Cast a Pale Shadow(35)

He had to get her out of this gloom, away from the shadows that haunted her, back to life. He would find a way to deal with her father later. Trissa took a few tentative steps away from him.

"No," she whispered, her hand outstretched to keep him at a distance. "I can't. I'm leaving. I have to leave here. You. I have to leave you."

He met her eyes with a firm gaze. She set her chin and turned away.

"Don't look at me like that. It's the only way. He'll find us here. He won't leave us alone."

"He doesn't have any power over you anymore. You're protected here. I won't let him come in here. Augusta won't let him. No one here would. Come on. Come down to dinner. We can talk about this later. He frightened you but he can't hurt you anymore. Nicholas went to the bathroom door, looking back to her over his shoulder. "What do you want to wear?"

"Anything. It doesn't matter."

"Everything matters, Trissa. Everything." He brought her a blue sweater and a denim skirt with pearl buttons. Shrugging off her jeans and shirt so that she was clad only in her bra and panties, she shyly turned away from him and pulled the sweater on over her head. Her fingers trembled so badly, she couldn't manage the buttons on the skirt.

"Let me." Working from the bottom up, he quickly, efficiently buttoned her, straightened her collar, lifting her damp hair away from her neck, then he threaded her belt through the loops at her waist and buckled it.

When he reached the buttons at her cuffs, he halted, gently stroking the chilled skin from the heel of her palm to the bruised band that marked her father's grip. "He won't hurt you again, Trissa, I promise. But you have to promise me you will never think of leaving me again. Never." He bent down and kissed her bruised wrist then buttoned her cuff.

When he bowed his head to do the same with the other wrist, she touched his cheek to stop him. "Don't. I can't bear it. I can't make the promise you ask of me. I so wanted this new life to be mine, but it can't be. I was never meant to be loved and cherished. I learned that long ago. It's just that I let myself forget. I had a few magic weeks, but now it has to end. I have to leave."

"No. No, that can't be true because I love you, Trissa. I cherish you. And the magic is only just beginning for us." He laid his hands softly on her cheeks and kissed her, a kiss that tasted of salt and sadness and lost dreams. When it ended, she reached hungrily for another, and her pulse quickened where his fingers rested lightly near her ears, a leap to the hope he offered her. Her hands circled his neck, and she pressed her body along the length of his, willing him to continue until he was dizzy with desire for her. "Trissa..."

"Don't say stop, Nicholas. Don't say anything."

He took a deep breath to clear his head and smiled. "I don't want to. But we have to go downstairs. Augusta must be frantic by now." When he saw the disappointment that edged into her eyes, he said, "I know, but it will be all the sweeter for the waiting. When all our troubles are behind us. Trust me."

He forced himself away from her and went to the bathroom again to get her brush. His yearning and his fear for her mingled in his heart so that there seemed no room there for the blood. It rushed to his ears and his head confusing him with its sound and heaviness.

He was losing her. She would leave and they would both be lost if he was not careful. When her hand touched his as he handed her the brush, there were sparks that were more than static. "Brush your hair," he said, his voice sounding strangely muffled through the humming in his head, "And we'll go down. I have to change my shirt."

Nicholas went to his dresser and pulled open a drawer. A wave of foreboding swept him, and he clutched the edge of the dresser and doubled over to rest his teeming head against the cool oak.

He had never been one to pray, not wishing to acknowledge the power of a god who tainted lives with such grief that the gift of life seemed more like a deprivation. But he prayed now. He prayed for the strength and sanity to save her and himself. And more than that, he prayed for time.

When he opened the bathroom door, Trissa stood a few footsteps away, a look of impossible hope in her eyes. She saw him again as her savior, her guardian angel. God, how he prayed he could be.

In the kitchen, Hattie had already come home for the day and was in the midst of telling Augusta a fervent tale of a disgruntled parent. "Imagine the nerve to assume that the tuition he pays entitles his child, his lazy dolt of a child, to be wet-nursed through..." Sensing she had lost her audience, she followed Augusta's eyes to the source of her distraction. Trissa clutched Nicholas' hand tighter and tried to ignore her disdainful look.

"Are you feeling better, dear?" Augusta greeted her warmly, stepping toward them to give her a hug. "Will you join us for dinner?"

"Augusta, could Ruth just fix us a couple of sandwiches and wrap a few cookies? It's such a balmy night, we'd like to go to the park for dinner," said Nicholas. Trissa cast a surprised glance at him.

"Of course! The fresh air will do you worlds of good."

"Thanks. Trissa, you stay with Augusta. I forgot something upstairs." She let go of his hand reluctantly. "I'll be right back."

"Now what kind of sandwich would you like?" asked Ruth. "We got some meatloaf here, or ham."

"Ham, I guess."

"Shoot, mizewell give you both. Balmy or not, it's only April and that spring night air can make you hungry. In fact, spring can get you hankering for all kinds of things. I wish I had some of that tonic my old Gram used to dose me with. You sure do look a worrisome bit peaky." She clucked her tongue and went to the refrigerator for the meatloaf and ham.

When Nicholas returned, it was through the back door. "I had to put something in the car," he said. He brushed two fingers along Trissa's cheek to reassure her. "Augusta, may I speak privately with you a moment?"

"Of course." She followed him through the pantry to the cellar landing. "Oh dear, Nicholas, I almost forgot. I have a message for you. A Doctor Fitapaldi called."

"Who?"

"Doctor Lorenzo Fitapaldi."

Nicholas shrugged. "Never heard of him."

"Well, it was puzzling. He asked for a Cole Baker first, and when I told him..."

"Cole Baker," he repeated dully.

"Yes, and when I told him he must have the wrong number, he asked for Cole Brewer.... What's the matter, Nicholas? You're as white as a sheet. Is it bad news?"

The rushing blood had returned to his ears, muffling clear thought. "No one calls me that."

"But it is you? I hope so because the man is coming here all the way from Michigan just to see you this weekend."

"Here? To see Cole Baker?"

"Brewer."

"He's mistaken me for someone else. When he sees me, he'll know." He pushed the puzzle out of his mind. He could only worry about Trissa now. "I need your help tomorrow. Trissa must not go to school. I want someone to be with her at all times, and I can't be. She needs something to keep her occupied so she doesn't dwell on her troubles."

"I've got the perfect thing. We're making the floral arrangements and decorating for May's piano students' recital tomorrow. She can help Roger, May, and me if you think she's well enough."

"You were right, Augusta, it's not physical. Remember, I told you her family objected to our marriage? Her father is harassing her at school. He's pressing her to come home. She's very much afraid he will force her."

"But she's eighteen."

"That doesn't make any difference to him. He's a domineering man. There's no way to know what threats he has used or may use. I don't think he has this address but--"

"Don't worry. I'll take care of her. And if he dares to come here, Roger will take care of him." Augusta had her fists clenched at her side, ready to fight.

Nicholas smiled and took one fist and kissed her knuckles like a knight paying homage. "Thank you, Augusta. I knew I could count on you. One more thing, I may be late tomorrow night. I have some unavoidable business to attend to. If I am, cover for me with Trissa, will you? In her state, she's likely to think the worst."

"I'll keep her so busy she won't even notice you're gone."

Beverly, Roger and May had arrived home to join Ruth, Hattie, and Trissa in the kitchen. They were all laughing heartily as each in their turn tried to heft the bulging picnic basket Ruth had assembled.

"Well, feed a fever, as they always say. Even if it is spring fever," grinned Ruth. Like clowns jammed into a circus car, the picnic goodies included sandwiches and potato chips, pickles, celery and carrot strips, chunks of cheddar cheese, cake, apples and grapes, a jug of lemonade and a bottle of wine. Ruth had thrown in napkins, utensils, paper plates, wine glasses wrapped in tissue, and a couple of handfuls of candle stubs.