“Marguerite’s sleeping?”
“Like a lamb.”
“Want to sneak out with me?”
“Mmm. Are you going to show me your stone cottage?”
“I plan on keeping that cottage, and you, very ... occupied, Miss Halloran.”
Chapter 27
September 21, 1925
Dawn is breaking pink through the trees when I stumble out of the cottage, satiated but bone tired. I reluctantly untangled myself from Beckett’s arms and left him sound asleep in his cozy double bed. I need a hot cup of coffee, a long bath, and a few stolen hours of sleep before the day’s responsibilities set in.
I pick my way through the woods above the grotto, admiring the view. The air is crisp without being cold, the leaves just beginning to change color along their margins. The whole world seems brighter to me, despite my tiredness. I think of Beckett, and our newfound love, of where it might lead. While I probably should have considered taking precautions, I didn’t. Ted had always used Trojans when we made love. He was dreadfully afraid I’d fall pregnant.
And what if I do with Beckett? I’ve never imagined myself as a mother, but now ... now I can almost see it. He was so patient with Louise’s children. I imagine Marguerite’s house filled with a family of our own. Wouldn’t that surprise Felix and my cousins? I smile to myself. Yes. I can see it all so very well.
I emerge into the rose garden, where the rear exposure of the house sits silent. The sun crests over the hillside and I pause to take in the view from the bluff, where the distant ridges ebb and flow like deep purple waves. I close my eyes, tilting my head back and breathing inthe morning air. I never imagined I’d fall in love again. Never imagined I could feel so settled. So happy.
Suddenly, I feel a sharp tug on my lavalier. My eyes fly open. I turn, thinking the necklace must have snagged on a branch. But there are no branches near me. The sharp yank comes again, the pearls tightening around my neck with unrelenting pressure. Panic funnels through me. I pull at the necklace, my breath coming in short gasps. When the pressure releases, I fall to my knees, perilously close to the bluff. I look up, my eyes watering. A dark, shadowy figure stands above me. Weston. I use the precious air flooding into my lungs to scream, the sound ricocheting off the rocks and echoing all around.
Through sheer force of will, I rise on shaky legs. I stumble forward and run. Dark laughter surrounds me. Bitter. Cold. Loveless. And then I realize this is a game. It’s all just a game. Westonwantsme to run.
I run anyway, because what other choice do I have? I cut through the trees, my feet pummeling the ground.
“Sadie! Where are you?”
It’s Beckett. He heard me scream. Relief floods through me. I pause for a breath, and glimpse him through the trees, close enough I can see the pinstripes on his shirt. “Beck!” I take off running again, my side screaming with pain, my heavy, beaded dress hobbling my thighs.
I make for a break in the trees, anchored by tall pines. But I don’t find the clearing I expected. Instead, I’m on a flat outcropping of rock, jutting like a narrow table over the gully. I skid to a stop, panting. I whip my head from side to side, looking for Beckett, but see nothing but sky and the dizzying treetops below.
I’m cornered here. Defenseless. Trapped, just as Weston wants me to be. Suddenly, I’m sent hurtling backward, pain radiating through my body as I tumble to the edge of the outcrop, the wind knocked from my lungs. I futilely try to keep my hold, loose rock crumbling beneath my fingers as my body tips over the edge. I hit the side of the bluff, tumbling toward the earth far below. And then suddenly, the lavalier pulls tight again. My eyes pop open, my throat screaming in pain, thelavalier stretched in a taut line above me, its knotted pearls caught on a point of stone. I eye the ground, still so far below, through the corner of my eye, clawing at the necklace, my feet scrambling against the wall of rock as my consciousness begins to flicker. The rough-edged garnets cut into my flesh. Something wet and warm runs down my clavicle. Finally, the pearls break, shattering over my head like rain, and I’m falling again, into a fathomless blackness, into darkness and death.
Chapter 28
In the darkness, I see Da. He looks as he did when I was little. Handsome and young, dressed in white linen to combat the heat, his blue eyes lit with the same cheerful glow they always held. I’m on the swing in the pin oak, behind our town house on Troost Avenue, the moon shining overhead as brightly as the sun.
“Sadie, mavourneen,” Da says, and leans close, his hands above mine on the ropes. “How high do you want to fly?”
“High. As high as the stars and higher still.”
“Then that’s where you’ll go.” He pushes me, hard, and I swing through the air, the wind whistling in my ears. I laugh because itfeelslike flying. It feels like life and love and everything I’ve missed so very much. He laughs with me, pushing me again when I swing low to the ground. I pump my legs, pushing myself to go higher and higher, until the stars are so close I can almost touch them, until the moon is as big as a dinner plate.
If this is what dying feels like, it’s not so bad.
When the swing reaches the apex of its highest arc, I close my eyes, and jump, knowing Da is there. Knowing he’ll catch me. He’d always caught me.
But he doesn’t this time.
I fall back into my body—that leaden weight, that anchor of pain, with all the gravity of loss pulling me to earth. It hurts to open my eyes.There’s a roar in my head like the ocean. “No,” I murmur. “No ... I want to go back. Da ...”
“She’s severely concussed,” a man says, distantly. A bright light shines into my eyes. “She needs to go to the hospital. She may be hemorrhaging. Bring the car.”
I hear someone crying. Keening. Da always said when someone was the next to die in our family, the banshee would wail. I’d heard her myself, two nights before Da took his own life. I’d thought it was the wind.
“Take Marguerite out of here, Harriet,” the man says. I recognize his voice now. Dr. Gallagher. “Sedate her and put her to bed if you must.”
