“What happened? What brought him back?”
“He never did say, and I doubt he ever will. He went through some bad times, and when he came back he was a changed man. He and his father worked out a kind of truce, and then a couple of years later you showed up. It wasn’t until then that he began to be more like his old self, and I thought...well, never mind.” She sighed, taking a deep drink of her coffee.
“Why did he marry me?” she asked, unable to keep the forlorn note out of her voice.
“I don’t know, sweetie. He treated you like a little sister—took you with him, teased you, talked with you. As for you, it was as clear as day that you were crazy in love with him. Had been since you first came here, sixteen years old and pretty as a picture.”
“He told me it was his father’s idea.”
“It was. He left the estate all tied up to try to get his own way, but then, Jared was that kind of man. But there would have been ways around it. Patrick didn’t have to marry you. And I never did figure out why he did.”
“It’s pretty easy to guess why I did. I was willing to take him on any terms, wasn’t I?” she said bitterly, and Mrs. Morse nodded.
“I guess that was so. But it seemed like you changed your mind once the knot was tied. You weren’t even friends with Patrick anymore. You became wild and spiteful and selfish, and it was just too much for Patrick to deal with. That, and all the other men.”
“Other men?” she repeated, numb.
She shook her head sadly. “Just like his mother. You used to go out and stay all night long with anyone you could find.”
It didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, but Molly couldn’t rid herself of the notion that someone, somehow, was lying. “How do you know that?” she demanded.
“Honey, you told us! It was no secret—you made damn sure everybody knew exactly what you were doing. And Patrick just shut himself up in that office of his or went off and met Lisa Canning somewhere. I tried to tell you that wasn’t the way to win him but you wouldn’t listen.”
Molly stared into the fireplace, trying to reconcile this image with what she had come to know about herself in the few short days since her...her rebirth. But it wouldn’t come into focus, and she wondered what was the truth about her past. Her own instincts? Or other people’s sharp memories?
Or neither of them.
Molly didn’t have much appetite that night. She toyed with the fried chicken and creamed spinach Mrs. Morse brought up to her and barely touched the cheesecake. Uncle Willy brought up a small pitcherful of cranberry juice when he heard she was ill, and it took her most determined efforts to evict him and an oversolicitous Aunt Ermy.
She looked about her in lonely gloom. Even her new surroundings seemed to have palled, and part of her longed to be downstairs, sparring with Patrick over the dinner table, while the rest of her was happy to hide out, away from everyone.
There was something wrong, something very wrong, with this place, and the people, and the stories they were telling her. Something with their image of the past, but there was no way she could refute it.
She could only hold on, one day at a time, and hope she’d have the answer to at least one of her questions by tomorrow.
If she was pregnant there was no way she could leave. Not unless Patrick threw her out.
But if she wasn’t, then she’d stayed long enough. She had money, she wasn’t charged with any crime. If she got a clean bill of health the next day she was out of here. The answers weren’t coming, and whether anyone believed her or not, she was in danger. She was getting out. And she had no intention of looking back.
Stupid bungler! Of course it had been miserable bad luck, Patrick showing up like that. Just a few minutes would have made all the difference. Ah, but that was too often the difference between triumph and disaster. A moment, a whim of fate, and life shifted, defeat beckoned.
But a true visionary never accepted defeat. Not when so much had been accomplished. There was too much at stake, and a whey-faced little thing like Molly Winters wasn’t going to get in the way.
The subtle efforts weren’t working; neither were the more flagrant attempts. It was time for more drastic measures. There was only a limited amount of time before she remembered.
And when she did, it might be too late for all of them.
Eleven
It took her over an hour to drag herself out of bed. She was so horribly sick the next morning, her entire body felt numb with it, and she alternated between chills and fever, shivering and sweating, until she almost called out for help.
But any cry for help would more likely bring her husband from next door than anyone else. She shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and suffered until the sickness decided to pass.
When she finally got up it was with immense relief that she remembered the doctor’s appointment At least she could diagnose and stop this awful thing. Molly was almost afraid to go to sleep at night thinking of the pain that awaited her upon waking. She’d have an answer today, even if it might not be the most convenient one.
It all seemed so distant and unlikely. And worst of all, Patrick made it dear there was no way he’d take responsibility for the child. She should have guessed their relationship wouldn’t have included sex for a long time. And yet, she could practically feel the heat when he looked at her.
Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. Maybe she was the tramp everyone said she was. If she was, then there’d be no way of telling what sort of person had fathered her baby. It didn’t matter—she still wouldn’t want to give it up, she thought stubbornly as she stepped into the shower.
