The Widow's Walk (18 page)

“No, not really,” Virginia answered. “Then again, a few days transpired between my conversation and yours, so maybe my answers influenced his questions to you. But there's a bigger issue here, Dale.”

“Which is?”

“Well, there's nothing wrong with wanting to renovate an old house and then live in it. As a matter of fact, my guess is that when it's done, it will be absolutely charming. That's not the point. What concerns me are his motives. It's almost as if he is so obsessed with the past that he really wants to live there. And if that obsession becomes strong enough, then it's unhealthy. He's already stretched pretty thin, and now his preoccupation with restoring the house isn't helping. Plus, when I spoke to him I got the impression that he had more to tell me, but he didn't for some reason. That's not like him, and the more I think about it, the more it all worries me. It's almost like that old house actually has some weird power over him.”

Dale placed four slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster then he poured another cup of coffee before returning to his chair. As he sat there thinking, Virginia could see the concern registering on his face.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

Dale sighed and looked into her eyes.

“Ginnie,” he asked, “do we have a son who's in trouble?”

Thinking, she worriedly rubbed her forehead.

“I only wish I knew.”

Chapter 17

Garrett was still sitting on his balcony when the sun came up. The alcohol had eventually calmed him, but not so much that he couldn't function. He then cleaned up, changed his clothes, and left for Seaside in search of answers.

While driving, he still agonized over whether to tell Constance about his “flashback.” They had previously vowed to tell each other everything, but this seemed a special circumstance. If the nature of his experience had been less intimate, there would be no doubt. But as things stood, he didn't know what to do. He was now experiencing the same sort of phenomena as was Constance, and that realization disturbed him to his core.

He was desperately concerned that if he told her, she would feel violated. But in the end he realized that she must know, because anything that might help in their quest for answers could not be ignored. Clearly if they were to solve this mystical riddle, no scrap of information could be deemed too sensitive to hide from one another. The flashback he had experienced last night concerned him for other reasons, as well. Would there be more of them, for example? He desperately hoped not, because they were highly cathartic events that he feared might do true psychological damage, if left unchecked. He also longed to tell the story to his mother but knew that he couldn't, for fear of sounding like a complete lunatic.

There is some reason why these things are happening to us,
he thought as he turned onto the road toward Seaside.
There simply must be. But it's all such a mystery! And every day I become more convinced that until we solve it, we will never escape its grip.

When he neared Seaside he did not see Constance. He parked the Jeep out front, and because it was a nice day he left its top open. After grabbing up a brown paper bag from the back, he took a moment to admire the house.

Garrett was pleased with what he saw. Even one with no knowledge of architecture could see that the house was coming along. Jay's men had begun installing the new siding, and several others had started repairing the widow's walk. Soon now, repairs would also be made to other areas such as the veranda, the side porches, and so on. From the very beginning he had believed that Seaside would be an absolutely beautiful house, and with each passing day he became surer of it.

As an architect, he had always preferred overseeing restorations and remodeling, as opposed to building new structures. It was true that designing a new work gave him a great deal of latitude. But restoring an old building, especially one with a significant history, ensured that future generations could enjoy it as well.

Because it was Sunday and there were no workers about, the house seemed unusually quiet. After putting the brown paper bag down on one of the kitchen counters, he called out Constance's name but got no reply. She must be in the barn, he decided.

That was when he heard her call his name. Walking back down the hall, he checked each room and found her sitting on the dining room floor, her back against one corner and her knees pulled tightly against her chest.

He quickly walked in and sat down beside her. She looked exhausted, her face red and blotchy from hard crying. He soon guessed that she was again bereft of sleep. Knowing that he would be risking the same onslaught of sexual longing he always felt when touching her, he nonetheless stroked her cheek. As he did, the feeling overcame him briefly and then vanished when his fingertips reluctantly left her skin.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly. “Did something happen?”

Constance looked at him with beseeching eyes.

“My God, Garrett,” she said, her voice a near whisper. “I suffered another flashback last night, and it was awful. Like the first one, this was something that actually happened. And also like the first one, I was quite unaware of my future life in the here and now.”

Exhausted, she laid her head on his shoulder.

“You should tell me about it,” he said.

Constance nodded slightly.

“Yes . . .” she answered. “But first, I have a question for you.”

Garrett smiled.

“Of course,” he answered.

“Did you by chance bring coffee?” she asked. “I must admit that since you've come into my life, I've developed an affinity for it. And doughnuts . . . the truth is I've been stealing one each morning while Jay's workmen are here. I like the way they taste too.”

Garrett smiled again.

“Why yes, madam,” he said. “I just happen to have a thermos of coffee and two cheese Danish waiting in the kitchen.”

“Bless you,” she answered.

T
WO CUPS OF BLACK COFFEE
and a Danish later, Constance began telling Garrett about her flashback. As she described it, she was very careful to include all the details. Retelling it was difficult for her, and she paused several times. But when it was over, a great weight seemed to have been lifted from her shoulders.

The two of them were sitting cross-legged on the dining room floor, drinking the remains of the coffee. When Constance finished her story, Garrett sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“I knew that there was dueling in the antebellum period, and that in some areas it even lasted straight through the Civil War,” he said. “After that it fell out of favor, and most states passed laws against it. But I of course had no idea that Adam had participated in one, or that he nearly lost his life. I assume that because he died later at sea, he was able to overcome Jack Rackham's bullet wound, right?”

Constance nodded.

“It took several months, but Emily and I nursed him back to health. The ball broke one rib then went cleanly out his back. The most important thing in those days was to keep the wound clean, because we didn't have any antibiotics, and surgeons were few. But Adam pulled through, God bless him. He saved us all that day. Although he hated the notoriety, he became known in New Bedford as ‘the man who killed Jack Rackham.' ”

Garrett leaned his head back, thinking about something Constance had told him. She disliked this day and age, she had said, and wished that she could return to her own time and be with Adam. But it wasn't just missing Adam that made her feel this way, Garrett knew. As she had told him, she believed the time in which she previously lived had been far more genteel and halcyon, despite being so different.
Perhaps what they say is true, after all,
he thought. Maybe there really is no place like home.

Garrett knew that he must tell her about his own flashback, yet she seemed so vulnerable right now that he remained hesitant. On the other hand, because she had just shared her experience with him, this might be the best time. After letting go a long sigh, Garrett looked into her eyes.

“I have something to tell you too,” he said softly. “I've been questioning whether to, but I decided that you must know.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Before I tell you,” he said, “you must understand that I had absolutely no control over what happened. It was as if I was possessed, and being controlled by forces far stronger than I.”

Constance looked at him quizzically.

“Go on,” she said.

“I had my first flashback last night,” he answered. “And like your experiences, it was no dream. I was really there, and yet I was not. And even now I'm hesitant to tell you, because I'm so worried about how you might react.”

Constance shook her head.

“You must never feel that way,” she answered. “Do you not see? To ever find our way out of this, we must be completely honest with each other. So please, Garrett, please tell me all of it, no matter how difficult it might prove. I promise I will do my best to understand.”

Still fearing that he might lose her trust forever, Garrett began telling the story. As he did, Constance blushed and cast her eyes to the floor. But even during the most awkward parts she never distanced herself from him. When at last he was done, she looked back into his eyes.

“My God, Garrett,” she whispered.

“I know,” he answered. “And there's something I have to know from you, Constance.”

“Yes . . . ?”

“While this was going on, were you ‘there' with me? Were you aware of what was happening?”

As Constance began crying again, she nodded.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice shaking. “I was there with you. It happened right after I reexperienced Adam's duel with Yancy. I went unconscious again, and the next thing I knew, I was in your arms.”

Garrett ran his hands through his hair, thinking. There was another question he wanted to ask but wasn't sure he dared. At last he decided.

“There's something else that I must know,” he said gently. “Forgive me for asking this, but did you want it too? Please tell me that I didn't take you against your will . . .”

As if she were ashamed, Constance looked down at the floor.

“Yes, Garrett,” she answered, her voice now a mere whisper. “I daresay that I wanted it as badly as you, and was equally compelled. I had decided not to mention it, unless you did. Was it wrong of us?”

Vastly relieved that Constance didn't feel violated, he sighed.

“I don't know,” he answered. “But I'm sure of two things.”

“And what are they?” she asked.

“I don't think we could have stopped, even if we had wanted to,” he said. “We were in the grip of some force far larger than ourselves, I'm convinced of it.”

“And the other thing?” she asked.

“I'm not sorry it happened.”

Constance looked at the floor again, thinking. It was becoming clear to Garrett that she had something important to say, and she was trying to find the courage. When he reached out and put one hand on her shoulder, the familiar sexual undercurrent ran through him again.

“What is it?” he asked. “I know that this must have upset you greatly, but as I told you, there was literally nothing we could do about it.”

Constance shook her head again.

“No,” she answered, “it is not what you think. What really concerns me goes much deeper. And because of that, there is something that I must now know from you. But you will probably be as unwilling to answer my question, as I am afraid to hear your reply.”

“What is it?” he asked.

Constance took a deep breath.

“Are you falling in love with me, Garrett?” she asked.

Although he might have expected this question from her, it still rattled him deeply. Not so much because Constance had asked it, but because he must now reveal his true feelings about her. For more reasons than he could count, he still struggled mightily with telling her the truth. But they had come this far, and being deceitful would not only harm their relationship, but it might also impede their search for answers.

And here it is at last,
he thought.
The one question that I have feared asking of myself, despite knowing its answer for some time now. So be it, then.

Garrett took Constance's hands into his own and looked into her eyes.

“God help me, yes,” he admitted. “I have loved you from the first moment I saw you in my dream. And I have more passion for you than for any other woman I have ever known. Forgive me if my love for you is unwanted, but I simply can't help myself. It dwells deep inside me, and to ignore it would not only be a lie to you, but also a betrayal to me.”

Constance quickly stood and went to stand before one of the dining room windows. Rather than ask her to return, Garrett remained silent. After a time, she turned and looked at him.

“This mustn't happen, Garrett,” Constance said. “We simply cannot allow it. I still love Adam, despite what occurred between us.”

“And what about us?” he asked. “You can't tell me that you feel nothing for me, Constance. I don't know how deep your feelings run, but I believe that you care, and perhaps far more than you'd like to admit. Call me crazy, but I can sense it. You're so deep inside me, it's almost like I breathe with you.”

Her silent tears came again, this time more out of frustration than fear. Wrapping her arms protectively about herself, she stared at him almost as if she were seeing him for the first time.

“Yes, Garrett,” she said. “You are right—my feelings for you are growing, and they scare me. Although Adam is still the love of my life, it is becoming harder and harder for me to keep my love for him from turning into even more passion for you. And may God forgive me, although what transpired between us has made me feel guilty, I'm not sorry that it happened, either.”