The Lebrus Stone (3 page)

I gasped, trying to free myself. He was hurting.

"Every day I see guys checking you out, Crys. And every day you act like you don't notice."

"T, let go!"

"You know, at first I thought you were just shy or something. Insecure. I even thought you might be playing hard to get." His eyes blazed and his teeth clenched. I'd never seen this side of him. I hadn't known he carried so much anger because of me. "Now I just think you're emotionless," he carried on. "Empty or half full. I mean…" He blinked a few times and cringed. "Maybe you vouch for the other team."

"What? Look, T, I have to go." I managed to pull away and grab my luggage.

"But I'll wait," he said, helping me, quickly composing himself and becoming the kinder T I knew and preferred. "I'll wait if that's what you're expecting of me," he added too close to my face. "And I'm …sorry for the way I reacted just now." He smiled tightly.

I stepped away before he could lean in any closer and catch me off guard and kiss me like the last time. Unrequited desires weren't on top of the list of predicaments I needed to face.

"It's fine, T. See you soon."

With a smile, I walked away from everything I needed to forget.

~ * ~

Lowering my head, I made my way along the cramped aisle of seats, bumping feet as sweat trickled onto my hand held luggage.

"Can I help?" a blonde airhostess asked as she grabbed my things. Before I could respond, she asked to see my ticket.

"That seat's just over here," she sang in a bright, sparkling voice.

I followed after her, doing my best to smile at the other passengers who were breaking from a private discussion to monitor my clumsy steps.

"Here it is!" she sang even higher. "Seat 101."

She crammed my bags into the top bay then turned to face me. "Can I help you with anything else?" she asked with an over-confident smile, brushing her hands together as if dirt had infected them from my things.

"No, thanks," I said, collapsing into my seat. I didn't have any company beside me. Not that I cared. I wanted to sleep my way to another state.

"Can I get you something to drink?" She bent forward until we were eye level.

"Um, just water, please."

"Napkin?" She smirked.

Were they serving food already?

"I —"

"For your face."

I touched it. It was wetter than I thought.

I nodded.

She re-appeared quicker than I could swallow, holding out a large, white cellophane cup and a blue napkin.

"Thank you."

"If you need anything else, don't hesitate to raise a hand."

She smiled right on cue and tapped her heels down the aisle. I wondered if she had any help for crazy ideas.

As I held onto my seat, I tried to get comfortable, but couldn't. I was too scared of the flight; most of all, the landing.

"Excuse me," a woman said in front of me, turning in her seat to smile like she'd known me all her life. "First flight?" she asked in an accent that sounded Scottish.

I nodded and drank all of my water.

"Here, have a macaroon," she said, holding out a candy bar.

I sensed she was trustworthy, so accepted it and took a small bite. It was soft in the middle and crispy on the outside, kind of like a Baby Ruth, but without the added crunch. It was good, too good not to accept another two bars.

"Flying on your lonesome?" she asked.

"Yes. You?"

"Oh, I fly alone all the time," she said, then sipped on her glass of red wine. "Goin' anywhere special?"

"Just visiting an…old relative."

"Ay." She nodded. "The oldest can be best."

"How about you?" I asked, to be polite.

"Hmmm, I've a rich boyfriend in Albemarle who has a wee weak spot for the older woman." She winked. "Twenty-five," she whispered. "Can ya believe it?"

I nodded. Although I didn't think it was a question.

"Names Edine, by the way."

She called for the stewardess to fill her glass.

"Crystal." I held up my cup for some more water.

Edine looked at me with circumspect, clear green eyes that had a mischievous squint. "You know, you've got soul collecting eyes." She pointed at me.

"Excuse me?"

"They pick up a lot." She grinned. "Emotions 'n that."

"I don't know," I muttered, getting uncomfortable for a different reason.

"Come on, try me. What d'ya see?"

"Um…"

"Behind my face, through the eyes like. Go on, you know what I mean."

"Uh…"

"You can see it, can't you? I know you can."

The pressure was making me sweat even more.

"Um…Uh…Cou-ra-geous?"

"And?"

"A little over…opinionated?"

She smirked. "Keep going."

"…Sensitive."

"And?"

"…Sincere."

"There, ya see. Soul searching eyes."

It was true. I was good at reading some people, but I only knew those things from talking to the woman. Her face was kind, open and warm, also dignified, with too much make-up, unsymmetrical features and hair too big and off color and orange under the bright lights.

"I'd say you've collected a bit in your time, though," she added. "Too much I'd say. I think it's time you let go of all that baggage, honey. Make some room for the new arrival."

New arrival?

With a grin she turned away, ending the strangest conversation I'd ever had.

My seat mate, whom I found beside me when I opened my eyes after a nap, had given me a hand getting by the crowd of passengers.

I watched as he ran into the arms of his wife and children waiting for him in the terminal. It was all I could focus my eyes on: the joy, the unity, the way they acted like no one else existed. Slowly that same ache burned inside me, making me see myself for who I really was and how I was detached from everything; just an orphan, a girl without a family or a pleasant past to recall.

That could change
, a voice in the back of my head said.
It might not,
it added, like a true pessimist.

"Crystal!" someone yelled. "Over here!"

A broad man began making his way through the not so crowded terminal, wearing a blue flannel shirt, knee length khaki shorts and muck-encrusted boots.

"So it
is
you," he said when he finally reached me. His light gray eyes had a gleam to them as he smiled down at me. It looked as though he was going to lift me up and spin me around. As if realizing his overreaction to my arrival, his smile vanished and was replaced with a look of confusion.

I knew the feeling.

"Sorry, am I supposed to know you?" I frowned.

"I think so. I'm Milton. The Locke's gardener. I'm taking you to Thorncrest Manor."

"
You're
taking me?"

Isobel had told about Milton, how they even had a housekeeper. They were more like family.

Still, the gardener?

Milton smirked
as if he knew what I was thinking, and rubbed the peppery bristle on his square chin with thick fingers. "That's right. Shall we get your luggage?"

After grabbing my bags, he set off for the baggage carousel. I followed him since I had no other plans.

"Mrs. Locke wanted to collect you herself," he said, becoming tongue tied, "but she…uh…got caught up in something." He rubbed at his chin again.

It sounded like an excuse. But why? Wasn't I a big deal anymore?

I had to take deep breaths as Milton grabbed my wheeled suitcase like it weighed as little as a bag of sugar and pulled it along the terminal. Out in the garage, he threw it into the trunk of a deep blue Jeep along with my other luggage, then turned to grab my handbag, which I assured him was fine with me.

With smile and wink, he closed the trunk and did some kind of drum roll on top of it before opening the passenger door to help me inside. He then hopped into the driver's seat and shook the whole vehicle.

I had to hold on to the dashboard as he maneuvered like a snake on wheels, cutting lanes and skimming every coppery spruce or fern tree with the back of his large bumper.

"So, Utah?" he asked as I tried to re-apply my lipstick. He swerved to the left and made lose the lid.

"Yes. Salt Lake City."

I found the lid wedged between a jack hammer and stick of gum by my feet
.

Jack hammer?

I panicked, turning my head to look at Milton whistling.

Getting so easily into his car was probably a bad idea, I thought. He might not have been the Locke's gardener after all. "How…uh, did you know who I was?" I asked. It dawned on me that he had no way of knowing.

Oh no, was I being kidnapped?

"Let's just say, I had a feeling." He smirked. "Besides, you have a way of standing out in a crowd."

I didn't know if he was referring to my dazed walk through the terminal or my appearance. By the sound of his robust laughter, it was perhaps the first theory. It also sounded like he had no real answers and I was dead meat.

"Your long, chestnut brown hair and..." He smirked again. "I'm just kidding. Mrs. Locke gave me this."

He handed me the newspaper clipping Isobel's friend had recognized me in. The collection included two photographs that had been taken of Isobel and me in front of the Wasatch Mountains. I supposed it cleared Milton's potential to abduct me. I should have guessed Isobel would have shown her employees a picture of me.

"Who's the..." For the first time, he concentrated on avoiding the bumps on the road. "Who's the old guy?" he finally asked.

"That's my boss, Jared."

"You seem close."

I admired the photograph, until I noticed Milton staring like he was waiting for me to explain.

"He's more like a father," I said, feeling emotional. As usual I tried not to be.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, his sun freckled brow creasing.

He looked just as teary-eyed. I blinked and he was back to smiling.

"I guess I'm just missing him already." I tried to smile back.

He nodded and looked ahead at the road without saying anything further. When he did, I was caught off guard, especially by the question. "So, are you ethnic?"

"Excuse me?"

"Of a foreign nature?" he asked, zipping down another lane dotted with rustic dairy farms. "You have an, how shall I put it, an exotic look about you."

"Um, my grandfather was Hispanic. That could be why. He was apparently from Las Palmas. I think my mother had French descendants from Montpellier."

He grinned like he knew all along.

"I'm only a quarter Hispanic."

"Yup. You're quite the unique blend." He laughed, plowing through a flurry of yapping sea birds.

It was a better word than anomaly.

To ease my nerves, I peered out of my open window. West Virginia, no matter how different from home, was beautiful as it glimmered an emerald green and amber. The about-to-turn-golden fields of wheat swayed in the warm breeze, and the distant, rugged hills and narrow valleys wavered toward the cloudless sky.

Even the air smelled clean here, like freshly cut grass. The vibrant brambles and evergreens filled my senses with further scents such as fermenting soil and moist bark, and I realized what I'd been missing out on growing up in the traffic-polluted suburbs.

The atmosphere changed though when we passed the signpost into Blacksville.

The sun began to drift behind a cluster of clouds; a dull gray coated the town and a thick fog loomed heavy over the windshield. Even the streets were quiet, the stores empty, and not one person walked the riverbanks or fields. It made me wonder if my arrival had something to do with it, but then I brushed it off as being paranoid.

Besides, Blacksville had a population of one hundred and seventy-five. I had a feeling it was going to be like a ghost town, most likely packed full of the elderly and prying, bored occupants of a forgotten land. It could have been why they called it
Black
sville. Nobody could really see it, not even on the map

We continued along a narrow road with bowed trees where Milton took the liberty of naming a few, until an opening of small shrubs and vines, which he named Fothergillas and Sumacs, started to encroach the space. Here he turned left onto a paved slope covered in crisp leaves; mid-roaring stone lions were perched on cream, ridged pillars.

I held on to my seatbelt as the Jeep entered typical, wrought iron gates before I checked my face in my compact mirror. As expected my hair was a lifeless wave around my moist face. My usual olive skin was sallow. But I was breathing at least; short, quiet, painful pants as we headed toward a crescent drive.

The fog settled into a damp mist which lent the driveway the eeriness of an abandoned cemetery. Milton drove on, and it came into sight: Thorncrest Manor, a dark, dappled gray stone structure, wavering like a hazy dream. At three stories high and the width of three stately homes, it reminded me of a giant, leering shadow. The large empty windows looked as though they were keeping a vigilant eye on anyone who entered.

I shuddered. It was no wonder my mother ran away from the place.

"It's only daunting at first," Milton said as he parked the Jeep beside a marble angel-topped fountain. His eyes met mine and I wondered if my father's eyes could have melted my fears as much. A part of me wanted it to be him sat next to me, but then I was just glad to have found someone I could feel comfortable with.

I hadn't minded the lack of a conversation between us the rest of the way. I wasn't exactly in the mood for a conversation about the weather anyway. Not when there was eventually nothing good to say about it.

Milton grabbed my luggage out of the Jeep. I followed him up stone steps to the fanlighted door. The sky grew even darker.

"We get thunderstorms in May," Milton informed me after using the lion's head door knocker, lowering my suspicions that I wasn't welcome. "Still, it looks like one of the biggest we've ever had is heading in," he added, ruining that optimism.

We gazed at the bruised clouds spreading like a hand in the distance.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure it's not a bad omen," he said. "Thorncrest is domineering no matter the weather. You'll get used to it." He winked. "Hopefully you'll get used to a lot of things around here."

Before I could ask what he meant, the door creaked open and a short woman stepped forward, brushing small hands down a floral apron like she was about to meet the pope, not an eighteen year old orphan. "Crystalla. Welcome!" she gushed.

Wrinkles around her almond shaped eyes deepened as she smiled just as over ecstatic as Milton had. Although average in height, she was big boned and rounded at the waist. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and her wide mouth hinted at how beautiful she must have been in her youth. I also noticed auburn curls peeking through a hairnet. Her apron covered most of her plain brown dress.

"Thanks. But I…prefer Crystal."

The woman's smile vanished, just like Milton's had, but in its place was the saddest face I'd ever seen on a grown woman.

I gulped.

"I see. Well as you perhaps know, I'm Sydney. The Locke's housekeeper," she said sullenly. "But you can go ahead and call me Syd."

"Nice to meet you, Syd."

Another silence loomed.

"Syd here has worked for the Lockes as long as I have," Milton thankfully said.

"So I've been told," I mumbled, uncertain how to keep the conversation going. Syd was making me uncomfortable. She seemed to be expecting something.

A hug?

"Come on in," she gestured with a big sweep of her hand, smiling way over the top again. "It looks like all hell's going to break loose out here."

I stepped into a cavernous hallway that was just as dim as the town, the air somehow colder, like the inside of a refrigerator. I shivered in my thin cardigan. I was only wearing a halter neck and Jeggings.

Ahead a walnut brown staircase curved up to what I imagined were lavish, large bedrooms. To the left, a tall grandfather clock ticked loudly. Opposite it was a painting of a plump-faced woman wearing a long, black veil. It was totally creepy.

The slightly cobwebbed chandelier was the only other addition among the dated and ancient looking beige walls. Both outside and inside reminded me of something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. My roommate at the apartment I was renting was a huge fan. A scene from the
The Birds
came to mind and I shivered. Except it was due to the feeling of someone stroking my back.

I looked behind me and saw no one, just the closed front door.

"Isobel's waiting for you in the study," Syd said, placing her hand on my arm.

It could have been her, I thought. Maybe she had been standing behind me for a few seconds.

"I doubt she will have heard the knock at the door," she added.

I decided her voice was calming. It was needed in a place that seemed more like a home for the Munsters rather than the prestigious Lockes. I also noted Syd sounded as though she was trying to reassure me Isobel was eager to see me. I had to press down the insecure feeling Isobel had changed her mind about my visit.

"You two go ahead," Milton said, breaking me from that gut clenching thought. "I'll take Crystal's things to her room." He climbed the stairs with my luggage without so much as a huff.

Syd led the way to a closed door at the end of the hall. Thunder boomed, and I flinched. The same unwelcome feeling invaded me; the walls seemed to narrow in, grope. I tried to keep breathing.

It's just an old house.
Stop imagining the worst.

As soon as Syd opened the door to the study, I could see how much darker it was getting through the one window. Thick, dusky clouds erupted across the sky, lightning flashed across the hills as another rumble of thunder made me jump. It was so loud the shelves of what must have been centuries old books trembled.

Isobel was sitting behind a huge desk on the right hand side of the room, scribbling into a notebook, looking immaculate as always, with hair styled in a French twist.

Today she had on a baby blue blouse that accentuated her swan like neck, and maybe black, narrow-legged slacks like she did often. She peered up, smiled and rushed over to me, planting a kiss on my cheeks before hugging me. I tried not to wipe away any traces of mauve lipstick she might have left behind.