Contrary to popular belief, I haven't given up on this story. Between my uncle's (second) heart attack, the holidays, and having Ian Howe, Alec Trevelyan, Boromir, Faramir, Luke, and half a dozen others in my head, it just took me a little while longer to get this chapter done.
However. . .Ian and Alec, the two worst offenders, have been placated with their own stories, that will go up shortly (Ian's story will come out first). Hopefully now that Alec has his own story, he will shut up when I'm trying to work with Luke.
I also have a happy announcement to make. While I don't have a job yet, I think it's just a matter of days at this point. And. . .I just found out, about a month ago, that my sister-in-law is pregnant. My new niece or nephew (Peanut until he/she is born, at which time, he/she will be either Andrew Chase or Sabrina Dawn) will be arriving at the end of July or the beginning of August. YEA!!!!!!!
Reviews:
Rosie: I kept my promise this time! Here's the new chapter, just as I promised.
Marie: I am, indeed, still working on the story. Not only do you find out more about Luke, Juliet, and Angela and their journey, but more information is provided about Amy and her family.
Illaris: Yup, Luke was a mite too talkative in the last couple of chapters, wasn't he? However, an explanation for this will be provided here. I think I see Luke in a slightly different light. . .while I write the changes in him, I keep flashing back to his struggles when he first 'came back from the dead,' and Angela's observations about how hard he fought his demons. Unfortunately, he keeps trying to push the story ahead faster than it should be moving, so we'll likely be fighting back and forth for a while. I'm actually far more concerned with Juliet capturing Luke's attention, because he's certainly got hers! While Angela is, of course, her top priority. . .when she's not watching over Angela, Juliet is watching Luke. I'll try to keep the story from getting away from me (I won't even attempt to control Luke. It ain't possible).
Terreis: NOW you see why I kept blathering on about Luke, and this movie. Spooty Bruce, indeed, and just wait 'til you see what Luke plans to do to Juliet's rapists. And he will get his opportunity. If not in this chapter, then the one after it. Elijah will, of course, cause trouble for a while yet. He's actually the hardest character to write, because I'm struggling to look through his eyes and be fair to him.
Calling the Wind
Chapter Five
Intersecting Paths
"Git up. Time to go."
With those words, Juliet fell out of her warm, cozy cocoon of sleep. She sat up, to find Luke moving restlessly about the room. He scowled at her, and left the house. Juliet tried to shake off her sleepiness. Half of her objected to Luke's attitude, and the other half didn't want to deal with this. At all. That half of her won out, and she pushed herself to her feet.
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll this morning," she muttered, rubbing her hand over her face. Night, she corrected herself, seeing outside the house. It was night. . .and he was right, it was time to move on. Angela was lying on the ground, asleep, and Juliet picked her up before Luke forgot where he was walking. She continued, placing the baby on the table where she could check her swaddling clothes and put her into the sling, "Well, we'll ride together, and ignore him, hmm?"
She half-suspected she knew what happened. Luke said a bit more than what he was comfortable with the night before, and now he was regretting saying anything. In his exhaustion, his guard dropped. Juliet mumbled, "Afraid someone might mistake him for being a human being, it would seem." She wasn't being fair to him and she knew it, but right now, she wasn't in the best of moods either.
What was she thinking, traveling with this man? Oooh, I don't know, said a sarcastic voice that sounded eerily like her younger sister, maybe you were thinking that you, and Angela, needed his protection? Maybe you were thinking that a woman and a child alone in the night would be a very bad thing? Stop being such a dolt, sister, and get moving. Moonlight is wasting!
Yes, that was exactly what Drusilla would say, and even worse, she would be right. Luke was a maddening man. . .ice cold killer, but there was more to him. Juliet was too bright to think she could heal him, and the part of her that was still Bruce's wife was appalled at the idea of even trying. There was another part of her which told her that it wasn't her place to heal him, or fix him. . .if she did that, she would run the risk of becoming like her father. Something she absolutely didn't want.
"Well, little lady," she murmured as she finished securing Angela in her sling, "let's get moving. We have a long of ground to cover, and Luke's impatient to be gone." Now that she thought about it, there was something in the air tonight that bothered her as well. Something that felt not quite right. Maybe it was the knowledge they should have been on the road the night before.
Yet another change in her since her arrival in Macedonia three years earlier. She was a modern woman, she believed in logic and rationality. Listening to instincts was for people who had no education. Juliet knew better now. She used her education, yes, but she also used her instincts. Something she was never taught while she was growing up. . .reason and rationality only worked when dealing with a person of reason.
The trick, she learned, was in knowing when to reason and when to listen to instinct. She could reason with the Teacher, with Neda. Luke, she wasn't as certain of. There were times when she could reason with him, and other times when his masculine pride (or his trigger finger), overrode his good sense, and in all honesty, she wasn't entirely sure if his male pride and his trigger finger weren't one and the same.
And right now, her instincts were warning her that something was terribly wrong. Right now, her instincts were saying that they needed to get out of her quickly. She hurried her steps, and the feeling grew stronger. Her companion re-entered, his eyes darting around the room. Juliet caught Luke's eye, and for the first time, noticed something other than the scowl she saw when she first woke up. Fear. Luke was afraid, and that made Juliet afraid in turn. He left the room once more.
Uneasy, Juliet checked around, to make sure they didn't leave a trail behind. Satisfied that Luke had everything, Juliet scampered outside, to find him arranging the saddle bags. He turned to face her, his features grim in the moonlight. Again, Juliet shuddered. There was something terribly wrong. Was it the night? Traveling at night? That was when she and Bruce were captured. A touch on her arm startled her, and she jumped. Luke glowered at her, and she realized he meant to help her onto the horse.
It was only practical, of course. If she fell, she would take Angela with her. That could not be permitted. This time, when Luke took her elbow, she didn't move, and instead, allowed him to help her into the saddle. She tried not to wonder if his hand wasn't staying in the small of her back a second longer than it really had to. Something was terribly wrong. They had to go, now.
If she felt it, Justinian must have felt it as well. Animals sensed these things. That was why her father, and her teachers, insisted upon logic and rationality. Animals existed by their instinct. . .men by their rationality. Civilized men, at least. Yes, Father, she thought now, leaning over to take Angela from Luke's arms, and my civilized husband is now three years dead, along with my daughter.
With Angela safely in Juliet's arms, Luke moved swiftly to his own mount. Neither spoke. Instead, Luke kicked his horse into a trot. Juliet swallowed hard, and nudged Justinian forward. She fought now her instinct to flee blindly from this place. If something was coming, they would only draw undue attention to them by fleeing. Besides, there was Angela to consider. She was only three months old, and babies were not meant to be carried on a horse's back.
With a whisper to her tiny charge, Juliet followed Luke. The next several hours flew past as they continued their journey away from the village where Luke and Juliet died and were reborn. Juliet occupied herself with Angela's comfort, and mentally reviewing the events of the previous day. She awoke in the early morning hours. There was that rather. . .peculiar. . .exchange with Luke.
She wondered if he still had medicines in his body from his recovery, because that entire conversation bordered on the bizarre. That was the only explanation she could find for his odd behavior. Including him calling her 'Jules,' something he never called her before. In fact, come to think of it, he never called her by name in the past. Usually, it was 'Miz Walker,' if they talked at all. She couldn't remember him ever calling her 'Juliet' or 'Jules' until the night before.
In any event, she remembered going back to sleep. . .waking briefly when the sun was still out. Luke was again changing Angela's nappy, muttering under his breath about how such a little thing could make such a huge mess. She was awake just long enough to murmur something to the effect of, 'it gets worse.' She saw his horrified expression, then smiling, Juliet went back to sleep.
That was the last thing she remembered before her final awakening earlier. She supposed she was lucky Luke didn't awaken her with his boot in her ribs. So focused was she on putting the pieces together and seeing to Angela, she didn't notice the passage of the time. Not until Luke drew his horse to a halt. He was slightly ahead of her, giving her enough time to halt Justinian as well. And it was then that Juliet discovered the reason for her uneasy feeling.
Luke was staring at something just over her shoulder, face settling into familiar grim lines. Juliet turned, so that she could see whatever he was seeing, and gasped in horror. Back in the direction they came burned a huge fire. Entirely too big for a campfire, or even a bonfire. She choked out, "Is that where. . .?" She couldn't finish the sentence. Luke shook his head, his eyes never leaving the horrific sight.
"Nah. But we're only a few hours ahead of 'em. C'mon, girl," Luke answered tersely. Juliet's arms tightened around the baby, but resolutely turned her face forward. She wanted to go down, wanted to go back and help those poor people, as she was positive it was a village being burned. However, she didn't know if there were any survivors, and her first priority had to be Angela.
They rode on, the silence stretching with every mile they traveled. Angela remained blissfully asleep. . .how she did that, Juliet didn't know. The child had an uncanny sense of when she or Luke was troubled, and that in turn led to her fussing. But she fussed very little, and slept a lot. However, Juliet knew there would be a mess in her nappies when they stopped for the night. . .for the day.
They maintained a steady pace, and as the hours passed, Juliet noticed that some of the tension left Luke's shoulders. He was the only thing in front of her, all there was to look at.. Not that she was complaining about looking, but she wanted at least to have a reasonable explanation if Luke decided to take offense. He was so damnably unpredictable, it might be necessary.
In time, however, it was no longer necessary to watch him, as her own body began making its displeasure known at the long riding, and the equally long sleep. A deep ache was settling in her right hip, and she bit on her lower lip to quell the pain, or at least distract her from the more pressing sensation, that was spreading to the small of her back. Fatigue was setting in now, for she really wasn't accustomed to such long riding.
Why this was happening now, rather than the first day of their journey, she didn't know. She would have thought that would have happened earlier, but. . . A glance at her companion told her that Luke was alert but somewhat relaxed. At least, as relaxed as he couldget. On the other hand, he spent a lot more time in the saddle than she did. Juliet's eyes narrowed at that thought.
It was possible that he would know some secrets to being a little more comfortable in the saddle. However, that would require talking to him, and she really didn't feel like doing that. Juliet was uncomfortably aware that she was displaying the attitude of a petulant fourteen year old child, but there were times when Luke brought out the worst in her. This was one such time and she had the uneasy sense that it would get worse before it got better.
She glared at his back. Damn him! Unfortunately, she was just as angry with herself for being so stupid as she was with him for being so stiff-necked. She thought that their exchange the night before might have changed things between them. And they did. Just not in the way she anticipated. Not in the way she hoped. It was Juliet's instinct that Luke would shut her out now, now until. . .later.
It should have never upset her. But she saw gentleness in him the night before, a gentleness and a ferocity that brought Neda's words back to her. He would have protected you, my friend, Neda said when Juliet learned that Luke was a mercenary, and wanted to kill the newcomer herself. He is not the same as your faithless husband. As ever, those words cut through any barriers that Juliet might have put up.
She knew now, that Neda was right. She realized when Luke wanted her to point out the men who raped her and killed her child that Neda was right. And maybe that was why the barriers, so weakened the day before, were back up and twice as powerful. Perhaps. But she was growing far too tired to think a great deal. The ache in her right hip and the small of her back was spreading up her spine and into her shoulders.
Luke must have been tiring as well. As dawn approached, he began turning his head this way and that. It was her guess that he was looking for shelter. He nodded a bit grimly to himself, then headed his horse off the road. Juliet, too tired to ask questions and not even sure if it mattered any longer, followed him. They came to a small cottage, nestled off the road. Juliet stared at it dumbly as Luke drew his horse to a stop.
As silent as he was during this entire day's journey, he dismounted and walked back to Justinian, holding his hands out. Exhausted, Juliet could only stare at him for a long moment, then it hit her. He wanted her to hand Angela down to him. With an effort that left her grimacing, she slid the sling from her shoulder and down into Luke's arms. With Angela safely off the horse, Juliet slumped forward, closing her eyes She didn't even bother to check if Luke went inside with the baby.
She didn't know. She didn't care. She was too tired. She was. . .being carried inside? The startled young woman opened her eyes, to find Luke's face only inches from her own. He carried her to a bed, easing her down until her back hit something warm and soft. Luke stared down at her a moment longer, then said, "Stay here. I'll get everythin' in." And then he was gone once more.
Angela cooed at her side, and Juliet turned to face the little girl, tenderly stroking one petal-soft cheek. She whispered, "He certainly likes to keep us guessing, doesn't he, sweetheart? Thing is, I'm not entirely sure if he even realizes what he's doing. I think he loved your mama. . .I know he was attracted to her, and why not? She was beautiful and kind. I, on the other hand, am neither beautiful nor kind."
She felt silent, thinking about that for a few moments. No, she wasn't beautiful, and she knew she wasn't kind. She didn't have the strength to be kind to anyone except those who were kind to her first. Juliet murmured, "Sometimes, I think it would have been better if I died with my Abigail. I never even had the chance to hold her, did I ever tell you that? I never held her. . .never saw what she looked like, though Neda told me she was beautiful. My baby girl."
Her voice caught on her words, and Juliet pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, trying desperately to keep from crying. Again, Luke's words repeated in her mind. 'Ya don't do that to a woman when she's with child.' Did he mean to say that? More to the point, did he mean that? Yes. . .yes, she thought he did mean that. But she was too tired for the words to matter to her right now. Tears trickling down her cheeks, she tucked her head next to Angela's and let go.
She was in no shape to be doing much of anything. Luke, who spent a good part of his life on horseback, could see that. He carried Angela inside, before the woman took a header off the horse and killed herself and the baby. Once Angela was settled, he went back outside to find his traveling companion hunched over the head of her horse. Luke stared at her for a moment, but couldn't leave her there.
He eased her feet from the stirrups, somewhat alarmed when she never even woke up. Once he was sure she wouldn't get her ankles twisted, he eased her from the back of the horse. Keeping one arm around her waist and sliding the other under her knees, he carried her inside. Her eyes flickered as he reached the door, but she made not a sound. He deposited her on the bed beside Angela, with the curt instructions to stay put.
It took him only a few trips to bring everything inside that they would need, then he led the animals around back. No point in drawing attention to them, after all. Once he took care of the two horses, Luke returned to the house. Both Angela and the woman were sleeping, though he could see tear tracks on the woman's face. Luke swallowed hard, and turned his attention to shaking out his bedroll.
He couldn't bring himself to think of her by her first name. Not after making a fool out of himself the night before. No, he didn't even want to think about it. So, instead, he finished smoothing out the bedroll, then stalked to the window. He stared out into the night intently, eyeing the fire in the distance with trepidation. He didn't like the looks of that. The Major was dead, yeah, but he wasn't the only one.
And Luke had no intention of freeing more villages. He had to get the woman and Angela to the coast, at the very least. He promised the woman that he would remain with them until they reached the States again. . .Luke wouldn't break his promise. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping pair on the bed. Like it or not, they were his responsibility now, and to hell with everyone else.
He stared out the window once more, gazing at the burning village in the distance. As dawn broke over Macedonia, it was growing more and more difficult to see the flames. But Luke could still see where the village was. The smoke was a giveaway. . .he figured the soldiers were a day or two behind them. As curt as he was with the woman, it was his own damn fault. He should have insisted on them leaving the night before.
But he didn't know that much about traveling with a woman, much less a baby. He swore to protect Angela, and they couldn't afford to ride as fast as he wanted to. She was too fragile to be on the back of a galloping horse. And the woman. . .hell, she was trying to keep up and not drag them all behind. She didn't complain during the journey, though Luke sensed one or two poisonous glances from her during the last night.
Poisonous glares didn't worry him. . .so long as it was just poisonous glares, and not poisoned knives. While he was always quick and accurate with his gun, Luke knew more than one way of killing. He picked up a few things before picking up a gun for the first time. . .including dipping the edge of a knife into poison. His ma told him once that she learned a good bit from his real father.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, he heard more than once while he was growing up, and Luke knew it was true in his case. He was his father's son. Like him, his father made his living with his gun. But while Luke was a mercenary, his father was a bounty hunter. . .and from his position, there wasn't a whole lot of difference between the two. In the eyes of his mother, Luke's father was all things good in the world.
Sure. Just as long as you ignored that he abandoned the mother of his child, and the child himself. Just like Luke did himself. Was he Sarah's father? Was he the father of Lilith's second child? He would never know, and right now, he was too worried about the soldiers to think much about Lilith and her death. Luke turned away from the window wearily, to find the woman regarding him quietly.
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Luke said brusquely, "Go back to sleep. It ain't even daybreak yet." There was a flash of hurt in her dark eyes, but she shrugged and lay back down beside Angela. Luke checked around the house once more, to make sure the horses were well-hidden and there was nothing to draw the attention of the soldiers if they passed by.
Once his mind was set at ease, he returned to his bedroll and lay down, barely suppressing a groan as his shoulder protested. Hellfire, that hurt! If he and Elijah did meet up, he'd kick his younger brother's ass for this! There was a sigh from the bed, and the woman said, "If you keep your smart ass remarks to yourself, I could take a look at that shoulder for you." Luke smirked in spite of himself.
"Well now, that ain't a very lady-like thing to say," he mocked. There was a growl, barely bit back to avoid waking Angela, a squeaking sound, then the sound of feet hitting the ground. Footfall alerted him that the woman left her bed, and he hissed, "What the hell do ya think yer doin,' woman? Git yer ass back in bed, before I. . ." He had no more time to say anything, because she was kneeling down beside him and she slapped his face. Hard.
Before he had a chance to react to that, she pushed him back against the bedroll, pressing her knee into the middle of his chest. The woman snarled, "Shut up, before I decide to shoot you in your other shoulder." Seeing her expression, and remembering that she wore the same expression when she pulled his own gun on him, Luke did as he said. Besides, he couldn't help admiring her for that.
The woman muttered under her breath as her small, somewhat roughened fingers carefully examined his shoulder. Luke allowed his head to drop back against the bedroll, as she murmured, "You men, I swear. . .it's no wonder we women constantly have to sew you up. Not only can you not stay away from a fight, but you don't even have the sense to take care of your injuries."
He glared at her, and started to return fire, but she pressed his shoulder and this time, Luke couldn't hold back his groan of pain. Her head snapped up, and she studied his face for several moments. At last, she said, "Stay put. . .Sophronia put some lotion in my saddlebags. It'll make your shoulder ache a little less." Luke stilled. His pride warred with the pain, and lost.
Once she was sure that he would remain still, she scampered over to where he deposited the saddlebags. Luke remained still, but muttered under his breath, "Damn bossy woman." He abruptly fell silent as something whizzed past his head. Best not to anger her further. He already knew what happened when he pushed her too far, and being shot once was bad enough.
As she returned to his side, she returned, "Damn annoying man. And don't tell me that's not ladylike. . .I've not been a lady for three years." Luke flinched. One thing he did mean the previous night. . .if he ever got his hands on the brother mercenaries who raped a pregnant girl, he'd gut 'em and hang 'em high. Neda's death was still far too fresh in his mind. . .her death and what they would have done to her.
Both were silent as she slowly worked the cream into his shoulder. Luke sighed, closing his eyes. He didn't want to admit it, but it really did feel a helluva lot better. The woman said softly, "Once I was strong enough, after they rescued me. . .Sophronia had me helping her with the injuries of the men who returned with the Teacher. It was very basic. She would set the broken bones, and I would hold the injured men."
Luke didn't know what to say to that, and she continued after a moment, "I had this huge, gaping hole where my soul used to be. I suppose I was trying to put the pieces of myself back together, because I volunteered for anything, any duty that needed to be done. I needed to. . .I needed something that would distract me. Whether it was holding injured boys, changing bandages, or washing dirty linens. . .it didn't matter."
In spite of himself, and in spite of telling himself that he didn't give a damn, Luke still heard himself asking, "Why didn't ya go home sooner?" The woman stopped with what she was doing, her face stilling. Luke opened his mouth, not sure if he meant to tell her that she didn't have to tell him, or if something else would have come out. However, the woman shook her hair out of her eyes.
"Because I couldn't bear to go home then. I was raped, Luke, and my husband was dead. I am no longer a member of polite society, and I know my father would never accept me. It's taken me this long to stop caring. Not about being part of polite society. Polite society hid behind their hands and judged my mother for having another child when her first child. . .me. . .almost killed her. But for too many years, I wanted my father's love and approval," she replied.
Luke was on the point of saying something more, when she replaced the cap on the cream, and returned it to the saddlebags. She looked at him directly, and said quietly, "Go to sleep, Luke. We both had a long ride today, and we both need to rest." With that, she rose to her feet and returned the saddlebag to its place. After a moment, Luke heard her moving back to the bed.
However, long after her breathing evened out, and she fell asleep, Luke remained awake. He thought about what she said about her father, and what was done to her. There were times when Luke relished his reputation as a mean bastard. It meant people left his ma and Elijah alone. And then there were times like now, when he thought about what he would do to the woman's rapists. Yeah. Guttin' 'em was too good. He thought about what he would do to them, until he fell asleep.
After the ashes were scattered on the wind, lightly dusting her mother's grave, Angela's remaining family left the town where she was born, and Amy drove to the hotel where she would be staying for the next few days. It took only a brief conversation to change the arrangements, that would allow Edge to stay with her, then the weary pair trudged upstairs.
Amy stopped the story while they made their way to the room they would share. For one, she was tired, and for another, she wanted no interruptions when she continued the story of Luke and Juliet's journey across Macedonia. They still had to eat, and she wanted to call her great-aunt in Texas. Her cousin Rusty was due in from Australia, to check over the books for the LJ Ranch.
"Eat now or later?" she asked as she unlocked the door and wearily pushed the door open. Edge made a grunting noise which Amy interrupted to mean, 'later, after I sleep,' and she pushed him toward the bed. He collapsed on it gratefully, doing a somewhat graceful face-plant. Amy stifled a grin, and said, "Rest. I need to call my Aunt Annette, let her know I got here safely."
There was another grunt, and Amy turned her attention to the phone, puzzling out the time distance from here to Texas. Once she was satisfied that she wouldn't wake up anyone, or give her poor aunt a heart attack, Amy dialed the number, taking note of the directions for international calls. On the third ring, a somewhat breathless, Australian-accent voice answered, "LJ Ranch, this is Rusty."
"Hey cousin, wasn't sure if you'd be in yet or not!" Amy greeted, sitting on the floor and folding up her legs. There was a brief silence, then a yelp, and Amy covered her mouth with her hand. Ten to one, Rusty and Lacey were at it again. Then again, whenever they were together, that was to be expected. Either Rusty had to move to Texas, full time, or Lacey had to move to Australia, because the family couldn't take much more of this. Those two could write a book on unresolved sexual tension!
After a moment, the last member of the Three Musketeers, as they were called while growing up, said cheerfully, "Hi Amy. . .hope our little tussle didn't keep you waitin' long, but Rusty wasn't of a mind t' give up the phone." Lacey had a slight Irish accent, which was to be expected after spending six months in country. It would take no time at all for her to regain her natural Texan accent.
"I'm fine, and how are you, Lacey?" Amy laughed. She relaxed back against the bed, glad to be talking to the female closest in age to herself. It was Lacey, Diana, and herself while they were growing up at the LJ Ranch. Rusty was added to the ranks when he came from Australia for a visit, while they were teenagers, and he and Lacey had been making each other miserable ever since.
"Just about t' box Rusty's ears, if he's not careful. Annoyin' little pain," her cousin retorted, and Amy held back a laugh. Rusty was anything but 'little,' at a notch over six feet, especially considering that Lacey was only about five two or five three in her bare feet. However, Rusty could most assuredly be a pain. Then again, so could Lacey, and she knew it. The other girl continued, "So, you're there? Meet any guys?"
"As a matter of fact, I did. He was in the seat next to mine, and it was his first time flying. Whenever we hit a patch of turbulence, he would grab my hand," Amy replied, recalling the flight with now-fond memories. She paused, then continued, "It gets better, Lace. It seems that he's a sort-of cousin. He and Angela adopted each other. He was going to Macedonia to scatter her ashes."
"Angela's dead, then? Do you want me t' tell Aunt Annette?" Lacey asked soberly, all hint of laughter gone from her voice. Amy inhaled, then sighed. That was a good question. When she returned to Texas, she didn't want to mar her homecoming with this news. On the other hand, she didn't want responsibility to pass to her cousin. It wasn't fair to Lacey. Her cousin, however, said, "Amy. . .I'll do it. Tell me more."
"Well, you know how our family tends to acknowledge new members with dreams?" Amy asked. There was an assent from the other end of the line, and Amy explained, "That family tradition is being kept alive. I'll tell you what I can, but honestly, Lace, some things will have to wait until I get to Texas. I just know that Edge, Angela's sort-of adopted grandson, had a dream about Luke."
A low whistle sounded from her cousin, and Lacey asked, "So, Luke approves of Angela's decision? Well, I'm not sure if this is a good thin' or a bad thin,' especially with a name like 'Edge.' Damn. Do you know how she died?" Amy twisted the phone cord around her finger, staring at nothing in particular. Lacey added after a moment, "I guess it could just be old age. Angela was well past ninety, after all."
"Yeah, she was. . .I think her heart finally went. She was telling Edge about Luke before she died. I guess Edge reminded her of Luke," Amy explained to her cousin. She paused, then said softly, "I just. . .I don't want to tell Aunt Annette that Angela's gone. No more second chances. And I don't want to push the responsibility onto you, either. That's not fair to you."
"Fair, shmair! You're in Macedonia, I'm in Texas, and they always say that you shouldn't give bad news over the telephone. I'll tell her. And it isn't like we're talking about Aunt Faye or Gramma. Angela lost contact wi' Aunt Annette because she felt guilty, not because Aunt Annette never forgave her," Lacey retorted, and Amy smiled in spite of herself. Trust Lacey.
Relationships, in general, were a two-way street, she said more than once. And while Aunt Annette long since forgave Angela for her cruel words back in the 1920's, the rest of the family found it much harder to forgive. Amy's own grandmother Faye was the longest hold-out. She was ferociously protective of her mother, and indeed, it was Faye who helped her dying mother let go at the end.
Annette was the baby of the family, too young to remember the shockwaves of Angela's betrayal. Aunt Phronnie never spoke ill of Angela, which was more than Amy could say of her own grandmother, but she always tensed when she was around Angela. So maybe, she didn't forgive after all. Her children, and her grandchildren, picked up on the tension as well.
"I know, Lacey, but in Aunt Annette's heart, Angela has always been her big sister. They hadn't spoken in years. . .she'll still think about chances missed, even if it was Angela who chose to give away those chances," Amy replied. There was a grumbled response from the other end of the line, and Amy smiled. Her cousin was a lot like Luke, though she was a little more prone to thinking. But she could be just as ruthless, and just as dangerous when she was protecting what was hers.
"So tell me more about this Edge character. You know, people say we foster incest," Lacey said, and Amy almost choked. Say what? Lacey continued, sounding rather pleased with herself for getting such a reaction, "It's true! Some of the people in town have noticed the way thin's are between Rusty and m'self, and shake their heads. Our great-grandmothers were sisters, so that makes our relationship incestuous."
Amy stopped and thought about it. Yes, they were cousins. . .but sixth or seventh cousins. Or was it third cousins, twice removed? She never could keep it straight. When Rusty first visited the States, years earlier, Gramma Faye introduced him as her sister's grandson. She didn't know if that qualified as incest, but she wouldn't think so. She shook her head, and returned her attention to Lacey's original question. Edge.
"You'll just have to see when we get there, Lace. We'll stay here a few more days. I've picked up where Angela left off. . .seems Edge thought Luke died only minutes after Neda did. The dream Luke sent him was interrupted," Amy told her cousin. There was an odd sound from the other end of the line, which Amy knew was her cousin trying very hard not to laugh.
"Since when, agh, since when the family stories ever go that simply? Okay, sweetie, I'll let you go before I run up your hotel bill. Give me a call when you leave, and I'll try t' be at the airport when you land. I can't make any promises. . .Aunt Annette is losin' ground," Lacey told her. Aunt Annette was losing ground. Amy supposed she should have expected that. . .her great-aunt was eighty-five years old.
As if hearing what Amy was thinking, her cousin said gently, "She'll hold on, as long as she needs to, Amy. She's too much like her daddy not to." Amy laughed in spite of herself. Yeah. She remembered what her grandmother told her once, when Amy mourned never having a chance to know her great-grandfather. 'So long as we remember him, so long as one of his blood remains alive, my father will never die.'
"Love you, cuz," Amy said simply. She heard the smile in Lacey's voice as her cousin returned the sentiment, then the girl in Texas hung up. Amy slumped back against the bed, closing her eyes. Angela was dead, as were Uncle Tanner, Aunt Phronnie, and Gramma Faye. It was just a matter of time before they lost Aunt Annette as well. How long would it be before none remembered Luke and Juliet, Drusilla, Elijah? How much time before that part of their legacy was lost?
She closed her eyes and remembered how she came to learn of that legacy, of her heritage from Luke Hurst.
Her name, when she came into the world, was Amy Charlotte Kendall. And that was whom she remained for fourteen years. She knew all about the family history. She knew about Luke, about Juliet, and about their respective siblings. She grew up hating Elijah, and adoring Drusilla. She was whom Amy most wanted to be like. The loving, protective, sensible younger sister. Drusilla was the one whom Amy most understood.
When she was fourteen years old, her parents were killed in a train accident. It devastated the child, as well as the rest of her family, and the young girl went from New York City, where her parents were raising her, to the family ranch in Texas. It was culture shock, to say the least, for the teenaged girl. Already reeling from the trauma of her parents' deaths, to find herself in a place so different from New York City. . .
She would have lost her sanity in those first few months, if not for Lacey and Diana. They were sisters, both adopted granddaughters of Aunt Phronnie. Lacey was four years older than Amy, while Diana was six years older. Their mother was one of the family skeletons. A drug addict who abandoned her children, considered even worse than Lilith. While they were still young, five and three respectively, Diana and Lacey were taken from their mother and placed in the care of their distant cousin, Phronnie, whom they called their grandmother. She and Faye were the only family the girls had.
Their mother kept vowing that she would get them back, and she probably would have, if she ever bothered to show up for her court dates. The state of Texas finally ran out of patience with her, and awarded legal custody to Aunt Phronnie. Not long after that, the girls' mother was killed. When Amy asked the sisters if they were sad when they found out their mother was dead, she received a pair of blank looks. They barely knew their mother, why would they be sad?
In a way, that helped to break Amy's own depression. It seemed so terribly sad to her, that her cousins never knew their mother. At least she had her parents for fourteen years. Luke. . .Luke was the other entity that kept Amy from following her parents some days. She saw him for the first time during her third month at the ranch. That was the problem with her family. . .they were prone to dreams and seeing ghosts.
She was exploring the property, a sage piece of advice she received from Diana and Lacey. It began raining, and drove her to a small house about a quarter mile from the big house. And there, she saw Luke. He was kneeling in front of a fire, head bent. He raised his head and turned in her direction. He smiled, murmuring, 'Bout time ya got here, girl. Been waitin' forever for ya.'
Rattled by the encounter, Amy ran all the way back to the house in the pouring rain. Once she reached the main house, she flung herself into Diana's arms, sobbing helplessly in terror. Seventeen year old Lacey tracked down the towels and dried both Diana and Amy, while she heated up hot chocolate in the microwave for her terrified cousin. As the newcomer sputtered out her story, the sisters exchanged a look.
Once Amy finished, now starting to warm up, Diana explained that she did, indeed, see a ghost. . .a ghost of their great-grandfather, Luke Hurst. If she wanted to know Luke's story in full, she would have to talk to one of the sisters. But it was part of their heritage. . .the family members who crossed beyond the veil welcomed the new family members in one of two ways.
Either they were accepted by dreams. . .if they were far away from Texas. . .or they were welcomed in person. Thus was the case with all three girls. Diana and Lacey saw him at the same time. Unlike Amy, the sisters had a real conversation with Luke. At least, as much of a conversation a ghost could have with a five year old and a three year old. Because they were so young, it never occurred to either of them to be afraid.
According to the sisters, based on what Luke told them, he was tied to this place, so long as one of his children remained. His son Tanner was with them now (and he didn't specify whom he meant by 'them.'), but all of his daughters remained. And as long as he remained at the ranch, he would look after them. This was not verbalized, but something the girls learned.
Anytime something threatened them. . .or maybe that should be someone threatened them. . .Luke made his displeasure known. There was the time when one of the ranch hands decided to get a little frisky with Lacey. She was sixteen at the time, and told him 'no.' Evidently, he didn't take her seriously. . .at least, not until a rather heavy tool disengaged itself from the barn wall and catapulted toward the hand.
It struck him in the back of his shoulder, and he immediately released the shaken teenager. As to be expected, he whirled around. . .and shrieked in terror to find Luke glowering at him with his double-barreled pistol pointed right at his groin. The ghost said not a word. His expression. . .and his gun. . . said it all. The terrified hand raced out of the barn, screaming about haunted stalls and crazy ghosts.
Luke put his gun away with his customary smirk, looking quite pleased with himself. Not a word was said between the pair. No words were necessary. Oh yes, and the ranch hand lost his job. After word got around that he tried to mess with Phronnie Hurst's granddaughter, no one would hire him either. Sooooo. . .it was possible to say that he was run out ona rail. Late twentieth-century style.
So you see, Lacey said softly to her younger cousin, you don't have anything to worry about, not with Luke around. He's here to protect us, as long as we're on his land, and as long as his daughters remain. The next time you see him, don't run away. He's kind of sensitive. He doesn't like being laughed at, and I don't think he's particularly fond of people under his protection shrieking in terror.
Amy learned the very same lesson. Only this time, it wasn't a ranch hand who didn't know the meaning of the word 'no.' She was fifteen years old, still troubled by bullies on the school bus as the new kid. But she was making progress. One day, she convinced the bus driver to drop her off a little closer to the entrance of the ranch. She was fighting a cold, her body was still acclimating to the Texas weather, and she just didn't have the energy to walk the remaining half mile.
Concerned about the sweet young girl who never gave her any trouble, the bus driver Dena agreed. This proved to be a wise decision for Amy, in more than one way. While the entrance was closer, she actually ducked under the fence. She didn't see her two primary bullies coming up behind her. . .but it wasn't necessary. The moment Amy's foot touched the grass inside the fence, she fell under Luke's protection.
The two girls reached for Amy's backpack, intending to pull her back and beat the hell out of her for getting them into trouble. However, as one girl's hand touched the strap of her backpack, she reached inside the fence. Bad move. Luke broke quite possibly half-a-dozen rules of the after life by physically pulling Amy all the way into the property. . .then blowing up the fence.
The two bullies were sprayed with splinters from the shattered fence. This time, Luke did speak. Handsonhips, his eyes blazed at the interlopers as he hissed, "Ya stay away from her. . .else next time, I ain't gonna be so nice." The girls ran away screaming. And they never came near Amy again. That day, however, all she could think of was that Luke was the best protector anyone could ask for.
Her fascination with Luke continued through the years. Her grandmother was full of stories about her beloved father. Like Angela in later years, Faye never ducked away from the truth about Luke Hurst. He could be a mean bastard. There were times while Faye was growing up, and he would do incredibly idiotic things to the people he loved most. He never raised his hand (or boot) to Faye, her mother, or her sisters. But he didn't always think things through.
But there was never a time that he wasn't there when they needed him. Until the gunshot wound that eventually took his life. As she told Edge, she was particularly fascinated with Luke, because like her, he lost his only remaining parent when he was fourteen. True, his birth father was still alive, but he wasn't destined to meet him until he was in his early thirties.
On the day that Gramma Faye decided to change her will, and leave her money to Amy, Amy made a decision of her own. She would change her last name to Hurst. She had her mother's blessing in this, she knew, because she learned from her mother's journal that Marnie Brown Kendall was as obsessed with Luke as she was. . .going so far as to name her baby daughter, in part, after Luke's own mother. If anyone would understand, it would be her mother.
And ever since that time, she had been Amy Charlotte Hurst. When she met Edge, she was on her way to Europe to pay her own respects to Neda's grave. It was a yearly pilgrimage for her and Gramma Faye. And after Gramma Faye died, it was a tradition that Amy carried on alone. She didn't have to tell Edge everything about her family, after all. She didn't have to tell him that the people in Neda's village knew her well. He had enough strange things happen to him since he met Angela.
In the present day, Amy looked over her shoulder at the sleeping Edge. 'You're funny.' 'Funny, like a clown?' 'Funny, like cute.' She smiled and dug out Juliet's first journal, something she always brought with her when she came to Macedonia. She had a sneaking suspicion that she would find it necessary to brush up on the family history, because Edge would have a lot of questions for her.
She also had a sneaking suspicion that her own journey, and her own heart's desire, would be far different than that of Juliet Patterson Walker. And that was how it should be, for they grew up in different times, different cultures, and different families. Still. . .she thought that Juliet would be pleased.