The Ruby Locket Read online

  “Sort of a nurse?” Noah released a chuckle. He knew he was being belligerent, but the moment was too much fun to let go of.

  Olivia raised her chin a mite. “Some years ago Finney got a letter saying that you were dead.” She smacked her hands together in a squirming knot.

  “Dead? So I died? Well, that explains so much.” He laughed. “Good to know.”

  “You laugh like your father.”

  “Oh? Is that right?”

  The woman went into a quiet stare again. She didn’t appear to be easy with banter. Her fingers now worked the pockets on her dress like little animals working at the locks on their cages.

  Noah made himself at home, milling around the room. “Do you mind if I ask who sent the letter that pronounced me dead?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  Noah narrowed his eyes. “Whoever it was…was right.” He stuffed his fists into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess I have been dead for years.”

  Olivia looked puzzled, as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite get the muscles to obey.

  Noah picked up a brass compass off a table and turned it around in his hand. “This was a gift from my father on my tenth birthday. He told me to be careful, or it would break. I treasured it. I really did. Never even used it, for fear it would be damaged. Even kept the outside polished. But it stopped working one day. I never did know what went wrong with it.”

  He tossed it in the air and then caught it in the palm of his hand. “I didn’t take the compass with me. Too many memories attached to it…and not the kind you press into a scrapbook.” Noah set the compass down, knowing he’d need to stop stalling and ask about seeing his father. “I’m here to talk to my father. I want to speak to him right now…even if he doesn’t want to see me.”

  Her face went as ashen as her dress, which had to be the least flattering outfit he’d ever seen on a woman. And what was the meaning of that red ribbon around her wrist?

  “Are you okay?” Noah reached out to her and cupped her elbow, thinking she might pass out.

  “I’m fine. But Finney isn’t fine. He’s…” Olivia pushed her long hair away from her face and then held that pose as if she wasn’t sure what to do next.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Your father has gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  Olivia grabbed her waist. Her delicate, elfinlike features wrinkled. “Your father has gone to heaven.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  Lord, help me. I’ve come too late. “When did he die?”

  “Three months ago.”

  Noah stepped backward and then collapsed onto a wicker chair. He’d been a fool to wait. Considering his father’s advancing years, he should have known that the window of reconciliation would not stay open forever. Noah lowered his head and let his fingers claw into his scalp.

  Olivia walked over to him and knelt beside him. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have just said it so bluntly. I’m not very good at—”

  “What did my father die of?” Noah looked at her.

  Olivia’s soul wilted at the sight of Noah’s eyes, which were now shadowed with grief. “The doctor said he died of heart failure. As I’m sure you know, he was seventy-six.” Wanting to console him, she put her hand on his sleeve. “There is something else you should know, although it doesn’t seem like the right time to—”

  “What is it?” Noah broke their connection and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

  “I think you should know that, well, your father gave me the house. He left everything to me.” But the truth was that if Finney had known his only son was alive, he never would have given her Bromfeld Manor and all his possessions. It had to be true. Then the next truth hit Olivia. She couldn’t stay in the house. Not now. She could never take something that really belonged to someone else.

  Noah’s face took on a vacant stare as if his body were no longer aligned with his spirit. Then his gaze morphed into a glare. “You did well for yourself. Tell me, did you help my father? Did you…”

  “What do you mean?”

  He drooped in his chair. “Maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe you helped my father to heaven early so you could help yourself to his house,” he hissed at her as his gaze pierced her through.

  Shock over his words drew Olivia back on her heels. Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her sight. “Surely you don’t mean that. Finney was…” No need to say more.

  Noah didn’t appear to be able to hear her. He seemed to have drifted off into a place where she could no longer reach him. His face twisted in agony—a grieving that was beyond her own.

  He reached out for the compass on the small table, and in the process his hand brushed against the pressed bluebonnet. Instead of picking up the compass he placed the flower in his palm and slowly closed his fingers around it, crushing the wispy petals.

  She felt Noah had crushed a part of her, as well—her spirit. Oh, Lord. Please help this man. In spite of his foul mood, she thought perhaps she should stay to help him just as she’d served his father. But since Noah believed she was capable of taking his father’s life, he would want her out of the house immediately. It was time to pack her bags and go.

  Olivia rose from the floor and tiptoed out of the room. How had her simple life gotten so heavy? It was as if she were carrying stones in every pocket. She trudged up the narrow curving staircase at the back of the house and made her way up to the attic room on the third floor, a room that had been her tiny abode for the past twenty years. Soon Bromfeld Manor would be just a lovely memory. Oh, well. It’d be the last time she’d have to listen to the squeaking fits of that silly ol’ fifth step, but it would also be the last time to roam the woods she’d grown to love. Perhaps even the last time to know the joy of a real home. Mist stung her eyes. How foolish she’d been to think the dream could go on forever.

  She pulled her two unused suitcases off the top shelf of her closet and filled them with all her possessions, marveling at how little she’d collected over the years. What she really owned—Finney would always say—were things of the heart.

  Olivia closed up her suitcases and then searched the room. The only item left to take was a photo on the table. She picked up the frame and traced the two familiar faces, which weren’t nearly as thin and plain as hers. It had been a childish idea, but since she had no family, she’d kept the original picture in the frame—the one displayed in the store. She’d never known the man and woman on the front, but they looked so sweet she didn’t think they’d care if she imagined they were her parents. She’d given them names and histories and reasons—the noblest excuses, in fact—for their absence in her life. But most of all, she let herself believe they were both out there somewhere, loving her. Even though it was foolish, she couldn’t stop herself from slipping the photo into her suitcase.

  Olivia, you are such a mess.

  Her gaze wandered to the canopy bed and the bookcase full of her favorite stories. This room had been a wonderful place—a cozy nook to call home.

  Olivia closed the shutters, took one more sweeping glance over the room and crept back downstairs. The house felt anxious now, like the strains of an unresolved chord, but no matter how painful the situation had become, she wouldn’t leave without checking on Noah.

  She found him asleep at the kitchen table, with his head to the side, using his arms for a pillow. His fingers circled around an old harmonica, the one he must have been playing on the road. He appeared to have aged over the past half hour, or maybe she just hadn’t noticed the lines around his eyes. The blood had dried up around the cut on his temple, but he would need to clean it up when he awakened. To make sure he was all right, she stayed by his side until she saw the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. The poor guy was undone, but he would surely survive. At least he would have a home.

  Olivia sat down on the chair next to him. “Noah, why in all those years…why didn’t you come back, befor
e it was too late? I wish we could start over, and we could just talk. I’d tell you how one of a kind and wise your father was. What a friend he had been to me. How he could quote poetry and compose music and make a room come to life with rainbows, simply by stringing broken pieces of glass together. I would’ve told you so many things. If only…”

  Without thinking, Olivia reached out and touched Noah’s head. His brown hair was loosed now and went in every direction like the feathers of some wild bird. The rose had fallen from his jacket. She picked it up to take in the scent and then slipped it into her pocket. She didn’t want to wake him, so she prayed a blessing over him and rose. Just before she left, she took the ribbon off her wrist and draped it by his head. Olivia wasn’t sure why she’d made such a gesture, but she wanted to leave that tiny token of herself behind. Maybe it was an exchange for the rose.

  Then moments later, with suitcases in hand, she walked to the kitchen’s side door. “Goodbye, Noah. I wish you well. I doubt I’ll ever see you again.”

  When Olivia opened the door, Mops was there wagging his tail. She leaned down to scratch him behind his ears. The name Mops fit him well, since his scruffy hair looked like a raggedy mop. “Isn’t that right, old boy?” But whatever went begging in his appearance was made up for in loyalty. “Take good care of Noah, won’t you? You’ll need to be brave, but don’t go growling or nipping at him anymore, okay?”

  Mops whimpered. “I’ve got to go, Mops. Please try to understand. I’m sorry I can’t take you with me. At least not right now. But this is your home.” The knowing and the loving were in the deep pools of his eyes and those eyes melted her, leaving her in tears. Olivia squatted down this time and gave Mops an old-fashioned hug.

  Before Olivia could change her mind about leaving, she stepped into the garage, started the engine on her old Chevy and headed off down the lane. She switched on the radio and let it play anything it chose to, which was a woeful song by Loretta Lynn. How perfect.

  Through the rearview mirror Olivia could see Mops following her, but soon he stopped and just stared at her. Even though he was too far away she could imagine his eyes full of sadness. Such a faithful friend—old Mops. But in spite of the dog’s lamenting gaze and her own breaking heart, somehow they both knew he needed to stay behind for Noah.

  Olivia’s old jalopy sputtered and coughed down the lane. The backfire—a ka-banging blast she never got used to—seemed like a noisy reminder of her less-than-stable future. She took in a deep breath. Maybe she needed some time to reflect on what to do next. Houston was only an hour or so away, but living in the big city didn’t appeal to her. In fact, it seemed more than a little frightening.

  She pulled over to the side of the road by one of the local fishing holes just outside of Gardenia. No one was there by the bank, so she parked the car, slipped on her sweater and then made her way to the water’s edge.

  The ripples caressed and teased the shore and lapped gently against the toes of her leather shoes. She backed away, not wanting to soil her only good pair of pumps. Still, it felt good to connect with something—anything—even if it was the water from a muddy pool. On all her visits through the years she’d never once seen the bottom. She had no idea what creatures lurked just below the surface—beneath the film on top that reminded her of green skin. It was always hard to deal with things hidden—whether they came from a murky pond or life itself.

  Olivia sat on a boulder to think of a way that she could navigate this dark maze she’d found herself wandering. Oh, Lord what can I do now? A bird screeched above her with a lamenting call. She felt that same cry deep in her soul.

  In spite of Noah’s accusations, maybe she’d been too hasty in running off like that. The truth was, she had nowhere to go, no plan of any kind and no one to call on for assistance. She wasn’t without church friends in Gardenia, but she didn’t feel close enough to any of them to ask for help. She had no relatives to fall back on except an estranged uncle named Melvin who hadn’t even come to her rescue when she was a kid. It was unlikely he would help her now at almost forty. If that wasn’t enough to fill the gloomy bucket, as Finney used to call it, she hadn’t looked for a job in twenty years, and she had no real skills to speak of except for being someone’s companion. Hmm. Small job. Even smaller life—almost as if she’d been sipping some Alice-in-Wonderland potion.

  Olivia picked up a stone and tried skimming it on the pond’s surface. Instead of silvery wrinkles, it made a kerplunk. A frog made a squeaking leap into the water next to her, startling her. Was the tiny beast frightened or celebrating his freedom?

  She glanced up and spotted a narrow footpath through the thicket—one she’d never seen before. The rough trail reminded her of the walkway to the caretaker’s cottage on Finney’s estate. The old place was run-down but still livable. Maybe Noah would let her stay in the cottage until she could figure out what to do with her life. Besides, according to the will, she owned the cottage, the house and the seventy-five acres of meadows and creeks and woods—all of it. Of course, the will seemed like a joke with Noah’s return. But surely he wouldn’t throw her out into the street, especially if she offered to do some chores for her keep.

  And there would be plenty of work, because Finney’s inherited fortune had dwindled over the years and the estate had gone into disrepair. Maybe she could help Noah restore the house and the grounds to their former beauty. She had loved the manor. It was splendid with its gray stone and gothic arches and peaks. A house straight from some fanciful tale. Hard to imagine that she, Olivia Lamington, had lived and worked in an English manor-style house. Perhaps, with some mercy from Finney’s son, she’d be allowed to work there again.

  Olivia rose with a bit of hope restored. Then she plopped back down. But if Noah did agree to her plan, she would be in his debt, which was a situation that gave her serious pause. She’d been vulnerable and needy before—with her foster mother—and that situation had turned dangerous and ugly and impossible to forget. Oh, Lord, what can I do? Which way should I go?

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