Chapter Fourteen
“I have lines,” I whine to Vincent.
We’re in the makeup trailer, getting ready for our scene together.
“You have three words.” Vincent crinkles his nose. “There. He. Is. I’m sure you can manage.”
“It’s not the words, it’s the emotion. I’m supposed to be scared for my life.”
I agreed to be in the picture to get back at Roy. I couldn’t stand how sure he was I wouldn’t do this. Now, I think the only thing I accomplished was to punish myself.
“You’re making way too much out of this.” Vincent shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I don’t want to look like an idiot.”
“I know, and you won’t.” Vincent cuts his eyes to Gavin, who’s sitting behind us and next to the door.
His hair and beard freshly trimmed. His impressive chest and biceps hugged tightly by a white shirt. His lower half covered by a kilt. I’ve never seen a man wear a kilt before and, I have to say, he rocks it. On him, it’s manly and powerful, and the makeup crew—both men and women—can’t keep their eyes off him. Poor Vincent is going cross-eyed trying to look nonchalant but not fooling anyone.
“Any word from Roy this morning?” I ask Gavin like I do every day.
“Nae,” he answers, his Scottish accent thicker than usual.
“He’s still scheduled to be back in two days, right?”
Gavin nods his head and goes back to his crossword puzzle.
“I spoke to my mum last night.” Vincent gets up from the chair. He’s dressed in a Confederate soldier’s uniform. “She doesn’t recall any Elizabetta Fitzgerald. The ring, though.” He taps his temple with his forefinger. “That she remembers. Mum’s always had an eye for the jewels. Back in the day Mr. Stanwyck, his wife, and Bobby hosted a lot of parties at Willoughby. There was a painting of old Mrs. Stanwyck, their mother, in the parlor. Huge, massive thing above the fireplace. She’s wearing the ring.”
It would explain why it was familiar to Travis. He probably sees the painting every day. “Instead of saying his mother’s name, Bobby said Beth.” I crane my head around and ask Gavin, “How and why did I end up with the ring?”
Without looking up from his crossword, he responds. “Because someone’s stirring the pot.”
“On the bright side”—Vincent rubs my shoulders—“it might not be an old leech slobbering after you.”
“Eww.” I shake him off.
Gigi, the hairdresser, scurries off in search of another can of Aqua Net. My hair is already hard as a rock, and I’m sure it’s flammable. Vincent stands in front of me with his back to the mirror with his eyes on Gavin. “Mum said Bob, as he was known then, and Whitcomb….Seriously, why would anyone name their child Whitcomb?”
I roll my hand for him to continue with the pertinent information.
“They were naughty boys.” He gives Gavin a lift of his eyebrows, only to receive a snort from the Scotsman. “The female staff, under a certain age, was like a revolving door.”
It’s the same now in some households. Was Elizabetta involved with one of the Stanwycks? Was she pregnant? Maybe the ring was to buy her off? Though why give their mother’s jewelry? “Mr. Stanwyck was married at the time.”
“Love, I hate to break it to you but married people cheat, and it doesn’t mean he didn’t have a taste.”
Gavin chuckles. “A slice off a cut loaf is never missed.”
“Right.” Vincent agrees. “He knows what I’m talking about.”
Gigi, armed with a fresh can of Aqua Net, giggles and shoos Vincent away from her worktable.
I’m left muddling out what a cut loaf has to do with anything when the trailer door is yanked open by a tall, thin man, who pokes his head in. “They’re ready.”
I take a deep breath.
“Hold your pecker. We’ll be there in five.” Gigi shakes up the hairspray can like a graffiti artist.
My hair is braided into sections and entwined together to form a bun in the back, with two braids draped over my ears. Not the most attractive hairdo, but Gigi insists this is period-correct. I have no idea how I’ll get all this spray out of my hair.
“We’ll be watching to see if you need more spray.” She pulls the cloth from my shoulders like a magician performing the tablecloth trick. “Go break a leg.”
I’m corseted and fitted out in a hooped skirt so broad I can barely squeeze through the trailer door, while Vincent glides down the stairs and onto the ground offering his arm like the gallant Southern gentlemen he is.
“Why do you look so damned comfortable?” I ask.
“Love, you’re a woman.” Vincent slides his arm around my cinched waist. “Beauty is pain.”
“Well, I’ll take homely.”
A man wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard walks up to us. “You, now, come with me.”
“Abrupt bunch of savages,” Vincent whispers.
I cut him a look and struggle to catch my breath. “I can’t walk this fast,” I manage to get out. My corset’s too tight to talk and walk, much less trot along at the pace the headset guy is going. I pull out of Vincent’s grasp to stand and, hopefully, inhale air back to my lungs.
“Girl.” Gavin appears by my side, making me jump. Both he and Roy have the unnerving ability to move almost silently. “What’s the trouble?”
“Can’t breathe,” I wheeze out, and place my hands on my stomach encased in a steel cage.
“Look at me,” he orders. “Still got color in your cheeks. Take shallower breaths.”
Easier said than done.
He continues, “You don’t have to do this.”
I shake my head and take another breath and, at a slower pace, follow behind Vincent, who’s already getting direction from a woman in jeans and a Beatles t-shirt.
“Right.” She eyes us up. “You do look like brother and sister. Good. You.” She points to Vincent. “You’re protecting your sister.” She stands in front of me, miming an aggressive stance with a sword. “You’re a deserter. Come back home to protect her from the Yanks. Your home is being overrun by Union soldiers.” She points in the direction of a man holding up a sign with Look Here written in large letters. “He’s a yank colonel come to take your sister as spoils of war.”
There’s something comical about pretending a sign-wielding man in shorts and an In-N-Out Burger t-shirt is any sort of threat.
“I thought there’d be more people here.” Vincent looks around the pasture. “We’re the only actors.”
“We cut the extras in later.” Lady Director, who hasn’t given her name, says, “Right.” She claps her hands, and men pushing cameras on tracks get into place while she stands off to the side. “For now, mouth the words.”
“Oriana.” She snaps her fingers at me. “Are you paying attention? I have to get this shot before lunch.”
Oriana is the name of my character. At least I have a name; poor Vincent doesn’t. The script refers to him as a brother to Oriana.
“On the ground are your marks,” she says. “We’ll do a couple runs before we shoot with sound.”
I know our parts are minuscule and this is probably a big waste of time since I can’t see how we’ll ever make it in the final product, but do they have to be so abrupt and rude? At least annoyance has subjugated my nerves. The first few takes I barely move as the multiple cameras whirling around are distracting. By the third take, I kind of get what to do. Vincent is perfect as ever. He should be the one talking.
“We’re filming,” Frau Director shouts. “Oriana, say one, two, three.”
I comply, and everyone seems happy with the results.
“Now,” she orders.
The man with the sign is manically waving it, and for a split second I want to laugh, but I see another man behind him. It’s Jason, and I’m not even acting when I grab Vincent’s shoulder and point toward him, saying the line, “There he is.”
“Cut,” the director yells. “Stay in place.”
“That was good, love.” Vincent beams with excitement. “I almost believed you were afraid.”
I catch Gavin’s eye, and he follows mine to Jason. He nods and makes his way to the actor.
“What’s your name?” The director walks toward me.
“Daisy,” I say, trying to watch the interaction between Jason and Gavin.
“Not bad. I’m Cathy, the second-unit director. We’ll do one more.”
The cameras are moved back into place. This time, Cathy is seated on one of the large camera platforms placed directly in front of me. I can’t see anything of Gavin or Jason. I’m breathing too shallow, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears. I’m woozy when I say my lines, and when I grab onto Vincent it’s for support.
“Cut. Hold.”
“Are you alright? Too hot?” Vincent wraps his arm around my waist.
“Corset too tight,” I wheeze.
“Great, better than before. The director will look over the rushes this evening. He might want to add a few scenes for you.”
I hear her words, but my head is spinning and a roaring has sprung up between my ears.
“For the love of Christ, get those laces loosened.” Gavin moves in front of me, unbuttoning the delicate fabric with his thick fingers.
Cathy is speechless.
“Stop.” The wardrobe woman tries to swat Gavin’s hands away.
He turns on her. “Are you daft, woman? She’s going to pass out if we don’t get her out of this contraption.”
I let them both unbutton and spin me around to loosen the stays. The air tastes sweet when I inhale freely, and I slump into Gavin’s arms.
“Well, that was some drama,” Cathy mutters, then leaves.
“Are you alright, girl?”
I’m standing in the middle of a pasture with my corset hanging loose, exposing the thin linen underdress. “I am now.” I give him a weak smile.
“Jason, how did I do?” Vincent waves him over.
“I need to go,” I whisper to Gavin.
“No, love.” Vincent is smiling and waving at Jason. “You must stay and meet him. He’s utterly charming.”
I dig my fingernails into my palms.
Jason is different than I remember him. His eyes aren’t glazed from alcohol, and he has the air of a repentant schoolboy about him.
“Vincent,” Jason purrs, “you must introduce me to your lovely costar.”
“Jason, this is Daisy, soon to be a star.”
“Yes, I can see she has potential.”
I want to smash his face in. Better yet, I think Proctor should work out his anger issues on him. It’s infuriating how easily he acts like he’s never seen me before, instead of the drunken lout who assaulted me. I want to claw his eyes out and all but snarl, “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an actress.”
“You aren’t the first to realize the reality is far from glamorous. I’m sorry this hasn’t been a better experience for you.”
I don’t buy his act for one moment. He’s going to be allowed to go on-and-on, assaulting women because he has lots of money and power. I hate him. I hate what he did to me. And I hate the tentacles of my compulsion traveling up my spine.
Vincent isn’t stupid, and he knows something more is going on between us. “Right,” he says. “Party still on for tonight?”
“You know it. Why don’t you bring Daisy?”
The bastard! Like I would ever go near him. I should let Roy break his damned legs.
Another man with another clipboard walks up and whispers something in Jason’s ear. Who knew clipboards were so essential to the movie industry? “Another retake.” Jason sighs like he’s so put upon. “See you tonight.” He smiles at Vincent and leaves with assistants trailing behind him like baby geese.
Vincent levels a serious gaze on me. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”
“I don’t like him.”
“No shit, donut. I think we all got that loud and clear.”
My dress catches in the tall grass, and I have to lift it up to walk back to the trailer. “Jason is your friend, not mine,” I say. Guilt gnaws at me for not telling him the truth.
“Have you met before?”
I grab the railing and squish the hoop skirt up the stairs and into the trailer. I don’t want to lie, and I don’t want to tell the truth. Instead of doing either, I yank at the corset strings as I walk behind the screen.
“Seemed like he knew you.”
“Probably felt sorry for me. Almost fainting and all.” I toss the cursed corset onto the bench. How did women ever wear these things? When I pull the underdress over my head, I see red marks where it cut into my flesh. I fold what I can and place everything on the bench, except for the hoop skirt. That, I hang up.
I hear the wardrobe mistress come in, and I quickly finish undressing before she can get back here. I don’t want another uncomfortable dressing experience.
“Putting on my clothes,” I call out, hoping she stays on the other side of the screen.
She doesn’t and comes in all in a huff to look over the clothes. “You only needed to wait a moment. Did you rip anything?”
“Wasn’t her fault,” Vincent pipes in. “She was suffocating.”
I’m in my own clothes and rushing out before she can respond when I bump into Vincent, still in the process of undressing. “They have an area, you know. You don’t need to do it in the middle of the trailer.”
“It’s cooler out here.” He pouts and slips into his jeans. “Why don’t you come with me tonight? You’ve been moping around since Roy left.”
“I’m not moping, and you know how much I hate parties.”
“You can’t fool me, love. I know you’re worried about him.”
“Of course I am.” Worried is not nearly strong enough of a word. Terrified sums it up nicely. “Are you and Jason going to…”
“What?” he asks.
“You know…sex,” I whisper, hoping Gavin doesn’t hear.
“Oh, sex,” he practically yells. “I hope to have scads of it.”
Gavins lifts his eyebrow the same way Roy does. Two peas in a pod, those two are.
“Be careful,” I say, sounding prudish. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
Vincent has veered off, back to where they’re filming. “He wants me to watch him work. Ta-ta, love.”
“He’ll be alright,” Gavin says. “Haven’t known Jason to hurt any of his boys.”
I stop and look up at Gavin. “He’s not one of Jason’s anything.” Why am I lashing out at him when he’s only trying to help? “I need to tell you something.”
He does that eyebrow thing again.
“Jason’s having a party tonight and Vincent’s invited. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“Aye, girl. And we’re hoping his egotistical nature will rear its ugly head.”
“He’s using again?”
Gavin opens the Suburban door for me. “Not yet, but he’ll slip up and do something stupid. Always does, and this time we’ll be there to catch him.”
“And you’ll break his kneecaps?” I say, imitating his Scottish accent.
“Aye.” Gavin pats the dashboard in front of me before driving off. “Don’t be spiraling into worry. Roy has me looking out for ye.”
I turn in the seat to face him. “That day I walked in Jason’s trailer. If I’d fought back, would he have let me go?”
He leans his head back against the headrest. “Without Roy there, you mean?” I nod. “Nae, he’d not have let you go.”
“Gavin.” One, two, three times I snap the thick rubber band hard against my wrist.
“Girl.”
I’m afraid to go home alone. Afraid of what I might do. Seeing Jason again was… provoking.
He takes his eye off the road long enough to look me over. “I have something I need help with.” He taps the dash. “If you think you can manage it, I’d like to get your opinion about the landscaping at the house.”
I look at my wrist, the red marks clearly visible, kind of like the marks on my chest after I took the corset off. Gavin calls Roy’s place the house like there is no other. I know renovations are ongoing and high-tech security systems are being installed. I didn’t know he was redoing the landscaping. The beautiful old trees lining the lane up to the house…Dear God, please don’t let a chainsaw near them.
“Sure. I don’t know much about plants.”
“It’s more the…what did Luke call it?” He slaps the steering wheel. “Middleburg aesthetic I need advice on.”
Luke is the farm manager, and I get a sneaky suspicion I’m walking into a pissing contest. “Have you known Roy long?”
“Aye.” He cuts me a sideways look and turns onto the main road. “Ask me what’s on ye mind.”
I need to work on my poker face. “Is it dangerous, where Roy’s gone?”
“Roy’s knows what he’s about. He’ll be fine.”
“Is he punishing someone?”
“Hmph.” I can tell he doesn’t think much of my questions. “He’s doing his job.”
“Has he always been so…intense?”
“He’s mellowed.”
If this is mellow, I can’t imagine what he was before.
Gavin continues, “When I first met him, he was like a demon sent up from the bowels of hell.” He shakes his head and turns right onto Route 50. “I’m a Scotsman; we know about anger. I’d never seen anything like him.”
Gavin’s description of Roy, while dramatic, is not far from the truth. I know he’s gentler with me, but even I sense the seething anger inside him. “What happened to him?” I know I’m stretching Gavin’s patience with my questions, but who else am I to ask?
We travel at least five miles, almost to Roy’s home, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact Gavin isn’t going to answer my question.
“Do you care for him?” he finally asks. “Truly care for him?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”
“Have you seen the scar on his right ankle?”
There are so many scars, most hardly noticeable, but a few are ragged looking. When we were in the shower, I remember seeing what I think Gavin’s talking about. “Does it look kind of like a rope burn?”
He nods. “That’s the one. He was barely five when it happened.”
I’m shocked. It looks too angry, still red and clearly defined, to be so old.
“His mother was a whore,” Gavin says matter-of-factly. “A prostitute who worked Sunset Strip.”
I try to prepare myself for what I know is going to be an awful story.
“I read the report on her. She was a good lass trying to keep her boy close, making money the only way she knew how. They had food, clothes, not bad for a fifteen-year-old runaway who found herself pregnant.”
Only fifteen. My heart sinks.
“They might have been alright. His mother stayed away from the drugs and pimps; she could have easily climbed out of there and lived to see the boy grow up.”
My finger wraps around the band, pulling it tight against my wrist.
“Only Roy knows what happened, and he’s not talking.” Gavin checks the rearview mirror. “The coroner estimated she’d been dead for four to five days. The neighbor called the police when she smelled the body.”
Please tell me he wasn’t left with his mother’s corpse.
“When the police arrived, they found Roy with his ankle zip-tied to the radiator. The report said he was like a feral animal in a trap. It took two men to restrain him.”
“Who would do that to a child?”
“The police never caught the man. His mother was stripped naked, strangled with a belt, and propped up next to Roy.”
His mother was around my age when she was murdered. He was powerless to protect her. I remember Roy telling me he only wants to keep me safe. Something he couldn’t do for his mother.
“Ease up on him a bit when he insists on protecting ye.”
“I didn’t know.”
“How could you? The boy keeps his secrets close.”
I’m not a monster, I remember him saying the night I was drunk. He knows what a monster is and yet, I think, he’s afraid of becoming one.
“I would have slapped you silly if you’d told me five years ago he’d move back here. Never seen a man so driven to do anything in his life as he was to buy an estate here.”
I guess he was here while working with Mr. Stanwyck. Strange to think we might have bumped into each other sooner.
Gavin turns onto the lane leading up to the main house at Chadwick Farm, Roy’s estate. Immediately, I see why Luke, the farm manager, is concerned. The old oak trees are still lining the drive, but the wood-plank fencing and shrubs have been bulldozed. The land looks scalped.
The main house is a beehive of renovation activity. Luke, the farm manager, waits next to his old Ford truck while another man I haven’t met before talks with him.
“Before we get out”—Gavin parks the car—“Luke there believes our plans for the entrance security measures are unsightly, unnecessary, and, as he puts it, ‘resemble Gitmo.’”
“Gitmo?”
Gavin clarifies, “Guantanamo Bay. You know, in Cuba, the prison.” I nod. “Flint, the man next to him, handles security infrastructure and systems.”
“Shouldn’t Roy decide this?”
“I’m hoping you can come up with a compromise. We don’t need to be riling up the neighbors any more than we already have.”
Like the helicopter pad and private airfield Roy is building. A couple farms have them, but everyone is worried Roy is some type of gun smuggler or worse. Ridiculous, but in an area where the same families have lived for generations, anyone new is always met with wariness.
I heave out a long sigh. “I can’t promise anything.”
I trudge over to Luke and Flint, knowing I look preposterous with my hair still braided up like Princess Leia.
“Daisy.” Luke motions towards the other man. “This is Flint, one of Mr. Blackwood’s team.”
“Ma’am.” Flint nods. “Gavin says you’re to be consulted.” His Southern accent is faded around the edges. “If you’ll come with us, we’ve got the design drawings set up inside.”
I follow them through the large front doors propped open with paint cans. The floors have a covering on them to protect the hardwood. Men on ladders are repairing the plaster walls. I smell fresh paint. As we walk into the library, I’m pleased to see it’s mostly untouched.
Flint points to the library table. The very table a few days ago where I sat and tried to use my feminine charms on Roy. I suppress a strong desire to giggle and, instead, keep my face serious.
He rolls out a rendering. “So this is what I envision for the long driveway.”
I immediately see why Luke likened it to a prison.
“Here’s the fencing.” Flint uses a closed pen to highlight the areas. “It’s black iron with sensors for any type of manipulation.” He rolls his hand. “Like someone trying to cut it, or climb, etc. It’s seven feet high with anti-terrorist posts.” He must see my questioning look. “We reinforce them to prevent someone from driving over them.”
I study the drawing. When you pull off the road to the entrance—or, as Flint calls it, the driveway—you’ll immediately have to go through a black iron gate. Along the drive, fencing will be on either side like a long livestock pen, and before you reach the house is another gate.
“I don’t understand why you’d have this section fenced in. I mean, if someone wanted to get to the house, couldn’t they drive where there isn’t any fencing, like through the pasture here and right up to the house?”
“I should have said before.” Flint smiles like he’s a proud father. “This fence will contain the property. I don’t have it on this drawing.”
The farm manager gives me a pained look, like he’s begging for someone with common sense to stop this insanity.
Gavin comes over and gives the drawing a quick glance. “The area fenced by the drive contains the intruder,” he explains, pointing at the two gates. “Here and here. We can control who gains access to the house.”
“It’s a trap,” Flint further explains.
“And what happens if you decide they’re enemies?” I ask.
Like he’s talking about what’s for dinner, Flint says, “It’s the perfect killing zone.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke wince. I’m with you, buddy.
“And this has to do with landscaping, how?” I ask Gavin.
Luke, the farm manager, steps forward. “I thought the…” He waves his hand around the drawing. “Could be covered up by trees and shrubs.”
I lean on the table trying to envision Luke’s idea. “And the oak trees?”
“Beautiful damn nuisance. We should cut them.” Gavin nods at Flint. “Roy insisted they stay.”
Are they afraid someone will drive up in a tank? “Well…Luke’s right. You have to do something; otherwise, this is ugly. Like an installation or something.” I point to the entrance. “It’s going to take a lot to make the fence blend it.” I look up to Gavin. “It won’t be cheap.”
“Roy’s only concern is keeping his family safe.”
I nod, now knowing why it’s so important.
“Will you be happy with it?” Flint asks me.
Like I’m the decision maker? I don’t even live here. I liked it the way it was. The last murder in Middleburg was before I was born. A wealthy heiress killed her polo-playing lover. This isn’t a place known for crime.
“Is the fence non-negotiable?” I ask, using Roy’s term.
“Aye,” Gavin answers.
“Right, well, trees and shrubs make the most sense. You could mulch under the fence and around the landscaping. Plus, it will look lovely if you plant evergreens mixed in with trees, and the shrubs as undergrowth. It won’t seem so contrived.” I try and gauge Luke’s reaction. “Will it make your work harder?”
“The added work will be offset by no longer having to maintain the wooden fencing. We can stay up on the tractor to mow instead of walking the fence line and trimming. It would give the birds and small mammals a refuge. The deer will not like it.” He shakes his head. “Not one bit.”
“The Hunt,” I blurt out. I’d forgotten. “We ride through this land.”
Gavin and Flint look at me with blank expressions.
“Foxhunters,” I clarify, “ride through the farm.”
“So it’s true.”
The men turn to see who it is, but I’m standing with my back to him, biting my lip. I don’t need to see the face of the haughty voice. It’s Charlie’s father and Bobby’s brother. Every time I see him my stomach lurches. Charlie was a younger carbon copy of the older man.
“Mr. Stanwyck.” I’ve turned enough to see Luke walk toward him. “What can I do for you?”
“You can explain why I received this.” He holds up a crumpled piece of paper. “He won’t shut off his lands.”
“We were consulting with Daisy on the best way to handle that.”
I wish Luke had left me out of it. Now I have to deal with him.
I take a deep breath before turning around to face him. “Roy’s traveling, but I’m sure when he gets back you can sort this out.”
Mr. Stanwyck looks like he might spit nails at any moment. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
Like this is my doing? “Look, I know you don’t like me, but I’m trying to help.” My voice is even and controlled while my heart thrashes my chest.
His only response is a slight tick of his right eye.
Luke clears his throat and studies his feet. Flint eyes Mr. Stanwyck like he’s considering mounting his head above the fireplace.
“Ye be the one causing the trouble.” Gavin steps in next to me and levels a stern face at Mr. Stanwyck. “And on private land.”
I’ve never seen anyone put Mr. Stanwyck in his place. And from the look of him, neither has he. The eye twitch intensifies, and his complexion blooms into a mottled shade of red.
“She’s a curse,” Mr. Stanwyck bellows.
I step back and grab hold of the table to steady myself, remembering how his son cursed me.
“Roy is nothing but an upstart with a suitcase of new money.” He sneers at me. “You think you’ve caught the brass ring.”
Gavin moves in front of me. “Ye remind me of the British, always telling decent folk what they can and can’t do with their own land.” He closes the distance to stand a few feet from Mr. Stanwyck. “If I were ye, I’d be stepping back to where ye came from before my blood rises.”
Luke clears his throat. “Mr. Stanwyck, I’ll walk with you back to your car. I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”
Mr. Stanwyck steps to the side, scowling at me. Emotions move like water across his face, from rage to surprise to fear, perhaps. Is he having a stroke? To my right I catch movement and turn to see Proctor next to me, his face bruised but not swollen. His complete focus is on Mr. Stanwyck.
Luke, who looks like he’s rethinking working here, urges, “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
“Get off me!” Mr. Stanwyck rips his arm away when Luke tries to usher him out. “You haven’t heard the end of this,” he yells and stomps out of the room with Luke following in his wake.
Gavin blows out a long breath. “Girl?” He whirls around to look me over.
I’m surrounded by Flint, Gavin, and Proctor, all waiting for me to say something. What’s there to say? The man hates me. I’m sure he wishes I were dead instead of his son.
“Come with me.” Proctor points toward the hallway to the kitchen. “I want to show you something.”
Given this is Proctor that something could be anything from a severed horse head to a dead body, freshly planted. Gavin and Flint say nothing. Could it be worse than what I’ve already gone through today: Jason showing up at the filming, me almost having a panic attack on set, Mr. Stanwyck showing up spewing the word cursed around like he’s an old-world gypsy? No, I decide, and follow along behind Proctor.
Except for his face, you’d never know he was hurt. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”
He leads me down the path past the gym, through a thicket of dogwood trees until it levels out to a plateau. Sitting atop it, like a decoration on a wedding cake, is a stone gazebo.
He waits for me at the bottom of the steps and signals for me to walk up and follows behind me. “There.” He nods his head to the east. “Is my cottage.”
A pathway made out of the same stone as the gazebo leads toward the woods, and I make out the top of a chimney. “Thank you for showing me this.” I do a three-sixty. “It needs an English garden around it. Maybe a water feature.” And I can’t believe I said that to Proctor, but again I’m nervous and have no idea why I’m here.
“It’s guilt.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stanwyck. He doesn’t hate you. It’s the guilt. Makes him say those things.”
I shake my head. “He’s always blamed me for his son’s death. Thinks it should have been me who died.”
“Incorrect.” Proctor tilts his head to the side for a second and turns away from me to face the view. “No more gifts.”
“So you know who sent them?” Nothing. “Who?” Stillness. “You have to tell me.”
“I have my theories.” Only his head and neck turn; the rest of his body remains still. It’s hard not to cringe when our eyes meet. “Let it go.”
“You can’t tell me it’s going to stop and expect me to not ask any questions. I want to know who I am.”
“You’re Daisy Aldridge. No happiness will come from knowing anything more.”
It’s like a hangnail you know you shouldn’t pull. I can’t walk away from this. “Do you know who my parents are? Have you found them?” Before I know it, I have my hand on his upper arm. He stiffens like he’s not made of flesh and bone but stone. Slowly, like I’ve petted a cougar by mistake, I pull my hand back. His countenance doesn’t change from his default icy reserve, but I still see a change, a softening. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Yes, I decide, I must be projecting what I want to see onto his cold, hard face.
He turns like I never asked him a question. “You know where I live. Number one on the list is always welcome.”
“What happened to you?” I’ve become accustomed to him, and I believe he wants to help. “I saw a photo of you with Roy and another soldier. You were different…in the picture.”
He remains with his back to me, pointed toward his home. “Evil happened to me.” And walks off, leaving me to figure out what he means.
I watch until he disappears into the trees. Should I go after him? Make him talk? Get him to tell me what he knows about the gift-givers? But how am I to do that?
“Girl,” Gavin calls. “Time to get back to the house.”
I don’t want to go back home. I want to know. I’m so tired of secrets. Mine most of all.
“Did ye hear me?”
“Yeah,” I yell back. There’s nothing I can do to make Proctor talk, but Roy will tell me, I hope.