Late the next morning Josiah found Kathleen on the upper level of the gazebo staring at the wasteland left by the fire. Flames had swept to the building and scorched the wall behind them. The mountain, wet and black, was desolate all the way to the summit where charred trees pointed into the overcast like withered fingers.
With one hand Josiah lifted a chair to her side and sat down. He glanced at the shadows under her eyes, her drawn face, her somber dress. She stared at the blackened landscape.
“Charles will plant trees in the spring,” he said. She made no sign she heard.
“In twenty or thirty years no one will know there was a fire.”
“Thirty years is a long, long time.”
“Time races by,” he said. “The older you become, the faster it goes.” Again they sat in silence.
“I came,” he said, “to release you from your obligation. Edward had no right to do what he did. The fault is mine.”
“I’m as much to blame as either of you,” said Kathleen. She looked at him for the first time. “More so. What happened I wanted to happen. I have no regrets. None, none at all.” Her voice caught and she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.
“What are your plans?”
“I have no plans. There’s nothing for me in Ashtabula. Not now, not yet.” She thought a moment. “Do you know, once more I envy Clarissa. Not that I wanted to marry Charles, not even the idea of marriage—but finding what you want. I can see why Charles needs her, she’s so sure of herself, has so much poise.”
“Not like the girl who came to Gleneden five years ago. I remember her huddled in the library. She wouldn’t talk or eat. Wanted to kill herself, she said.”
“She told me. She’s so different now. I was surprised she could change while living at Gleneden after what I heard about you from Mrs. Horobin—” Kathleen’s hand went to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“I don’t mind. What did Mrs. Horobin tell you?”
“Not so much what she said, more her manner, her reticence. I imagined you to be evil, of the devil. Yet Mrs. Horobin never met you, had only heard tell of you.”
“I fear I play the role of the devil’s disciple at times. With you I did. Haven’t you noticed, Kathleen, how much more intriguing devils are? Few books are written about saints. Only a dramatic demise can save a saint from obscurity. His head served on a platter, for example.”
“You’re being irreverent to shock me. You don’t claim to be a saint, do you?”
He laughed a big, booming laugh. “No, not a saint. You have to die to be canonized—I’ll never qualify. No, I’m a teacher of sorts, dabbler in mesmerism and in politics. Right now I advise a group in New York trying to break up the Tweed Ring.”
“When I met you, you frightened me out of my wits. You don’t anymore.”
“All of us are actors, some more than others. Forgive me.”
Kathleen smiled. I wasn’t going to smile again, she remembered. “What do you teach?” she asked. “History? literature? Politics?”
“Understanding.”
“Understanding?”
“Yes, of others, of ourselves.”
“I’ve learned a great deal already in these last few days,” she said. “About others, but more of myself. I’ve learned I can love and be loved. I can be hurt, grievously hurt, and yet survive. I’m my own person, not an extension of Edward Allen or Michael or anyone else.”
At last she felt she had paid her debt to Michael. Although he would always be a part of her, she knew her obligation was to the living, to herself. Edward Allen? She did not know. Perhaps, some day, they would meet again. But she did know she could, with more knowledge, help others in a future she could not even imagine now. She had always wanted to study, to learn.
“And all those books in your library at Gleneden?” she asked.
“What others have discovered. Of good and of evil. You must know both before you can choose.”
“There’s so much I don’t understand. Why did the cadet die, for instance? He tried to help.”
“Did you know Charles didn’t want him to cross the bridge because he thought the risk too great? Perhaps the cadet died because he was foolhardy.”
“Is brashness a sin?”
“More so than many other faults. And you seem to think everything must be fair. The world isn’t fair. As soon as you accept that fact I think you’ll have an easier time.”
She considered, nodded. “Will you teach me? May I go with you to Gleneden?”
“Of course, but I won’t teach you. I’ll help you learn. Remember, you can be anything you want to be.”
Edward’s words, she thought. And I can be, she told herself, I can!
“When do we begin?”
“Here and now.” Josiah walked behind her chair.
Kathleen looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
He grasped the arms of the chair and lifted her into the air. “Oh,” she gasped. He swung her, chair and all, ninety degrees to the north.
“Much better,” he said. She saw him look over her head and her eyes followed his. The trees, green and billowing, spread below her like a great sea. Beyond the woods birds swooped low above the whitecaps of the river.
“The fire is the past,” he said. “The future waits elsewhere. We must turn, you and I, to the beginning, to Gleneden, which for you was the start of all.”
“Return to the beginning,” she repeated. She felt a stir of memory, a rush of hope. She stood and looked down at the tops of the trees. “How many have come this way before?”
“A multitude.”
“What have they found?” She felt she repeated a litany learned long ago.
“Many found nothing. Others hope. A few like Clarissa—faith. A very few—a love surpassing any they have known.”
“Yes,” she said. “I knew the answer before you spoke.” She remembered Gleneden clinging to the bluff over the river, felt again the warmth of the fires, pictured the proliferation of chimneys. She wanted to enter the house once more, not in fear as before, but with expectation.
“I’m ready,” she said. Kathleen preceded him down the steps of the gazebo.
The path to the house had been used as a firebreak by felling trees and clearing brush on both sides. To her left the forest lay burned and black. The flames had surged to the path and, although the trees on the right side had blistered and their leaves shriveled, the fire had not crossed.
Kathleen held her skirt high as she stepped over the puddles left by the storm. When they came to the lawn of the Estate she found her way barred by a muddy pool of water. She searched for a footing, either a smooth stone or a clump of grass.
“Let me help.” Josiah leaped to the other side and turned to her with arms outstretched. Kathleen hesitated. Then she let herself fall to him, knew an instant of fear, then the security of his hands as they circled her waist and lifted her over the water. The grass on the far side was firm beneath her feet.
Together they walked across the lawn to the house.