Authors: Maeve Greyson
Eternity's Mark (3 page)
Watching the bird dip its needle-like beak into the trumpet-shaped feeder, Hannah inhaled a heavy sigh. Today, she would go to the cemetery. It was their anniversary. She and Jake would've been married six years today. If only. Hannah drew another deep breath and curled her feet beneath her. She hated the if-only game. It had eaten away at her heart and churned at her gut ever since Jake had died.
The wind lofted the faintest scent of sweetness across her face. She closed her eyes against the honey-sweet fragrance and forced down the knot of emotions swelling in her throat. That reminded her: she needed to gather an armload of honeysuckles. She couldn't let their anniversary pass without covering Jake's marker with their favorite flower. A bittersweet ache shuddered through her body with a hiccupping breath as she remembered the first time she and Jake had discovered the sweet-smelling vines. Hannah had just turned six years old and faithfully followed every step seven-year-old Jake took through the woods of their mountain.
Young Jake had sworn they followed the trail of the elusive Big Foot. He'd seen it on television the night before and he'd recognized the massive, old oak of the woods in one of the scenes right before the last commercial. Devoted Hannah had no doubt he must be right. After all, Jake knew everything. Didn't he tell her that often enough?
They'd discovered the opening of a deserted cave hidden behind a tangled abundance of flowering honeysuckle vines. Much to the avid trackers' disappointment, Big Foot escaped them, but the enticing, honey-laced aroma of the flowers caught their immediate attention. Inquisitive Jake discovered if he took the trumpet-shaped flower and pulled the stamen backward out through the stem, they could catch the sweet, sticky nectar on their tongues and rob the local hummingbirds of their syrupy treat. The children forgot Big Foot and spent the afternoon pillaging the tasty flowers.
Hannah swallowed hard again. The memories ached in her throat as she forced herself back to the present. Damn that stupid war, and damn Jake and his need to be everyone's hero. He'd always needed the excitement of any kind of adventure more then he'd ever needed her. Hannah closed her mind against the darkest thoughts that often plagued her ever since she'd known Jake. What other adventure would've robbed her of Jake even if he'd survived that infernal war? It didn't matter now. The hair-trigger bomb wired to that hospital jeep had sent him home to her and she'd laid him to rest on their mountain.
As the liquid met her lips, she realized her coffee had grown cold. Glancing down at her pajamas, she rose from the glider, tossed the bitter liquid over the railing, and padded her way across the porch. Time to get dressed and get the ATV loaded up. Hannah looked forward to the thirty-minute ride up the primitive trail to the gravesite. The peace of the forest would ease her mind. Plus, she needed to get back down the mountain in time to talk to Mrs. Newell's third-grade class about the local raccoon population and the fact that no matter what the children happened to see on television, the animals did not make suitable pets, at least not for the average person.
A chittering noise at the edge of the woods grabbed her attention. Without even looking, she knew who it was and called over her shoulder as she headed toward the back door of the house. “I don't have time today. If you want to meet me up at the gravesite, then go on ahead and I'll see you there.” Closing the screen door, she glanced across the yard to make sure the animals had heard her. “Go on. Meet me at Jake's marker. Today's our anniversary, remember?” Three squirrels, a doe, and a very obese raccoon turned and headed back into the woods.
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What a quaint small town, this place called Jasper Mills. Taggart rolled his shoulders as he ambled down the narrow strip of sidewalk running alongside the tree-lined lane. Gads, the next time he traversed across several continents he'd sift into a secluded wood; he didn't care if he risked discovery. Hours wedged into a seat inside a plane bordered on unbearable torture. He didn't care if the airline insisted the ticket stated first class. The blasted seats didn't fit his arse.
“MacPherson Clinic,” Taggart mumbled, spotting a brilliant blue sign with white letters emblazoned on a white clapboard building. His heart sank when he noticed the blinds drawn in the wide, plate-glass window and a bright red closed sign leaned against the corner. 'Twas the middle of the day, the middle of the week, where the hell could the woman be? Shouldn't she be at her place of business?
Taggart spun on his heel and scanned the street. He had no idea what the woman looked like. But if she came within a few feet of him, he'd home in on her like a bee to pollen. He reached out with his senses into the surrounding area and felt absolutely nothing. Hannah MacPherson wasn't in town.
“Damn, damn, damn.” And then Taggart noticed the neat script written on the bottom portion of the closed sign.
In case of emergency, go to the café and ask for Millie.
In case of emergency, go to the café and ask for Millie.
“The café and ask for Mille, eh?” Taggart turned and looked up and down the street. “I'd definitely call this an emergency.”
“Excuse me, young man?” A wisp of an old lady with shining blue hair squinted up at Taggart through her thick, silver-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose. The glittering blue chain attached to the earpieces dangled down around her neck, swaying with every word she spoke. “Did you say something to me?”
Taggart adopted his most charming smile and bowed as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Would ye be so kind as to give me directions to the café? I'm from out of town and I'm afraid I've gotten a bit turned around.”
A hint of a pink blush spread to the elderly woman's crinkled cheeks as she patted a lace hanky to her brightly, painted lips. “Why certainly, young man, it's just across the way. Just cross the lane here and go down a block to your left. You're not very far from it at all.”
With another gallant bow, Taggart gifted her with another blinding smile. “Ye are most kind, ma'am. I thank ye verra much.”
The woman tittered into her hanky as Taggart headed across the street.
He'd best keep his thoughts to himself. That kindly lady might not have been so helpful had she arrived a few moments sooner to find him cursing the air blue. Taggart smiled as he spotted the café. The first inhabitant of Jasper Mills reminded him a great deal of some of the gentle folk of Erastaed.
The jangle of the bell above the diner door sounded as the smells from the kitchen assaulted him. His stomach roared to attention as the scent of grilled hamburgers, fried potatoes, and sautéed onions reminded him that he hadn't eaten in quite a while. Perhaps he'd do more than just ask for Millie. After all, a man must eat. Glancing around the restaurant, he opted to sit at the counter for now, at least until he'd talked to this
Millie.
Millie.
“What'll you have?” A perky blonde asked as she poured a glass of ice water and slid it in front of him.
“Would ye happen to be Millie?” Taggart asked, lacing his fingers around the cold, slick glass and rubbing his thumbs across the rim. He didn't miss her sharp intake of breath or the way she narrowed her pale blue eyes.
“Why?”
“I need to reach Hannah MacPherson. It's quite urgent and the sign at her clinic said to ask for Millie.” Taggart suppressed a smile. He read this transparent lass as easily as he would a child's picture book. She stiffened even more, her hand curled into a fist on the edge of the counter when Taggart mentioned Hannah MacPherson's name. What did she hide? Better yet, why was she so protective of his precious guardian?
Millie turned away, snatched a coffeepot from the warming plate, and held it aloft as she edged her way out from behind the counter. “I'm Millie, but today's a very full day on Dr. MacPherson's calendar. I'm not going to interrupt her unless you tell me what you want. Like the sign said, it's got to be an absolute emergency. Do you have an injured animal or something?”
Taggart swirled the sweating glass of water in front him, smiling as he stared down at the rings of condensation swimming on the well-scrubbed counter. Millie guarded Hannah MacPherson as though she were the lass's mother. Good. But he wasn't the one Millie had to fear. He'd come prepared for just such a situation. Pulling a manila-bound packet from the inside pocket of his jacket, Taggart tossed it down the counter toward Millie. “Read this and I'm sure ye'll understand why it's of the utmost importance that I contact Ms. MacPherson right away. I've been trying to contact her for quite some time and as ye can see, the news is quite good.”
Millie sat down the coffee urn, opened the packet, and withdrew the sheaf of papers from within. “Is this for real?” she asked with a glance over the top of the papers.
“I wouldna be here if it were not.”
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She had loaded down the rack of the ATV with sticky bundles of the fragrant honeysuckle flowers. The hillside rising behind her house crawled with the glossy, green flowering vines.
Hannah leaned to the side as the ATV lumbered up the winding trail of the mountain. The growling machine wound between the gnarled trunks of towering oaks. The chunky wheels grabbed hold of rocks and roots blocking the path, grumbling over any obstacle Hannah ploughed through. Her heart grew heavier with every curve in the path. She could drive it with her eyes shut. She'd walked it more times then she'd driven it the first year Jake had been gone. The branches overhead blocked the sunlight, creating a green tunnel up the mountainside.
Hannah loved this mountain with a passionate ache. She and Jake had planned on filling it with generations of MacPhersons when he'd returned from the war. Jake had promised her lots of babies. Jake had been the last one in his family and all of Hannah's family was gone as well. Now Hannah lived all alone on their mountain, just her and all the animals.
Hannah swiped her hand across her eyes. She'd promised herself she'd keep the tears to a minimum. She'd just end up with an aching head, a snotty nose, and a case of the hiccups until she puked. Everything happened for a reason in this world. Wasn't that what Grandma had always told her? At least, she'd had several wonderful years with Jake. She could just hear Granny preach at her to quit whining about her worries now. Granny didn't believe in dwelling on the negative. The stubborn old woman had promised there was always somebody in this world whose lot in life had to be worse than your own. With a sigh, Hannah revved the ATV over a fallen log downed across the path. Sometimes it was just easier to wallow in a quagmire of self-pity than it was to count your blessings.
The trail opened out into a sun-dappled clearing, the ground soft and spongy with years of fallen leaves scattered like a quilt waiting to be pieced. A gray block of weathered stone stood centered in the tree-lined circle, looking as though it had fallen out of the side of some ancient castle's barrier wall. The three squirrels, the doe, and the raccoon nestled together in a contented pile beside an outcropping of elderberry bushes.
Hannah killed the engine to the ATV, blinking hard as she focused on the stone. It had been a while since she'd last been up here, Jake's birthday to be exact. Her hands tightened for a moment on the textured grips before she threw her leg over the side and slid off the seat.
Clenching her teeth, she filled her arms full of the flowers and carried them over to the marker. Jake. With a lover's touch, she traced her fingertips over the cold, chiseled surface and exhaled with a shuddering sigh. It had taken her a while. But she'd finally found it and had the rough-hewn stone shipped over from a disemboweled castle in Scotland. She'd decided it would be perfect as Jake's headstone. She knew he'd never want the smooth, contemporary granite or marble found on all the other graves in the average churchyard. Jake's stone mirrored the man he'd been when he lived: rough around the edges and full of character.
“I still haven't forgiven you, Jake.” Her voice echoed around the dogwood-lined clearing of the quiet wood. The pale, heart-shaped leaves rustled and dipped lower from the gnarled stand of trees. Hannah settled cross-legged in front of the stone just as she did every year on this day. “You promised me you'd come back and we'd make babies. You said doctors were safe because everybody knew they were just there to help. You said the press always blew things out of proportion. You lied to me, Jake.”
The wind rushed through the trees and swirled in a circle around her, stirring the dead leaves into a flurrying mass of browns, oranges, and reds that flew into the air. The sunlight filtered down upon the stone and danced across Jake's chiseled name and date of his death.
Hannah yanked at fresh green shoots of grass sprouting up around the edges of the stone. She drew in a deep, shaking breath and let her gaze wander through the trees around her. “Just once, I wish you'd answer me, Jake.” With a glance toward the trees as though they eavesdropped on her conversation, Hannah lowered her voice and leaned closer to the stone. “You know, Jake, Mama was a witch, so was Grandma and all the women before them. They all believed they could talk to loved ones on the other side. But they left me too soon and didn't show me how. Give me a break, will you? Why won't you talk to me, Jake?”
The wind strengthened and pushed at her back. A forceful gust whipped her hair into her face, lifted one of the bundles of honeysuckles off the headstone, and dropped the flowers into her lap.
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