With reluctance, I left the heavenly confines of the bed, grabbing the crane and note up as I walked into Patrick’s room to retrieve some clothes from my bag. I threw on the same pair of jeans I’d worn last night, and patted back into William’s room.
I felt a little snoopy opening one of his dresser drawers, but reassured myself with the excuse of needing to find something more appropriate to wear since I’d only packed a tank-top. While temperature didn’t affect me any longer, it would stand out to Mortal eyes if I wasn’t wearing something fitting for the cool coastal morning. If I was being honest with myself, it was more a matter of wanting to be surrounded by something of his, and knew his clothing would be permeated with my favorite smell in the world.
I found a grey sweatshirt on top of the meticulously folded stack, and pulled it out, letting it unfold before me. Eight very familiar letters were written in scarlet across the chest. I threw it on, so it would remind me to ask him about it when he returned. I was right—his scent wafted over me like a dreamy cloud.
I made my way out to the kitchen where the wonderful coffee smell was originating from, and sadly found that the pot was missing from the maker. I didn’t see any sign of Abigail or Cora, so I walked over to the slider to head out for an early morning stroll along the beach in hopes of catching a glimpse of the four brothers skimming the waves.
When I stepped onto the back patio, I found Cora and the missing coffee pot together. She was curled up in a blanket in one of the patio chairs, staring off into the distant ocean. A large cobalt colored cup was steaming in between her hands.
“Good morning, Bryn,” she welcomed, without looking back.
“Good morning yourself,” I answered, as she swirled her head to look at me.
Her golden-blonde hair was pulled into two braids she’d tucked behind her ears, making her look somehow even sweeter. Her smile was just as easy and genuine this morning as it had been last night.
My eyes drifted to the large pot of coffee sitting on the glass tabletop where an extra mug waited beside it. Odd as the combination was, the aroma of coffee mixed with the brackish morning air sailing off the ocean was tantalizing.
Cora noted my stare. “I know—it’s silly isn’t it? This is one Mortal habit I can’t seem to overcome.” She held up her almost empty cup of coffee. “Joseph keeps telling me caffeine cannot affect my body now, but I just ignore him,” she said, taking a long sip. “I know I need this.”
I laughed with her. She was so comfortable to be around, and was the least intimidating and most human acting Immortal I’d met.
“Come on, pull up a seat.” She pulled aside one of the chairs beside her. “I brought you an extra cup so we can share in this ineffective indulgence—as Joseph likes to call it—together.”
We laughed in unison while I took a seat in the chair she’d pulled out for me. She poured the aromatic liquid into the extra mug.
“Here’s to absolutely essential indulgences,” she said, as we cheered our cups together.
“I’ll drink to that,” I responded, before taking a long drink. My fondness for Cora grew even more as soon as I tasted the wonderful elixir. It was positively the best cup of coffee I’d ever tasted . . . and I’d tasted a lot. I could easily make this a morning ritual, no matter the futility of the caffeine.
“Hey, we match,” she said, eyeing over the kipped sweatshirt I had on, and dropping her blanket to show me hers. “It’s Joseph’s.” That would explain why she looked like she was drowning in it.
“Joseph went to Stanford?” I asked.
She nodded her head. “He did. He’s followed in William’s footsteps just about every step of the way.” She smiled fondly before taking another drink from her cup.
My nose wrinkled. “William went to Stanford too?”
Her expression grew wary—probably due to the fact she was gun shy sharing unknown information with me regarding William, given my fainting spell last night. “Yeah, that’s where he went to med school . . . the first time around.” She smiled at me from the side.
“Med school . . . the first time?” My voice had perfected the awe sound as of late, since that’s what I was the majority of the time.
“William’s Station in our Alliance is as a Doctor. He’s gone to med school several times and received three specialties.”
I shook my head, letting my awe dissipate. “Well that explains a few things.” I said, thinking about his all too quick and able hands that night I’d split my head open. “But you’re Immortals, why do you need a doctor?”
“You’re not in Inheritor country anymore,” she said, tucking her knees to her chin and somehow balancing her cup on one knee. “His Station as a doctor is to keep with the Guardian mission of protecting Mortals.”
“Oh. Yeah,” I replied with chagrin. That should have been obvious.
“Of course, he can’t work out of a hospital—the fact he’s in a twenty-two year old body that never ages makes that impossible—but he and Joseph go where they can remain undetected for the most part: war zones, disaster areas, third world countries. They’re good men.” Cora said proudly.
The words disaster area reminded me of one of the first conversations I’d had with William weeks ago when we discovered we’d both been in Java providing medical care after the earthquake.
She laughed, disrupting my thoughts, and motioned with her head towards the raging ocean waves in front of us. “The guys picked a great day to go surfing—William’s got to be loving this. It looks like he’s been showing the other three up all morning.” Her eyes watched four figures far out in the water.
I’d not noticed them until now, but my new and improved vision allowed me to make out each one of their faces until they fell last on his. Cora was right; his face was alive with excitement. I smiled witnessing his happiness, and again admired the perfection of him surfing. A tremble ran through my body when several memories from last night flashed through my head.
“So . . . how did you sleep?” Her eyes looked at me from the side with a teasing glint of evil, as her lips pursed together to keep from smiling.
I reddened immediately, and muttered a quick reply, “Very well, thank you.”
The embarrassment was instant. I’d never stopped to recognize—that with five others in the small cottage with heightened senses—William and I would never have privacy from the illusion of a closed door. I could feel the redness streaming into my neck too, trying to recall every private word and intimate moment.
She giggled joyfully. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” she apologized, still laughing. “Joseph made me promise to tease you because he said he was really going to give William a hard time out there today.” She leaned in as if wanting to whisper something to me, but her volume remained unchanged. “Let’s just say you’re getting off much easier than he is.”
I smiled my thanks, not sure what to say next, but Cora bridged the gap for me.
“I know there are some in this family that disagree with me, but I want you to know how I feel on the matter, because you can be sure those who feel differently will make their opinions known.”
Her face turned a little more serious, but I couldn’t imagine Cora ever able to convey the finer workings of those less savory emotions. “I’ve been a part of this family for over a century—a long time—and I’ve never seen William so . . .”—her forehead crinkled—“peaceful,” she settled for finally. “He’s always been a good man, far beyond good actually, but there was a tangible sadness that surrounded him. Seeing him yesterday was like seeing the same man, but without the chains of darkness that held him down.”
She smiled when one of the far off surfers careened into the water. “You’ve given him the hope and love he’s always searched for, and you two should not let anything, or anyone, stop you from being together.” She turned her eyes to mine and the sapphire color was ablaze with conviction. “Your love shouldn’t be subject to some ruling of a Council.” She stopped and poured herself
another cup of coffee.
I stared at her for a moment, wanting to ask her a question, but I didn’t want her to think I was being nosey. The warmth of her face helped me to decide.
“But what about you and Joseph, and Abigail and Nathanial? You were all Betrothed and then United by the Council and you all appear to be perfectly happy with the ones the Council selected for you.”
“We are,” she answered simply. I blew at the wisps of steam flowing over my cup, waiting for her to explain. “I’m not saying our code and the Council’s ways are bad—I’m saying that if you already love someone with such magnitude, you shouldn’t have to gain the approval and blessing of the Council to be together.”
I shot her a puzzled expression, so she continued, “From the day an Immortal is created, we are taught the codes of our kind, so it is cemented into our minds that we are not the ones to select our mates, but to carry out our callings with selflessness and restraint and when the time is right, the Council will grant a Betrothal.” Her eyes squinted from her concentration. “But with you and William, it’s different. He’s loved you since the first time he saw you in his dreams. He’s spent two hundred years loving you, and you fell in love with him when you were still Mortal, so of course that love translated when you were Immortalized.” She looked at me knowingly, as if waiting for a rebuff. I kept quiet though. I had fallen in love with William as a Mortal.
“The code should have no right to deny or punish such righteous love.” She sat her cup down and clapped her hands as she sat up. “So . . . that’s all I’ll say on the matter. I love William, and because he loves you, I love you as well now. His and your happiness are my concern, not the Council’s,” she finished, standing up.
She collected her mug and the empty coffee pot, and slid through the slider door. “I’ll talk to you later, Bryn. Patrick wants to have a word with you.” She shot me a sisterly smile, and disappeared into the cottage.
When I turned to look at the figures riding the thrashing waves, there were only three. My eyes fell upon the missing fourth who was jogging up the beach towards the cottage. I stood up as he approached.
“Hey-a, Bryn,” he shouted, beaming. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
I looked up at the nearly black, rain-filled clouds above, and then to the form of the dark-haired older brother that sailed over the storm-induced waves. “Yes, it is,” I replied wholeheartedly.
“Can I steal you away for awhile?” he asked, as he stuck the end of his surfboard into the sand beside the patio. “As soon as he gets back,”—he motioned to the surfing figures on the horizon—“I’ll have lost my chance.”
“Sure, of course.” I was feeling especially generous today. Must have something to do with last night.
“Super. Let me get changed real quick and I’ll be right back.” His black wetsuit was dripping wet.
“Good idea,” I agreed quickly.
When he walked past me, he shook his head violently and his long blonde hair released a ring of wet spray, his target obviously me.
“Don’t press you luck, mister,” I warned, wiping away the droplets of ocean water on my face with the sleeve of William’s sweatshirt. “I may be in an extra good mood this morning, but it seems to run out quickly with you and your antics.” I smiled my warning at him.
“Yeah, I bet you’re in a good mood this morning. You know, we all took bets last night as to what color eyes you two would wake up with today,” he said, as he scrambled through the open door before I could find something to throw at him. “I lost fifty bucks!”
Since there were no clay pots lying around, I settled for sliding one of my sandals off and chucking it through the door where he’d almost rounded the corner out of view. Almost.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, as I choked on the laugh I tried to stifle. “It’s a good thing you and William can’t procreate. With his speed and your accuracy, your kids would be deadly throwing machines,” he yelled back at me.
I turned my eyes back to the thundering ocean waves at the three remaining surfers; although, I really only noticed one. I took my seat and continued my lustful affair with the steaming cup of coffee while I waited for Patrick.
“Your weapon of choice, milady.” I startled as Patrick threw my sandal into my lap.
He’d changed in less than a minute, and while the rolled up khakis and cable-knit sweater had replaced his dripping wetsuit, his long hair was still drenched and had formed a wet ring around his sweater.
“Do you mind if we talk and walk?” he asked, motioning to the endless beach in front of us.
“Absolutely not.” I stood up and removed my remaining sandal and followed him onto the sandy loam.
Patrick was silent as we ambled down the empty beach. The cottage had long been out of sight, and Patrick still hadn’t uttered a single word. Wasn’t he the one that said he wanted to talk?
My silent patience ran out. “Just spit it out, Patrick. Really, I can take it.” My thoughts were on what Cora had said about other family members not agreeing with her, and even as annoying as Patrick was, I genuinely hoped he wasn’t one of them.
He stared back at a couple of stray logs lying at the bottom of a tall dune, and motioned to them. “Do you mind if we take a seat?”
I answered him by walking towards the sun-bleached logs and seated myself on one of their smooth surfaces. Patrick situated himself on the log across from me. His face was locked in seriousness and his eyes looked everywhere but into mine. I grew more anxious every second he kept silent, knowing whatever he was going to speak with me about held a great deal of significance.
I exhaled my anxiety when he started talking. “I love William the most of all my brothers.” He chuckled, somehow managing to make it sound serious. “Actually, we’d all say that about him—he’s been the leader of our family from the beginning, even when we were Mortals, and we all know there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for us.”
He grabbed a long crooked stick resting at his feet and began drawing in the sand. “Being the leader comes with a high cost, and he’s suffered a great deal. More than any of us can imagine.”
My stomach felt sick when I thought of the suffering he’d endured.
“Any of us would do anything to protect him from more pain. He’s tried his whole life to shield us from it, but we were all trying to keep him from the same thing. The Foretellings create a hell that none of us can even begin to understand, and then there was before—” Patrick stopped abruptly, and looked into my eyes for the first time since we’d left the cottage. “Has he told you anything about our Mortal lives?” he asked, his eyes filling with grief. “How we became Immortals?”
My throat was too dry to reply, so I shook my head. I’d been desperate to know since I discovered the magnitude of his blood family that were Immortals. I’d guessed it had to have been horrifying, but I couldn’t ruin the bliss of last night by asking William.
Patrick’s head rolled back, his eyes closed, and he took in a deep breath; as if preparing to unleash some unimaginable horror. “It was 1780, and we were living outside of Charleston. Our parents were well-to-do and had strong ties with the separatist movements. There were five of us children then.” His face flinched, and he looked away from me. “Nathanial, William, me, Joseph and our little sister, Elisabeth. She was only ten—far younger that any of us—but we adored her.”
He looked off into the distance, smiling as if remembering something from the past. “She was the female equivalent of William and Joseph combined—happy and likable like Joseph, and intelligent and compassionate like William.” He chuckled and shook his head. “She was fortunate she didn’t take on the rougher characteristics of Nathanial and me.”
I tried to imagine the Hayward brother’s little sister and how much she took after her brothers; with the wide, full-lashed eyes of William, and the quick, brilliant smile of Joseph’s.
“We were all avid colonialists, eager to be rid of Britain’s tyranny, b
ut William was especially. So much, he started his own militia, and before long, they were well known throughout the colonies as an imposing threat to the British. The Colonialists idolized these brave young men, while the British prayed they would never meet them in battle. William was fearless and a natural leader. Men wanted to follow him . . . they gravitated to him, and soon his militia swelled in numbers.”
I heard the raucous chortle of seagulls overhead, but I paid them no attention—I was transfixed in the scene Patrick was painting for me of the Hayward’s Mortal lives.
“A traitor in William’s militia gave up the name and location of its leader, and the British surmised an army to march upon our plantation. William was on an unusual leave and enjoying a couple days away from the war when they came for him.” Patrick’s voice began to waiver, and he focused his eyes on the sand below him.
“We were all outside, just preparing to have supper, when they marched through the front gates. There had to have been a hundred. My father begged William to escape, to run away before they captured him, but he wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t leave his family behind.”
I bit the side of my tongue, trying to focus on that small pain so I couldn’t focus on the larger one growing inside me as Patrick’s tale progressed.
“William immediately surrendered, but they weren’t appeased with just him—they came for so much more.” Patrick’s eyes grew wide, and I bit down harder on my tongue, praying for the physical pain to chase away the emotional that was accruing.
“They grabbed our mother, Nathanial’s new wife, and”—he sniffed harshly, and the glassiness in his eyes paralyzed me—“they grabbed Elisabeth too. We tried to fight, but there were nearly twenty armed men to each of us. They bound our arms behind our backs, wrapped pieces of cloth around our mouths, and marched us to the large sycamore that stood in the front of our plantation. They had our mother, Emma, and Elisabeth already strung up and sitting on horses, and once they crippled our knees out from underneath us so we were kneeling mere yards away from them . . . they pulled the horses out from underneath the three woman we all loved, and we were forced to watch them die the slow, agonizing death of a merciless hanging.” Patrick buried his head between his hands, dropping the stick to the side.
“Elisabeth was the last to die. She didn’t have the weight the other two did to expedite her death . . . her eyes flew franticly between the five of us—the five men she idolized and trusted to keep her safe, begging us to save her. William tried more than once to make a run for her, each time being crushed back down beneath the butt of a rifle or the end of a bayonet,” Patrick’s whisper was so tight with sorrow, it sounded like it would snap.
“When Elisabeth took her last breath, the scream that ripped through William’s body was terrifying. He sounded like the angel of death coming to tear apart every last living thing on earth, down to the last remaining organism.”
A lone tear ran down my face, but my body was so paralyzed, I couldn’t move my hand to wipe it away.
“And then, his face just went blank—empty. There was nothing left. The brother that we’d loved and idolized, the strongest militia leader in the colonies, was just . . . gone.”
Patrick lifted his face from between his hands, and it was so lost in sorrow, I reflexively reached my hand out to place it over one of his.
“They lined the five of us men up, still on our knees in front of the lifeless woman before us, and shot us each once in the stomach, leaving us behind to die a slow death.”
I restrained the scream that begged to be released from my throat. The thought of each one of the Hayward brothers being shot in the stomach, and lying beside one another as they awaited death, grated my hold on sanity.
“We were all too ready to die, the only thing we wished was that death could have found us sooner,” he said, and his voice sounded steadier. “That’s when Noah found us.”
“Noah?” I questioned, my voice sounding hoarse from the long silence.
Patrick nodded his head. “Noah was a man that lived on another plantation near ours. We’d always considered him an old recluse, but now understand the reason for his reclusion. He and his group of Guardians were the ones that Immortalized each of us. They’d seen the smoke rising from the fire the British had set to our house, and reached us just before we all passed on to whatever awaits us after this world. It was too late for our mother, Emma and Elisabeth . . .” he finished, as his face grew weary.
It had taken a great deal of strength to relive this gruesome event that had forever cemented this male family of five.
I moved from my seat and sat beside him, wrapping one arm around him and drawing him close to me in a weak attempt to comfort. But how could one ever comfort this kind of pain? I didn’t know how to react or what to say. I felt like an unwelcome intruder into a very private moment.
“I’m so sorry, Patrick.” The words sounded even more inadequate than I’d imagined. “Thank you for telling me. I truly appreciate it.”
He sat up straighter, and his eyes grew more composed.
He patted my leg. “You’re welcome. I knew you’d want to know.” He hesitated, blankly observing the screaming seagulls still above us. “I didn’t want William to have to tell you.”
I didn’t need to ask why. I remembered Patrick’s prelude to his telling of the Hayward family massacre when he said he’d do anything to protect William. This was one way of doing so—by not making his brother revisit the ghastly memory.
“I should get you back before he goes into withdrawals.” Patrick’s charming smile was back in almost full form, so I felt I could remove the comforting arm still wrapped around him.
We stood up from our makeshift bench and walked down to the edge of the surf, letting the waves lap at our ankles.
“Can I ask you a question?” I knew it was needless to ask because I knew that he, above anyone else, would always give me the cold, hard truth; no buffering for my benefit or to protect my feelings.
“Shoot,” he answered, matter-of-factly.
“Why is it—with Nathanial and Abigail, and Joseph and Cora being United so long now—has the Council never granted you or William a Betrothal?”
He guffawed, grabbing his stomach during the hysterics. I glared at him with annoyed eyes. “Gosh, Bryn . . . the way you said that makes William and me sound like losers.”
“No, that’s not what—”
He held up his hand, shaking his head. “No, I know that, but when someone puts it that way . . .” He looked amused, and he stroked his chin with his index finger. “For me, the Council hasn’t found anyone gifted or beautiful enough.”
I shoved him aside into the waves, rolling my eyes in the process.
“No, really, it’s probably because they haven’t found anyone patient enough to put up with me and my antics— isn’t that how you put it?” His taunting eyes gleamed.
“I’m sure that’s not it,” I responded, refusing to be baited by his antagonism. “You’d make a very fine husband if”—I lifted an eyebrow and raised one finger—“they find you a saint for a wife who’s on a mission from God.” I laughed while he feigned a sad puppy face.
“I’m just teasing,” I assured him.
“I know, but I deserve it.” He leaned down to pick up a flat black rock and threw it with stunning force into the ocean. Even with my new vision I couldn’t track it.
“As for William, the Council’s tried and tried to Unite him with several women.”
The taste in my mouth became bitter.
“But I bet you can guess the one reason those never worked out.”
I look at him puzzled.
He rolled his eyes and lifted his hand, holding out a finger and tapping the end of my nose. “You.”
I smiled my response.
He just shook his head, looking bewildered by my ignorance.
There were no more surfers to be seen now, and just as we turned to trudge through the billowy sand towards
the cottage, Patrick kneeled down for what looked to be a broken half of a sand dollar. When he pulled it free of the sand, he revealed a whole one. He wiped it clean on the end of his sweater and handed it to me.
“For you.” His eyes wouldn’t meet mine and he stood as if he was suddenly shy. “You know, it’s nearly impossible to find a whole one—a perfect one.”
I glided my fingers over the sandpaper-like shell in my hand as he continued.
“Just like”—his eyes flickered to mine for a moment before they shied away again—“you.”
Before I could react, his eyes darted to something behind me. I turned to see what had caught his attention. It was William, standing on the edge of the porch. He waved, and I waved back as he loped into a jog towards us.
I turned back to Patrick, but he wasn’t in front of me any longer. I caught a glimpse of his figure sprinting with blinding force in the direction we’d just come from. Remembering the sand dollar in my hand, I looked long and hard into it, hoping its stained white surface would hold the explanation for Patrick’s unusual behavior. I sighed and frowned at the shell when it revealed nothing to me.
The frown dissipated the moment my eyes were distracted by the man jogging towards me with a smile on his face that cleared my mind of all else but him.