Jude Deveraux (3 page)

Gracey
said that no one knew if Mrs. Farrington was kidding or not, but it didn't
matter, as she never expected an answer. 'She likes to talk and just likes for
others to listen.' Eden had spent a lot of her life listening to her father
pontificate about what he thought God was thinking, so she was good at
listening.

When
the house came into sight, Gracey told her that the outside might go unpainted
for twenty years at a time, but the roof was always kept in perfect repair,
because otherwise, it might leak on her precious papers. It was a local legend
that every piece of paper the Farrington family had ever owned was still in
that house. Receipts, recipes, diaries, letters — lots of letters — all of them
were still there.

But
even after what Gracey had told her, Eden wasn't prepared for her first sight
of the interior. The huge, high-ceilinged center hallway was so full of
furniture that a person could hardly walk. The walls were lined at least two
pieces deep. A tall desk stood in front of a huge cabinet. A long table was
pressed against a wall, covered in what looked to be stacks of old letters
wrapped in faded pink ribbon, then smaller tables were set on top of the
letters. Tables, cabinets, chairs, couches — every surface was covered with
papers. Some were in boxes, some in trunks, many of them loose. Eden's eyes
widened when she saw a hatbox that resembled one she'd seen in a book on
antiques. Eighteenth century?

'Alice,'
Gracey said to the tiny Mrs. Farrington. 'I found her for you.'

Mrs.
Farrington looked Eden up and down and obviously found her wanting. 'This
little thing? Too weak. And is that a child in her stomach? Am I to start
running a shelter for wayward girls now?'

Gracey ignored
the last question. 'Henry Walters — you know, old Lester's youngest son —
researched her, and she's from a good family. She's twenty-three years old and
her young husband was killed in a horrible accident while defending his family.
She was so overcome with grief that she ran away from home. Her family is
searching for her, but she begged Henry to let her find her own place in the
world, so she can make it on her own. She wants the job, and she can do it. She
has a degree in American history from Vassar. When her baby is born, she will,
of course, return to her loving family. You won't be bothered with anything as
burdensome as a child.'

Eden's
mouth was hanging open as she stared at Gracey. What incredible lies! She
turned back to look at Mrs. Farrington. Should she tell her the truth and risk
losing the job — whatever it was? Eden hoped she wasn't being offered the job
of trying to clean this house. The dust on that furniture could be
carbon-dated.

Mrs.
Farrington was looking at Eden in speculation. 'Family throw you out when you
got pregnant?'

'Yes,
ma'am,' Eden said, her eyes looking into the old woman's. They were small black
eyes, glistening with life and vitality. Old body; young spirit.

'How
old are you really?' Mrs. Farrington asked.

Behind
the older woman, Gracey was vigorously shaking her head at Eden not to tell the
truth.

'Seventeen,'
Eden answered.

Mrs.
Farrington turned so quickly that she caught Gracey shaking her head, disgusted
that Eden hadn't lied. 'Your whole family are liars,' Mrs. Farrington said,
without animosity in her voice, then she left the room, leaving Gracey and Eden
alone.

Gracey
wasn't offended by Mrs. Farrington's remarks. In fact, she was smiling broadly.
She pushed Eden to follow Mrs. Farrington. 'Go on.'

'But
she didn't say I was hired,' Eden said. 'Maybe — '

'Believe
me, if you
weren't
hired, Alice Farrington would have told you. She
likes you.'

'Likes
me?'

'She
didn't  say one hateful thing to you. It may be a first. Now go on, I have
to go bake the pies for tomorrow.'

Gracey
made it all the way to her car outside before Eden recovered enough to hurry
after her. 'But what
is
the job?' Eden called from the porch. Her
suitcase was on the ground. 'What am I supposed to
do?'

'Oh,'
Gracey said with a wave of her hand as she got into her car. 'Make a list of
all those papers.'

'A
list?' Eden asked, not understanding what she meant.

'Like
in the library.' Gracey shut her car door and started the engine.

Eden
watched her until the trees hid her from view. 'Like the library?' she
whispered. Then her head came up. 'Cataloging? She wants me to catalog that
mess in there?' In high school she'd worked in the library, so she had an idea
of what was involved in such an undertaking. Were the other rooms of the house
as full as the central ball? If so, making even an inventory would take a very
long time. Years, even.

Eden
looked out at the lawn in front of her. The house sat in a little oasis of
greenery, surrounded on three sides by acre upon acre of farmers' fields. On
the fourth side was a wide, deep creek, probably where the original owners
moored their ships. On the right side of the house was what looked to be a
vegetable garden, with flowers mixed in with the peas. To the back was what
could be an orchard. It was all as messy as the interior. Taking a breath, Eden
smelled the air. Fresh air, shade trees, fresh fruits and vegetables. In an
instant, she made a decision. She was going to do the best job of cataloging
that anyone had ever done, so that Mrs. Farrington would let her stay for the
next several years. And Eden was going to raise her child here in this idyllic
spot.

Smiling,
she went back into the house.

'Can
you cook?' Mrs. Farrington's voice came from somewhere in the back of the
house.

'Not at
all,' Eden called back, feeling quite happy.

'That's
something else you'll have to learn,' came the voice.

Smiling,
Eden went in search of the kitchen. She was willing to bet there were cookbooks
somewhere in the house. 'Probably Martha Washington's original cookbook,' she
said as she made her way through the stacks of furniture to find the kitchen.
Turning the corner, she gasped. The kitchen was a huge room with lots and lots
of cabinets — and every one of them was so full of papers that the doors
wouldn't close. On one countertop was a foot square that held a few dishes, a
skillet, and a pot. Eden had an idea that was all the cookware that Mrs.
Farrington used.

Now,
leaning against her bedroom door, Eden smiled in memory. Yes, that was all the
cookware that Mrs. Farrington had used, but later Eden found whole sets of
dishes hidden away inside the cabinets. Her daughter's first years were spent
in that wonderful old house. Her baby dishes had been from the 1920s, and her
silverware had been real, with English hallmarks.

It was
the silverware that sparked the 'clearing of the wealth' as Mrs. Farrington
called it. Casually, Eden had remarked that the silver must be worth a fortune.
'Then we have to hide it!' Mrs. Farrington had said quickly, her voice almost
panicky. At first Eden had stiffened with pride. Did Mrs. Farrington think she
was a thief? She calmed when she realized that if Mrs. Farrington had thought
she was a thief she wouldn't be telling her, Eden, to do the hiding. It wasn't
until Henry from the newspaper office came to visit that Eden understood.

'He's
out,' Henry had said. Mrs. Farrington turned pale and sat down. Seeing her sit
made Eden worry, because Mrs. Farrington never sat down.

'I knew
it was close, but I thought I'd have more time,' Mrs. Farrington whispered.

After
Henry left, Eden didn't ask any questions, but Mrs. Farrington told her. She
had one child, 'a son so worthless he shouldn't be allowed to live' is how she
stated it. Eden didn't ask questions, but she assumed that 'out' meant out of
jail. For the next three weeks, the two women hid things. Anything that was
valuable, they hid. They pried up floorboards and shoved in silver teapots.
They cut a hole behind the lath and plaster and dropped spoons down into the
walls. They buried plastic boxes of things in the garden. Young Melissa, a year
old by then, loved the game, and they caught her just as she was shoving Mrs.
Farrington's reading glasses into a mouse hole in the baseboard.

But
Alester Farrington didn't show up then. He didn't show up until Melissa was five
— and that's when Eden found out why he'd been locked up. He was a pedophile.
But she didn't know it that first night.

The
night her son returned home, Mrs. Farrington woke Eden, whispering in a way
that made her sound like a crazy person. 'They told me he'd changed. They said
there was no more danger.' Puzzled, Eden had allowed Mrs. Farrington to pull
her into the next room, Melissa's room. In the dark, silhouetted by the
night-light, Alester Farrington was standing over the child's bed. Just standing
there and watching Melissa sleep. In an instant, Eden understood everything.
Mrs. Farrington told her son to get out of the room, and for a moment Eden
thought he was going to strike his mother, but he didn't. He smiled at Eden in
a way that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Quietly, he left the
room.

Eden
didn't need to be told what she had to do. She looked at Mrs. Farrington, and
there were tears in the old woman's eyes, but she nodded, then shoved Eden
toward her bedroom. Eden jammed clothes into a suitcase, grabbed some boxes,
and left with her daughter in the middle of the night. She'd had no contact
with either of the Farringtons since that night twenty-two years ago.

Now,
Eden walked to the bedroom window and looked out at the wet street lined with
overflowing garbage cans. She could hear the loud music from the bar across the
street; a man was peeing into the gutter. She closed the curtain. Sometimes she
wondered how she had ended up in New York City. She who loved trees and
bird-song. She used to read gardening books as though they were novels. She
used to memorize principles of eighteenth-century gardening. Eden knew that the
happiest time in her life had been those years with Mrs. Farrington. The people
in town had thought Mrs. Farrington was an eccentric old woman, but all Eden
had really known were her parents, whose great delight in life was meting out
punishment. Compared to them, Mrs. Farrington was the sweetest, kindest —

Turning,
Eden looked at her tiny room. She'd given the master bedroom in the apartment
to her daughter and her new husband, thinking that they were going to be there
only a few weeks. But the months had turned into years, and she'd had to put up
with the man her daughter had chosen to love, a pompous man who coped with his
inability to get ahead in the world by putting other people down. And his
favorite punching bag seemed to be his mother-in-law. Stuart compensated for
his failings by assuming an air of superiority, as if he were of a better class
than Eden. He never said the words out loud, but still they hung in the air.
Melissa made excuses for him, saying that he was on the verge of being promoted
to partner, that they were going to live in a penthouse on Park Avenue. Melissa
seemed to believe that when Stuart got the promotion that he'd been up for for
four years he'd have an overnight personality change. He'd stop looking
down  his  arrogant nose  at people  and would become 
the  sweet,  loving  man  she  knew  he really
was.

Eden
didn't want to disillusion her daughter, so she was determined to keep her nose
out of it. There had been times when she'd tried to talk to her, but Melissa
had a talent for hearing only what she wanted to hear. It was difficult for
Eden to do, but she was going to have to let her child find out about life on
her own. Was that like letting a child ride a motorcycle without a helmet, so
he'd learn that he could get hurt?

Sighing,
Eden went into her bathroom and stood there, looking at herself in the mirror.
She had been told many times that she looked good 'for her age,' but she was
still forty-five years old, and for a moment, a wave of self-pity ran through
her. Since that night so long ago when she'd seen Mrs. Farrington's son looking
down at Melissa asleep in her bed, Eden wondered if she'd had a moment to call
her own. She'd had to raise her daughter alone. Most of the time she'd been too
busy to think about herself, but there had been quiet evenings when she'd
wondered how her life would have been different if she hadn't had a child so
young. She'd had a couple of serious relationships, but in the end had
chickened out on getting married. She'd always been too afraid of turning her
life, and that of her daughter, over to a man.

When
Melissa entered college on a partial scholarship, so had Eden. No scholarship,
but she'd enrolled anyway. Eden had graduated with a degree in American
history, with a minor in English lit. Melissa, giggling, had said that her
degree in child development was actually an M.R.S. degree. As Eden got to know
Stuart, she thought that a real diploma would have been much better.

After
college, Melissa had taken a menial job in a law office in New York just to be
near Stuart, telling her mother that if she 'played her cards right' she was
sure that Stuart would ask her to marry him. He did. After a year in the big
city, Melissa had begged and pleaded with Eden to move to New York, get a job,
and live near them. Since Eden had just broken up with a man and wanted to get
away from him, she agreed. Within a week of arriving in New York, she got a job
at a major publishing house. By what she called luck, and the publisher called
'divine inspiration,' she found a book in the pile of unagented manuscripts
that had been turned down by six houses. With her heart pounding, Eden
recommended that it be published. It was, and it spent thirty-two  
weeks   on   the  
New  
York   Times
best-seller list. In gratitude, the author requested
that Eden be his editor. By the end of her second year she'd been promoted to
senior editor. By the third year she was handling some very big names in the
publishing world. But by that time, Melissa and Stuart were married and living
with her, and she'd learned not to tell anyone when good things happened with
her job. She didn't want to see the anger and jealousy on Stuart's thin face.