Eternally Yours (15 page)

Climbing into his car, he made a face. He couldn’t let himself think about that sort of relationship with her. First, he needed to get to know her a lot better, so it was a good thing they had plans for the next day. Learning more about her art would be a good place to start. He really wanted to see more of her work. How did she capture a moment in time like she did? Personally, he couldn’t draw a straight line.

As he turned onto Main Street, he could hardly believe that only a couple of nights ago he’d told himself he could never have an intelligent conversation with her. Now he saw how presumptuous he’d been. He had so many things he wanted to discuss with her.

He parked at a municipal lot, entered Town Hall and took the stairs to the second floor. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked up deeds, so he knew which office to try.

“Hi, Mark,” the woman behind the desk said when he stepped inside. Her use of his name surprised him. Taking in her bobbed brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses, he thought she looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember how he knew her.

Apparently she noticed his hesitation and added, “I’m Paula Nesbitt--Karen’s friend.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry. It’s been a while.”

“Yes, I believe the last time we saw each other was at Pam Drucker’s Christmas party. So, how can I help you?”

Suddenly he realized that this was the woman who had warned Karen about Lara’s so-called gold-digging. He didn’t want to create a lead-in for the subject now. Scouring his mind for a alternative reason to be here, he said, “I wanted to find out when the next zoning board meeting is scheduled. Do you happen to know?”

She glanced at a bulletin board on the wall beside her. “Next Tuesday, in the meeting room downstairs. Is there a special case you’re interested in?”

“No, I just thought that in my business I should learn more about zoning laws.”

“I guess there
are
details you’d need to know.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and looked at him more closely. “Karen mentioned that you’re consulting with Lara Peale on her house. I can’t believe that woman’s trying to build an art studio in a residential neighborhood--on a historical street, too! You must be pretty disgusted about her tearing down that exterior wall.”

He clenched his jaw, wishing that he’d made a better effort to guide her away from the topic. “I don’t know much about it. Ms. Peale is withdrawing her application for a grant from the historical society.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “So you’re not working with her anymore?”

“No.”

“Really? Karen told me Lara was at your apartment the other day, so I assumed you must still be on the case. I thought maybe you’d talk her out of knocking down that wall, but so far she hasn’t been in to change her permit application.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any influence with her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.” He turned toward the door.

“Oh, sure,” the woman called after him. “I’ll tell Karen

you said hello.”

He didn’t acknowledge that “favor,” scowling to himself as he left. Was it his imagination, or had Paula Nesbitt been fishing for information about his relationship with Lara? He found it hard to believe that the clerk concerned herself so much with
every
zoning question in the town. Well, he’d had enough of Karen and her nosy friends interfering in his life.

As he hurried down to the ground floor, he got more and more irritated. Leaving the building, the sight of the library across the street reminded him of Lara’s research, and he realized why he suddenly felt like his day had been ruined. The clerk’s reminder about Lara’s plans for the house had deflated his new perception of her. He’d enjoyed those few moments of walking around on Cloud Nine, imagining himself halfway in love.

He would have liked to go over to her place tomorrow without a care in the world--to dig up some interesting information together, to laugh over her fears about being haunted...maybe steal a kiss or two.

Now he had to concede that jumping in with both feet wasn’t such a good idea. Though he may have gotten to know her a little in the past week, how much had he really learned? They hadn’t discussed her plans for the house since they’d first met, and he didn’t know if they could ever do so rationally. Meanwhile, she

evidently still intended to go through with tearing down the wall.

He kicked a stone out of his path, sending it skidding up the sidewalk. The prospects for happiness that he’d seemed to have ten minutes ago now felt very precarious. If Lara went ahead and destroyed that beautiful old house of hers, their friendship would be ruined, too.

Chapter 10

Lara got up extra early, allowing herself plenty of time to get ready for Mark’s visit. Of course, she knew it wasn’t a date and, given her own circumstances, moving slowly was probably the best thing. She would, however, follow Di’s advice--to a certain extent--and try to “encourage” him today by putting her best foot forward.

After a long shower she spent fifteen minutes subduing her curls and ended up pretty happy with the result. Though she didn’t like to wear a lot of make-up--especially in the morning--she dabbed on a bit of lipstick and face powder. Then she dressed in a cute new short set that she’d bought late yesterday during a second trip to Di’s store. The attic would be dusty, but for once in her life she would start out looking crisp and clean. She had purposely chosen a soft khaki fabric to camouflage specks of dirt.

In the dining room she laid out a healthy array of breakfast goodies. The night before she’d baked blueberry muffins from scratch and cut up melons and strawberries for fruit salad. Along with these she put out yogurt and a carafe of hot Kenyan coffee, the most heavenly roast she knew of.

When she’d finished arranging the plates, napkins and utensils, she checked the clock. It was five of nine: perfect. Thinking it would be fun to “unveil” her efforts later, she closed the dining room doors. She grabbed a sweater and the newspaper and headed out to sit on the porch and wait for Mark’s arrival.

She stepped outside into a beautiful summer morning. Not a cloud interrupted the deep-blue sky. Dewdrops glittered in the grass, and a soft breeze carried the scent of budding flowers to her nose. A pair of squirrels were scampering in the big maple in her yard, while the local birds provided a musical score for the scene. The mood was so tranquil that she decided to abandon the paper in favor of taking in nature’s beauty.

Within five minutes Mark pulled up and parked his car along the side of the road. He got out and nodded to her.

She grinned and waved, admiring his form as he came up the walk. When he got closer, though, she could see that the smile he gave her didn’t extend to his eyes.

Damn it
, she thought. For some reason he had put up his guard again. Well, he’d implied that he needed time, and she’d been telling herself that was good. She’d have to accept his detachment...for the moment, anyway.

They exchanged quiet greetings, and she led him into the house.

“Shall we grab some food and take it out on the porch to eat?” she suggested as they walked through the main hall. “I hope you like blueberry muffins. I didn’t make anything hot this morning.”

“Oh, I like anything,” he said in a polite tone, “but, if you don’t mind, let’s skip sitting on the porch. I’d rather get right to the letters.”

“Sure.” Swallowing her disappointment, she opened the doors to the dining room.

Despite his coolness, Mark’s eyes widened at the sight of the food. “Lara, this looks great--but you really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“It was no trouble.” She reached for the carafe and poured coffee into the mugs she’d set out. “If you’re really eager to get to work, we can bring this stuff up to the attic and eat Unfortunately, that will mean carrying everything up three flights of stairs.”

“No, that’s okay. Let’s eat here and just take our coffee with us.”

They sat down for a ten-minute breakfast, making small talk about his writing and her painting. Both of them noted that they hadn’t accomplished much in the past week, and neither tried to explain why not.

Afterwards Mark helped her clear the table. Though thoughtful, the gesture made her feel a bit rushed.

“Do you have other things to do later?” she asked him. He’d seemed so enthusiastic about this plan the day before that she’d figured he was completely free. Now she’d begun to wonder.

“Only some writing this afternoon. My deadline’s still a couple of months off, but I have a lot left to complete, so I have to keep to my schedule.”

“Of course.”

As they climbed to the attic, she briefly showed him the other floors of the house. Most of the rooms didn’t have furniture, so they weren’t much to see.

When they got to her bedroom, he peeked through the doorway but stood noticeably outside the threshold. She thought he lingered a moment longer than at the other rooms--probably just because this one actually had things in it.

“I saw that you have Geoff’s biography on your nightstand,” he said as they climbed the next flight of stairs. “Have you started it yet?”

“Yeah, I read the first chapter or so.” The opening to the book had focused mainly on the poet’s work. Knowing that in the past Mark had derided her for admiring his ancestor’s poetry, she was reluctant to comment on the subject. “Have you looked at your copy yet?”

“No. I hunted around for the book last night but couldn’t find it. It may be at my parents’ house. My apartment doesn’t have much space, so I have a few boxes of books and papers stored in their spare room.”

“Yeah...well, I don’t have that problem here.”

He didn’t ask for her impressions of what she’d read, and the conversation died.

Their last leg of ascent involved a steep staircase built into the back room on the third floor. Mark offered to go up ahead of her, and she gladly agreed to let him, even though she’d visited the attic for a few minutes the previous day without incident. Pushing two lit lamps and a plugged-in extension cord up before her, she’d had the place positively bright before she entered. When she did go up, she hadn’t found the area as scary as she’d expected. The contents comprised mostly crates, but she’d found two wooden chairs and dusted them thoroughly in preparation for today. Then she’d hurried back downstairs, not wanting to give the ghost a chance to catch up with her.

While Mark made his way up now, she paused to take off her sweater and leave it downstairs.

“I can’t believe how much space you have in this house,” he called down to her. “This attic practically qualifies as a fourth story. In the middle I can stand up straight with no danger of bumping my head.”

“Just don’t try it anywhere else but in the middle.” She climbed up herself, noting that he continued to survey his surroundings instead of offering her a hand.

Chicken
, she silently accused him.

She’d only been in the attic momentarily the day before, so she took a good look around, too. The space felt almost comfortable. She’d left a pair of small windows open all night, one with a fan pumping the stuffy air outside, while fresh air and sunlight poured in the other. Dust particles lit up in the streaks of sun, but she doubted she could have gotten rid of them, even if she’d cleaned all day yesterday.

“I know I saw letters up here years ago.” She walked to the back wall and stooped down in front of a trunk. “I wish I could remember exactly where.”

The latch gave her a struggle, but eventually she pulled it open with a jerk that sent her falling back on her rear end.
So much for my neat appearance
, she thought, brushing off her shorts as inconspicuously as possible.

When she opened the lid she found that the trunk held furs rather than papers.

“Not in this one,” she said, disappointed.

Mark started searching, too--well across the room from her, she noted. In the first crate he tried, he came up with some documents dating from the nineteen-forties. Too recent for “M.A.S.,” they both agreed.

After checking two more trunks without any luck Lara finally hit pay dirt, opening a smaller chest filled with old letters. She picked up the one lying on top and gasped.

“This one is addressed to a Miss Mariah Sulley: an ‘M.S.’ She could be our spurned lover! Here’s another. They all belong to the same woman.”

“How old are they?” Mark hurried over to join her, kneeling on the other side of the chest.

She opened the first letter. “December 12, 1898.”

Checking several others, she found they all dated from around the turn of the nineteenth century.

“Let’s look for one with a return address that lists someone with the initial ‘G.’“ He started sifting through the yellowed papers, and she followed suit.

Half-an-hour later they had pulled out all of the letters without finding a single one from a “G.”

“Maybe it’s not the same woman after all,” he said.

“Or maybe she kept his letters separate from all her other ones--hidden away somewhere special, where she could reach them whenever she wanted to reread them.”

“If so, we have no idea where.”

She looked back down at the pile of mail. A strong hunch told her they’d found the right person, though she had nothing to substantiate it. The letters had all been written
to
Mariah; none of them included the woman’s own handwriting. “I’m going to read through some of these and try to find other clues.”

“Okay. Meanwhile, I’ll look around and see if I come across a smaller stash from ‘G.’“ He stood up and went back to his side of the room.

Naturally, he couldn’t hunt closer to her. With an exasperated glance toward the eaves, she looked back down and started reading.

The correspondence originated from quite a few of Mariah’s acquaintances, but most of the letters had come from a few key relatives and friends. Lara weeded through page after page telling of births, weddings, illnesses and deaths before she found any reference to Mariah’s personal life. At last a paragraph caught her eye.

“Here’s something,” she said to Mark. She read aloud from the letter: