The Lebrus Stone (11 page)

"What do you mean 'ye-ah'? What are you hiding? Is he ill? I should get back and take care of him. He's too old to be working so hard." 

I think I need to get out of here
, I almost added, but decided not to worry them.

"He's fine. Jared thinks you should stay now that your there. But you can come home whenever you want, you know. You're not a prisoner."

Jared now wanted me to stay?
I needed to speak to him.

T.J. laughed and I laughed along to be polite. The word "prisoner," was exactly how I was feeling right now. Dramatic, I know, but I had a tendency to be. I had to live up to being dysfunctional and slightly affected by my childhood somehow.

Admittedly, I was sometimes an attention seeker, probably because people like me tended to blend into the crowd when they said they were an orphan. Sometimes it didn't matter how pretty, clever, or kind and considerate you were, people usually kept an emotional distance. It was as if your abandonment and loss was contagious.

I cleared my throat. "Isobel's paid for a return ticket in June, T. I can't just up and leave."

This, I conceded, was the reason I kept giving myself.

"So you 
do
 wanna come home?"

I knew he was eager for me to say yes. He had been against my idea to leave Utah and so soon, too. He just hid it better.

Don't blame me if gold digging Isobel is a psycho who buried her husband in her back yard,
he had joked.

Now it didn't seem so funny. I didn't really know Isobel. Five months wasn't enough time to fully trust someone. And my instincts telling me this was my family home and that I belonged here might not have been completely true.  Jared's fears might have been valid.

I thought back to Selma's vision with a shudder.

Could the dreams and what Selma had seen be connected? Could it all have something to do the story behind the women in my family?

No, my dreams were just reflecting what was being said to me in real life, that's all.

"Not really," I finally said, stewing over those thoughts.

"You suck at lying, Crys. What is it? I won't say I told you so. Even if you did rush into this."

I couldn't let Jared find out I wanted to come home. I couldn't worry him. Not when I hadn't listened to him in the first place.

"Listen, T, when I want your advice, I'll ask for it. And I waited five months. If you didn't hear me the first time, I said I was FINE." My attempt at being calm was a big fail.

"Okay, okay. Sheesh."

There was no way I was heading home this close to hearing more about my parents. I had too much pride, something else I might have inherited from my mother. And it had only been another bad dream. It didn't have to mean it could be about to happen. It didn't have to mean Selma's vision had been onto something.

"Sorry, T," I muttered. "Everything really is okay. Thanks for asking. Things are just a little…overwhelming right now."

The door to the store tinkled.

"Is that Jared?"

I could hear crackling and the phone being put down.

"T?"

The line cut.

I called again, a few times, but the line kept getting disconnected. I had to know if Jared was alright. When I couldn't get a connection, I threw my cell phone on the bed and stomped into the bathroom. A moment ago, I had everything back to half way normal. Now I was agitated again, worrying about Jared. I wouldn't have cared if Arrious jumped out and kissed me.

After swallowing two aspirin from the medicine cabinet and wiping my face with a towel from one of many piled on the shelf, I walked back to my room and sat at the vanity table to brush my hair. It wasn't sitting how I wanted it to, so I scrunched it into a messy bun. I didn't apply much make-up either, something else that was a first. But then I thought of Cray and felt compelled to make the effort.

Yet no amount of face paint was going to make me feel energetic and less worried about Jared's health. It had only been a dream, but something felt wrong about my trip to Blacksville. And it wasn't just because of what had happened these past few days.

I couldn't put my finger on it or stop wondering about Jared, which only made things worse.

I had a nagging feeling I was going to find out the hard truth sooner or later.

Whether I liked it or not.

And when I least expected it.

I called the store again, Jared's cell phone and house.

I even called T. But there was no answer.

Were they avoiding me?

I had visions of Jared falling off the step ladder and being hauled into an ambulance. My dramatic paranoia was still working overtime. The thought made me call again, five times, but there was no answer. I knew when to quit…for now.

By midday I was still in bed, disappointed with myself. I liked to face my fears. I just couldn't face the Lockes just yet. The story behind the manor, the dream with Cray and how I had hit out him was intimidating. It wasn't like I had made a good impression. The Lockes probably wouldn't want anything to do with me and who could blame them?

My trip here meant too much to risk ruining. I was in my mother's old home. Maybe even sleeping in her bed. I was feeling close to her at last. If Isobel and her children were a way for me to get even closer, I couldn't screw it up. Not when Isobel still needed to tell me more than the basics.

Sometimes, when my mind allowed me to think of anything other than the dream, Cray, and Jared, I felt excited at the prospect of Isobel going into detail like she promised, just like I had in the beginning.

Isobel appeared to check on me around two o'clock, a lot later than I would have thought viable. I swallowed my small fraction of annoyance as to why she hadn't thought to check on me sooner.

But I couldn't get needy on top of pathetic. She had her own life to lead, even if I was a guest that needed special attention, even if she had confessed something that was hard to get my head around.

As expected, she didn't mention our conversation at the chapel or what happened with Cray. I had a feeling she would happily never bring them up ever again.

But what was I supposed to do with what she told me?

Elandra popped into my mind, but what could she tell me that I didn't know already?

I decided it was best to put it at the back of my mind for a while, if only to try and salvage my trip. I had the most of the summer to go ghost hunting or take a trip down memory lane via a psychic. And Isobel didn't owe me anything. Not really. No matter how much she thought she did.

I told Isobel I was going to stay in my room and catch up on a book, then grabbed a novel I finished on the plane. She knew I was pretending to be busy, since she finally assured me the incident with Cray had been forgotten. The fact that she called it an incident made me never want to show my face again.

It took me a while to convince her to go to the chapel without me. It wasn't my scene. I didn't think the locals would approve of a self-proclaimed agnostic. Besides, I didn't want to have to speak to Reverend Sinclair. He made me uneasy and irritated.

I lay back and tried not to over think things to calm the storm in my head, but a knock on my door moments later interrupted it.

"Come in!" I called out, sitting up to retrieve my book.

Syd entered, carrying in what looked like a sandwich and a glass of her homemade lemonade.

I could have done with a hot soup.

But I blew a sigh of relief it wasn't one of the Lockes.

"Isobel said to make sure you had some lunch by now," she said, placing the tray on my bedside cabinet.

"Thanks, Syd."

"Any reason why you're hiding in here?" she asked as she sat on my bed.

I tensed. Being told I was hiding annoyed me, but I wasn't annoyed at Syd, just at myself. I had come too far in life to start acting like a coward, especially over something clearly in my head.

I fingered the dog-eared cover of my book.

"I think I just need a quiet day to myself. It could be some type of…delayed jet lag." It could be partly true, I thought. It had taken two flights to get from Salt Lake City to Blacksville; six hours in total. I smiled, pleased with the conclusion. Exhaustion could have been why I had such a freakish dream.

"I see," Syd said, seeming unconvinced. "Well, do you think you'll be joining the Lockes for dinner?"

"Do I have to?" No matter how much I was becoming fond of Syd, she worked for the Lockes. They could try and make her tell me what do.

"No." She chuckled. "But I think you should try to interact. Cray's alright, by the way. A little scratch like that won't do a boy like him any harm."

Boy like him?

So, I had hurt him. My chest tightened.

"Oh, don't look so beat up about it, honey. The boy is as tough as old boots." She chuckled again. "And luckily for you, he's not as vain about his looks as you would think. He won't hold what happened against you." She patted my hand.

I gulped. "Has he…said something?"

"No. He left early this morning. He didn't say where he was going, and Isobel never dares ask these days. He's a very private person, as you've probably noticed. She respects that. We all do." She looked lost in thought for a moment, then smiled in her sad little way, and asked, "So, are you ready to talk about what happened last night?"

My mouth felt too clamped to begin

"I have to say, not many girls would have left home to meet so many strangers. I admire your courage."

Her comment only made me sound irresponsible. I gritted my teeth.

"I don't feel very courageous," I admitted. "I feel pretty stupid right now."

Thanks for the added comment to make me feel even more naive,
I wanted to add.

"I don't think five months was long enough to think this through," I said.

She nodded. "Maybe. But everything happens for a reason. You followed your heart. It's all you can do in life. It's your only real compass."

I wanted us to keep talking. When Syd wasn't nicely pointing out my flaws, she had a way of calming me until I felt optimistic about my trip again. But she had dinner to prepare, so she reluctantly left me after insisting I get ready to face my evening with the Lockes.

Something about her was becoming familiar. It could have been the warmth in her eyes and how they reminded me of Selma. She had always been as hospitable and over helpful.

I still missed her. Talking to Syd was like getting back something that had been cruelly taken away, too. It wasn't just my parents I'd lost, but my pride, self-worth, my best friend, at times my composure. It had been an uphill struggle this past year or so. But I was finally feeling on top of things…I think.

I sure wasn't going to let it keep me down.

Coming to Blacksville was my new start as the new and improved me. I really had to keep believing that.

~ * ~

"Please sit down, Crystal."

Isobel had returned from her visit to the chapel and led me into the study, sounding almost formal and toneless as she walked to the other side of the desk, a desk that reminded me of a dream that made me hot and bothered and sick to my stomach. I wondered what had gotten up her back all of her sudden.

"Now," she said, straightening a pile of loose papers. "I did not want to ask questions about last night too soon, but is there something you wish to tell me?"

Her hands were clasped on the desk in front of her buttoned up, tweed jacket, completing her Head Mistress look.

I shook my head.

"Nothing at all regarding what happened last night?"

I shook my head again, moving it nice and slowly to emphasis my reluctance to speak.

"Well, I must say I am very disappointed, Crystal." She picked up her fountain pen and began scribbling something on a piece of card. "You of all people must know the value of honesty and its substance to others it may involve."

My sudden need for silence couldn't last.

"I don't understand."

"Thank you." She scribbled something. "I was hoping you would at least communicate at some point about this." She looked up and smiled. Her dark, intense eyes twinkled. But then she placed down her pen and looked at me like an out of place piece of furniture.

"Darling, what happened?" She asked, frank and to the point.

I guessed I owed it to Isobel to explain and apologize for assaulting her son.

"Cray walked in on a middle of a nightmare, and I lashed out at him in mid-sleep. I'm sorry, Isobel. It was unintentional." I lowered my head in shame and severe embarrassment.

A hand stroked my head. I was surprised she'd reached me so fast.

"There, there." She kissed my head, cradling it to her chest. She smelt like violets, as usual, but it wasn't soothing me like it had.

"Of course it was not your fault. We are simply concerned why you are having such nightmares. Did you have them at home?"

She lifted my head by the chin, concern wrinkling her perfect nose.

"No. I don't think so."

I tried not to think of the many new ones I sensed I would be having.

Isobel kneeled down and held my hand. "I think it will do you good to get out, meet and mingle with new people alike."

"Alike?"

"You have to stay within your own social circle, darling, stick to the boundaries of common sense."

Common sense?

"I've been making friends," I replied, dubious of the plural.

"Yet not the type you should be associating with."

"Meaning?"

"I fear the likes of Jessica could be below your standards."

"You mean yours?" I replied, rising from my chair. I couldn't believe she was being so judgmental.

"She has no parentage, no stability." She stood rigid and cut out like a picture.

"More the reason why she needs friends."

Isobel of all people should have understood that.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Isobel, I would like to get some fresh air." I turned to leave.

"Crystal, please do not walk away from me when I'm discussing an important matter."

"Look, Isobel," I said, turning back. "I'm sorry if I disappoint you and your family." Her mouth gaped. "And I'm sorry if I'm not what you all had in mind." It gaped some more. "But I can't change. Not for anyone. I hope you understand."

I came off sounding a little too whiney to be taken seriously.

Isobel closed her mouth and regained her position behind the desk. Leaning forward with outstretched hands, she began to rock. Her eyes became unfocused, staring at the bookshelf ahead of her.

Did this have something to do with what she told me at the chapel? Was that what she was really worried about? Was she not really dealing with it either?

I think I preferred her pretending the discussion never happened.

"Oh, dear," she quibbled, her rocking subsiding. "Oh, dear," she repeated, speaking to an invisible person in front of her.  "I have let you down again." Her voice warbled into a hiccup that made me flinch. "I, oh..." There it was again, a pingy pop that bounced up through her flaring nostrils and sucked back into her mouth. Her lips quivered. It looked though she was about to break down and weep or throw an adult tantrum.

Before I could think of an excuse to leave, Isobel darted around the desk and gripped me by the arms, much like she did sometimes, except now she didn't look so pleased to see me, or altogether sane.

Her mouth opened and I could smell her, coffee-laden breath. "Forgive me, Crystal." She wept, smacking me against her chest and holding me. "Forgive us all," she bellowed, sniffling into my hair.

I held onto her as she squeezed tight, counting the seconds until it would be over so I could breathe again. At long last, she leaned back, but pinched my cheeks between her soft-as-wool fingers. My lips jutted out like a fish.

"I love you. You are new to them, to Cray." She blew her nose into her handkerchief.

"Isobel?"

She couldn't hear me over her prayers to the Lord situated somewhere on the arched ceiling.

"Oh, dear Lord, forgive me as I forgive those that trespass against us."

"Isobel please, just listen."

The door flung open and in stumbled Marsi, still in her housecoat and slippers. Her hair was stuck up.

"What the bejezuz is going on in here?" she boomed, uncapping a bottle of fizzing Coke and guzzling it down like a bottle of Jack Daniels. Maybe it was.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Marsi hiccupped and raised a claw-like hand. "Don't tell me. You've gone and chopped off Cray's head and buried it in the garden."

Hiccup. Slurp. Stumble.

The jibe made Isobel cry like a hyena.

Marsi staggered around the room, spraying her drink across the floor boards, cackling.

She clearly wasn't sober and had lost one slipper.

I'd had enough. It was turning in to a game of who can do the best wacko impersonation.

I headed for the doorway and almost bumped into Cray, of all people. The color of his eyes was concealed by his shades. But it didn't lessen the scour of their gaze.

"Cray Magnar Locke," Marsi chortled, collapsing with a thump. "You have your head!"