She knew her grandmother had been acquainted with Jerrold's mother, but she hadn't known the pendant had once belonged to Felicia.
"She was very much like a daughter to me. I admired the pendant once. Then, after she became ill, she had it sent to me, insisting that I accept it. Within a matter of weeks... " she hesitated and then seemed to shake off the sad memory. "She was gone very quickly."
"I added the chain with the thought that you should have it one day," she continued. "And now that you will be marrying Jerrold, it seems appropriate for you to have it."
She watched Elyse, seeing something in her that for a moment reminded her of her dear friend, and she experienced the same feeling that had come over her when she'd watched her earlier as she came down the stairs. She had been convinced that, if she closed her eyes and opened them, she would find Felicia standing on the stairs. But, of course, that was impossible. Elyse bore no physical resemblance to her friend. Still, there were times in the past when there was something in her eyes, and expression, and she had the strangest feeling...
Get a hold of yourself, Regina silently scolded herself. It means nothing. You're just a sentimental old woman.
Perhaps she should accept Ceddy's offer. It was time to get on with life and the time they had left.
Now, as she looked at her granddaughter, she tried to shake off the feeling once more. And yet, as she watched Elyse's reaction to the pendant, she felt as if she were seeing someone else. Then it was gone.
Elyse caressed the large pearl—she couldn't refuse something that meant so much to her grandmother—and thanked her.
"We should rejoin our guests," Cedric reminded them. "Others have arrived, and Mrs. Halverson is insisting we sit down to supper. I would not want to anger the woman."
"Has Jerrold arrived?" Regina asked. The invitations had been sent weeks earlier. Surely he wouldn't miss Christmas Eve supper, she thought.
"I'm certain he'll be along," Cedric assured her, having also wondered what was keeping the man.
"Come along then," he told them, taking her arm and then Elyse's to escort them into the formal dining room. "By all means, let's join your guests.”
* * *
It had been a long time since she had the dream, or, if it was there, she didn't remember it afterward.
It was the same when it came, filled with shadows and terrifying sounds—a ship with broken masts, the wind lashing the decks. Lightening slashed the sky as the ship was battered against the rocks. But it wasn't the child that looked back at her, terrified.
It was like looking into a mirror, as the rain lashed at her, the water pulling her under... and the man who reached out to her.
"Take my hand!"
Two
Resolute Station
New South Wales, Australia
Eyes filled with pain and loss searched the land as evening stole across the fertile valley, the last light of day glistening off the silvered ribbon of the river. Faint tendrils of mist shrouded the trees, making them seem like mournful women, draped in widow's weeds. The wisps clung to the earth, stealing through gullies and hollows, guarding secrets, whispering to him with a soft rustling of leaves, the message unintelligible. Beneath his feet, the ground cooled as night slipped over all.
The scorching sun was gone now, hiding deceptively. Only in those last few moments of daylight, when the night air crept on cat feet and faint breezes stirred, did the land seem less harsh, almost peaceful. In moments like these, he could almost hear the voices.
The Aboriginals said they were the voices of their ancestors, speaking to them through the darkness of Dreamtime. For the natives,nanga mai,to dream, was the basis of all thought and practice. It was their cultural, historical, and ancestral heritage. It was an age that existed long ago and yet remained ever present as a continuing, timeless experience linking past, present, and future.
For them it was the dawn of all creation, when land, rivers, rain, wind, and all living things first began. Born and raised in this land, he accepted their beliefs, and now hoped they were true. He needed to believe that something from this life continued beyond the grave.
Shadows moved across his chiseled features as his strong brows drew together over his silver eyes that appeared almost catlike above the planes of his pronounced cheekbones. His straight nose hinted of aristocratic ancestry, his mouth was thinned, uncharacteristically, into a tight line. A muscle flexed at his stubborn jaw line.
"I should have been here for her." Zachary Tennant flattened his hand on the freshly turned earth, regret sharp in his voice. He smoothed the mound, as if he might still reach out to the woman buried there. Then his fingers closed, gathering the dry loam, trying to hold back death a little longer. Haunted eyes squeezed back tears. He wouldn't cry. Damn! She wouldn't want him to.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, lad." The voice came from the shadows beneath the gum tree. "She understood that you couldn't be here. The fight against the Crown means survival for Resolute, for all of us. You were needed elsewhere. She accepted that, just as she accepted this land."
"So far from her beloved Ireland," Zach lamented. "And she loved this land so much," he whispered brokenly.
"Aye, that she did, as your father loved it." The owner of the disembodied voice separated himself from the shadows, and Tobias Gentry, physician, stepped forward to bid silent farewell to a woman he'd respected and admired, and loved in his own way.
"Why, Tobias?" Zach fought the emotions that churned inside him. "How could she love a land that took so much from her?" He stared out at the vast expanse that stretched away from the river, looked to the large white house framed in the growing twilight, as if he might find the answers there.
