The Awakening (3 page)

But there was really no way to leave Finn behind completely. She had always loved the look of him, the feel of him, the deep quality of his voice, the sound of his laughter. The scent of him. Her folks had been living in Maine at the time, and she'd gone home, and taken work with an old friend who was a guitarist, singing light rock and folk music at a coffee shop. The pay hadn't been great, but the hours and perks had been wonderful—great coffee, good food, and time to work on the songwriting that was her true love and passion in life—as far as her career went. Living with her parents wasn't difficult, their home in Maine was huge, and she had an entire wing of the place to herself—a carriage house that had been beautifully remodeled into an apartment.

She had been away for six months, wondering whether or not to sign the divorce papers, when he had shown up. And when they had come together then, he had been passionate, and honest, forgetting pride completely. There had never been anything between him and the flutist, any other musician, or any other woman, period. He couldn't live without her, and he wanted her back.

She could have melted on the spot, and in her way, she did, throwing herself into his arms, practically sobbing, ready to strip him then and there. And since then, they had talked, about everything, and she felt both secure and cherished. They'd gone back to New Orleans, and she had never been more certain about a decision in her life. She loved Finn; she would forever.

Still, she wished she hadn't screamed here, in Salem. Despite their deep commitment, the bread episode was still there, back burner. Forgiven by both of them, and yet, a memory that was not comfortable.

It was amazing that a rumor had come so far, all the way to Massachusetts. Here, where she was known, as well as her family.

She hadn't actually grown up in Salem, but in close-by Marblehead. And though she was able to see many members of her extended family, they hadn't come for that reason. Finn had come home one day to tell her he'd received a really top quality financial offer to entertain at a hotel in Salem for the entire week before Halloween. A man named Sam Tartan, head of entertainment and community relations for the new hotel, had read an article about them, and had thought they'd be perfect. Finn had been a little skeptical at first, wanting to make sure they hadn't received the offer because Megan's family had pulled strings.

They hadn't. Neither of her parents had ever heard of Sam Tartan. When she'd made an anonymous phone call, she'd learned that the hotel entertainment exec hailed from somewhere in the Midwest.

The money was truly impressive; the prestige of being offered such a solo gig was equally persuasive. With a fair amount of excitement, they had accepted the offer.

First, they were going on a vacation, taking the honeymoon they'd never had before, and spending time in Florida. Sunny Florida, and then spooky old Salem. While they were gone, the workmen could do some of the necessary repairs on their home in the French Quarter, and it would all be perfect. Perhaps Finn hadn't realized just how far rumors had gone, and that her family members would all stare at him, wondering if he was a wife beater, if Megan shouldn't have stayed as far away from him as she could.

She turned, wanting then to make amends, wishing she'd never touched that loaf of bread.

To her surprise, he was no longer lying awake. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and he was breathing deeply and evenly.

“Finn?”

He didn't answer.

Megan slipped out of bed, frowning, but he still didn't awaken. She walked over to the big, overstuffed antique chair by the fireplace and found her terry robe, wrapping it tightly around her. She pulled back the draperies to the balcony door, hesitated, then slipped out.

October in Massachusetts. A cool breeze was softly moving, but it wasn't uncomfortably cold outside. The sky was beautiful and strange, a deep blue, almost black in places, and light, almost ethereal in others. As she looked down at the street below, she saw a whirl of fog, and she found herself remembering the words of the crusty old storyteller who had been at the fireside tale-telling earlier in town.

A log had fallen in the fire then; half the old man's audience had jumped and cried out, and then laughed. Megan had done so herself. She hadn't imagined that she would come back to their rented room, dream of evil, and scream in the night.

The fog below appeared to be blue. It seemed to spiral, puff, curl, and move like some living thing itself.

She wasn't afraid of fog . . .

She felt the lightest touch against her nape. Fingers, lifting her hair, softly, gently. She closed her eyes and smiled.

Finn had awakened. He was behind her.

That was his ritual. He would come to her. Stand in silence. Touch her hair, lift her hair, press his lips against the flesh of her nape. She felt him touch her, then. The hot moisture of his lips, the warm, arousing moisture of his breath. In seconds, his arms would come around her. He would tell her that he loved her. And being Finn, he would bring his hips hard against her while he held her, and probably whisper that if she was going to scream, he should see to it that she was screaming for all the right reasons, because the things he could do to her were just so good that she couldn't begin to help herself . . .

She felt his hands, sliding over terry cloth, beneath it, touching her flesh . . .

His touch fell away. She thought she heard him breathing. . . waiting. Waiting for her to turn into his arms, melt into them as she always did.

“Finn . . .”

She spun around, ready to do just that.

He wasn't there.

She was alone on the balcony.

The breeze suddenly turned colder. The eerie blue fog was rising from the street, moving quickly, coming higher, as if it were eager to engulf her.

There were two other families staying at the bed and breakfast, a thirty-something mother and father with their children, a boy of about twelve and a girl around ten, and a younger couple, late twenties or early thirties, on their own as well. As Finn and Megan walked through the house to the dining room, where breakfast was served, Finn couldn't help but wonder if the others had heard Megan screaming in the night.

They had.

He knew, because as he approached, he heard them all talking. Then, as he and Megan came into the room, all six stared at them for a split second—they were like a tableau, frozen in time. Then—as if on cue—every single one of them stared down into their plates, as if suddenly finding an intense interest in toast, bacon, eggs, or cornflakes.

“They all think I'm a wife beater,” he couldn't help whispering to Megan.

“Don't be silly,” she said, but they had both frozen for a second as well, and she hadn't spoken with much assurance.

“Ah, well, let's brave it out!” he murmured, squeezing her hand, and giving her a slight wink. He didn't know why he had been so shaken up himself. She'd had a nightmare. His anger had been uncalled for, and today, he was determined to make it up to her. Part of the problem, he knew, was that he really loved Megan. Desperately. He'd thought once that he wasn't going to explain himself, or beg forgiveness for what he'd never done. But he knew differently now. Not that he didn't still believe she should have trusted him; he just understood that doubts and life without really talking could undermine a marriage, tear it apart. And he wasn't going to let it happen again.

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully, and with Megan's hand in his, he approached the large oblong table. Two seats had been left vacant for them, and he pulled out a chair for Megan. She sat, something of an awkward smile on her face.

“Morning,” the thirty-something wife said. Finn thought that her husband nudged her leg beneath the table.

Susanna McCarthy, Fallon's female counterpart—as tall, skinny, and dour looking as the man himself—entered with a coffeepot and served them both without a word. “How did you want your eggs?” she asked them, eyeing them as if she were forced to feed escaped convicts.

“Scrambled, please,” Megan said.

“Over easy, if you will,” Finn told her, determined to smile no matter what. He was also going to break the ice at the table, let them think what they wanted, then. “I'm Finn, and this is my wife Megan,” he announced to the table. “Weren't all of you at the hotel storytelling down at the square last night, too? Saw you all in the lobby here, briefly, but I think we're following a lot of the same events, as well.”

There was a brief silence, then the twenty-something man spoke up. “I'm John, and this is my wife, Sally, and yes, we were at the storytelling thing last night, too.”

Sally, a pretty little thing with blond hair down her back, spoke up, “Yes, and was he something! I must have jumped cleanly out of my chair at one point.”

“He was great!” the little boy said, speaking up. “Great! Some of the stuff is just hokey, like if you go to some of the haunted houses. But he was great.”

“Very scary,” Megan agreed, smiling at him. She had a nice way with kids. She really looked into their eyes, paid attention when they were speaking. Finn didn't doubt that, one day, when they had their own, she was going to be a wonderful parent. He wished he was as sure about himself.

“Hey!” the boy said. “I can tell you what to do and what not to do, if you don't want to hit the hokey stuff,” he said.

“Joshua!” his mother said sternly. “Maybe they want to discover the places on their own.” She looked at her son as she spoke, then looked over at Finn and Megan as if she had to, but wasn't necessarily happy about it.

“We'd certainly love to hear his suggestions,” Megan said sincerely.

“But you're from here, aren't you?” the father said, looking at her.

“From the area, yes,” Megan admitted. “But when I was young, most of this wasn't even here yet. A lot of them are fairly new businesses.”

It was then that Joshua's little sister, a cute little redhead with a smattering of freckles, spoke up. “That's right! Mr. Fallon said that your family goes way back here! So, if you know all about the ghosts and stuff, why were you screaming last night?”

“Ellie!” her father said, aghast.

Megan laughed, and the sound was light and real and had the charm that her laughter always did. “Ellie, just because I know about some of the stories already doesn't mean that they can't still scare me. In fact, you and your brother were certainly very brave, because I came back here, went fast asleep, and then had the worst nightmare you could ever imagine!” She looked at the parents of the two with apology. “I'm so sorry, I guess I did wake everyone up.” She shook her head. “I just had a terrible, terrible dream.”

She must have been believed, because the father seemed to relent at last. “Hey, we were woken up by peacocks at the last place we stayed. I'm Brad Elgin.”

“And I'm Mary,” his wife said.

“And I'm—”

“You're Joshua, and you're Ellie,” Megan finished. “And it's very nice to meet you, and please, even though I am from these parts, they change a bit every year. Finn and I are always up for suggestions. And my husband hasn't been here before. Ever! So, he may want to trust your judgment, just in case mine is a little tainted at times.”

“Well, actually, I've been
through
here once,” Finn said, glancing at Megan. “I got it into my head to drive up alone from New Orleans to Maine, and I'd never done it before. I wound up taking a few wrong turns off the highway, so I have had lunch in the center of town.”

Megan grinned at him. Usually, he had a great sense of direction. She'd found it amusing that he'd gotten lost in New England, and sweet, as well, since he'd been on his way to find her.

Susanna came back in then, not saying a word as she set down their plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. She didn't even respond when Finn thanked her. She was halfway back out the door before she paused to say, “Cereal and such is on the buffet table.”

There was silence for a moment again after she left.

“Well, you've just got to take your husband to the museum right by the Conant statue—that one is the best so far,” Sally said, cheerfully taking up right where they had left off. “We were all just agreeing on that when you two came in.”

“Right,” John agreed, squeezing her fingers where they lay on the table. “And Brad, you were saying that the kids really enjoyed the Pilgrim village.”

“Yeah, it was cool, too!” Joshua said. “And you know what? It's kind of easy, once you're here, to see why New Englanders are supposed to be so messed up.”

“Joshua!” his mother moaned.

“No, no, sorry!” he said, realizing that, of course, Megan was a New Englander. “The Pilgrims . . . Puritans, they couldn't do anything! They couldn't sing or dance or have fun or act normal in any way at all! Look at the people who wound up dead because of some old stories told by that woman. I mean, really, a bunch of people got hanged because they were all so hung up and silly. It was more than four hundred years ago, but you're going to have people come out—what did you call it, Mom,
reserved
?—when they're ancestors were that messed up!”

“Joshua,” Mary moaned. “The lady here is a New Englander.”

“Yes, but she can't be all messed up and
reserved
, not if she had a nightmare like that and explained it to us!”

Mary looked mortified, red as a beet.

Finn's eggs had been pretty good, despite their dour server. They suddenly seemed cold.

“New Englanders can be very reserved,” Megan said, smiling. “And, hey, by the way, Gallows Hill, where they believe the people convicted were executed, is here, and the judge, Hathorne, has his grave at the Burial Point, and there are a number of other locations as well, but the people involved weren't just from what we call Salem now. There was a Salem Town, and a Salem Village, but the area that used to be the village has different names now, such as Danvers. You can drive out there and see the Rebecca Nurse place, the home of one of the most pathetic victims of all. The writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne, put that W in his name to distance himself from his ancestor.”

“You do know a lot about this place!” Joshua said, relishing his new discovery.

“Well, Marblehead is a little bit from here, too. My mom's sister lived here for a long time, and my cousin and a few others are still here. But I went to school in the South where I met my husband, and Finn and I live in New Orleans now, and trust me, we're not very reserved down there.”

“No!” Ellie said, freckled face split in a big grin. “They're wild in New Orleans. Dad says so—we can't go there because it's a big den of... big den of iniq—iniq—”

“Iniquity?” Finn suggested, amused himself.

“For children!” Mary said quickly.

“Hey, the city has its reputation,” Finn said. “But it's kind of like anywhere else—good things, and bad things. We have some of the finest music in the country. And granted, some entertainment that's only for adults, and certain adults, at that. There's a lot that's fine in New Orleans, too, and a lot of really great people. You learn in life, anywhere, to watch out for things that are bad.”

“And people who are bad!” Ellie announced gravely.

“Exactly,” Finn said, looking at the child, and wondering if her parents had already warned her that Finn might be a bad man—a wife beater.

“So—is this your first trip here?” Megan asked, glancing around the table so that her question was for anyone who chose to answer.

“First time, and I love it!” Sally said cheerfully.

“First time for us, too.” Mary said.

“We're from Chicago,” John told them. “Sally and I both.”

“Great city,” Finn commented, drawing a smile from them both.

“Brad is from Santa Fe,” Mary said. “But I'm originally a Southerner, too. Montgomery, Alabama.”

“Definitely a good Southern town, progressive these days,” Megan said.

“So Megan is the only New Englander,” Joshua said. “That's neat, really neat!”

A slow, rueful grin crept into Megan's lips. “And apparently, we can't be all that reserved, because someone told you that before we officially met, hmm?”

Even Joshua himself blushed at that.

“Naturally, we were all concerned about the screaming, and we had to ask,” his father said, his tone somewhat stiff, and, it seemed to Finn, his eyes still carrying something of an accusation.

“And you've got lots of family here!” Ellie burst out. “You've got a witch for a cousin!”

“Wiccan,” Megan murmured.

“You'll find all kinds of people here who are Wiccan,” Finn said. He wondered why he was jumping in so defensively. He thought it was all kind of ridiculous himself. Not that he was a steadfast believer in organized religion himself, but his concept was in a traditional god, and he believed in most of the Christian tenets of life. He firmly believed that most of the practicing Wiccans were in it for the fun and money—hard to survive off a witch shop when you weren't a Wiccan.

“It's just a different way of believing,” Megan explained. “You know that there are Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus and more in the world, right? Well, Wiccans are the same.”

Ellie's father sniffed.

“You're one of them?” he asked Megan.

She shook her head. “Catholic,” she told him.

For Megan, it was true. Finn went to church with her now and then, but she went far more often than he did.

He wasn't sure that Brad approved of Catholics any more than he did Wiccans, but it was his wife that broke in with, “That's one of the great things about our country, son. People are free to believe in whatever they choose.”

“Even if it is all rather silly,” Mary told her children.

“But the Wiccan religion isn't about evil,” Megan said. “Honestly—it's more of a religion in which people honor the earth. I don't know all that much about it, but a true Wiccan would never do evil, their spells are only for good things. In their way of thinking, if you do evil to others, evil comes back to you.”

“I want to have my palm read by a witch!” Joshua said.

“No!” his mother said sternly.

If it was all so silly in their minds, why such a vehement refusal? Finn wondered.

“Well, we're off,” John said, rising. Sally stood along with her husband. “We're not doing the witch thing at all today—were off to the Mariner's Museum.”

“And we're off to see the House of the Seven Gables today,” Joshua told them.

Finn wiggled his brows. “We're off to see the Wiccan—Megan's family,” he told him with a wink. “But don't worry—thanks to you, young man, we'll know to avoid the hokey stuff, right Megan?”

Brad and Mary were rising as well, and the kids stood along with their parents. “Well, have a good day,” Mary said.

“Thanks, we will,” Megan said. “You, too.”

“We'll get to the House of the Seven Gables eventually, too,” Finn told the kids. “There's a tremendous literary history here in Salem, too.”

“Yeah . . . I guess we'll have to read,” Joshua said a little remorsefully.

“When you read, you learn great stories,” Finn said.