Page 6 of One Last Breath

This time, though, she only looks back out over the sea, the shadows deepening over her face. I wait for her to say something to me, and when it becomes clear she won’t, I sigh again and stalk away.

“Please,” she calls after me. “I know you know where they are. I know you can show me. I’m begging you.”

I frown. This isn’t right. She doesn’t say anything to me this evening. That’s why I wonder for years if this was when she decided to exclude me from her plan to escape.

“Please,” the voice calls again.

I gasp, and the movement causes the gate to shake, sending a low clanging tone echoing across the garden. It hits me that it’s not my sister’s voice in my I hear, but Elizabeth’s very real and very present voice speaking now.

That voice goes silent when the gate rattles. A moment later, Elizabeth pokes her head out from behind a tall ivy hedge and looks at me with stunned embarrassment.

Heat climbs my cheeks, and I manage to stammer, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no!” she cries quickly. “No need to apologize. Come, join me!”

She is cheerful, perhaps a little too cheerful. She beams at me, but her smile is that of a wolf baring its teeth. She beckons me forward, and the wolf turns into a crocodile, luring its prey into its yawning mouth.

“The geraniums are in bloom,” she says. “They really are lovely.”

I take a deep breath and put a smile on my own face. I can only hope it looks more genuine than hers. “Thank you.”

I turn the handle, and the gate swings easily. I expect a creak and a groan, and the silence of the swinging iron edifice unnerves me further. I can’t help but feel a little as though I’m walking to my doom.

When I round the hedge and see nothing but an ordinary stand of geraniums, these ones the brilliant purple variety known as cut-leaved crane’s-bill, I relax. Elizabeth is simply enjoying a peaceful afternoon in her private garden.

She confirms that conclusion a moment later. “I planted these so I could have something beautiful to look at that was all my own.” Her smile fades a little. “But even a beautiful secret is a burden I find difficult to bear at times.”

I can feel the familiar pull stirring in my breast, and I make one last heroic mental effort to stay out of this, whatever “this” might be.

Then Elizabeth speaks again. “I’m sorry if I startled you with what I was saying. I sometimes act the scenes I read in books aloud. James always says that I’ll make people think I’m insane if I don’t control myself.” She grins at me, and I’m reminded once more of an animal, but this time a frightened dog more than a predator. “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy.”

“Of course not,” I assure her. “I often act out fantasies. To be honest, it’s a relief knowing I’m not the only one.”

It’s a thin lie, but when one is grasping at straws, one ignores such things. Elizabeth sighs with relief and takes the proffered line. “Indeed. Well, I should get back to the house, however. We have guests this evening, and I’ll be expected to primp myself up. Please feel free to stay as long as you like. This garden is concealed but not off-limits.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

She gives me one last smile, then hurries off, clearly relieved to be free of the awkward encounter. My own smile fades the moment she disappears.

This is none of my business. This is not my concern. Whatever is or isn’t or might be happening with this family has nothing to do with me.

I repeat that thought until the pull subsides, and I’m able to convince myself that I’m not going to snoop into another family’s secrets.

But in the back of my mind, I know it’s already too late to turn back.

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning is Thursday, my day off. I choose to take a break from the grounds, hoping that by separating myself from the estate, I can relieve some of the tension that hovers in the back of my mind after my encounter with Elizabeth in the garden the day before.

I don’t feel up to the hustle and bustle of the city, so I head instead to the historic district. The horse-drawn carriages and cobblestone streets call to mind the elegance of the pre-war South. Unfortunately, that thought only reminds me of the rot that often lies underneath beauty.

I sigh and press on, determined to enjoy a peaceful and relaxing day. I walk through the historic district and find more to admire in the antiquated buildings and charming parks with their bubbling brooks and peaceful ponds. I deliberately give the center of the district a wide berth. I know from my research into Savannah that the center of the historic district is dominated by the Cathedral Basilica of Saint John the Baptist. Considering my poor relationship with the statue of the Wrathful Moses, I am not enthused by the idea of a trip through a Gothic-Revival cathedral.

My detour deposits me in a quaint farmer’s market that dominates the edge of one of the district’s parks. I wander through the charming little market and marvel at how this rural market could exist, surrounded by the wealth of Savannah. A closer look tells me that the wealth is not so far away as I think at first. The vendors all wear clothing that, while casual, is clearly of excellent quality and quite expensive. I catch quite a few labels from designers far posher than seems appropriate for clothing such as blue jeans and khakis.

Must everything be fake? Can nothing simply be what it seems to be and nothing else? Why am I always surrounded by mystery? Just once, I'd like to go through a day encountering nothing but what's supposed to be there.

A voice in my head reminds me that I’ve just spent several months in such a sensible environment while working through the Tylers. I purse my lips at the thought. Well, why can’t life always be like that? Why can’t that be the normal and not this ever-present charade?

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