A Promise of Fireflies (6 page)
Two white roses lay at the base of the headstone. She spun in a slow circle, searching. Who else knew of her mother’s affection for white roses? She turned back, knelt, and placed the last rose next to the others at the foot of Benjamin Endicott’s headstone. She kissed her fingers and pressed them to the engraved name. Cold rippled through her, choking her words. “You’re together again, Daddy.”
Light snow settled on her shoulders. Ryleigh rose and removed her gloves, tucking them neatly under her arm. With her palm facing the ground, she held her bare left hand in front of her and twisted the gold band, the metal a warm comfort—a reminder of the close family circle it once stood for. She removed it from her finger and clenched the ring tightly against her heart. The urge to run trembled in her legs. To reconsider. To forget. Then with a mix of grief and purpose, she straightened her shoulders and tossed the ring into the black hole of her mother’s grave.
Never before had it left her finger.
THE GNARLED TRUNK
of an aged oak forked at the base, their girth twice that of a grown man. Chandler stood behind the tree, his head between the forks and eyes focused on his wife standing near the casket.
He adjusted his view to watch, longing to take her in his arms and hold her, protect her, and shield her from the pain. But he couldn’t force his feet to move and simply watched from the shadows of his blind.
She raised her ungloved left hand, tugged on her ring finger and hesitated—just for a moment—and tossed something into the grave. No light glinted from it, but he knew exactly what it was and what she’d done.
Gripped in the unbearable straightjacket of self-torment, his six-foot-two-inch frame slumped against the tree as if its strength could take the weight of regret from him.
Chandler shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, the collar of the lined denim jacket pulled up against the icy fingers of remorse. His eyes remained dry, yet his heart wept as he grieved the loss of someone he should never have let go.
RYLEIGH SHIVERED, BLEW
into her hands, and then pressed them against the vents in the cab of the Tahoe.
“So,” Evan said, turning onto the highway, “what’s the plan for the weekend? I don’t intend to spend the next three days studying.”
Evan’s exuberance lifted the tension. She leaned into the seat and studied the concentration seeping into his features as he settled into the drive. “Do you know how to locate someone? You know, someone you don’t know anything about. Or who they are or where they live?”
“Thinking of joining a dating service?”
“God, no.” Warmth flushed her cheeks.
He glanced at her with a sly smile. “You sure?”
“Positive. But I do need to find someone.”
“Who?”
She lingered on the thought. “Nat and I were going through your grandmother’s desk and we found a letter signed by someone named Ambrose.”
“Got your curiosity up, did it?”
“You’ll help?”
“What do you expect to find?”
“Nothing, probably. But your grandmother never mentioned this person, so how does he know us?” She waved her hand to dismiss the silly thought. “I can’t figure this out,” she said and turned to look out the window.
“I’m not into investigative reporting, but I am taking a media research class and this sounds intriguing.”
She studied her son with renewed interest. “I’ll show you the letter when we get home. And there’s something else I want you to see.”
“Look out, Jessica Fletcher.”
“Not hardly. But I have so many questions.”
Evan kept his eyes glued to the winding mountain highway, but concentration pinched the muscles of his jaw. The telltale sign confessed his absorption in deep thought, a mirror of his father’s. “Now I’m curious.”
“It would’ve been so much easier to just ask your grandmother.”
Evan agreed in a methodically slow nod.
Ponderosas passed in a blur. Sleet splattered against the windshield as they navigated the curves through Arizona’s Mogollon Rim. The more miles that separated her from the cemetery, the closer she was to a life alone. To answers she didn’t truly want to know. Though warm inside the Tahoe, she shivered. Ryleigh’s right hand swept to her left and she twisted a ring no longer there. The automatic gesture twisted nothing but the ghostly shadow of what once had been.
By dusk, the temperature had dropped dramatically. The wind skipped through town in fitful gusts depositing whirls of leaves in heaps. Intermittent waves of nickel-sized snowflakes feathered the sky and the shades of evening fell over Hidden Falls. Kingsley was curled contentedly at the end of the sofa engrossed in a cat bath.
Ryleigh retrieved the envelope Pastor Edwards had given her and sat next to Evan. Annoyed at the jostling, Kingsley peered at Evan, jumped off the sofa and strutted off.
“I didn’t do it, you poor excuse for a cat. Go do something constructive like puke up a fur ball.”
Ryleigh glared at him.
“Okay, okay.” Evan raised his hands in resignation. “I’ll try to be nice to the mangy critter.”
Ryleigh removed the policy and skimmed the information, Evan reading over her shoulder. Ryleigh’s hand flew to her forehead.
“I guess Gram wanted to take care of you.”
“Mom didn’t have any money for things like this. She barely made ends meet.”
Frowning, she returned the papers to the envelope and removed a sheet of stationery. She ran her finger curiously over the embossed fireflies.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just fireflies…” She rose. “Come with me.”
Evan followed her to the study. Ryleigh retrieved the journal from the desk and motioned for Evan to pull up a chair beside her. Without thinking, she pressed her palm to the stained cover. Her stomach fluttered.
“Looks old.”
She handed him the journal and watched his eyes move rhythmically through the verses and duly noted his expression, a reflection of hers.
When he’d finished reading, he looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. “Who wrote these? Fireflies are significant, there’s no doubt,” he pondered. “But why?”
“Don’t know the answer to the ‘why’
or
the ‘who.’”
“Want to give another one a shot?” Evan’s eyes shone with anticipation. She understood the feeling. “Aloud?”
She nodded. “You read. I’ll listen.”
Evan turned a few pages and stopped. “This one’s called ‘Beside You.’
‘When raindrops dance upon your windowpane
or turn to a blanket of new-fallen snow—
and transform the earth to tranquil hill and vale
I’m there beside you, as the stillness quietly grows.
When a seedling emerges with the first breath of spring
or trees once barren burst forth in budding grace—
and the breeze wafts warmly against your skin
I’m there beside you, in subtle embrace.
When you hear the symphony of summer birds
or listen closely to the flutter of butterfly wings—
and hear the harmony of a wind chime’s notes
I’m there beside you, as the soft breeze sings.
When the wind whispers and gently graces your cheek
or whips golden autumn leaves upon the ground—
and chases chasms of sunlight into the dusk
I’m there beside you, just take a look around.
When you feel the last kiss of sunlight on your face
or as twilight beckons to steal the day—
and fireflies dance to their reticent song
I’m there beside you, a heartbeat away.’”
~R~’66
Evan set the journal in his lap. “Fireflies again.”
Ryleigh nodded and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.
“And it’s about separation. But Mister R comforts the recipient by telling her she can feel him with her in everything around her.”
“How do you know it’s a man?”
“I don’t. Just sounds like a guy.” Evan shrugged. “And you have some investigating to do.”
Ryleigh raised her eyebrows. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that.”
The corners of Evan’s mouth curled into a suspect smile. “This will drive you nuts until you figure it out.”
Murky afternoon skies slipped into the quiet shadows of night. Ryleigh curled into the round chair in her den, an unexplained edginess pushing its way through the part of her that begged to settle into some sort of calm, but clashed in a duel of wills. Pouring over loose papers instead, she couldn’t help but think how ironic it was an entire person’s life boiled down to two cardboard boxes stuffed with what amounted to little more than junk.
Kingsley curled next to her with a flick of the tail. “Hey, big guy,” she said stroking the sweet spot under his chin. His purr-motor reacted loudly, paws kneading her thighs.
“I didn’t see Dad at the funeral today, so I thought I’d go see him.” Ryleigh turned to see Evan standing in the doorway. “Don’t wait up. You look tired.”
Ryleigh acknowledged with a slight nod. “Please be careful.”
The door closed after him with a benign shudder. Ryleigh took a deep breath and giving into the relentless debate, tossed the papers aside and turned to the journal. An odd familiarity swept over her as she rested her palm against the dark stain. Sinking deep into the chair’s embrace, she turned to the first page. “Enchanted” spoke of wizards and fairy tales, shooting stars and fairy-dust kisses—a lover’s magical language. But it was “The Shadow” that caused the hair on her arms to stand on end.
‘it clings to my heels
follows me close
it clings to the earth
i think it knows
it’s there in the light
cloud or rainbow
it’s there in thunder
i think it knows
it trespasses thoughts
larger it grows
it devours dreams
i think it knows
it pollutes the mind
plague of souls
it taints my tears
i think it knows
under mask of fear
the shadow grows
under destiny’s guise
i’m sure it knows