The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-nine

The quiet didn’t hold long, but it held for most of a week while the gardens grew lush and the air warmed like a kiss.

A door might slam, a window might rattle. The clock chimed at three, and spirits walked. But life and work in the manor went on.

Twice that week, Sonya took an hour or two away from her own to help Cleo work on the mural for Anna’s nursery.

In an old tee and jeans, her hair bundled under a well-worn Red Sox cap, Sonya worked on the petals of a fanciful rainbow flower while, on a step ladder, Cleo finished detailing a dragon sleeping on a cloud.

Pleased with her petals, Sonya stepped back to take stock. More dragons—and a baby dragon just peeking out of its egg—a pair of winged horses, unicorns, a purple griffin inhabited the forest with Cleo’s colorfully striped moncoons.

A trio of butterhounds fluttered.

Trees dripped with jewel-colored fruit where bright birds nested. In the mist of a waterfall, fairies danced, and in the impossibly blue pool, mermaids swam.

“It’s a dream, Cleo. There’s not a kid in the world who won’t love waking up to this.”

“It’s coming along. I want two or three more elves, and I think a Titania-like fairy in a bower.”

“I’m coming in!”

Forewarned, Sonya looked over as Anna stepped into the nursery.

And watched as the mother-to-be pressed her hand to her lips, watched her eyes fill.

“Oh. Oh! It’s amazing. I can’t believe… Every time I come in there’s more wonderful. Cleo, Sonya, honestly, it’s just magical.”

“That’s the goal,” Cleo said, and stepped down to study her sleeping dragon.

“You added a castle.”

“Sonya’s idea.”

“What’s a magic forest without a castle on a high hill in the distance?”

“I love it. I love it so much. And she will.” Anna pressed her hand to her belly. “She’ll love it. Iona or Eliza or possibly Fiona will love it.”

“Last time,” Cleo recalled, “you were leaning toward Laurel.”

“I was—we were. And maybe. Anyway, I was just taking a break from the studio, and I wanted another peek.”

Now Anna laid a hand on her heart. “I’m enchanted. It’s enchanting. Let me fix you some lunch.”

“I have to pass,” Sonya told her. “I need to get home. I’ve got a video conference coming up.”

“I’ll take you up on lunch,” Cleo said. “Give me another twenty.”

“Whatever you want. Wait until Seth sees what you’ve done today.”

“I’m thinking an elf here, peeking from behind this tree, and another—maybe two, one over here, another sort of blending into these flowers. Like they’re playing hide-and-seek.”

“So cute!”

“I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Cleo.”

“Oh, I’ll walk you out.”

“I know the way. Bask awhile.”

She left them talking about elves.

She’d had a good week, Sonya thought. Productive at work, pretty quiet in the manor, and with the added element of mural fun.

Trey and Owen would come later, bringing dinner with them. They’d eat outside, she decided, take advantage of a gorgeous June day.

On the way home, she stopped for fresh flowers, then again at the bakery. Who didn’t want brownies for dessert?

She thought how lovely it would be if her life just flowed along as it had this past week. Good work, a good man who cared about her, good friends, a good home, and a growing community around it.

And in a little over an hour, she had a meeting about the biggest job in her career. A job she’d earned.

But first, she’d let Yoda and Pye out, tuck the brownies away, arrange the flowers.

When she drove up, the windows stood open. And why not? she thought. The sun shined, the sea breeze came soft and warm and sweet as summer whispered in spring’s ear.

As she carried the bakery box and flowers to the door, she heard Yoda’s welcoming bark. He greeted her with wags and happy whines while the cat leaped down from the newel post and sauntered to the door and out.

“You go ahead with Pye. Tell you what. I’ll leave the door open while I take care of these flowers. Then if Jack hasn’t already stuffed you, you’ll both get a treat.”

She went back, stored the bakery box in the butler’s pantry, then started to prep the flowers.

The tall blue vase, she thought. Anna’s work would set the new flowers off.

Then she felt it, that pull and the slight lightheaded sensation that often came with it.

“Oh, not now, not now. I have a meeting in just over an hour.”

But she couldn’t deny it, couldn’t resist it. Even as she thought to text Trey, that thought slipped away from her. And she followed the pull.

Back through the house. The sound of the sea rising against the rocks through the open door, open windows seemed distant. Seemed a mile away, more a dream than real as she climbed the stairs.

Her heart began to trip as she continued on, as the pull drew her past the library, past the old nursery, and up the stairs to the third floor.

Not the Gold Room. She wouldn’t go in, she promised herself. She’d find a way to break this need.

She saw as she walked down the long hallway, the door pulsing, the heartbeat of it. Heard it pound in her ears. Even with fear squeezing its clammy hands on her throat, she walked on.

And into Cleo’s studio, where the mirror stood. Waiting.

Cleo had a large canvas on her easel. Her studio work, Sonya knew. Some figures, some color, it all barely registered as the mirror drew her.

You’ve got a big job to do , Imogene had said.

“All right. All right,” Sonya repeated, and stepped through the glass.

The studio smelled of paint and brush cleaner, and a hint, just a hint, of Calvin Klein’s Eternity.

Not Cleo’s studio now, she realized, not with the pair of old chairs shoved against the far wall and canvases stacked against the back wall.

The light streaming in was almost silver. A storm rolled outside the windows, lashed at the sea so its waves whipped up, white-tipped.

The storm echoed on the canvas, just as fierce and full of wild movement.

The man at the easel painted the storm at sea, a brush in one hand, a palette knife in the other.

He wore jeans, a faded denim shirt rolled up at the elbows, both splattered with paint. His hair, the sun against the storm, fell messily over his collar.

How many times, she wondered as her heart wept, had she watched her father just like this? Legs spread, hair tumbled, his whole being focused on what he created?

She watched Collin Poole paint, and thought it a kind of magic how much his technique matched his brother’s. Even how his hand held the brush, how his body angled.

And the music. AC/DC’s “Heatseeker.”

Yes, her father would have gone with hard-pounding rock when painting a storm at sea.

But couldn’t Collin hear the heartbeat from the Gold Room? Couldn’t he feel the rage inside it? She wondered it didn’t swallow everything else up.

Then she heard something else—footsteps—just before Johanna came in.

She paused there a moment, just looking at Collin, and everything she felt for him shined in her eyes.

She had her auburn hair back in a tail and, like Collin, wore jeans and a shirt rolled to the elbow. Her feet were bare, and she carried a mug.

Sonya could smell the coffee, dark and rich.

“I’ll set this on your worktable.” Her voice, strong but quiet, held something else. Sonya heard the frisson of excitement in it. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not.” He turned to her, turned down the music.

And what he felt for Johanna shined in his eyes.

Sonya saw her father’s face, heard her father’s voice. A tear slid down her cheek as he smiled.

“I got what I wanted, and I’ll always want you more.” He gestured toward the painting. “What do you think?”

Walking to him, Johanna tipped her head to his shoulder. “I think it’s glorious. Passionate, full of wild movement and drama. The way you have the lightning striking the sea, you can all but hear the snap of power.”

“You’re so good for me.” He gathered her in. “My whole world opened when you came into my life. I put color on canvas, but I didn’t know what color was until you. I didn’t really believe in love, until you.”

Tipping her face up, he kissed her. Then they stood together, looking out at the storm.

“Just a few more days, and we’ll be married.” He brought her hand to his lips. “We’ll be the Pooles of Poole Manor. Let’s hope this storm passes, and doesn’t decide to circle back on our wedding day.”

“If it does, we’ll weather it. Damned if some rain will stop me from being your wife.”

Like Collin, Johanna didn’t seem to hear the pounding that came, not from the storm, not from the music, but from Dobbs’s lair.

Instead, Johanna smiled and laid a hand on Collin’s cheek.

“I thought about waiting until I was—your wife—until we were the Pooles of Poole Manor, but I just can’t. And I know we’d planned to wait until after we were married to get started, but…”

She took his hand, pressed it against her stomach. “Close enough?”

It took him a moment, just a moment for puzzlement to turn into shock and shock to explode into joy.

“You’re—Are you sure? Of course you’re sure. You wouldn’t say unless. My God, Johanna.”

She laughed as he lifted her off her feet, spun her.

“Johanna, Johanna. Shit!” He set her down, ran his hands down her sides. “I shouldn’t do that. Are you all right? How do you feel? Did I hurt you? Him? Her?”

“Of course not, and I feel amazing. I feel strong and sure and so happy. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Maybe you should sit down. Maybe we both should sit down. I swear my knees are weak.”

“Then maybe we should lie down.” She circled her arms around his neck. “Together.”

“Maybe we should.” He scooped her off her feet.

“Let’s not tell anyone until after the wedding, Collin. Let’s keep this ours, just ours, until after.”

“Not a word about it,” he promised as he carried her out. “Until you say so, I won’t tell a soul. And then I’m telling everyone. Johanna made me a husband. Johanna made me a father. Johanna, my Johanna, gave me the world.”

They were gone, with the coffee she’d brought him cooling on the workbench, the storm falling away.

Another tear spilled as Sonya walked to the mirror, and through.

The sun shined through the windows and sparkled through Cleo’s hanging crystals.

And the closet door stood open.

Already shaky, already grieving for people she’d never met, she stepped over.

The bride wore her dark hair in a cascade of curls that fell down the nape of her neck. The wide skirt of her gown formed with a mass of ruffles that rose from the sweeping hem to a tiny waist. More ruffles fell from the bodice, and down the shoulders to her elbows.

She carried a single pink rose. Her face was radiant with joy.

On a sigh, Sonya said, “Marianne.”

She carried the painting downstairs where the cat sat on the newel post and Yoda ran to meet her.

The front door, closed, told her someone had seen to their pets while she’d gone into the past.

With Yoda trailing her, she took the portrait to the music room, set it against the wall. She thought of the woman she’d seen dying in childbirth, the grief of her husband.

And looking at Johanna’s portrait, thought of the woman she’d just seen, the one with a ponytail and bare feet. And like the third bride, radiant with joy.

A woman who, she now understood, died with the potential of life inside her.

“Marianne. We’ll put you with the others tonight. Right now, I have to pull myself together. I have a meeting. But I’m not forgetting you. I’m not forgetting any of you. I have a big job to do.”

Her phone played Roy Orbison’s “Crying.”

“Later,” she murmured. “I can cry after the meeting.”

She’d promised treats, so walked to the kitchen only to find them sitting on the counter. With a note, in the careful cursive she’d seen before.

I closed the door and gave them the cookies.

“Jack. Thanks for that.”

Centered on the island stood the flowers, artfully arranged in Anna’s blue vase.

“And Molly, thanks. I just… forgot about them.”

She got out a Coke, drank some of it standing by the window, and waited for the boost. But her heart stayed heavy, her head light.

She got through it, and though Clover stayed silent, the scent of wildflowers drifted throughout the meeting.

Not alone, Sonya reminded herself.

After the meeting, she worked another hour, incorporating her careful notes before checking her email. She found two local inquiries for website designs. She couldn’t find the joy in them, not yet, but responded before putting them aside.

Tomorrow, she decided. She’d find the joy in them tomorrow.

Instead, she worked on changes requested for a book cover. After her checks on and posts to various social media, she admitted she needed to shut down for the day.

No amount of work, no amount of focus could block that portrait, that luminous face, out of her head.

She’d hang the portrait.

Like a faithful guard, Yoda stuck with her when she went downstairs again. She found the cat sitting on the piano in the music room—another watchful guard.

“You’re just the right cat for Cleo, and the manor.” She gave Pye a long stroke, then crouched down to snuggle Yoda. “And you’re perfect in every way.”

When she hung the portrait, she stepped back to take in the five lost brides. Clover reached out to comfort with “Let It Be.”

“But I can’t, can I? I can’t let it be. I’m here to stop it, and I don’t know how. And God, God , I look at this beautiful bride in her lovely ruffled dress, and I see her dying in blood and pain. I hear the babies she fought to bring into the world crying. I see Hugh Poole grieving.

“And I see that bitch slinking in to take her ring.”

The doorbell began to bong, and Sonya swore she heard laughter, wild and crazed, along with it.

“Oh, go to hell.” Disgusted, she shoved at her hair. “I need air.”

With her four-legged guards flanking her, she strode to the front door, threw it open. She walked to the seawall, where the waves crashed, where the water stretched—shimmering blue—in an endless roll.

The perfect June day, as spring eased its way to summer, brought out the pleasure boats. She watched them glide, over the ocean, down in the bay. Sails full, motors racing.

Then a school of dolphins, bulleting along, leaping up, diving down.

It calmed her. And still, she couldn’t find the joy.

Windows banged shut in the house behind her. She ignored them.

Today I give you nothing, she thought, even as the grief rose up from her heart to clog her throat.

She didn’t hear the truck coming up the road, but Yoda did. He let out his happy bark, and when she turned, she saw Trey’s truck pulling in.

It flooded her now, all the grief and sorrow she’d walled off to get through the work, to stand against the viciousness, the violence that shadowed her home.

Mookie leaped out, long tail whipping as he and Yoda held a sniffing, wagging contest. Then Trey, hair windblown, in a gray suit, the blue tie loosened around his neck, the battered briefcase over his shoulder.

And it all broke through as he walked across the lawn toward her.

“Last client of the day just down the road, so—”

His easy smile of greeting snapped away. And with a look of worry, he quickened his pace.

“What happened?”

As the tears burst through, she simply fell into his arms.

“Sonya—”

“Just hold on to me a minute,” she managed. “Just hold on to me.”

“I’ve got you. But tell me if you’re hurt.” Stroking her back, he pressed his lips to her hair. “Just tell me if you’re hurt.”

“Not that way.”

She wept against him, and as the dogs tried to push their way in, as the cat circled, Trey shook his head.

“Go on now. Go on.”

He held on, half afraid the sobs would shatter her like glass. He gave her his silence, and the time she needed to purge herself of what struck him as a terrible grief.

A grief that stabbed at his heart as she wept it out in his arms.

When her sobs subsided, she gave one long shudder.

“I hate I gave her that. I hate I gave her tears.”

“I hope she drowns in them. Come on, let’s go inside.”

She shook her head, then laid it on his shoulder with a sigh.

“I need the air. I thought I needed the sea, but I think I need the garden. The color of it. The life. Can we walk?”

Easing back, he took her face in his hands. Ravaged eyes, still brimming, and tears clinging to her lashes.

“Sonya.” Undone, he kissed her. Gently, gently, even as some part deep inside him wanted to pound to dust whatever had caused that storm of grief.

He took her hand, and with his other reached in his pocket for a handkerchief.

“You have a handkerchief,” she said as he dried the tears on her face. “You’re wearing a suit, and you have an actual handkerchief.”

“I had court this morning, and an emotional client.”

“Oh, right. You told me—about court, not the client. You’re too discreet to talk about your clients. Did you win?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“That’s good. You’re early, aren’t you? I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you came early. Then I cried all over your nice suit.”

“Going to tell me why?”

She nodded, began to walk. “I had a meeting, virtual, so… Let me go back. I took a couple hours late this morning—late for me, not Cleo—to go with her and work on the nursery mural. It’s pretty damn fabulous.”

“I’ve heard. Cleo’s still at Anna’s?”

In her time, he thought, at her pace.

“I guess, or on her way home by now. I had to get back for the meeting. I stopped for flowers and brownies. You were bringing dinner.”

“Owen’s getting it.”

As they circled around the house, he glanced up at the Gold Room, then banked his murderous thoughts.

“I let Yoda and Pye out, left the door open until I put the brownies away, dealt with the flowers. But before I could…”

She trailed off again as it struck her. “She didn’t greet me. Clover always greets me with music when I come home, but she didn’t. I just realized that. I guess she knew. Does it matter? Maybe, maybe not.

“You’re letting me ramble,” she said. “Just ramble away. No What the hell happened, Sonya? No What the fuck’s going on? Not from you.”

“Things come out in a ramble, if you pay attention.”

“And you do, pay attention. And because of that, I feel more myself than I have since—the mirror.”

“You went through?”

“I was going to prep the flowers, and I felt it. That pull. I didn’t want it. I had the meeting, and I wanted to prep for that, too. I wanted to text you, but I couldn’t. I just had to go.”

She drew in the gardens, into her mind, into her lungs. The scents, the colors, the life.

“The third floor,” she continued. “I was afraid it would be the Gold Room. I told myself I wouldn’t go in, no matter what. But that was a lie. If it had pulled me there, I wouldn’t have a choice. But it didn’t. It was in Cleo’s studio. And I went through, into Collin’s studio.

“Maybe we could sit, sit on the deck.”

He walked with her there.

“Do you want some water? Some wine?”

“Later. I’m going to get through this. There was a storm, and he painted it. Collin. He was young, and God, he looked so much like my father. Younger than my clearest pictures of Dad, but I’ve seen photos. And he stood like him, he held the brush like him. Sleeves of his shirt rolled up just like—”

She broke off, pressed a hand to her face.

Trey rose from his chair, plucked her up from hers, and cradled her in his lap.

“Yes, that’s better. Johanna came in, brought him coffee. She looked so happy, content, and more, I could tell, I could see excitement. And when he spoke to her, Trey, I heard my father’s voice. And the tone of it? Just the way Dad would talk to Mom sometimes. That love. I could see in them what I’d seen in my parents. That unity. That rightness.

“They talked about the wedding, just a few days away. Then she told him. She was pregnant, Trey.”

“Johanna was pregnant? I’ve never heard that. My parents were really tight with Collin and Johanna, but—”

“That’s the thing,” Sonya interrupted. “They were so thrilled, both of them, just over-the-top happy. And she asked him not to say anything until after the wedding. To keep it just theirs until after the wedding. He said he wouldn’t say a word until she told him it was okay. But she never got the chance to, Trey. She never did, so he never told anyone. At least I think that.”

“I never knew him to break his word. So he carried that alone.”

“It makes you sad,” she murmured, and laid a hand on his cheek. “You loved him.”

“Yeah, I did. He carried that loss, the woman he loved, the child they’d started together and wanted. And he carried it alone. It’s goddamn tragic. But… they had that, Sonya. For a few days, they had that absolute happiness. Not everyone gets that, even for a few days.”

“Trey, if she’d lived, if they’d had the baby, we’d be the same age. My parents would have been expecting me at the same time.”

“And that hits hard.”

She closed her eyes, rested her forehead to his. “They met in the mirror. I know that. From the time they were boys. And I think, I really believe, somehow, my father came through. He painted the manor, he had dreams about it. What he thought were dreams. It makes me wonder what would have happened if. And it broke my heart to know there’s no if at all.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Then I came back to Cleo’s studio. And found Marianne Poole. Her portrait.”

“Cutie, you’ve had a hell of a day.”

He surprised a laugh out of her. “Oh God, yes. I brought it down. Yoda and Pye were back in, the door closed, and I had a note from Jack.”

“You’re not messing with me now?”

“I am not. He left me a note saying he’d let them back in, closed the door, gave them treats, and Molly—had to be—had put the flowers in a vase. Kind, just so kind, and it helped a little.

“But I had to take the meeting, then I did what work I could get my head around. I came down, hung the portrait. I thought it would make me feel better. It just didn’t. It was all right here.”

She put a hand to her throat.

“And she started on the doorbell, and worse, I heard her. I heard her laughing. So I went outside, for the air, for the water. It didn’t help either.

“Then you came, and I fell apart. Because I knew I could. I could fall apart because you were here. And that, finally, helped. I wish I hadn’t given her those tears, that grief, but it helped.”

“You gave her nothing. You mourned her victims, and gave her nothing.”

Clover went with Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter.”

“And she’s right,” Trey said. “You are.”

“There you are!” Cleo stepped outside. “I was wondering—”

Breaking off, she whipped off her sunglasses. “What’s wrong? Son—”

“I’m fine. I’m fine now.” She got up to prove it. “And honest to God, I can’t go through the whole thing again without a glass of wine.”

“I’ll get it.” He shot Cleo a look as he rose. “And I’ll go through it again. You can fill in anything I miss.”

“I don’t think you miss much.”

“I try not to.” As he walked down from the deck, he signaled to Cleo. “Give her a minute, okay?”

“She’s been crying.”

“She needed to. She may need to again, but she’s all right. Just give her a minute.”

When he went inside, Cleo went up on the deck. She shoved her sunglasses on again, sat. “It goes against my nature, but I’m going to listen to him. I’m giving you a minute.”

“I appreciate it.” Sonya sat again, closed her eyes.

And basked in the silence.

Trey came out with a bottle of wine, three glasses. After he’d poured, he sat.

He went through it all, and Sonya marveled at his recollection of details, some she barely remembered recounting herself.

Part of being a good lawyer, she decided.

As he spoke, Cleo reached over, took Sonya’s hand.

Solidarity.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Son.”

“Don’t be. I wasn’t alone, and I knew that all through it. And now that I did get through it, and I cried all over Trey, I’m glad I saw them together. Collin and Johanna. I’m glad I could see how much they loved each other, and would’ve loved the child they’d begun. I saw my dad in him, and in a way, I saw my parents at that stage of their lives. So full of love and excitement and plans.

“Sitting here now?” With people she loved, with the gardens blooming and the evening just starting to go soft. “I know, I absolutely believe, the purpose of seeing them, of finding Marianne’s portrait right after, was a reminder of what’s at stake.”

She lifted her glass to Trey. “You said I didn’t give her anything. I mourned for her victims and gave her nothing. I needed to hear that. And I can believe it.”

“Her victims deserved to be mourned.”

“Yes, they do. My father and Collin painted those portraits, and there’s purpose in that, too. They deserve to be displayed together, remembered. That’s what we’re doing. They deserve to have their rings back. And I don’t know how, but we’re going to make that happen.”

“I’m with you, all the way,” Cleo told her. “Now, I want to go see her. See Marianne. You’re right, there’s purpose in that art. We see who we’re fighting for.”

“Let’s all go see her.”

They went inside, into the music room.

“She’s beautiful,” Cleo murmured. “Lit.”

“Radiant,” Sonya agreed. “That’s the word that sprang for me. Young. She, Clover, Lisbeth, all close to the same age.”

“Collin’s work again.” Cleo nodded as she moved in for a closer study. “They’ve taken turns.”

“Honoring them,” Trey put in. “Not just the woman Collin loved, or the woman who gave birth to both of them. But all the ones who came before. And the way it looks, this is where they’re meant to be.”

“In a room made for music.” Sonya smiled at him.

Both dogs let out a yip and raced for the door.

“That’ll be Owen, and dinner.” Cleo stepped back to the doorway, waited. “We’re in here,” she called out when he came in with a bag from the Lobster Cage and Jones. “With a new addition.”

He walked back, passed the bag to Cleo, then studied the portrait.

“Marianne Poole. Very Scarlett O’Hara.” His gaze shifted to Sonya, held. “What’s up? Dobbs give you trouble?”

“Not very much.”

“I’ve had women cry over me, and on me, so I know what one looks like. What’s up?”

“So gallant of you to let her know she looks like hell.”

“I didn’t say she looks like hell,” he corrected Cleo. “Exactly,” he added, and made Sonya laugh.

“And somehow still my favorite cousin.”

“So, again, what’s up?”

“We’ll tell you over dinner—outside. It’s too nice for in. I have crying jag face because I had a crying jag. And they make me hungry.”

“Works for me.”

While they ate, and the dogs roamed, and the cat watched, Owen listened.

And said little until the end of it.

“You okay now?” he asked Sonya.

“Yes.”

“It had to be a jolt, seeing him like that. Like your father.”

“They were so alike. I’ve seen pictures of both of them now, but this was… more.”

“He said something to me, after Hugh moved to New York. How I was lucky I had a brother I was close to. Even though we wouldn’t be in the same place, we’d always have that bond, growing up together, sharing memories and all that. Hugh and I always got along, mostly anyway. He said how odds were we’d make each other uncles one day. How being an uncle was close to being a father.”

Owen winced as Sonya’s eyes filled. “Oh man, don’t start up again.”

“Just a little. It’s a good thing to know. They couldn’t be close, but they knew each other. Through the mirror. I think that mattered to both of them.

“It’s a good thing to know.”