With One Look (42 page)

The change in him was not reflected in his appearance, and perhaps the only people who recognized it were his father, Murray and Sebastian. He did not even recognize it until ... until when?

That day Jade came to him with the news that she carried his. child. He had thought little of children before then, and he supposed if he had thought at all about them, he considered them inevitable, and if they ever happened, merely a pleasant addition to life. But oh how that changed with Jade. Suddenly he had not wanted one child; he wanted a dozen of them and not a soul less.

He wanted to see that smile on Jade's face permanently; he wanted that flawless figure plump and forever changed, marked by their love.

He felt a sudden sadness he recognized as longing. Longing for her smile and laughter, the bounty of the love she had brought to him, the feel of the soft slender curves against his flesh as he tasted her mouth....

Daylight receded slowly, bit by bit, absorbed and drained by a darkening violet sky.

Twilight and its quiet stillness settled onto the land. His body abruptly tensed; his senses stood aware of something. Like an animal alerted to danger. His gaze darted around the small clearing as the words sounded in his mind: "I beg you, Monsieur, you will destroy her, you might kill her ... kill her ..." Then Jade's pained declaration: "I want to die! I just want to die...."

He never knew how he knew but the knowledge came as a sharp physical jolt, an unimaginable fear. With Jade's name on his lips, he was instantly on his feet, running.

She stood at the edge of a steep cliff carved by the small tributary below, looking down forty or so deadly feet to the swift-moving river water rushing over smooth, clean rocks. There was no question she wanted to. Leaning precariously forward, she waited only for the necessary moment of courage.

She remembered a Jade who had valued human life above all other things, her own life included. Where was that Jade who embraced life with open arms with all her heart and soul? She had died; she was nothing more than a receding memory....

How curious that the dead Jade would have felt such shame at reaching the edge of a cliff.

Taking life was an unpardonable sin—the greatest crime—and taking one's own life, unconscionable. For she had been blessed with all God has to give: she had a husband who loved her with all the fierceness and possession of his being, she had a family of friends, each of whom had loved and cared for her. She had once had so much love, and an abundance of joy-

But he had killed that Jade so she could see. And so she did. She saw a room washed in blood everywhere she looked.

Wolf Dog howled, low and long, confused by how close she stood to danger. He leaped back and barked, a fierce threatening bark.

She felt no shame now. Only the desperation of a trapped and helpless creature with no way out but this cliff. She closed her eyes, felt a gust of wind flap her skirt and slide tears from her eyes. Then, in an effort to find courage, she took a deep breath and visualized the room washed in blood…

Victor burst from the forest and stopped dead in his tracks. Jade at the edge of her death, a vision from a nightmare. He couldn't reach her in time. He couldn't voice the "No!" in his throat, certain that she would turn and look at him, leaving him haunted by that one last look for the rest of his life. With a previously unknown helplessness, he cautiously moved toward her, praying for something that wasn't to be given, forcing himself to watch a horror that couldn't be borne.

But Jade seemed unable to take her last step. Instead her courage inched its way into being and she leaned toward the thin line of balance separating her from death.

She crossed it. Her heart leaped in anticipation of flight. Her arms, futile wings, frantically circled to push her back. Victor shouted behind her even as Wolf Dog sprang in the air.

The dog's leap into the air looked like a devil's cruel push, but jaws clamped onto the bun of her hair, and with an unnatural twist of his lithe body, Wolf Dog fell back to a safer place, bringing Jade with him to the ground. The dog turned on her as if he knew her madness, and stood over her to keep her still for the mate.

Victor fell on top of her. He pinned her arms to the ground, his eyes looked wild and crazed and filled with fear. He stared down at her in shocked disbelief.

Jade, too, was shaken with fear; she was afraid of having come so close, of how mad she was, of how much it hurt. She was afraid of him and what he would do.

Victor knew a rage more violent than he had ever known before. The purpose had been to punish him! It was the ultimate revenge and it would have destroyed him as death never could.

"God damn your vengeful heart to hell! I prefer a bullet to my head, girl! We all would. Yes," he said to her confusion. "It wouldn't just be me who would have to live with the burden of that grief. It would be all of us who love you, Jade."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I’m not getting better. It hurts so badly, this precious gift of sight. I hate it.... I hate seeing!" The green eyes shot up to him. "And I hate you for making me!"

Victor opened the door. She lay on the bed, her face buried, her long loosened hair spilling over the bedclothes like dark silk. Wolf Dog wagged his tail but, as if he too, felt her despondency, he didn't rise.

She looked up, and he saw her antipathy.

A heart that holds no hope finds no peace. The very first evening Jade had climbed down from the carriage, walked through the doors of her home that she could see for the first time and climbed up the stairs. She found her room. As everyone else crowded into the entrance hall, they heard the door shut. Her despondency went deep.

Two weeks had passed—and little had changed.

Then word came that the Reverend Mother had died ...

It had been the hardest thing he had ever done, bringing her the news. She had looked confusedly about the room, and—dear Lord—those eyes. She looked, as if she were being ravished from the inside out, until, finally, they lowered to where her hand held the small, cherished statuette. He had tried to comfort her, wanting to so badly, but she would not let him. "No please. I need to be alone."

"Jade, sweetheart," he beckoned, "I have a present for you downstairs." She turned her head away. "I don't want it."

As gently as possible he said, "I insist. Come. Up with you, now. I want you to see it."

She rose wordlessly from the bed, stepping to the door and ignoring the hand reaching out to her. Wolf Dog barked, happily following his mistress down the stairs. She stood in the entrance hall waiting for directions.

"Outside." He pointed.

She stepped through the doors and stopped with a gasp.

Surrounded by Murray, Mercedes and Sebastian, and in the middle of the gravel-lined driveway, stood the most magnificent young mare she had ever seen. More beautiful than Marcella, the last mare she had seen win the parish races. Sixteen hands high, the roan-colored horse was tall and proud, made of smooth muscle and power. Made of magic and wonder. Jade felt an invisible line draw her steadily to the creature who had the awesome force to give wings to her dreams.

"Mine? Is she mine?"

He tried to hide his excitement, her response being so much more than he had hoped for. "Yes," he said.

Jade went to the mare's side. The audience fell quiet, but smiles betrayed their excitement as Jade's pale hands gently stroked the silky coat. The mare jerked the reins from Sebastian's hold as if to get a good look at her new mistress. Jade stroked the beautiful head, drew a deep breath and expelled it into the animal's nostrils, laughing as an excited shiver raced along the huge back. The mare nudged Jade approvingly.

The sound of her laughter made Mercedes squeeze Victor's arm affectionately. Victor bit his lip to stop a pleased smile, and instead said matter-of-factly: "Old Reardon bred her. He does the job without breaking the spirit. Still, she's pretty green, so you'll have go easy until she gets used to the saddle."

Jade ran a hand along the strong back. She'd never put a saddle on her. Never. "She's a beaut," Murray offered, pleased.

"You can borrow my riding clothes," Mercedes offered.

"Riding clothes. Yes." She needed some riding clothes. Surely Chachie had something. "I'll be right back," she said as she spun around and rushed back into the house, leaving Victor and her friends to whisper excitedly about this first success in drawing her out.

Victor knelt down, and was inspecting the mare's shoes when Jade emerged from the house. He first heard Sebastian's appreciative whistle and Mercedes's halted exclamation. He slowly stood up, staring. Staring because he had never seen a woman in trousers. He had never imagined such a thing. Jade wore a pair of old breeches, a belt and a shirt. She wore no shoes. Every dramatic curve was accented for his gaze.

Desire, hot and hard, hit him so forcefully it rocked him back. He started to shake his head. "Oh, no, Jade. You can believe I won't—"

"No one will see me. I'll ride through the back swamps and keep to the property line."

The coal-black brows and lashes accented the lovely eyes, the uncertainty there. He knew what she was asking him. For freedom. How badly he wanted to give her this and how easy it would be—if only he had her love again!

"Can't you see? She wasn't meant for a saddle. I won't do it."

The moment stretched as he stared at her. A breeze blew through the towering cypress and the old oaks, shifting the ivy hanging like drapes from the branches. Red-breasted sparrows flew to a nest hidden in the flowering bougainvillea on the first-story eves. The mare shifted her feet, crunching against the tiny pebbles of the gravel.

He nodded.

She bit her lip to contain her excitement. The smile that followed was a lure more powerful than a siren's song. If the way to her heart was through creatures, he'd start buying her every wild animal in the London Zoo, one by one....

Surprising everyone, she agilely vaulted the mare's side as if she had rehearsed the move a thousand times. She leaned forward and took the reins, lifting them over the horse's head.

The horse danced prettily, excited by her mistress's small weight.

"Oh, Jade, your shoes?" Mercedes said, still aghast and only vaguely aware of the fear riding this swift change, a fear somehow focused on her bare feet. "It's dangerous not to wear proper boots—"

"Aye." Murray was still staring. "You could break your foot—"

Jade looked down at their worried faces, her eyes somehow mocking this concern. "It's not something I am inclined to concern myself with these days. With any luck I'll manage to keep my feet intact."

Mercedes felt suddenly desperate to keep her with them. As if they all saw too late what the horse meant. She asked anxiously, "Oh, but what shall you call her, Jade?"

"Ariel," she said as the animal turned in a pretty circle. "The wind spirit."

Then she leaned forward slightly, lightly touching her bare feet to Ariel's side and giving a click of her tongue. Horse and rider were off, looking like a mythological creature from the pages of a fairy tale. Looking like the physical manifestation of the single word freedom.

Wolf Dog raced after them, barking with excitement.

Victor stared after her rapidly disappearing figure, hoping the sudden freedom Ariel gave her would be a step back to him, rather than one more step away. Desire still coursed through him, swift and strong, utterly ignorant that it would be left unanswered yet again.

He closed his eyes, and against his will an image sprang to mind: Jade's eyes darkening with passion, the slender figure aligned in his arms, and a kiss that was a reconciliation and celebration both....

Despair hit him like a blow to the head. It must have been obvious, for Mercedes's tender hand brushed his face. "She will come back," she said softly.

He gently kissed the tender hand. He tried to find some hope, but felt nothing beyond the despair born of unanswered desire, a thing his father always named as hell. "When, Mercedes? Can you tell me when?"

"When she realizes how desperately she loves you...."

Tall black boots, sporting silver spurs, sat on the rosewood desk top, a writing table sat on his lap. Black blots marked Victor's elegant scroll, the result of pressing too hard on the paper, as if the force of his penned words demanded exclamation points for emphasis otherwise unnecessary in conversation. The letter was to his father, it was a plea.

... She leaves at dawn's light, sporting nothing but a shirt and a pair of breeches, passed to her from Chachie's grandson of all people. She rides until afternoon, sometimes not returning until just before the supper bell. Mercedes reports to me each evening on her activities. Jade tells her that she rides through the marshy swamp at the far eastern section of our property, and then sometimes through the southern forest. Yesterday she went as far as the river. Mercedes tells me that she communes with nature, that she has found favorite spots where she dismounts and sits in prayer and meditation. She reports to Mercedes that as the days pass she has indeed begun to feel her wounds begin to heal and while her heart is still burdened by the weight of the tragedy, she reports finding a measure of solace on these long sojourns. I try to convince myself these long hours of freedom from her domestic demands, from me and our home, are a healing force. I try not to interrupt her precious freedom.

And yet this is difficult for me.

She returns in the afternoon and often swims in the pond. Sometimes I quit work to watch her: the pale skin glimmering beneath the sun, the long hair trailing behind her like a cape with each smooth strong stroke. I still love her so much, a love that does not diminish as the days gather into weeks and months of this long and hot summer.

There are many other signs of her recovering health. She has begun reading at night. At times it is difficult for her to hide the pleasure she gets from this newfound ability to read books. Perhaps most important, she has begun confiding in Mercedes and Tessie again; the three young

ladies have begun their pond side picnics as they used to do in days past. The sound of her laughter has become a prize in our house.