Winds of Salem (38 page)

She had come home.

She found comfort in the warm embrace of the familiar. But her homecoming was bittersweet and incomplete. She belted the words, glancing out the window, trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing.

This area, on the outskirts of North Hampton—hilly, woodsy, open in spots—offered a view of the ocean and Gardiners Island. It was perfect, she thought. Spring had arrived, bright and beautiful as her mother’s garden.

Freya parked the car on the side of the road, grabbed the flowers and a bottle of water from the passenger seat. She squared her shoulders as she stood before the opened wrought-iron gates, took her time strolling up the shady tree-lined path. A warm, moist breeze caressed her cheeks and bare limbs. Winter had finally gone. The grass was lush, a vivid green, the cypresses creaked, and the oaks whispered. There was a peaceful hush.

She wasn’t sure what had happened to Nate Brooks or James Brewster, but their names were no longer among the names of
those who had been hanged during the Salem witch trials. Somehow they had escaped the noose, and for that she was glad. She had a feeling she would see them again soon.

But she was not thinking about the boys today. She saw there were a few other visitors, walking along the twining paths or standing at the grave of a loved one. Some of the tombstones dated to the late 1800s. There were angels, cherubs (for children), elaborate crosses, stoic mausoleums, and simple pink, gray, and white marble stones. The cemetery hung on the hill overlooking the sea, and at a far end one could glimpse down and see Joanna’s house in the distance along the shore. It was near this spot, in the shade of three leaning evergreens, that the bodies of Joanna and Norman Beauchamp had been buried side by side. They had been found in the sea, the two of them drowned, their arms around each other, and had been buried in the same coffin.

Freya removed the dead flowers from the urn by the headstone and refilled it with water. She replaced the old with new yellow roses, which meant she missed them. She knelt on the grass in front of their grave.

The Beauchamp children had ordered the simplest of markers for their parents, and knowing Joanna’s distaste for epithets had forgone them. “How can one even begin to encapsulate oneself in a single, pithy sentence?” their mother had once said. But the siblings had added a little touch: beneath JOANNA BEAUCHAMP was engraved GODDESS OF THE EARTH; beneath NORMAN BEAUCHAMP, GOD OF THE SEA.

Freya pressed her hands in the grass on her parents’ grave. She knew they were content now that they were together in the underworld. They had promised to visit in her dreams, but so far, she had not seen her parents. She wondered when she ever would again. Her memories of the underworld had already begun fading.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and when she turned she saw her twin, her grief mirrored in his eyes. Ingrid was with him. “Sorry we’re late,” her sister said as she added their flowers to Freya’s. The siblings huddled in, holding on to one another. They only had each other now. They were orphans, but they were still a family.

More than a need for words was the need to just hang on.

chapter fifty-six

One Wedding among the Funerals

It was May. The bridesmaids’ dresses rippled against their legs in the wind, and their hair flew against their cheeks. They held bouquets of violets, asters, and irises, while the ocean waves crashed majestically behind them. Ingrid and Hudson had decided on no awful pastels, no embarrassing peach or citron. Instead, the dresses were a rich, dark ocean blue.

Ingrid beamed, not realizing that Freya had managed to change her neckline so that it curved a little lower than the designer had intended. Tabitha stood next to Freya, looking especially svelte, just a few weeks after giving birth.

The ceremony was being held on the beach below the terrace of the French restaurant La Plage, where the reception would take place afterward. Despite the wind, it was a beautiful summer day, dramatic white clouds billowing across a blue, blue sky. The North Hampton Golden String Trio, sisters wearing little white blossoms in their hair, began to play Schubert’s “Serenade.”

Ingrid felt a bit overcome by the stately beauty of it all, the
joy and gravity that they were about to witness. Freya winked at her, and Ingrid instinctively searched for her parents’ faces among the seated guests before she realized her mistake. She kept doing that—wishful forgetfulness. With each instance came the dreadful realization all over again, no less painful.

The guests quieted, shushing each other. The handsome young mayor of North Hampton, Justin Frond, stepped forth and everyone turned expectantly toward the shore. Ingrid felt her eyes brim with tears as Scott walked down the aisle with his parents. His father had the same broad shoulders, and he had his mother’s sweet smile.

She turned back to the audience, where Freya and Freddie were sitting with Matt. She gave him a fluttering wave, and the sunlight caught her engagement ring, sending a dazzling light into the crowd. She flushed with pleasure at the small but lovely ring on her finger.

They would be married in the fall. Their time together would be short, brutally short, in contrast to the long life she had ahead of her, but Ingrid had learned that there was no joy without sorrow, and that she would be able to bear the pain of losing him if she could have the joy of being his wife for however long they had together. She would not worry about the future, but live in the present. A baby, she wanted a baby so badly. Someone new to love, someone to fill the ache in her heart from the loss of her parents. The passages of time marched forward. It was time for new life, new loves.

Ingrid studied the crowd. It seemed the entire little town sat on the beach. Even the most awful and repellent Blake Aland had somehow landed on the guest list. How had that happened? She would have to ask Hudson once he was married. She spotted Freya’s boss, Sal. Freddie’s girlfriend, Kristy, with her kids, Max and Hannah. Gracella, Hector, and Tyler were there, too, since
Gracella worked for Scott part-time. Maggie sat with her father and mother. Ingrid had asked Hudson if she could invite both of them. “Bring it on!” he had said. Mariza had visited the library the other week, to bring a coffee cake and condolences. She had told Ingrid how she had lost her parents to a car accident when she was a teenager. “No one understands what it’s like to be an orphan, even when you’re grown. It’s very hard.” Ever since then, the two had become friends. Mariza even introduced her to her boyfriend, a banker from the city.

The music swelled. Freddie caught Ingrid’s eye and gave her a smile and a little wave. He had a new ring on his finger as well. Matt motioned to her with a nod, and when she looked Hudson was walking down the aisle, dressed in a dashing linen suit, walking hand in hand with his mother. Mrs. Rafferty wore a transparent pale pink kerchief to match her pink Chanel suit over her blond coif.

A sudden gust of wind swept across the beach, so that Mrs. Rafferty had to place a hand to hold on to her scarf, and a few petals from Ingrid’s bouquet flew into the crowd, landing on Freya’s and Freddie’s shoulders.

Mother,
Freya mouthed. Ingrid agreed. It had to be. She’d loved peonies.

Hudson took his place across from Scott, Mayor Frond standing between them with a huge grin.

Little Tyler, looking somber and grown-up in his black suit, walked up with the rings on a pillow.

Ingrid smiled.

Tyler had been accepted into the Carlyle School off the waiting list, and Joanna’s will had provided for his education. Her mother would have been pleased. Ingrid kept the envelope from her mother in her purse like a talisman. Joanna’s last words. Joanna’s instructions. Everything orderly and practical. Ingrid
had inherited the house. “I think you will need it, my dear, for your children.”
How did Mother know?
Ingrid could see into the future, but she had never been able to predict her own.

Finally, the last strains of Schubert faded as the trio set down their violins. Hudson and Scott held hands. Mayor Frond cleared his throat and began the marriage rites.

chapter fifty-seven

The Longest Journeys Begin with a Single Step

Kristy turned to Freddie with a rueful smile. It was the day after the Wedding of the Season, which is what everyone in North Hampton was calling Scott and Hudson’s nuptials. The North Inn bartenders were sitting on the top of a sand dune, some distance apart, out on the little beach at the back of her place.

Freddie stared out, playing with the ring on his finger. He twirled it around as he watched the waves. Finally, Kristy spoke. “We had a nice run, didn’t we? I can’t say I’m not sad.”

“Me neither.” Freddie winced.

Kristy’s ex hadn’t brought Max and Hannah back yet. They still had a little time. The sun had begun to set, silver and blue streaks running through pink and orange. It had grown chilly, and she shivered in her oversize sweatshirt. Freddie wanted to tug her to him, hold her, reassure her, tell her it would all be okay, but he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate.

After all, he had just broken up with her.

He was leaving tonight. Leaving North Hampton. He was going away for a while with his old pal Troy.

Freddie wasn’t ready to settle down, no matter what his heart told him now. He wasn’t ready to be a husband or a father. He had been cutting ties all morning. Tragedy had a way of putting it all into perspective. He had given his marriage with Gert an earnest shot but it was over. The contract was null and void. He was a free man again. She had been weepy and apologetic, but he had already been down that road with her before, and he knew where it led. Maybe one day they would find each other again—it happened that way with their kind. He would be glad for it, even; perhaps by then he would be ready.

“I’m really sorry,” he told Kristy. He meant it, but he couldn’t stay.

Kristy nodded. “I knew you wouldn’t stay. It’s all right. Like I said, we had a good run.”

He had spent too much time in Limbo, five thousand years, and he needed to roam free, there were nine worlds in the universe, and he was intent on exploring each one. He had wasted too much valuable time on nothing—video games and living online—it was time to live his lives…

“You’re making this easy,” he said.

She laughed softly. “Yeah! Maybe too easy, Freddie.”

Freddie looked down at the ring on his finger. After they had defeated Odin, his father had given him the ring. “The nine worlds are yours, my son.” Freddie had taken the ring made of ancient dragon bone and used it to travel to the underworld, where he had been able to say good-bye to his mother one last time.

With the trident returned to its rightful owner and the passages of time flowing once more in the right direction, the Bofrir had been restored as if it had never been destroyed. The bridge between Midgard and Asgard stood once more, and Odin would stand trial with the White Council. Even the pixies had returned to
Álfheim
. Freddie missed them a little.

Perhaps he and Troy would visit them on their journey.

chapter fifty-eight

The Loves of Her Life