Page 9 of Into the Starlight (Secrets of Sweetwater Crossing #3)

Chapter Nine

“Will I like what’s coming next?” Burke asked as he closed the front door behind him and Joanna. As they’d gone into the dining room for supper, she’d said there was something they should do before they took their evening walk but wouldn’t elaborate.

“There’s no way of knowing.” A shrug accompanied her words. “I didn’t mean to sound so mysterious, but I was concerned that Della might overhear me and didn’t want to do anything to spoil her day.”

“She seemed excited about working at the library, didn’t she?” Excited was almost an understatement. Della had been as giddy as a schoolgirl when she’d recounted how she’d spent the day.

“I think she was even more excited about Harold’s visit.”

Burke nodded. “I noticed that too.” Della reminded him of his sister Antonia when Ned, the man she’d ultimately married, first moved to Samuels. There’d been the same almost secretive smiles, the same blushes. Antonia and Ned had a happy ending, but creating one for Della and Harold would be more difficult unless Della decided to remain in Sweetwater Crossing.

It had been less than a week since they’d arrived, surely not long enough to make such an important decision, but with her position as the town’s librarian and the open-ended invitation to live at Finley House, it was possible Della had already considered that. And if she did decide not to return to Samuels, it would be easier for Burke to embark on the next phase of his life: moving to a big city.

Della’s decision was at least a week away. What was important now was whatever Joanna had in mind for the evening.

“Where are we going?” They’d descended the steps and were making their way along the drive.

Joanna nodded toward the house diagonally across the street. “Emily told me the Albrights returned today. We agreed not to say anything to Della until you and I talked to them.”

Burke tried to understand the sisters’ logic. Everyone knew how eager Della was to meet the remaining member of what had been a foursome. “Was it because Mr. Albright was one of Clive’s friends and you thought he might have distressing information about him?”

“Not necessarily. When we visited Gertrude, she mentioned that Clive lived in the Albrights’ house while Finley House was being built.”

“So besides Mr. Albright being one of the four men who met each Saturday evening, Mrs. Albright would also have had more than a passing acquaintance with my uncle. It seems probable that they know more about him than anyone in Sweetwater Crossing.” Which was why Della should have accompanied them tonight.

“I’ve thought that from the beginning.” Joanna stopped when they reached the pillars that marked the entrance to Finley House. “It’s important that Della talk to them, but I think they should meet you first—”

Suddenly Joanna’s decision to delay Della’s meeting with the Albrights made sense. “Because you want them to see how much I resemble my uncle.” Burke completed the sentence.

“Exactly. I wanted them to get past the surprise and give them some time to search their memories for details about Clive before Della visits them.”

That might make the initial meeting easier for everyone. “You’re very thoughtful.”

Joanna appeared uneasy with the praise. “My parents taught us to try to imagine how the other person would feel before we spoke or did something.”

Had Edna ever thought about how Burke would feel when she announced her plans to marry Felix? He shook himself mentally. It was time to stop thinking about Edna. She was part of his past, not his present or future.

“They gave you a valuable lesson.”

When they reached the Albrights’ home, Joanna knocked on the door. A few seconds later, it was opened by an older version of Gertrude Neville. Though Mrs. Albright’s hair was gray, her eyes were the same shade of blue as her daughter’s, and other than the slight sagging around her jaw, her facial features were almost identical to Gertrude’s.

“Joanna!” The woman’s smile was warm and welcoming. “What a nice surprise! I hadn’t heard you’d come home.” As her gaze moved beyond Joanna and rested on Burke, blood drained from her face, then rushed back. “Clive! Clive Finley!”

Burke wondered if she always spoke in exclamations or if it was only tonight. In either case, he understood why Joanna had wanted them to pave the way for the Albrights’ introduction to Della.

A second later, Mrs. Albright turned. “Wilbur, come here this instant! You won’t believe your eyes!”

Heavy footsteps announced her husband’s approach. Wilbur Albright was a few inches taller and perhaps five years older than his wife with a posture that proclaimed that he was a man used to commanding respect and carefully tailored clothing and gold cuff links leaving no doubt of his wealth.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “You can’t be Clive. You’re too young.”

Mrs. Albright laid her hand on her husband’s arm as she said, “But he looks just like Clive.”

“If you’ll invite us inside, we’ll explain everything.” Joanna was the voice of reason in the unfolding drama.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Mrs. Albright appeared abashed. “What am I doing, forgetting my manners?” She ushered them into the parlor. While their home was smaller than Finley House and lacked the impressive double staircase, this room’s crown molding and the marble mantel underscored the Albrights’ position as the town’s richest family.

When they were seated on chairs that appeared to have been chosen for style rather than comfort, Joanna spoke again. “Mr. and Mrs. Albright, I’d like you to meet Burke Finley. The reason he looks so much like Clive is that Clive was his uncle.”

Mr. Albright nodded slowly. “I would have said his son, but that’s not possible. You’re a bit too old for that. I know Clive had no children when he lived here, although he talked about how he and his fiancée—I can’t recall her name—hoped to fill all the bedrooms in their house with children.”

Della, being gently reared and conscious of propriety, had never discussed the children she and Burke’s uncle had pictured running through Finley House, perhaps sliding down the banisters of the twin staircase.

“We hoped you could tell us what else you remember about him,” Joanna explained. “You see, Burke didn’t come to Sweetwater Crossing alone. He brought Della Samuels.”

“That’s the name you couldn’t recall, Wilbur. Della Samuels was the woman Clive planned to marry.” A faint smile crossed Mrs. Albright’s face, perhaps because she’d remembered something her husband hadn’t.

“She wanted to see the house he built and learn what happened to him,” Burke explained.

Shaking his head, Mr. Albright looked from Burke to Joanna and back to him. “I can tell you what he did when he was here, but to this day, I can’t explain why he left without a farewell. That’s not something the man I believed I knew would have done, but it proved that I didn’t know him as well as I thought. Even if he’d been summoned back to Alabama, he should have said goodbye to Doc and Joseph and me.” Though it had been more than twenty years, it was obvious that that memory still rankled.

“Your father tried to discover when and where Clive was killed,” Mrs. Albright told Joanna. “There were so many battles in that horrible war!” Another exclamation. “He wanted to contact Miss Samuels, but he couldn’t recall the town where they lived.”

“It was Samuels, named for Della’s family, but Clive never returned. Della received a letter saying he died here of dysentery.”

Mr. Albright shook his head at Burke’s explanation. “That story’s as false as old Mrs. Douglas’s teeth. Clive wasn’t sick a single day.”

Joanna’s quick intake of breath made Burke wonder whether she was recalling her own illnesses. “Maybe so,” she said, “but someone pretending to be my father sent a letter to Della.”

The Albrights exchanged confused looks before Mr. Albright spoke. “I don’t understand. Who would have done that?”

“That’s what we’re trying to learn. Joanna and I hoped you could help us.”

“We’ll try. I’d like to meet Clive’s sweetheart.” This time Mrs. Albright spoke softly.

“I know she’d like to meet you.”

Though Mr. Albright did not disagree with his wife, he had a different concern. “Make sure she brings the letter. I want to see it.”

“I don’t think they’ll be able to help her.” Joanna hated how her voice quavered. She’d kept it steady while they were with the Albrights, but now that she and Burke were outside, she could not hide her distress. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. I knew it was unlikely they’d know anything more than Mrs. Carmichael and the others did.”

Burke bent his arm so she could place her hand on it, then laid his hand on top of hers as he said, “It’s natural to hold on to hope. It’s also possible that the Albrights will recognize the handwriting on the letter.”

“Possible but not likely. The only person in town besides its author who would have seen the letter was the postmaster, and he’s no longer alive.”

“As much as I wish it were otherwise, I have to agree with you that it’s unlikely the Albrights will be able to identify the person who wrote the letter. Like you, I want to hold on to hope, but it’s not always easy.”

Though the words were matter of fact, they brought unexpected tears to Joanna’s eyes. As she blinked rapidly to keep them from falling, she struggled to understand why she’d become so emotional. That wasn’t normal for her, but then again, few things had been normal since she’d returned to Sweetwater Crossing.

“Where are the happy endings?” she demanded, surprising herself with the fervor in her voice. “Every time I believe I’ve found one, it disappears. Look what happened to my husband.”

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Joanna hadn’t told her sisters everything about Kurt, but though Mama might have warned her about the dangers of confiding too much in someone she’d just met, it felt right to share the story with Burke. Perhaps the difference was that Emily and Louisa were both happily married, while Burke, who was clearly no stranger to sorrow, was more likely to understand how deeply what Kurt had endured had affected Joanna.

She nodded slowly. “Kurt didn’t believe happy endings were handed to us; he claimed we had to create them.”

When Burke said nothing, Joanna continued. “When he and I met, we’d both suffered losses. You already know mine: the doctors’ assessment that I’d never be strong enough to tour. Kurt’s was worse: his wife had died less than a month earlier, and he blamed himself.”

The instant the words were spoken, Joanna regretted them, fearing they would remind Burke of the death for which he blamed himself. The circumstances were different, and yet self-inflicted guilt was a heavy burden to bear, regardless of the cause.

Burke’s hand tightened on hers, making Joanna fear she had indeed resurrected unpleasant memories, but his next words reassured her. “If you intended to shock me, you did. Why did Kurt feel responsible?”

Doing her best to keep her voice calm, Joanna began the explanation. “He said Irmgard was moody. Some days she’d be the happiest person he knew—the word he used to describe her was ebullient—other days she’d sink into depression and refuse to leave her bed. He never knew which Irmgard would be waiting for him when he came home.” Joanna had tried but failed to imagine how difficult that must have been for him.

“I wonder if she suffered from la folie circulaire .”

“What’s that? I know enough French to know that it means circular insanity, but is it a real disease like pneumonia?”

Burke nodded. “According to what I’ve read, a Frenchman named Jean-Pierre Falret gave it that name thirty or so years ago, but physicians have seen the symptoms for centuries.” This time Burke shook his head. “I’m sorry that I interrupted you. Blame it on my medical curiosity, which sometimes gets the best of me. Please continue with the story.”

Joanna took a deep breath, then exhaled, grateful that he had slowed their pace to lessen her exertion. They might not walk all the way to the bridge tonight, but that was unimportant. What mattered was finishing this conversation.

“Kurt and Irmgard had an argument one night, and the next morning he woke to discover she was gone. He searched everywhere, but she’d left no trace. It was weeks later when he learned that she had fled to a cousin’s home. By the time Kurt arrived, it was too late. Somehow, Irmgard had been trapped inside the barn when it burned. All that was left was her badly charred body.” Joanna shuddered, remembering Kurt’s face when he’d recounted that part of the story. “He was convinced that if he hadn’t allowed their argument to escalate, Irmgard would still be alive.”

Loosening his grip on her hand, Burke began to stroke it, perhaps sensing how much power the sad story still had over her. “That’s not simply shocking. It’s tragic.”

“It was. He told me the only thing he wanted to do was blot the horrible scene from his memory. When he couldn’t do that, he decided distance might help and came to the sanatorium to visit his sister. I was with Marta when he arrived.”

Joanna closed her eyes for a second, remembering how distraught Kurt had appeared but how a few minutes with Marta had lessened the strain lines around his eyes. Within an hour, the three of them were laughing at Marta’s exaggerated stories of one nurse’s eccentricities.

“Later Kurt claimed God had brought us together and that I was his chance to rebuild his life and create a happier one.”

Burke slowed their pace further. “But then Kurt died, leaving you alone, so whatever happiness you had was brief.”

Joanna heard the tension in Burke’s voice and wondered whether he was thinking of Edna and the wedding that had not taken place. “That’s true, but our time together was long enough for both of us to realize that we shouldn’t expect someone else to heal us. We supported each other and we found happiness together, but the actual healing was something we had to do individually.” She paused and looked at Burke. “Does that make sense?”

“It does. More than that, it’s a lesson I need to learn.” He paused so long that Joanna wondered if he wanted to change the subject. Then he said, “I didn’t lose a spouse the way you and Kurt did, but I did lose someone I loved and who I thought loved me. The girl I thought I was going to marry fell in love with my best friend.”

“Edna?”

“Did Della tell you about her?” Burke sounded surprised.

“Don’t be angry with her. I don’t think she meant to say anything, but once Edna’s name slipped out, she told me a little bit.”

“I can’t be angry with Della for very long. Edna and I were sweethearts from the time we were old enough to know what that meant. It didn’t matter what the occasion was. We were a couple.” Burke sighed as if the memory was bittersweet. “Folks expected us to marry before I went East for medical college, but I knew I wouldn’t have much time to spend with her. That didn’t seem like the right way to start a marriage.”

“You were probably right.” Joanna had heard that doctors’ training was intense and left them with little time to sleep, much less have a normal life.

“When I finished school and returned to Alabama, Edna’s father was ill. We both agreed that wasn’t a good time for us to marry. Then when he died, her mother became ill and Edna said it wasn’t a good time to talk about a wedding.”

Though Joanna wouldn’t voice her thoughts, she was beginning to suspect that Edna wasn’t as eager for marriage as Burke had been.

“Soon after, the man who’d become my closest friend at medical school wrote to see if I’d be interested in having him as a partner. Felix was tired of living in New England and wanted to see whether Alabama was as beautiful as I’d claimed. I knew that if he came, I’d be able to spend more time with my bride, so I agreed.”

“And he and Edna fell in love.”

“As I said at the beginning, it’s a common story, but it still came as a shock to me. I should have realized what was happening, because Edna was a different person when Felix was around—happy, almost carefree, even though her mother’s condition continued to worsen—but I was shocked when she told me she loved him and even more shocked when she married Felix a week after her mother’s death.”

Joanna sensed there was more to the story than Burke had said, but she wouldn’t pressure him to reveal more than he was comfortable doing.

“I’m sorry she hurt you, but you deserve a woman who loves you with her whole heart.”

“Do I?”