The neighbors were rapt, but Marie was barely paying attention to Phil’s tale. She was staring into her baby’s violet eyes and thanking the lake for saving her child’s life. She should have known that’s where her daughter would be.
Jess Stewart was standing behind his mother, grateful that the lake, or the strange creature in it, had given this baby to him. That’s the way his five-year-old mind interpreted the events of the day. He had been called down to the lakeshore in the fog to receive a gift; it was that simple. He had been chosen to save her, and the way he saw it, she was his responsibility now. He didn’t tell his parents, or hers, about this. They didn’t need to know.
Over the next few years, Jess watched as baby Adelaide, or Addie, as everyone called her, grew. He watched as her mother pushed her into town in the baby buggy. He watched as those dogs, Polar and Lucy, pulled her around on a sled in the winter. He watched Addie take her first steps. He watched as she played in her backyard while he was walking to school. By that time, she was watching him, too.
CHAPTER THREE
Kate opened her eyes and found herself in a bedroom. Crisp morning light streamed in through a six-paned window that was open just a bit, half-covered by a white lace curtain. Kate watched from her bed as the curtain began to billow in the breeze, slowly, delicately. She was mesmerized by the way it was dancing and swaying, lifted here and there by the wind.
Her eyes drifted around the room. A dark dressing table with a bench, two drawers on each side and a rounded mirror above it. A silver hairbrush and hand mirror on the vanity. I’ve always wanted a silver hairbrush, she thought.
Kate wanted to walk to the mirror and gaze into the glass, but she couldn’t. Something held her back. Instead, she snuggled deep beneath the quilts, one red, the other a feathery white. Kate felt an utter contentment that she had not recently known, if ever. This feels good.
The room was mostly white. Wooden walls painted white, a white ceiling. Dark-wood floors with wide planks. A colorful area rug that looked as though it was braided from old rags. A small bedside table was next to her, and on it was a collection of small rocks, a slim hardcover book, a pitcher of water, and a glass.
The smell of lilacs surrounded her.
“How is my beautiful wife this morning?” The sound of a man’s voice, a voice she had never heard but somehow knew intimately, broke Kate’s meditation.
Looking up, she saw a figure standing in the doorway. He was holding a large vase filled with purple and white lilacs, Kate’s favorite flower. So fragrant, so delicate, so fleeting.
The man was tall, with dark hair and eyes. Oh my goodness, he’s handsome. She had never seen his face, but somehow he was most familiar. In one glance, she saw a small boy, a teen, a young adult, and a grown man—all the faces of this man’s various ages were there, in one moment, as though she had known him his entire life.
“Your wife is happy to open her eyes and see her handsome husband,” a voice said, and Kate realized it was she who was speaking. But it was not her voice. And she hadn’t intended to say anything of the kind.
What’s happening? Kate thought, somewhere deep inside, somewhere almost unreachable. Where am I? Where is Kate? Am I still here? She had the sense of losing herself, falling deeply into the soul of another, all the while smiling at this man.
“Look what’s in bloom.” He smiled back at her, holding out the vase. He set it on the vanity and slipped into bed alongside Kate.
She felt him next to her. His scent . . . Ivory soap?
“I thought I’d pick some flowers for my wife on this fine morning,” he murmured quietly. Wife? The word stung Kate’s ear. “I love you. I love you so much, my darling girl.”
“That’s a handy thing.” Kate heard her own delighted laughter. “Considering how much I love you, it wouldn’t do to have you anything but besotted.”
He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one arm. His face was extraordinarily beautiful. Dark with light behind the eyes.
Oh, I could get used to this, Kate thought.
“What will we do today, then?” he asked her. “The morning is fast disappearing while my lazy girl sleeps. We have a whole Saturday with nothing before us. Care for a boat ride?”
“Perhaps later.” Kate smiled. “Now, I’d like to just lie here for a few more minutes with a man who came bearing flowers.”
“Always the sensible girl,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.
She closed her eyes, buried her face in his neck, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a love the likes of which she had never felt.
Inside of herself, deep in a place that Kate could barely reach, she was crying. It was never like this with anyone, not even with Kevin, not even in the beginning. She had never felt this feeling of love, the one she had in her dream. This is what true peace feels like, she thought. This is what it is to be where one’s soul resides.
Kate opened her eyes and found herself alone in the white room. She got out of bed and walked to the mirror. A strange reflection stared back at her, another woman’s face, yet it was somehow familiar. She ran a hand through a long mane of deep-auburn hair, tangled and wild from sleep. She looked into the violet eyes and touched the ribbon on the collar of her white dressing gown. Where had she seen it before?
Kate’s eyes shot open and she sat up in bed. Not the same dream again. It had been recurring for three weeks, since the night of her birthday.
She didn’t want to think about that night right now. Instead she stretched and glanced out the window, noticing that the sun was high in the sky. Midday? What am I still doing in bed? As she swam toward full consciousness, the realization hit her: The body on the beach. I’ve been dreaming about a dead woman who has just washed up on the beach of my parents’ house.
Kate closed her eyes and shuddered, burying her own face in the pillows as though she was a child again, when the simple act of shutting her eyes could block out the most painful of events. Then she heard voices in the kitchen: her parents, Fred and Beverly, and Johnny Stratton.
She slipped a sweatshirt over her head and padded down the hallway into the kitchen, squinting in the bright light of day.
“Well, there’s my Katie,” Fred chirped as Kate took a seat at the table.
“What in the world happened?” Kate coughed into her sleeve.
“Honey, you fainted on the beach back there,” Fred told her.
“But I just woke up in bed,” Kate said, frowning. “How . . . ?”
“Johnny and I got you up to the house.”
“Up all those rickety stairs?” Kate’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Aw, you’re not too heavy for this old man.” Fred smiled.
“Especially when it’s me who does most of the carrying,” Johnny said.
Chuckles all around. It seemed to Kate that everyone was in extraordinarily good spirits, considering the fact that they had just found a dead body. Two dead bodies. But an uncomfortable silence fell among them, and Kate knew the liveliness was just for show.
“I was out all of this time?” Kate asked, searching her mind for a memory that would not materialize.
Johnny and Fred shot each other a look. “You were sort of, well, delirious, you might say, when we got you back into the house,” Fred said. “Mumbling all sorts of crazy things. Your mother thought bed was the best place for you.”