Chapter 17
Friday turned out to be a day from hell. It started out badly when the alarm failed to go off; so of course, we overslept. Then it was a mad dash to dress, eat, and get out the door. Somehow and I really did not have a clue how, I got Sam to school on time and managed to get to work a mere ten minutes late. However, my mad dash had caused me to nix my morning cup of steaming caffeine, so grumpy was a happy word for my mood.
This situation was not helped in the least by the morning staff meeting where we were told to do more with less money and a reduction in temporary staff. The end of the workday could barely come fast enough. After a day like today, all I really wanted to do was pick up Sam and a pizza and head home to relax with a bottle of wine. With a sigh of impossibility, I turned my car toward my parents’ house. I had two boys to pick up and chauffeur around before we could go to that place of nirvana that I called home.
I pulled into my parents’ driveway and let myself in the front door, “Mom! I’m here.” I called out from the foyer as I hung up my purse and slipped off my shoes. My mom poked her head out of the kitchen, “Hi, sweetheart! Come on back.”
I joined her in the kitchen and was overcome with a gratitude that almost brought me to tears. There on the counter stood an open bottle of wine and a plate of delicious looking appetizers. “Mom, please tell me that I can eat some of this stuff and that it isn’t all for your book club or something!”
My mom rolled her eyes at my desperation. “Of course, you can. It must have been a hard day.”
I crunched on the goat cheese toast point savoring it even as I wolfed it down. “That is the understatement of the year. I was thinking on the way over here that I wanted to go home, eat pizza, and open a bottle of wine.” I gestured to the spread in front of me, “This is better.”
My mom laughed. That was one great thing about my family; even in the face of adversity, we were laughers. “Well, jellybean, it may be quiet and peaceful here right now, but I would image that Sam and Matt will soon find their way here in search of food. I have never seen two boys eat the way those two can.”
As if on cue, we heard the clip clomp of feet on the stairs. And then in burst Sam followed closely by Matt. Sam came over and gave me a one armed hug. “Hey, mom! You’re late!”
I hugged him back and waved to Matt, who was helping himself to a snack. “Yeah, Kiddo, it was a rough one.” For good measure I added on, “I hope you and Matt were perfect little angels for Grandma.”
“Awe, Mom, come on. Of course, we were good.”
“All right, all right, I surrender. You and Matt are the best boys in the world! I should have never doubted your abilities to be outstanding citizens.”
Matt and Sam both snickered. “Come on, Ms. Miranda. You’re laying that on pretty thick!” Matt chuckled.
I smiled at them. “Yes, I am, but that’s all part of the fun! What is the world coming to when a woman can’t exaggerate in the use of sarcasm?!” That got the desired laugh I had hoped for. Sam even threw in an eye roll for free. “Ok, boys, are you ready to head home and order some pizza?”
“Not so fast, jelly, your dad is on his way home now with pizza and movies for all. We both expect you and the boys to keep us old folks entertained for the evening,” my mom drawled.
The front door chimed as if on cue, “See, dear, that’s your father now. Go let him in, would you?”
Much later that night after the pizza had been eaten, the movies watched, and much laughter had been had by all, I tucked two very tired little boys into Sam’s Iron Man sheets and turned on the hall night light as I made my weary walk to my personal retreat.
Inside my room, I slipped off my shoes and curled my toes into the thick pile of the carpet as I meandered to my bathroom. A quick twist of the taps, and the hot water pulsed out of the shower head and began to steam up the room. I slipped out of my work skin, tossed my worn clothes into the hamper, and stepped into that blissful state that only comes from a hot shower at the end of a long day.
The water sliced over my skin like a million tiny fingers as it rubbed away the stress and strain from a long week at work and the tension of once again being wrong about a man. Even as the water tried to wash away my cares, my head butted into my relaxation with the disturbing reality that the man my body craved was a man I could not trust.
I leaned my head against the shower wall and let the water pour down my back as it washed away my fears and insecurities. Despite the heat of the water, my muscles remained determinedly rigid.I realized that I would not find the peace I hoped for, so I grabbed the soap and began to wash my body. Even that simple action caused the image of Heath to flash in my mind.
My body cried out with want for the touch of a man, and the man it wanted was Heath. Just what the hell was I supposed to do about that? Even though it was wrong, I closed my eyes and let the erotic image of Heath play in my mind as I ran the soap over my body.
My hands were slick from the silky, lavender scented soap that I preferred. As my hands ran over my body, around my breasts, and finally between my legs, my body throbbed with the tension of desire kept on a leash for far too long. I had not been with a man since the night I conceived Sam, and even more years had passed since I had known the true pleasure and heat of desire.
“Damn you, Heath Brandon,” I whispered. My body had slumbered, and my desires had remained hidden until Heath had come to my door this summer, until Heath had kissed me with more passion that I had ever known. Until Heath had touched my body with his work roughened hands, hands that set my blood to pumping and pooling between my legs. My life had been full of family and friends. That had been enough for me; but now my body was reawakened, and it wanted what it could not have.
Disgusted with myself, my body, and with that bastard Brandon, I snapped the shower off and pulled on my thick terry cloth robe. The shower had done nothing to relax me; in fact, I was more tense and on edge than I had been before I stepped under its warm spray. I had not thought that possible, and I was pissed to find out the reality.
I glanced at the digital clock on my bedside table: 1:00 am. Damn! It was far too late to be awake, but because of the energy pulsing through my body, I knew that even if I lay down in the dark, sleep would elude me.
Knowing the inevitability of it all, I walked over and flipped the TV on. I scrolled through the channels; the pickings were slim. I finally settled on the travel channel. Some perky blond host visited a remote Caribbean island with lots of sand and water. Perfect! Mindless entertainment that offered the potential for daydreaming, and I really needed the distraction of a good daydream to interrupt this wet dream that brewed in my traitorous fantasies.
I propped all my pillows up and catapulted myself onto the bed. It was late, and I was exhausted, but I have to admit it was still nice to be lying in my bed like this watching TV in a house that was quiet. Moments like these were rarer than the steak eaten by a vamp. I felt my body against its own will begin to loosen up. The bed was like a snuggly cocoon of warmth and luxury. One area that I failed to skimp on was my bed; after all as a hard working single woman, I needed to get some pleasure from the room.
The show on the tube flashed picture after picture of white sandy beaches with lots of endless blue water and, of course, couples in skimpy suits. “Humph. There would be lovers on the beach. What was I thinking?” I grumbled to myself even as I looked around my room for some other diversion. My eyes landed on the wooden box I had found in the attic: the letters. Now would be a good time to read them, and with that idea in mind, I retrieved them and brought them back to my little hide-a-way. I opened the box with a delicate touch hoping to avoid damaging the letters and the box, both of which seemed to be very old.
Despite the age that I associated with the letters, the inside of the box smelled like flowers. I took a deeper sniff and could detect notes of roses and lavender. Interesting, those were some of the most common fragrances that my
Grandmother had preferred. Could these be her letters? My curiosity was doubled now as I removed the stack of yellowed envelopes from the box. Gently I untied the blue ribbon and dropped the scrap back into the box so that I would not lose it. I looked at the first envelop on the stack. There was no address on the envelope just a name: Douglas Makinna.
I ran my fingers gently over the name. Who are you, Douglas? I turned the envelope over and saw that the back of the envelope was not sealed. What? Why had the envelope not been sealed? Had it been sent in some other package? That must be it. That would explain why there was no address on the outside of the envelope. Else the letter had been hand delivered.
Carefully, I lifted the flap and pulled out an aged sheet of paper that was filled with writing in a flowing hand that must belong to a woman.
17 April 1815
My dearest Douglas,
I have arrived in America. The voyage was long and hard. I was sick the entire voyage and kept to my cabin which was small and smelled of tobacco. My brother was worried about me to the point of having the ship’s doctor examine me on a weekly basis. This was quite unnecessary. We both know the source of my sickness, but alas that is also the reason that I could not tell him of my troubles even to ease his mind. Of course, the doctor needed no such help deducing the nature of my sickness. However, he was a dear man and kept my secret but counseled me to tell my family before it was too late for confession.
I feel sometimes that by loving you and keeping our love alive, I am betraying the love of my family. This is such a trying circumstance for my heart because until you, there was no one I loved more than my family; Now that family consists of only Jacob, myself, and young Claire. The loss of mother and father is still so new to all of us especially to young Claire. I feel like the worst kind of liar to keep this secret from my brother and sister, but I fear that knowing they were going to lose me so soon after we lost mother and father would be worse for them than to simply wait and let the events of the future unfold. It breaks my heart to leave them, but I cannot stay and shame them.
Until we meet again my love, I remain yours,
Cara
Wow. While I might not be a genius, I was smart enough to deduce that my ancestor was in modern lingo, pregnant. It seemed to be pretty evident that our Cara must have been suffering from morning sickness. I certainly sympathized with her condition which must have been near crippling after being cooped up on a ship at sea for months. I could certainly recall my bouts of morning sickness during my pregnancy with Sam; they had been horrible enough without the motion of sea bound vessel.
Given the fact that she was traveling with her brother, a man whom she refused to tell about her condition, it also seemed evident that she was not married to the child’s father: The father who must also be Douglas Makinna. My goodness, my family certainly had an interesting history. A rueful smile lit my lips; perhaps I belong with this group after all. It seemed the wayward child gene had been passed down from a legitimate relation. With more than passing curiosity, I refolded the letter and put it back into its protective envelope and reached greedily for the second letter in the pile.
5 July 1815
My dearest Douglas,
Yesterday I celebrated my first Independence Day here in America. It was a wonderful affair with picnics in the square and fireworks over the river after dark. I have been in Savannah for a little more than a month now. My plans though painful are not without purpose. Jacob delivered me safely to our relatives in New York City. They believed as he did that I was coming to America for a short time to lessen my grief due to the loss of those I loved. Little did they understand that distance could never ease that burden, nor do I really believe that time has that power. I am sure that they were as shocked as Jacob will be to receive my letter saying only that I could never go home again. It gives me great pain to know that he and Claire will always wonder about me as I will wonder about them, but I see no other way.
I have found a post here in Savannah as a nanny with a wealthy family. They believe me to be a widow, and I have done my best to spread that lie. It is a lie only in law for in my heart, I am your wife. And in your heart, I believe that I am also your wife. Our love can leave no other feeling. They have accepted me as a part of their family and welcome the birth of our child. I am secure in the future that I am building here. Our child will be an American with the possibility of such a bright future.
Until we meet again my love,
Cara
My fingers shook with my anger. How awful to be alone and pregnant back then! Alone now was bad enough, but back then, in a strange country, with no money, no friends, and no family to call on for aide. Thank God for the family that took you in, Cara.
Where the hell is Douglas? Why isn’t he with you? Did he betray you? Rage burned in my heart, I understood betrayal. I quickly replaced the second letter and reached for the third.
25 December 1815
My dearest Douglas,
Merry Christmas, my love. It has been a blessed Christmas for me; for our child is born, and he is as healthy as any babe could be. He looks like you even now after but a month of life. His little face is a mirror to you. I see you in his eyes. They are as green as the fields back in Ireland. His curly locks are black as the deepest night. In him is you and he gives my heart the will to keep living. I will not fail him. I will not fail you. Until we meet again, I will be here with Douglas living the life that we have made together. I hope this news fills you with the same hope and joy that it gives me. I will tell him about his namesake, his father, my love.
Cara
Oh, my God! This mystery kept getting better and better, or perhaps sadder and sadder, I couldn’t decide which. I returned the third letter to its place and opened the fourth eager for more news from the past.
9 February 1816
My dearest Douglas,
It has been a full year now since I have seen your loving face, and it has been almost a year since I walked the hills of home. You and Ireland both seem worlds away…unattainable….unreachable. But then I look at our child, little Douglas, and I see you both so clearly that my heart bleeds with longing and my eyes fill with tears. How can one heart be so full of pain and grief and yet be so full of joy at the same time? Please take comfort in knowing that we love you, as I take solace in knowing your love for me remains and has grown to include our child.
Until we meet again,
Cara
I paused in reading my letters long enough to call my ancestor’s intelligence into question. She was pregnant by a man who let her go off to America alone, who as far as I could tell had never written her, and yet she still believed that he loved her. That she would see him again someday. What was wrong with the woman to have that kind of blind faith, but then it occurred to me; perhaps I was the ignorant one. Perhaps I was ignorant of the power of real love. I reached for the last letter.
12 June 1841
My dearest Douglas,
It has been many years since I last wrote to you. I felt that was best. I poured instead all of my love for you and all of your memories into our son. Douglas has grown into a remarkable man. He has thrived in this land of freedom. Can you believe that he has become a man of the law? He helps those who cannot help themselves just as you once fought against injustice. I could not be more proud and I know that you could not be also. He married a wonderful woman. Her name is Julie and she gave him three children. The eldest is a boy named Jacob in honor of my brother. I was so honored by their choice. The middle child is a girl named Kaylee, and the baby is another boy named Michael. We are truly blessed to be the founders of such a family. I wish you could have known them. I fear that I am leaving them soon, but it is time for our paths to cross again. I have waited so long for this day to come, and I greet it with open arms and none but a bit of sadness. I think there must always be sadness when there is love left to give.
<
br /> I will see you soon my love,
Cara
The final letter left me even more confused about the situation that Cara found herself in. Just who was Cara, and who for that matter was Douglas the first? What happened to them? What happened to their child and their grandchildren? Most importantly, was Cara’s faith in Douglas’s love wrong? Did he betray her? I glanced at the clock beside my bed: 2:35 AM. I groaned: it was too late for this. The boys would be up in a few hours wanting breakfast. I had to get to sleep.
I protectively tucked the letters back into their box. I felt strangely responsible for them as if Cara’s very life depended on the survival of these few aged pages, which was crazy because Cara must have died decades ago. I sighed to myself, “Whom am I kidding? This is like a good book. I can’t put it down.”
But in spite of that, I slipped off my robe and into my nightgown, turned off the TV and the lights, and slipped into my cool blue satin sheets. Despite the turmoil in my mind, the late hour did its work, and soon I slept.
I slept and I dreamed of betrayal.
Marcus Redding stood on the steps of my home with me as Office Beeman parked his patrol car at the curb and came to meet us on the steps.
Officer Beeman looked at me with kind eyes, “Ma’am, are you sure that you want to do this?”
I nodded, “Yes, Officer. It’s important to me that I see this through to the end.”
Marcus opened his briefcase and handed Officer Beeman the documents that had been signed by the judge yesterday afternoon. Today we planned to serve Flynn with divorce papers, temporary custody paper, a restraining order, and an order of eviction from my Habersham home. To say that Flynn would not be pleased was an understatement which is why both Marcus and Officer Beeman were here with me.
At 2:30 on a Wednesday afternoon, my world took another turn. As we entered the house, we heard movement in Flynn’s room.
As a cohesive unit, we turned in that direction, but Marcus hesitated. I looked at his hand on my arm and up into his dear face. His eyes held pity and empathy. “Miranda, are you sure you want to do this? Why don’t you wait here in the family room?”
Even though his words made sense and would spare me pain, I shook my head, no. My voice was thin but strong as I responded, “I can’t, Marcus. I have to see it all; I have to know everything.”
He nodded gravely, reached out, and then opened Flynn’s bedroom door. The sight before my eyes while not unexpected broke the remaining fragments of my heart and my trust. Flynn and another woman were locked in an intimate embrace. It seemed we had interrupted an afternoon lover’s tryst. I could not speak or turn away. My eyes continued to take in the scene as wave after wave of pain and humiliation poured through my body. I would not let my feelings show. I would not give him the satisfaction to see how deeply he had again wounded me. I squared my shoulders and faced them head on.
Flynn was livid and looked as if he would jump up and attack us at any moment. Officer Beeman sensed this and immediately stepped in front of me and fully into Flynn’s quarters and line of sight. “Sir, I am here to serve you with some legal documents and to escort you from these premises. You have approximately ten minutes to dress and gather your things, or I will come back and escort you out. Do you understand?”
Flynn sputtered speechless in indignation. Officer Beeman took my elbow and escorted both Marcus and me into the family room to wait. We did not have to wait long. Flynn burst out of the bedroom in less than five minutes; thankfully he had taken the time to dress.
“What the hell do you think you are doing, Miranda?” he accused viciously.
Marcus stepped quickly between us and answered in my steed. “She is doing exactly what is within her rights.”
“Like hell she is; she knows what I would do if she attempted to leave me,” he boasted coldly.
Markus smiled, but there was a deadly gleam in his eyes as he answered Flynn’s accusations. “Yes, she knows what you have threatened. I also know your depravity and your cruelty as does her mother and father.”
Flynn shored up his bravado, “like I give a damn about a few of you. It’s still her word against mine.”
Marcus sighed as if he had grown tired of dealing with one so far below his intelligence. “I take it you mean the word of an upstanding woman against the word of a man who had been arrested, has drug and alcohol related problems, has attempted suicide, and” Marcus flicked a reproachful glance back toward Flynn’s bedroom. “A man who has forsaken his marriage vows with many women over the course of the last few years.” Marcus snorted, “I really don’t believe that a judge or any court of law would have a problem with whom to believe.”
Flynn cursed violently and stepped toward Marcus as if he meant to attack him. Flynn was royally pissed. Officer Beeman was no fool and swiftly intervened, “Mr. Murphy, you now have two minutes to gather what possessions you would like to take with you. You will not have a chance to come back here after I escort you out.”
Flynn pierced him with a gaze that overflowed with disdain. “What are you talking about? I live here; I can come and go as I please.”
Officer Beeman shifted his hand to rest on his service weapon. This movement did not go unnoticed by Flynn. “No, sir. It was your residence. I am here to serve you with divorce papers, a restraining order, and an order of eviction.”
Flynn turned a malevolent stare on me, “Fine, then let me get my son’s things as he will be residing with me.”
Officer Beeman held up a hand, “Excuse me, I am sorry about my lapse. I also have for you a document that details the temporary custody of your son, Samuel. He will be residing exclusively with Mrs. Murphy.
Flynn’s rage boiled over. He launched himself at me, but, of course, he did not get far. Officer Beeman had him on the floor and cuffed before he had taken two steps. Instead of leaving under his own steam, he was escorted out in handcuffs and was taken to jail to cool off. His latent piece of ass ran out of the house as quickly as her three inch heels would let her go.
It was over. I sat with Marcus in my living room and felt hollowness inside me that I was surprised to find. Marcus patted my knee. “I know, honey. Your emotions are all over the board right now, but you’ll find your center again. Don’t worry, but first you need to grieve for what you had and lost, for what never was and should have been.”
I managed a weak smile, “How did you get to be so smart, Marcus?”
“The usual way, lots of personal and professional experience with pain.”
I wiped my eyes, surprised by the wetness. “What happens now?”
“We get our first court date set and begin the process of getting you and Sam permanently out of Flynn’s reach.”
The dream began to lose its hold as the first rays of dawn’s light crept into my room. I moved restlessly on the bed tangling myself in the sheets. And in those seconds before I awoke, I saw Flynn’s face melt into Heath’s and suddenly my pain increased tenfold. So this was a sign a warning, that Heath would betray me just as Flynn had once betrayed, just as Douglas had once betrayed my ancestor.