead and anxiety in the set of her jaw. It struck him that he might have been the cause, given how he’d spoken to her yesterday.

There was a difference between being cool and being cruel. He didn’t have the right to hurt her for decisions they’d made when they were seventeen.

He stepped into her path and she looked up, startled. Color flooded her cheeks.

“Zach. I—I didn’t see you.”

“What’s wrong?” They’d always been able to go to the heart of things with each other, and he didn’t figure he’d start making polite conversation now.

“Nothing,” she said quickly and then shook her head. “Well, nothing I can do anything about, in any event.” She seemed to brush aside whatever it was, or at least table it until later. “Have you taken care of the business you had to deal with?”

“I’ve made a start.” He shrugged. “According to Jake Evans, you can’t just toss a house in the trash if you don’t want it.”

Meredith studied his face, and he had the sense that she was seeing beneath the surface, just like she used to do. She’d always been able to glimpse the person behind the tough-guy façade.

“The house where you grew up, you mean?”

He couldn’t keep from grimacing. “It came to me after my stepmother died, it seems. I don’t want it.”

“You don’t want it because the property is a tie to Deer Run, I guess.” Her direct gaze wanted the truth.

“Maybe.” But that was putting too much of the burden on her. “But mostly because the place holds a lot of bad memories. My childhood isn’t something I care to be reminded of.”

That had been one of the best things about starting a new life in a different place. He hadn’t had to deal with the constant reminders.

“What are you planning to do with it, since throwing it away isn’t an option?” The curve of her lips invited him to see the humor in the situation.

He didn’t. “I figured I’d put it on the market cheap and get rid of it, but according to Evans, it won’t sell in the shape it’s in.”

Meredith nodded, the tiny frown line back between her brows, for his problem this time. She shoved a strand of hair behind her ear, and his heart jolted. She’d always done that when she concentrated on something.

“You can trust Jake to give you an honest opinion, I’m sure. Everyone says he’s become a good attorney.”

“He claims his father is the exception to that opinion,” he said, just to see her face lighten.

Her smile flickered. “Jacob Senior is proud of his son, but of course he can’t admit such a thing. His gruff predictions of imminent disaster when Jake takes over are just a smoke screen, and everyone knows it.”

“Must be nice to have a father like that.” His old man had meant every word of the things he’d said to him, most of it stuff he certainly couldn’t repeat to Meredith, of all people.

As always, she saw behind his words to the meaning. Her hand moved tentatively, as if she wanted to reach out to him.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft.

“Yeah. Well, it’s over and done with. I don’t suppose there were many people who thought Wally Randal was much of a loss when he died.”

“You didn’t come back for the funeral,” she observed.

“You were there?” That shocked him. He hadn’t known about it in time, but if he had, he still wouldn’t have come. But Meredith had gone. “Why?” Because of him?

“I...thought I should attend.” She looked so uncomfortable that he let it go.

“I heard about your dad’s passing.” Courtesy of Jeannette, who seemed convinced he wanted to hear every scrap of news about what had happened in Deer Run since he left. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Her face was composed, but her eyes were shadowed. “It’s been a long time, but I still miss him.”

Zach’s heart twisted. “I know you were close.” He’d admired John King’s devotion to his daughter, even though that devotion had once made him Zach’s enemy.

Meredith stepped aside to let a woman carrying a shopping bag pass, nodding a greeting. She didn’t speak again until the woman was well out of earshot.

“There was something I wanted to say to you, Zach.” Her brown eyes were candid, fixed on his face. “Maybe I’d better say it now, since I don’t suppose you’ll be in town long.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever it was, but he nodded.

Meredith hesitated, and for a moment he thought she looked more like the girl she’d been than the polished woman she was now. That glimpse kicked him right in the heart.

“I want you to know how sorry I am for what my mother did to you.” She seemed to force the words out. “She thought she was protecting me, but that’s no excuse. She drove you away from your home, kept you from finishing high school...” Her voice trembled slightly. “And I hurt you, too. I can’t expect you to forgive me, but I wanted you to know how much I regret what happened.”

She pressed her lips together, and he knew that it had cost her a lot to say what she had. How much easier it would be for her to pretend the past had never happened, to greet him politely and then avoid him until he disappeared again. But Meredith had never been one to take the easy way. He’d admired that quality years ago, and he still did.

“It’s all right. I mean it. Getting out of Deer Run was the best thing that could have happened to me. Your mother didn’t intend to, but she did me a favor.”

She managed a faint smile at that idea. “It’s good of you to take it that way. But I let you down, too, and I’m sorry.”

He had to take the guilt from her face, even at the cost of a lie. “Forget letting me down. What did we know about life at seventeen? The way I see it, you kept both of us from making a big mistake, right?”

Her face was immobile for a moment. Then her lips moved in a stiff smile.

“Right.” She glanced around, as if to be sure no one was watching them. “I’d better get back to work. If I don’t see you again, have a safe trip back.”

She turned and walked quickly away.

* * *

A
S
SHE
HEADED
up the steps to the wide front porch a few minutes later, Meredith couldn’t help hoping that her mother wasn’t back yet from her committee meeting. If the local rumor mill had already reported her conversation with Zach, she’d have to listen to her mother’s laments, lectures and warnings all over again.

More importantly, Meredith didn’t want her mother’s sharp eyes zeroing in on how upset she was.

Her luck was out—Mom sat in her favorite upholstered rocker in the living room, her low-heeled pumps propped on the small ottoman. “Meredith, you’re finally home. I was starting to worry about you.”

What did she imagine could happen to Meredith in Deer Run in broad daylight? Maybe exactly what had happened—an encounter with Zach.

“How was your meeting?” Meredith paused in the archway. She wanted nothing so much as to disappear into her bedroom or her office and close the door, but that would be inviting her mother to follow her with questions.

“Fine, fine. We’re all ready for the sale tomorrow.” Her mother’s lips tightened, accentuating the fine lines. “Though why Jeannette imagines she’s in charge, I don’t know.”

“You know how she is.” Meredith kept her tone soothing, fearing the subject of Jeannette would lead inevitably to Jeannette’s current guest. “She thinks nothing will go well if she doesn’t have her hand in it.”

Her mother sniffed, not mollified. “She thinks she knows more than anyone else, too. She actually had the nerve to ask me if you’d talked to Zach Randal yet. Nosy woman. I can’t stand gossips.”

If her father were here, he’d be exchanging a secret smile with Meredith about now. He’d known perfectly well that Margo was fully engaged in the silent, secret battle that went on among much of Deer Run’s female population to be the first to know what their neighbors were thinking and doing. Or thinking about doing.

There didn’t seem to be any useful comment she could make. “I’m going to change clothes before I settle down to work.” She turned toward the stairs.

“Wait.” Her mother straightened, moving her feet to the carpet. “You didn’t tell me where you’ve been.” There was a slightly sharper edge to her voice than her usual curiosity.

“I was up at the Hammond place. I spoke with Victor.” Since she’d set up the bookkeeping system for the Hammond grocery stores, her mother wouldn’t be surprised. And she had spoken to Victor, after all.

“Did you see Laura? How is she?” Mom, along with most of the village, was insatiably interested in Laura’s frequent visits to rehab.

“She seemed fine.” That was really a whopper, wasn’t it? Laura was definitely not fine. “She showed me her roses, and they’re going to send some flowers for the stand in the morning.”

A few more steps, and she’d be on the stairs.

“Wait,” her mother said again. “There’s a bag inside the door. Something Rachel dropped off for you. That scrapbook you girls kept when you were little.”

In other words, she’d checked the contents. Well, stopping her mother’s curiosity was about as likely as stopping the wind from blowing.

“Thanks, I’ll take it up with me.” She slid the scrapbook out, handling it cautiously. The pages were browned and brittle after all these years.

“I suppose this means you’re thinking about the Mast boy’s drowning again.” Her mother stood in the archway, one hand on the brass latch of the pocket door. “I don’t know what you think you’ll find out after all these years.”

Meredith tried to mask her surprise. Was that just a general comment, or had her mother somehow learned what Sarah had asked of her?

“I’d just like to hold on to the scrapbook.” She cradled it in her arms. “That’s all.”

“You weren’t even here that night.” Her mother went on as if Meredith hadn’t spoken. “Spending the night with some of your cousins, as I recall. So you couldn’t know anything about what happened. Any more than your father could. He was out that night, too.”

She’d heard often enough how her mother had been alone in the house the night Aaron Mast had died not more than a hundred yards away. It was a frequent refrain when her mother didn’t want to be left alone in the evening.

“That’s true. I don’t know anything about it.” And she was beginning to think it was best that way. What right did she have to probe into other people’s private grief? She ought to tell Sarah there was nothing to find and let the past rest.

Her mother nodded, but she didn’t return to her chair. “When is that Randal boy leaving?” she asked abruptly.

Meredith’s heart clenched at the sudden introduction of his name, although she hardly thought the man Zach was now deserved to be referred to that way.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? You talked to him.”

“He didn’t say. He has some business to take care of. I suppose he’ll leave when it’s finished.” And that was another piece of the past that she should lay to rest.

She walked quickly to the stairs. “I really have to get to work now, Mom. We’ll talk later.” She hurried up toward the sanctuary of her room, relieved not to hear her mother’s plaintive voice behind her.

Once the door was closed she leaned against it, closing her eyes. Strangely enough, now that she could cut loose, she no longer felt the urge to cry.

Zach had made his feelings clear—he was glad she had refused to go away with him. So all the guilt she’d been holding tight had been unnecessary. He apparently considered that he’d had a narrow escape.

She should be happy. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem able to convince her heart of that fact.

Meredith crossed the room, carrying the scrapbook, and slid it into a drawer of the maple desk Dad had bought for her when she outgrew the frilly pink bedroom of her childhood. The desk, along with the maple sleigh bed and chest of drawers, had been made by an Amish furniture craftsman, and the star quilt had been a gift from Sarah’s mother, a little touch of her Amish heritage in a house that was otherwise decorated in her mother’s taste.

As for the scrapbook, she’d study it later. Or not. Without thinking, she looked out the back window toward the dam, catching just a glimpse of the water through the trees.

Hadn’t she already decided that poking about in the past was too hurtful? It was time she buried the events of that summer.

Meredith reached out, automatically straightening the milk-glass vase her father had won for her at the county fair when she was ten. It had stood on her desk ever since, filled with pens and pencils. Her hand rested on the desk blotter, and she frowned. She always kept it aligned with the front edge of the desk, but now it was pushed a good two inches back.