INSIDE THE BLUEBERRY ROOM, Julia stood behind Eli, her hands on the back of his chair as he sat at the desk gathering the emotional energy to read the email from his mother. She longed to touch him, to put her hands on his shoulders, lean in close and promise everything would be all right. There must be something fundamentally wrong with her.
He was a convicted drug dealer. Her mother would have a fit when she found out, inevitable since David knew.
She wasn’t nervous about keeping Eli on as an employee. Alex needed stability, especially now that he’d begun to bond, and Eli was an excellent employee. But it was this other thing that made her anxious. This need to be close to him, to ignore his past sins. A prison record should have driven her away, but instead she felt softer toward him.
She was as bad as her sister.
“Are you going to read her email or not?” she said over his shoulder.
“It’s been a wild day. I’m a little nervous my luck will run out.”
“Read it, Eli.”
His fingers trembled against the keyboard, breaking her heart. She hoped she’d done the right thing and had not set him up for more heartache.
She succumbed to the urge to touch him.
Hands on his shoulders, she felt the knots in his muscles. The soft feelings deepened. “She wants you to make contact.”
“I don’t know if I should.”
“Your mother has opened the door. You have to walk through it and see what’s on the other side, if not for your sake then for Alex’s.”
He nodded, one curt yank of his head. She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, soothing him as she would have done Alex or Mikey.
“Her email is cautious,” he said.
“Don’t you think that’s natural under the circumstances? Reply to her, tell her you’ve changed. Tell her everything.”
“Okay.” His chest heaved in a gusty sigh. “Okay. Later. I’ll do it later after I’ve had time to think.”
“Eli.” She ran her fingers one more stroke down the back of his head. “She’s your mother. She wants to reconnect.”
He gave a short laugh as he closed the laptop. “Or to tell me to change my name and leave the country.”
“Do you really believe that?”
He stood and thrust a hand through his shaggy hair. “I’m so hopeful I’m scared to death.” He strode to the dresser, leaned into the mirror. “I need a haircut. She’d scold me for looking this unkempt.”
A soft smile lifted Julia’s mouth. “She might like it. I do.”
He turned to face her. “You do?”
“Yes. Valery says you look sexy.”
He snorted, and then said, “Val’s in trouble, Julia.”
Julia opened her mouth to defend her sister. Eli lifted a hand. “Go ahead and tell me it’s not my business. You won’t be the first, but I’ve been down the path she’s on. She’s going to hit a wall eventually.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t, either. Nobody could help me until I decided to help myself. But I’ll be there for her, if she’ll let me.”
“You have a good heart, Mr. Donovan. Like your son.” She came up behind him, noticed the stack of old yellowed letters on the dresser. “What’s this?”
“I found them in the carriage house earlier. The ink is faded, but I think we can decipher most of the words.”
“Are they from the same woman? What do they say?”
He offered them to her. “Don’t know yet. I wanted to read them with you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
December, 1864
Dearest Will,
I do not know if you will ever receive this letter. Indeed, I do not know if you will hear from me again in this life. Edgar discovered our correspondence and has forbidden me to continue. Yet, I feel compelled to do so, and I pray that my disobedience is not a mortal sin. I have no way of sending this letter, but if I do not write, I will lose my mind.
He has locked me in my room under threat of sending me away without Benjamin. I spend much time in prayer, for what else have I to do but pray and write and sew?
Josie brings my meals but will not speak to me. Lizzy, it seems, has been forbidden to make contact. I have not seen her. Patience, bless her sweetness, comes to the door whenever Edgar is out of the house and whispers encouragement, but it is my precious Benjamin who keeps me going.
I am distressed that he heard the awful quarrel between his father and me. He is terrified that I will be sent away without him. I whisper to him with great caution, afraid Josie or one of the servants will hear and tell Edgar. We both lie on the cold, drafty floor with our lips pressed close to the narrow slit beneath the door. I can smell the beeswax on wood and hear the soft words of my little boy, growing up now too quickly because of all that’s happened here at Peach Orchard. He is afraid of his father now, and that breaks my heart. You were far more father to him that Edgar ever was. Even if Edgar reads these words, I will not recant them.
Today is the sixth day of my confinement. Benjamin and Tandy sit outside in the hallway playing with your beloved marbles. I hear their laughter and I smile, content for a moment. Children’s laughter is the music of heaven. How can anyone despair when a child laughs? How can I complain as long as I have Ben? I can feel his love and yours, and I am sustained.
Yesterday, Edgar was in the house all day and no one came to whisper against the oak or to play marbles in the hallway. I can always tell when my husband is at home because I am totally alone. Brave Benjamin, who must pass my bedroom to reach his, rolled a marble beneath a door. I hold it in my hand now, comforted and encouraged by the childish gesture of love. He understands more deeply than a child his age should that the marble connects me to him, and both of us to you.
I glance out the window and see the dark clouds over the peach orchard, and I think of you and pray for your safety...
Julia stopped reading and raised her blue, blue eyes to his. “Did you hear that, Eli? The woman writing this had a son named Ben who played with marbles.”
A chill lifted the hairs on Eli’s neck. Alex had a friend named Ben. He claimed that friend gave him the antique marbles. “Impossible.”
“A coincidence?”
“Has to be. Like the letters, the marbles are a part of the inn’s history, not a figment of a confused boy’s imagination. They’re as real as you and me, and Ben is a common name.”
Julia nodded, thoughtful. “That makes sense. Alex found the marbles somewhere and created a friend named Ben.”
“The counselor thinks so, and I agree.” Anything else was too bizarre. “It’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Reasonable,” she said, clearly still mulling. “Do you think they were lovers? Charlotte and Will?”
“Hard to say. Look at the beginning. She’s worried about committing a mortal sin by disobeying her husband. Would she cheat?”
“Apparently Edgar thought so and locked her away as punishment.” She shuddered. “Horrible.”
“And in those days a husband had the right to treat his wife as he saw fit.”
“Remember what the Sweat twins told us?”
“About the Portland woman who took a Yankee lover?”
“Could this be her?”
“The time period is right—1864.”
They both stared down at the letter, written in a tidy, flowing female hand from more than a hundred fifty years ago.
Fascinated, Eli said, “Read the other one.”
December 19, 1864
Dearest Will,
I have grown bold here in my room, knowing that no one will read these secret, hidden letters, though I wish you could. Someday, I am determined to mail them. Someday you will know. In view of all that has occurred, I will no longer deny my feelings for you, dearest, finest Will. I love you. Putting the words to paper fills me with a feeling of strength and hope for the future, no matter how dark the days may seem. You do that for me. You have from the moment we met.
Your corporal came today, though the wind was cold and the skies gray with winter. I did not see him, but Benjamin whispered beneath the door that Edgar was angry and sent the man away. Only three Union men remain now: Johnny, Brinks, and Logan. I did not ask my son about a letter for I know Edgar will not permit the exchange. Nor did I tell Ben of how I long to hear from you. He bears too heavy a burden of subterfuge already.
As I write, he plays with your beloved marbles outside the locked door. If Edgar knows, he has said nothing. I do not know what his plans are for me, but I will not allow him to take my son away. I have made the decision to run away if necessary, but I will not lose my son. It startles me to write such a thing. A woman’s place is to obey and please her husband, but I know now, regardless of my pious, perhaps hypocritical efforts, that I am incapable of either...
“The letter ends there, unfinished.” Eli carefully refolded the delicate paper.
“Or perhaps the rest has been lost.”
“The information is sketchy but the rumors appear true. The house was occupied by the Union Army and now we know Charlotte fell in love with Will, a Union officer, and was locked away by her husband for writing to him.”
“Poor Charlotte.” Julia’s gaze held his. “I wonder what happened to her? Do you think Edgar ever released her? Did she run away? What happened to her son?”
“A lot of questions we’ll likely never answer.”
“Maybe.” She rubbed a spot over one eyebrow. “Or maybe the house... There could be more letters.”
“If there are, I’ll find them. I’m looking.”
“I wonder which room was hers?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just curious. The original rooms...” She gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “Nothing.”
“Some of the rooms have a feeling. Is that what you were going to say?”
“Have you felt it, too?”
“Old houses have a presence. I respect that.”
“Do you think a place holds memories? I’ve visited the battlefield at Shiloh. I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s an eerie sadness, a terrible kind of energy there.”
“Maybe it’s only imagination because you know the history.”
“Maybe. Probably.” She chewed at her lip. He could see she wanted to say more.
“There’s nothing sad about the inn,” he said.
“No, not sad. But the first time Valery brought me here and dragged me through the neglected rooms, I felt something...welcoming. A benevolent strength. As if the house has stood the test of time and trouble and continues to shelter and protect.” She turned toward the window that overlooked the orchard. “I wasn’t always this crazy.”
He touched the back of her hair, let his hand stroke the silk as he fought the insane need to slip his arms around her waist and place his lips against her soft neck.
“You’re sensitive, not crazy,” he murmured. Even if she was nutty as a pecan pie, he’d adore her. “You’ve made this house strong again.”
You’ve made me strong again. But he didn’t say that.
“This room has always felt special to me. Probably because blue was Mikey’s favorite color, and I think of him being here and how much he would love looking out this window at the orchard and beyond to the river and hills.” She turned to face him, bringing her body inches from his. Eli saw the white spokes in her blue irises, felt the rise and fall of her breathing. He should step back. She was beautiful in so many ways, and tonight he was filled with gratitude for the way she’d accepted him in spite of his prison record.
He lifted a hand to her cheek, though he hadn’t intended to. Her flow of words stilled.
“You make this house special,” he said, loving the softness of her face against his rough fingertips. “I owe you...everything.”
“No.” She shook her head as if to deny her value, so he threw caution to the wind and silenced her with a kiss. The soft heat of her mouth warmed a heart that had slowly thawed until it now throbbed with the love he wanted to shield her from. Julia was everything he wanted in a woman.
He deepened the kiss, letting his arms and hands caress her as he’d longed to do. She moved against him, stroking the back of his hair with such exquisite tenderness Eli thought he would die of the pleasure.
When the kiss ended, Julia remained close, touching him, making him want more, though he held himself in check. Any more than this was too much to ask.
“If that’s the way you repay your debts,” she said, smiling slightly, her mouth pink and moist. “I think you owe me a lot more.” And she pulled his face down and kissed him again.
* * *
MUCH LATER, JULIA left his bedroom. Reluctantly, Eli thought. He was certainly reluctant to let her go, but it was Alex’s bedtime.
He glanced at the letters still lying on the dresser and considered the woman who’d written them. Had Charlotte felt the same deep longing for Will? Had Will loved her in return?
“Daddy?” Alex, in Spidey pajamas, cradled a picture book against his chest.
Daddy. The word made Eli’s heart squeeze. He’d never tire of hearing it, of being grateful for that one, special word. “I guess you want a story before bedtime?”
Alex nodded and put the book on the bedside table before holding out his arms. “Throw me.”
Throw him? Eli had a brief flashback of him and his own father roughhousing at bedtime. With Alex, he’d proceeded with extra caution, worried about upsetting the kid. The wildest they’d played was when Eli pushed him around in the wheelbarrow atop a pile of carriage house trash.
“Throw you, huh? You sure? On the bed?”
Alex’s eyes sparkled as he nodded eagerly.
“All right, you asked for it, buddy.” With a growl, Eli swooped down like a vulture, picked his son up high and tossed him onto the bed, then tumbled down next to him for a short round of wrestling. The resulting giggle, the flash of tiny white teeth in a face as tanned as his own, filled Eli’s chest with wonder.
Something extraordinary had happened today. He wasn’t sure how or why, but Alex had decided to accept him.
Man, it felt good. So many things felt good today that he was a little scared. If this bubble burst, he wasn’t sure he could survive.
Alex leaned across his chest for the book then plopped his elbow on Eli’s shoulder and listened to The Giving Tree, a book that had belonged to Mikey. When the bittersweet story ended, Eli tucked in his son and kissed his forehead.
“Good night, son.”
Alex rested his hands on top of the blue coverlet. “’Night, Daddy.”
Did Eli dare say, I love you?
He swallowed, uncertain, before deciding not to press his luck. Let their day end on a positive.
Alex flipped onto his side and dragged the coverlet to his ears. Eli remained propped on his elbow watching until the small body rose and fell in a deep rhythmic sleep. Then he went to the open window and wished he’d asked Julia to meet him on the porch. Talking into the darkness had begun to free him on the inside the way leaving the prison had freed him physically.
He leaned out, looked and listened for her, but all he heard was the pulsing song of katydids. He supposed he should close the window and preserve the air-conditioning, but he’d never quite gotten past the desperate need for fresh air and an escape hatch. If that was neurotic, he supposed he’d earned it.
He filled his lungs with the heavy, humid night and caught the hint of honeysuckle.
His life here in Honey Ridge was going better than he’d ever dreamed possible. Alex. Julia. He’d even made a friend or two, and now that his past was in the present, perhaps he could dream of a future.
He turned away from the window and saw the laptop open on the desk. Could his future possibly include his mother?
He pulled out the chair, took the computer into his lap and reread her email.
Slowly, cautiously, he placed his fingers on the keyboard.
There was only one way to find out.