CHAPTER TEN

“She’s coming around.”

Elizabeth had said those exact words the night she fainted for real inside Madam Esperelda’s tent. Julia fluttered her lids, and hoped she managed to look and sound slightly dazed.

“Where am I?” She saw the stern-looking woman, still looking stern, but less so than before.

“We carried you inside,” one of the men said.

“We could hardly leave you lying out there on the street,” the woman added. “You can rest here until you’re strong enough to get going. I’m having some hot soup and fresh bread brought up. It’ll put some strength back into you.” The woman tilted her head and shook a menacing finger at Julia. “But once you’re on your feet, out you go. We don’t care for no strangers here.”

“But if you’ll just let me explain,” Julia said raising her head slowly, then letting herself fall back. “I’m not a complete stranger, really. I’ve come to Belham to try and find my mother and father. I learned that I was born here.”

She watched Rose and the men exchange looks.

“What do you mean?” the woman asked.

“My name’s Julia Carson.”

“There are no Carsons living in Belham. Never heard the name.”

One of the old men rubbed his chin. “There was a Carson used to have the old Transberry place.”

“That was Carlton,” another old gent corrected.

“Oh, yeah, Carlton.”

Julia said, “My mother was Bridget Bishop.”

It was as if someone had stricken them all dumb. The three men and the stern-looking Rose stood there frozen in their individual attitudes. No one moved. Even their breathing seemed to stop.

“You know Bridget Bishop?” Julia asked, studying the looks of astonishment on their faces.

No one spoke for another moment and then the woman’s face broke into a wide, happy grin. “Oh, my dear child,” she said, going to Julia and hugging her tight.

Julia drew back in disbelief.

“So, you’re Bridget’s little girl? Everybody wondered what happened to you. We all thought you died when—” She cut herself off.

Julia saw her bite her tongue. Her eyes went sad. “I know my mother is dead,” Julia said. “I’ve been in an orphanage since I was just a few days or weeks old, I understand. I was released when I became eighteen. That was two years ago.”

They exchanged looks again, looks which Julia could not decipher. She saw them each nod, as though approving everything she said.

“I came to Belham on the chance that my father might still be living.” She saw their faces go blank. “Wasn’t my father from around here?” she asked.

No one moved for a second. Then Rose hugged her again and said, “Well, there’ll be plenty of time to talk about all that later on. First, we’ve got to get some nourishment back into you and bring back some of the color to your cheeks. You’ll meet your father soon enough, child.”

“Then he does live here?”

“Yes, that he does.”

Julia felt her heart jump with joy. She had a real, live father, real flesh and blood, and he was living here in Belham. Her happiness made her light-headed. “His name isn’t Carson, then?” she said.

“No. That was a name the orphanage people must have dreamed up.” The girl came in with a tray and Rose took it from her and set it down on a small table near the couch on which Julia reclined. Rose busied herself spreading the napkin and arranging the various dishes on the tray. “Oh, I should have known you were Bridget’s child the minute I laid eyes on you. You’re the spitting image of your mother. Ah, she was a lovely thing, just like you.”

Julia flushed slightly and asked, “You knew my mother well?”

“Very well,” Rose said. “She was my youngest sister.”

Julia had picked up a spoon but dropped it. “Then you’re my aunt?” she said, beaming with joy.

“Yes, that I am. I’m your Aunt Rose. I’m afraid I’m the only family you’ve got, outside your father, of course. My husband, your Uncle Mack, passed away about five years ago. We never were blessed with young ’uns of our own.” She jerked her head toward the three old men who stood grinning. “These old goats are the Hastings boys. They’re hardly boys,” she added with a short, hearty laugh, “but folks around here call them the Hastings boys, they’ve always called them that. This one is Harold, that’s Henry, and the ugly one on the end is Herbert. It seems their pa and ma had a hankering for the letter H.”

She folded her hands in front of her and laughed. “Okay, boys,” she said after a moment. “You’d all better clear out and let the young lady eat in peace without your goggling at her.” She shooed them away.

“Now,” she said as she watched Julia spoon up the soup. “I’ll go and get our front room ready for you, child.” She started to leave but paused and turned back. “Who would have ever thought that this night would bring Bridget’s little girl back to us. Of course, we all should have known. He told us you’d come back in time.”

Julia frowned. “He? Who told you? What do you mean that I’d come back in time?” The soup was delicious and she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been. She found it difficult concentrating on both satisfying her hunger and Rose’s conversation.

“Oh, enough of all that. Eat up, child. I’ll tell you everything in time...or he will.” She went then, skirts hiked, steps light and gay.

Julia felt light and gay, also. The soup was superb and although her little bit of trickery bothered her conscience, it had, nonetheless, served an end. Nothing, she felt, could diminish her spirits now. She’d learned that her father was still living and was here in Belham. She had a family after so long. Relatives. The word brought a wonderful throbbing to her veins. She belonged to someone. The strange ordeal had been worth every minute of the troubles she was put to, she told herself. Even the old gypsy’s accusations....

“The gypsy’s accusations,” she said, feeling her wonderful mood slip away from her. “She’d said I was evil and trouble.” She hesitated as she began to think. “My father might be an evil man. This town might well spell trouble for me.” She frowned suddenly. “Or perhaps I will spell trouble for it.”

Why do you persist on dwelling on the negative side of things? She asked herself. She forced herself to concentrate on her recent good fortune instead.

Aunt Rose came bustling in saying that the room was all ready for her. “And the room’s right in the front where you can have a nice view of the street from your window. I had one of the Hastings boys take your bags to your room.”

“Thank you, Aunt.” It sounded strange calling someone “Aunt.” “You’re being very kind.”

“And why shouldn’t I be kind to my own kin, may I ask?” She put her arm around Julia’s shoulder and hugged her tight. “Oh, it will be wonderful having my very own niece here with me,” she said.

Julia smiled and patted her hand. She suddenly realized that she had not been the only one who’d longed for a family. Her heart went out to her Aunt Rose. They shared a common need.

Rose led her to the room. Julia tried to question her about everything, but her aunt kept putting her off, saying everything could wait until morning when Julia was rested and fresh.

Julia let herself be fussed over, complete with being tucked into bed with a loving kiss on the forehead to insure her of pleasant dreams. Despite the kiss, her dreams were far from pleasant, however.

She awoke in a tangle of bedclothes. Her body was bathed in sweat, trying to remember her nightmare, but it was gone. She lay there stiff with fear, and gradually she became aware of the sound of hoofbeats. She threw back the coverlet and padded barefoot across the floor. The smooth polished wood of the flooring felt solid and cool and reassuring.

At the window she inched back the lace curtains. There, trotting slowly down the center of the main street, was a magnificent white stallion. Sitting astride it was a tall, manly figure dressed all in black. He wore neither hood nor cape, just black riding britches and a black leather jacket. The moon glinted softly on the tips of his black, shiny boots with their silver spurs.

Julia stared, not in fear but in awe of the man. She could not see his face, but she was certain she’d know it when she saw it. It must be her father coming for her. He’d heard she arrived tonight and was coming at his first opportunity to find her and claim her.

She found herself trembling with excitement and anticipation.

The rider in black came directly up to the inn. He rode to her window and stood beneath it. He looked up and removed the cap he wore. With a gracious sweep of his arm he bowed to her, then smiled up.

A jolt of disappointment shot through Julia. The man was very young and most handsome. He was too young, however, to be her father, she saw. He was wearing a warm and affectionate smile and his eyes burned into hers as he looked up at her. As they gazed at each other, Julia got the distinct feeling that she’d seen or met the young man before, but she could not place where.

She saw his lips move. He spoke but she did not catch his words. Quickly she raised the window and leaned out. Again she saw him smile and speak, but again she did not hear any of his words. She strained her ears, but still was unable to make out what it was he was saying. It was as if she were still inside her dream. The man was addressing her, yet his words did not reach her ears. An invisible shield seemed to exist between them, a shield through which no sound was able to penetrate.

But this is no dream, she reminded herself. She was standing, shivering slightly at the open window and there was a gentleman below speaking to her. She was in Belham, Massachusetts, and it was (she turned and looked at the luminous dial of her travel alarm) three o’clock in the morning.

“Excuse me, but I cannot hear what you’re saying,” she called down.

The rider smiled at her again and said something. Again she did not hear him but she thought she read the word “father” on his lips.

He was bringing a message, she decided happily. He had most likely heard about her arriving at the inn and was carrying a message from her father.

“Wait, I’ll be right down,” she called as she hurried into slippers and a quilted robe. She gave no heed to the possibility of danger. It was all as she believed it to be. The young man was a messenger sent from her father. Her father couldn’t come himself but wanted her to know that he’d been informed of her arrival. She was convinced that that was what it was all about.

She opened her door softly and trotted down the wooden stairs to the main level of the inn. She went directly to the front door and, finding it unlocked and unbolted, went outside. She looked up and down the main street. She walked beneath her own bedroom window.

There was no one there. The street was completely deserted.