Mother’s face blazes. “Nonsense. She never spoke of any such thing. I would haveknown. Whatever you think you saw, Lillian, it didn’t happen.”
“Yes, it happened. Mama, I saw it. I saw it and I should have said something. I should have told you. Papa. Dr. Broadbent must have known that I knew. I think that’s why ... that’s why he lied, in court. I could have told the truth. I should have. But I was afraid you would be angry with me. That Rebecca would be ashamed.”
My arms begin to tingle. The hair on the back of my neck rises. I lift my head. In the corner of the room, I see my sister’s spirit. Her eyes are hollow, haunted, but there is love there all the same. And a sense of relief.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
Rebecca drifts toward Mother, rests her bruised hands on her shoulders.She’ll never understand, Lillian. She never will. But I forgive her. I forgive you. Andyoumust forgiveme, so I can go in peace. I onlywanted it to end. I never meant for you, or anyone else, to suffer.And then I know the truth. My sister wasn’t murdered. On the morning that we found Rebecca dead, the bottle of syrup was almost empty. Everyone had overlooked the obvious. That she’d taken her own life.
Tears fall, dropping onto my skirt. I wipe them away with the edge of my sleeve. My guilt will always be with me. My grief. But I will no longer flinch from it. I’ll embrace it. Learn to honor it, and my sister’s memory, with the love and grace she deserved in life.
When I look up again, Rebecca is gone.
“You must understand, Lillian,” Mother says, oblivious to Rebecca’s visitation. “I was trying to be a good mother. To give Rebecca the best treatment I could. Lionel was convinced he’d found the cure for her affliction. And I believed him.”
All the color drains from my face. I nearly drop my teacup. “Lionel?”
“Dr. Broadbent. Have you forgotten his Christian name?”
No. It’s impossible. It can’t be. The coincidence would be too great. Surely ...
“How old is Dr. Broadbent, Mother?”
“Only a handful of years younger than I. Two and forty, I believe.”
Kate is in her mid-thirties. The difference in their ages aligns with what she told me. “Where was he born?” I ask, my voice tight.
“In the Piedmont, dear. Near Greensboro. Why are you asking me these questions?”
The Piedmont. North Carolina hill country. The same place as Kate. A frigid wave of panic washes over me. I remember Barbara Kincaid’s party. Dr. Broadbent’s scathing assessment of Varina. How cheap and tawdry she looked.
I wasn’t the only one he recognized.
I stand, trembling from head to toe. All this time I’ve been looking for the tiger, and he’s been staring me right in the face. And now the tiger might have Kate.
“Goodness, Lillian. What’s gotten into you?”
“I have to go, Mama. I’m so sorry. Give Aunt Tillie my love.”
“Lil!”
I rush from the room, fear and dread tangling within me as I fly out the door, startling a trio of well-dressed ladies on an afternoon walk. I run past them, at full tilt toward Savage Street, and Dr. Broadbent’s office, to confront whatever fate awaits me there.
Twenty-Five
When I reach Broadbent’s office, out of breath and boiling beneath my cloak, I throw it off in frustration and try the door. It’s locked, the front windows dark. I bang on the door with my closed fist. Finally, a weary maid opens to me. “Yes, miss? Can I help you.”
“I need to see Dr. Broadbent, please. It’s an emergency.”
With my reddened face and panicked breathlessness, it’s hardly an act.
“I’m sorry, miss. He’s out for the day. He won’t be back until evening. He was sent to call on a patient in the marshes.”
“The marshes?”
“Yes. He had a visitor this morning. A lady. They left together.”
“Did you happen to catch her name. It’s very important.”
