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Written in Ink
© 2021 by Sara Davison
Three Dreamers Press
Guelph, Ontario
ISBN: 978-1-7770646-1-7
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this
book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or used in any form without
prior written permission from the publisher.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is
coincidental.
Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®.
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of
Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and
“New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent
and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
The Author is represented by the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd,
www.wordserveliterary.com.
Cover Design: Roseanna White of Roseanna White Designs
 CONTENTS

Welcome to The Mosaic Collection

Books in The Mosaic Collection
Praise for Sara Davison

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60

A Note from the Author

About Sara Davison
Acknowledgments
Titles by Sara Davison
Let’s Connect!
Discussion Questions
Coming Soon
Chapter One
 WELCOME TO THE MOSAIC COLLECTION

We are sisters, a beautiful mosaic united by the love of God through

the blood of Christ.

Each month The Mosaic Collection releases one faith-based novel or

anthology exploring our theme, Family by His Design, and sharing
stories that feature diverse, God-designed families. All are
contemporary stories ranging from mystery and women’s fiction to
comedic and literary fiction. We hope you’ll join our Mosaic family as
we explore together what truly defines a family.

If you’re like us, loneliness and suffering have touched your life in
ways you never imagined; but Dear One, while you may feel alone in
your suffering—whatever it is—you are never alone!

Subscribe to Grace & Glory, the official newsletter of The Mosaic

Collection, to receive monthly encouragement from Mosaic authors,
as well as timely updates about events, new releases, and
giveaways.

Learn more about The Mosaic Collection at

www.mosaiccollectionbooks.com

Join our Reader Community, too!

 www.facebook.com/groups/TheMosaicCollection

If you’d like to find out about monthly launch team opportunities,

sign up at
www.mosaiccollectionbooks.com/launch-team
BOOKS IN THE MOSAIC COLLECTION

When Mountains Sing by Stacy Monson

Unbound by Eleanor Bertin
The Red Journal by Deb Elkink
A Beautiful Mess by Brenda S. Anderson
Hope is Born: A Mosaic Christmas Anthology
More Than Enough by Lorna Seilstad
The Road to Happenstance by Janice L. Dick
This Side of Yesterday by Angela D. Meyer
Lost Down Deep by Sara Davison
The Mischief Thief by Johnnie Alexander
Before Summer’s End: Stories to Touch the Soul
Tethered by Eleanor Bertin
Calm Before the Storm by Janice L. Dick
Heart Restoration by Regina Rudd Merrick
Pieces of Granite by Brenda S. Anderson
Watercolors by Lorna Seilstad
A Star Will Rise: A Mosaic Christmas Anthology II
Eye of the Storm by Janice L. Dick
Totally Booked: A Book Lover’s Companion
Lifelines by Eleanor Bertin
The Third Grace by Deb Elkink
Crazy About Maisie by Janice L. Dick
Rebuilding Joy by Regina Rudd Merrick
Song of Grace: Stories to Amaze the Soul
 Written in Ink by Sara Davison
Out of the Storm by Janice L. Dick
Open Circle by Stacy Monson
The Heart of Christmas: A Mosaic Christmas Anthology III
Broken Together by Brenda S. Anderson

Learn more at
www.mosaiccollectionbooks.com/mosaic-books
 PRAISE FOR SARA DAVISON

The End Begins

“The first book in Davison’s Seven Trilogy grips the reader

from page one and holds on until the very end… Thought-
provoking, relevant, and suspenseful, The End Begins is a
must-read.”
— ROMANTIC TIMES, 4½ Stars, Top Pick

The Darkness Deepens (formerly The Dragon Roars)

“Sara Davison’s second book in The Seven Trilogy brings

together all the essential elements of a good suspense read—
compelling story, fast-paced action, and believable
characters… Readers will not be disappointed in Davison’s
second book in the trilogy; it delivers!”
— LUANA EHRLICH, Author of Titus Ray Thrillers
The Morning Star Rises

“Another thrilling read from Sara Davison. Thrust into the

midst of intrigue, terror, and a heartrending love story, you
will sit on the edge of your seat…”
— BONNIE LEON, Best-selling Author of the Northern
Lights series

Vigilant

“In Vigilant, Sara Davison has created deep characters and a

story that will grab your heart and keep you on the edge of
your seat. Days after reading the story, the characters are still
on my mind.”
— PATRICIA BRADLEY, Memphis Cold Case series, Winner
of Inspirational Readers’ Choice Award

“Vigilant is a unique, boundary-breaking suspense full of

emotional depth. Davison’s thought-provoking style will leave
you breathless as you grapple with tough moral issues long
after the story is over.”
— RACHEL DYLAN, Bestselling Author of the Atlanta
Justice series

Guarded

“Guarded is an intriguing, emotionally-charged romance

coupled with spine-tingling suspense, and filled with well-
crafted, loveable characters. Her exceptional story-telling and
stellar writing make Sara Davison an author to watch.”
—ELIZABETH GODDARD, bestselling author of the
Uncommon Justice Series
 “Guarded kept me reading late into the night. The hero was
noble, the heroine strong in the face of tragedy, but the little
boy, Jordan, stole the show.”
—ROBIN PATCHEN, award-winning author of fourteen
novels

Driven

“Sara Davison delivers an emotionally charged, tension-filled,

entertaining story I couldn't put down...”
~NATALIE WALTERS, author of Carol award finalist Living
Lies and the Harbored Secrets Series.

“A story of faith and healing, with characters so well-crafted

that they come alive with every turn of the page. This book is
a reminder that even in the quiet, pain-filled moments of our
lives, God is with us.”
~ C.C. WARRENS, author of The Holly Novels

The Watcher

“Sara Davison has written a unique and powerful story of

love, loss, and redemption that will touch your heart and feed
your spirit. I highly recommend The Watcher.”
~ NANCY MEHL, author of the Quantico Files Series
To all those with the courage to share what you have been through
so that others can know they are not alone. God is using your story
bring hope and healing.
Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion
on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget
you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…

Isaiah 49:15-16a
 CHAPTER ONE

Cash hit the mute button on the remote. Was that a knock? The
sound had been so slight he’d barely caught it over the music and
dialogue coming from the television. He paused, still holding the
remote pointed at the TV, and strained to listen. After a few seconds,
it came again, so quiet this time he almost missed it, even in the
silence. Renee.
His heart leapt. He’d barely seen his girlfriend for weeks, and she
hadn’t responded to the last dozen texts he’d sent. Although he was
trying to be patient and wait for her to come to him, let him know
what was going on with her, he’d been aching to see her, to hold her.
To know that everything was okay between them.
Cash tossed the remote onto the coffee table and crossed the
room. When he pulled open the door, a woman with strawberry-
blond hair caught up in a shimmering ponytail was walking down the
hallway, away from him. “Ren?”
She stopped but didn’t move for a couple of seconds. Cash
frowned. Why was she hesitant to see him? That wasn’t a good sign.
She squared her shoulders then slowly turned around. “Hi, Cash.”
His chest clenched. Her eyes were red. Had she been crying? He
pulled the door open wider. “Come in.” When she hesitated again, he
cocked his head. “Please.”
Lifting her chin, Renee walked past him and into the apartment.
If she had been crying, she’d pulled herself together and her face
was now impassive, almost cold. Another bad sign. He’d never seen
her look at him like that. Cash closed the door slowly. He and Renee
had been dating since high school, fifteen years. He’d proposed to
her a dozen times, but she always turned him down. Finishing med
school and now starting her surgical residency at a hospital in
nearby Waterloo and its crazy demands on her time and energy
were the current reasons she’d given him for wanting to hold off. But
it felt as though more than busyness had kept them apart lately.
“Let’s sit.” He reached for her hand and led her to the couch. Her
fingers were cool in his, and while she didn’t pull away, she didn’t
hold on to him either. Cash swallowed. Was she finally going to tell
him what was going on with her? With them? She wasn’t giving up
on their relationship, was she? These last few weeks, barely seeing
her or hearing her voice, had wounded him deeply, as though she’d
already been cut out of his life. What would he do if she had come
to tell him he could never see her again?
Don’t panic. Wait and see what she has to say. He sat and
tugged her down beside him. She must have come straight from a
shift because she still wore pale yellow scrubs under her light spring
jacket. When she shifted to face him, he reached out and tucked a
strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks. I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine. What is it?”
“I saw Hailey Stephens last week.”
“Okay.” Cash drew out the word a little. Hailey was a mutual
friend, someone he ran into sometimes when he was working out
and said hi to once in a while. Nothing more than that. So why had
Renee brought her up?
“She went on and on about seeing you at the gym and how good
you looked.”
His muscles tightened. Renee wasn’t the overly jealous type, but
it did bother her when a woman looked at Cash a little too long or
flirted with him in front of her, which they did, occasionally. He got
that. He didn’t particularly like it when guys checked her out in front
of him either. “I can’t control what other people think about me or
how they look at me. I can only control what I do and think around
them, and I have absolutely no interest in Hailey or anyone else but
you. You know that, right?”
“You have to notice how attractive she is, though.”
Cash repressed a sigh. Was that what this was about? Lots of
women were attractive, he supposed. Still, he hadn’t lied to his
girlfriend. Since the first day he’d seen her in tenth grade, she was
the only woman he’d been drawn to. With any of the others, he was
careful not to let his thoughts or gaze linger on them any longer
than he had to in order to be polite when they spoke to him. “I
couldn’t really say. I mean it, Ren. I don’t look at other women that
way. You have to believe that.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
She said the words quietly, but each one felt like the piercing of
an arrow through his flesh.
“Ren.” He waited until she looked at him. “Have I ever lied to you
or given you any reason not to trust me?”
The long pause that followed his question hurt as much as her
words had. “All I know is that lately I’ve been hearing a lot about
you and other women.”
The sheer injustice of the accusation drew bitter bile up his
throat. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Insinuating that I have done things I haven’t. Are you angry at
me for some reason? Is that why you’re trying to hurt me?”
When she spoke, her voice was even cooler than before. “I’m not
trying to hurt you, Cash. I’m trying not to get hurt myself. And I’m
trying to make sure no one else gets hurt either. I have to put in
long hours doing surgeries at the hospital. And I’m still learning. If
I’m not focused on what I’m doing, people could die. I can’t be
distracted wondering where you are or who you’re with.”
“You don’t have to be. A lot of the time I’m working too, and
outside of that I’m usually here or with my family. I’m not cheating
on you. I never have and I never will.” He fought to keep
desperation out of his voice, even as it gripped him. Clearly his
words were falling on deaf ears. What could he possibly say to get
through to her? A wall had gone up between them and he had no
clue how to breach it.
“That’s not what I hear.”
Cash drew in a slow, steadying breath. Anger flared inside him,
mingling with the hurt and confusion. A bad combination. If he acted
on it, lashed out at her now, he could lose her forever.
A dark truth struck him like a blow to the chest. He’d lost her
already. And he had no idea why. All he did know was that trying to
stop what was happening between them was like attempting to
close his fingers around a handful of mist.
Drained, Cash rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger
before lowering his hand and searching her eyes. They were a dark
green with a hint of gray, unlike any he’d ever seen and one of the
many things he loved about her. He could have—and had—gotten
lost in them for hours. “Why did you come here tonight?”
She blinked. “I wanted to talk to you, find out if there’s any truth
to the rumors.”
After all their years together, he knew her better than that.
Something else was going on, something she wasn’t telling him.
“You know I would never cheat on you, so don’t pretend that’s what
this is about. You came here to pick a fight with me, didn’t you?
Why? So I would break up with you? Well, that’s not going to
happen, Ren. I will never be the one to end things with us. If you
are done with me, you’re going to have to say it.”
For several long seconds, she didn’t respond. Waiting for her to
say what he now knew she would was like watching a car a hundred
yards away leave the road heading straight for a utility pole. Every
atom in his body recoiled in horror, crying out for her to change
course before she did something, said something that would alter
their lives forever, but he was as helpless to stop her as he would
have been to have stopped that car before it smashed against the
pole.
“All right. I did come here to end things with you. I don’t want to
see you. Not ever again.”
Although he’d known those words were coming, they ripped him
apart. When she stood, he pressed a shaking hand to the arm of the
couch and pushed to his feet. “Ren, don’t do this.”
She headed for the door without answering. Cash followed her.
“Are you at least going to tell me why? Don’t I deserve that much?”
“I did tell you. I need to focus on my work. No distractions.” She
spoke dispassionately, as though discussing a diagnosis with a
patient. Could destroying him really be that easy for her?
He stopped halfway to the door, tired of chasing her. “Can you
tell me one thing? When did you stop loving me?”
Either the words or the agony in his voice finally got through.
Renee turned, one hand on the knob. “This isn’t about you, Cash, or
anything you did. It’s me. I’m sorry.”
The slight tremor in her voice, the only hint of emotion she’d
shown since walking into his apartment, offered him a glimmer of
hope. He took a step toward her, but she flung open the door.
On legs that felt like liquid, he followed her to the doorway and
stood watching as she strode down the hall, her gleaming ponytail
bouncing between her shoulder blades. Cash slumped against the
frame.
He had invested fifteen years—half his life—in the woman
walking away from him. He’d loved her every minute of those fifteen
years, had done everything he could to be worthy of her love,
envisioned a future for the two of them with a home and kids and,
eventually, gray hair and grandchildren.
And it had all been for nothing.
 CHAPTER TWO

By the time she reached her car, Renee’s legs shook so badly she
had no idea how she had made it out of the building and across the
parking lot. Stabbing the button on the remote, she unlocked the
driver’s side door then slid behind the wheel. The only thing she
wanted was to lay her head on the steering wheel and weep, but
she had to get home. If Cash followed her outside, he couldn’t see
her break down or he’d know that everything she had told him in his
apartment was a lie.
As she had while speaking with him, Renee called on everything
they had taught her in med school about compartmentalizing her
feelings and not letting herself become emotionally involved in the
crisis she was dealing with. Tamping down the feelings that
threatened to overwhelm her, she shoved the key into the ignition
and started the engine. The thirty-minute drive to her home in
Waterloo seemed to take four or five hours, but finally she pulled
into her driveway. For several minutes she sat, staring at the blue
garage door and listening to the slight pinging of the engine as it
cooled.
When she was reasonably sure she could make it inside without
collapsing, Renee grabbed her bag and pushed open the door. The
trembling in her legs had spread to her entire body, and she tripped
over an uneven stone on the walkway.
“Careful there.”
 She spun around. Her neighbor was out walking his Jack Russell
terrier, and the two of them had stopped on the sidewalk in front of
her house. In the light of the streetlamp, concern was etched across
his face. “Hi, Mr. Rutherford. I’m okay, thanks. Tripping over my own
feet tonight.”
“Long shift?”
“Yes, actually.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the
house. “Better head in and get some rest.”
He touched the brim of his cap. “Have a good night, now.”
No chance of that. “You too.” She made it through the door then
closed it and leaned against the wood, drawing in deep breaths in an
attempt to ease the throbbing in her chest. It didn’t help.
After a moment, Renee pushed herself away. Enough. She’d done
what she had to do. Now she needed to put it out of her mind and
move forward. She tossed her coat and bag onto a chair in the
entryway and made her way to kitchen. Intense shaking had gripped
her. Low blood sugar, maybe. When was the last time she’d eaten?
She’d been run off her feet at the hospital all day, which was a good
thing, since it kept her from thinking. As she couldn’t remember
taking a break for a snack or meal, it had also clearly kept her from
eating. No wonder she felt so weak.
Shoving away the thought that lack of food was not what had
stripped her of every bit of strength, Renee yanked open the fridge
door. A bowl of wilted lettuce and a shriveled tomato sat on the
shelf. Other than that, and the condiment bottles that lined the
shelves in the door, the fridge was empty. She needed groceries. As
soon as she got back from…
Renee grabbed the lettuce and tomato and kicked the door shut.
It didn’t matter what she ate—it would all taste like Styrofoam chips
anyway. After forcing herself to down every bite of the pathetic
salad, she set the bowl in the sink. The deep trembling that had
gripped her since she’d left work and driven to Cash’s apartment
building hadn’t let up, and she pressed her palms to the cold steel
rimming the sink.
The jangling of her cell phone startled her, and she whirled
around. Please don’t be work. She couldn’t go to the hospital, not
tonight. When it jangled again, rattling every nerve in her body, she
snatched up the device. “Yes?”
“Renee?”
She sagged against the counter. “Hey, Sam.” Her cousin
Samantha was the only one she could talk to these days. The only
one who knew exactly what Renee was going through.
“You okay?”
Renee had no idea how to answer that. “I broke up with Cash
tonight.”
A brief silence, then, “Finally. How did he take it?”
“About how you’d expect. He’s hurt and confused.” Cash’s face
flashed through her mind, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen.
“Did you tell him why?”
She shook her head, although her cousin couldn’t see her. “No. I
can’t.”
“Don’t you think he deserves to know?”
Renee swallowed the lump in her throat. “He deserves a lot of
things. I can’t give him this, though.”
“But—”
Renee pushed away from the counter. She couldn’t have this
conversation. Not now. “You know what? It’s been a long day. I
should get some sleep.”
Samantha sighed. “Okay. When are you coming here?”
“After work on Saturday, if that’s okay. I should be there by
seven or eight.”
“Sounds good. That will give us a day to relax and catch up.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“All right. And Renee?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s gonna be okay.”
Was it? Renee seriously doubted it. “Thanks.” Before her cousin
could say anything more, she disconnected the call. Her chest ached
and all she wanted was to talk to Cash. She stared at the number
one, the shortcut to his cell phone that he’d programmed in for her.
She should call him, tell him about her day.
 Renee tossed the phone onto the counter as though it were
burning hot. What was she doing? That had been pure muscle
memory, her subconscious reminding her it was time to call him like
she had almost every evening since they’d gotten together in high
school. If they hadn’t seen each other that day, they always talked
on the phone at night, meaning that for more than five thousand
days she’d heard his voice at least once. Every time it had comforted
and thrilled her.
And now she might never hear it again.
Ending their relationship had been the hardest thing she’d ever
done. It wasn’t even the hurt on his face that had dug into her as
much as the confusion. He deserved a better explanation than the
feeble one she’d offered him.
And the way she’d accused him… The pain in her chest
deepened. Cash didn’t look at other women. They looked at him,
flirted with him all the time, but he never engaged with them. Even
when he didn’t realize she was watching, he’d politely rebuff any
attempt another woman made to come on to him. Then, inevitably,
he’d scan the room over the shoulder of the person in front of him.
Looking for her, she knew, because when he found her, a smile
crossed his face that had never, since the day they met, failed to
send a rush of butterflies fluttering through her stomach. Although
she hadn’t answered him when he questioned whether he’d ever
done anything to make her doubt his faithfulness to her, everything
in her screamed that no, of course he hadn’t.
But she had to tell him something. Maybe the false accusations
would help him, somehow, to let go of her.
It hurt to take a breath. Renee eyed the phone. She didn’t want
him to let her go. If she called him now, begged him to forgive her,
told him why she’d thought she had to say what she’d said, he’d
take her back. Cash was the most loyal, loving, and forgiving person
she knew.
Which was exactly why she couldn’t call him. Couldn’t retract a
single word she’d said. If she did, they would get back together, and
she would find herself in the same position she’d been in before she
somehow mustered the courage to go and see him tonight.
 The crushing weight in her chest intensified, and Renee slid
down the wall until she sat on the floor, her arms folded on top of
her bent knees. Lowering her head, she gave in to the tears that had
threatened since she’d left Cash’s apartment. Actually, for a lot
longer than that.
Her shoulders shook as she wept. The sobbing did nothing to
relieve the gaping hole in her heart that walking away from Cash
had carved there. His final words to her echoed through her mind
like the blast of a gun ricocheting off the cement walls of a tunnel.
When had she stopped loving Cash McCall with every fiber of her
being? Renee covered her face with her hands, unable to deny the
truth to herself that she’d denied to him.
Never.
 CHAPTER THREE

Cash carried his last bottle of hard liquor to the coffee table and set
it down, the bottle clanking against the wooden surface. Six bottles
of various kinds of alcohol, all mostly full since he didn’t typically
drink much. Should be enough to get him through the night.
He sank onto the couch and stared at the bottles. A whiskey his
boss at paramedic services had given him last Christmas. Ironic,
Cash had thought at the time, after the horrific things they
witnessed when they were called to the scene of accidents often
caused by the contents of a bottle like this. The gold liquid still
reached nearly three-quarters of the way to the top. A second bottle
—a Captain Morgan rum—hadn’t been cracked open yet. The rest
were beers and half a bottle of red wine he and Renee had shared
the last time she’d eaten here. Not that he’d drink that one. The
wine would be vinegar now, as it had been three months since she’d
been to his place. After that dinner, things had gone horribly wrong
between them. Why?
Cash slumped against the couch cushions, reliving that dinner in
his mind. They’d been celebrating the anniversary of their first date.
He’d made her favorite dinner—chicken parmigiana with pasta and
salad—and they’d cracked open the wine. Had he said something,
done something that night to drive her away? He flipped through the
memories of the evening. They’d laughed a lot, like they always did
when they were together. Nothing he could remember struck him as
being amiss.
 He leaned forward and yanked open the coffee table drawer. A
small black velvet box was mixed in with a handful of remotes and
spare batteries. Cash dug it out and ran a finger over the sparkling
diamond. He’d proposed that night. Had that been what had driven
her away? His eyes narrowed. Why would it? He’d proposed before,
more times than he could recall. The first time was at junior prom
when they were sixteen. She’d said no then too, like she had every
time in between, usually with a teasing laugh and enough kisses to
temper the rejection. Even though she always told him the timing
wasn’t right for them to get married, he’d never worried that she
would leave him. Since the moment they’d met, he’d known they
would spend their lives together.
Only now they wouldn’t.
Which left the future he’d always been able to clearly envision
nothing but a gaping black hole. Cash studied the bottles of booze
before propping his elbows on his knees and lowering his forehead
to his palms. He didn’t want to get drunk. He only wanted the pain
pulsing through him to stop.
He knew about loss. His dad had left them first, shortly after his
youngest sister, Maddie, was born, choosing another family over
them. Then, five years ago, his other sister, Tessa, had drowned,
and his brother Jude, who’d been with her and couldn’t save her,
had fled. He’d been missing ever since, until he showed up at their
mother’s door a few months ago. So, people he had loved deeply
had been torn from his life, in every case because of bad choices.
But this was different.
Renee was a part of him. Over the years, their lives had become
so inextricably entwined that, like Siamese twins who shared a vital
organ, they couldn’t be separated without irreparable damage.
Cash reached for the bottle of whiskey and yanked off the top.
After splashing enough into his glass to fill it halfway, he grabbed it
and chugged the fiery liquid. Then he set the glass on the coffee
table with a loud thud and swiped the back of his arm across his
mouth. A few more like that ought to do it.
The urge to smash the bottle gripped him. Or maybe to swipe
the entire collection off the table and onto the floor. But that would
only freak out his neighbors. The last thing he needed was anyone
coming to his door to see if he was okay. Or calling the police.
For a long time he sat, staring at the doorway where Renee had
disappeared. Then he slowly twisted the metal cap onto the whiskey.
His phone sat on the coffee table next to the bottle of Captain
Morgan. Almost every evening for a decade and a half that phone
had rung, and his heart rate had sped up, knowing it was Renee
calling to tell him about her day and ask about his. Or he’d call her,
interested in what was going on with her but even more interested
in hearing her voice.
Before the thought could drag him even further into the morass
he was already wading in, he snatched the phone and stabbed in a
number. His brother answered on the second ring. “Hey, Cash.”
“Hey.”
Springs creaked as though Jude had straightened abruptly on a
couch or chair. “What’s wrong?”
Had he conveyed in that single word the level of angst he was
wrestling with? “Can you come over?”
“On my way.”
The phone went silent. Cash tossed the device onto the table
where it clanked against two beer bottles. Someone was coming,
which, given the places his mind was drifting to, was likely a very
good thing. Jude knew about loss too, including losing Summer, the
woman he loved, for a few months when she’d been attacked and
suffered a brain trauma that left her with no memory of Jude or their
time together. Thankfully, she’d regained her memories and the two
of them were now engaged, but those months had been agonizing
for Jude. He’d understand what Cash was going through, and Cash
needed a little understanding right now.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on drawing in one ragged
breath after another. Jude was staying at their mother’s place in
Elora while he and Summer figured out their next move, so he was
only a few minutes away. Memories of Renee pushed and shoved
into Cash’s mind like Black Friday shoppers fighting over the last flat
screen TV.
 With a low groan, he sprawled against the couch cushions,
willing all thoughts out of his head so he could focus on simply
hanging on to his sanity until his brother arrived. Finally, after what
felt like hours, a sharp rap on the door brought his head up. Cash
thought briefly about getting up, but then Jude stepped into the
apartment. His gaze rested on the collection of bottles for a couple
of seconds before he closed the door.
Cash straightened as Jude crossed the room and stopped on the
other side of the coffee table. “Renee?”
Cash scrubbed his face with both hands. “Yeah. She broke up
with me.”
Jude winced as he dropped onto the armchair across from him.
“I’m really sorry, Cash. I thought for sure…” He picked up the bottle
of rum, scrutinized it a moment, then set it next to the others.
“Never mind what I thought. It’s not helpful.”
“Not sure what would be.”
“Not any of those.” Jude inclined his head toward the makeshift
bar on the coffee table.
“I know. That’s why I thought I better ask you to come over
before I went down that road.”
“Good call.” His brother leaned forward and clasped his hands
between his knees. “Did she give you a reason?”
“Not a very good one. She said she was too busy with work to
think about anything else. And she…”
“She what?”
“Accused me of flirting with other women and said she couldn’t
be distracted worrying about me cheating on her all the time.”
“Wow.” Jude tugged off his jacket and slung it over the arm of
the chair. “I know for a fact you don’t do that. I’ve seen them
coming on to you at the gym and always been impressed with how
you deflect their advances. I could talk to Renee if you want, tell her
that.”
“Thanks, but it won’t help. She knows I don’t cheat on her. I
think she was hoping if she flung a bunch of false accusations at me
that I’d be the one to break up with her, but I told her if she wanted
to end things with us, she’d have to do it.”
 “So, she did.”
“Yeah. She definitely did.”
“There’s no chance she’ll change her mind?”
“She didn’t leave any room for doubt, but who knows? I thought
I knew her, but I have no idea what she’s going through right now. I
never thought she’d walk away from us, and now that she has, I
can’t predict what else she might do.”
“I’m really sorry, bro.”
“Me too.” Cash eyed the collection of bottles.
His brother pushed to his feet. “Got a box?”
“A box?”
“Yeah.” Jude was already walking toward the kitchen, limping
slightly from the bullet he’d taken to his upper leg a month earlier. “A
small one, preferably.”
His thoughts were all muddled. Cash clawed through them, trying
to think. “There’s a couple in the closet in the hallway, I think.”
“Got it.”
Cash rested his head on the couch and stared at the ceiling. The
previous tenants had smoked in here. It had taken months for the
smell to fade, even after he’d steam-cleaned the carpets and washed
the walls. He thought he’d scrubbed the ceiling pretty well, but
gazing up at it now, a small patch of smeared brown caught his eye.
How had he not noticed that at some point in the last three years?
Obviously, he didn’t spend a lot of time craning his neck to inspect
the ceiling. Renee was a stickler for things like that. He’d better
make sure he painted over it before she came here next or…
Cash stood and stalked to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from
the cupboard, filled it to the brim with water from the tap, and
chugged it back. He had to stop thinking like that. Renee wasn’t
coming back here. Not ever. And the sooner he stopped thinking she
might and got on with his life, the better.
Jude passed by him clutching a small cardboard box. Cash
followed him to the living room. “What are you doing with that?”
“Taking out the trash.” His brother loaded the bottles into the box
one at a time. They clinked against each other as he carried it across
the room and set it on the floor by the door. “I’ll take these with me
when I go.”
Cash had no fight left in him. He dropped onto the couch and
waved a hand through the air. “Do what you want.”
Jude sank onto the armchair again.
Cash propped his elbow on the arm rest. “You should go. Mom
will wonder where you are.”
“I’ll text her, tell her I’m spending the night.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay.”
Jude shrugged. “This chair’s as comfortable as that single bed in
my old bedroom, believe me. I’m good here.”
“What about Summer?”
His brother turned his wrist to check his watch. “She’s got the
early shift at the bakery tomorrow. I’m sure she and Nancy are
asleep by now.”
“She’s still staying at Nancy’s? You guys really need to get your
own place.”
When Summer first came to town with no memory of Jude, she’d
rented a room in a house owned by a woman named Nancy
Snodgrass, who quickly became like a mother to Summer. Summer’s
own mother had been involved with the mafia when her family lived
in Mexico and had fled to Canada to escape retribution from a drug
lord after she’d bilked him of millions of dollars. Not exactly Leave-it-
to-Beaver type stuff.
“We will. After the wedding.”
“Ah.” Sometime in the five years he’d been missing, Jude had
picked up religion. Although Cash was impressed by the changes
he’d witnessed in his brother, he wasn’t quite ready to open up his
mind or heart to the possibility that he might need God in his life
too. Thankfully, Jude never pushed him on it. “How are the plans
coming?”
Jude crossed his legs, resting an ankle on his other knee. “Do
you really want to talk about flowers and caterers and a venue right
now?”
“Actually, I do.” Cash grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch
and crossed his arms over it, pressing it against his abdomen in an
attempt to ease the ache that had settled there. “Might get my mind
off things I don’t want to be thinking about.”
“All right.” Jude launched into a diatribe on the challenges of
finding a caterer in their small town who could cook the Mexican
food Summer wanted to offer at the reception.
Cash struggled to follow what his brother was saying. Thankfully,
Jude seemed okay with keeping it a monologue. As though he
understood how badly his brother needed the distraction, Jude kept
talking as shadows lengthened across the room. Cash had no idea
how much time had passed before Jude leaned over and switched
on a lamp. Cash blinked in the sudden light and shot a glance at the
window. When had it gotten so dark outside?
His eyelids felt heavy, and he struggled to keep them open.
“Don’t fight it.”
Cash was fighting all kinds of things at the moment, so he had
no idea which one his brother was referring to. “Fight what?”
“Sleep. It’ll help. Why don’t you go to bed?”
Sleep probably would help. At the very least, it would offer a few
hours of oblivion. His brother’s presence was helping too, though. “I
might stay here.”
“Go for it.”
“Sure you don’t want to head to Mom’s?”
“I’m sure.”
“Here.” Cash tossed him a pillow before stretching out on the
couch.
“Thanks.”
Cash pulled the blanket hanging over the back of it—a gift from
Renee one Christmas—and threw it over himself. “There are blankets
in the hall closet if you want one.”
“I’m good.” Jude draped his jacket over his lap then hit the
switch on the lamp.
A thick darkness fell over the room, broken only by the dim light
of the streetlamp in front of Cash’s building filtering weakly through
the blinds.
Cash flung an arm over his eyes, willing the thoughts and
memories coursing through his brain to retreat long enough to grant
him a few hours’ reprieve. And on the off chance that the God Jude
believed in existed, he sent up a quick prayer that any sleep he
might be able to get would be free of the dreams it was time for him
to give up.
 CHAPTER FOUR

Concern for his brother was temporarily driven to the back of his
brain when Jude pushed through the door into the Taste of Heaven
Café. Although the place never failed to live up to the somewhat
lofty promise of its name, it wasn’t the aromas of fresh-baked
croissants, cinnamon scones, and brewing coffee that lifted his
mood. Summer Velasquez, his fiancée and the love of his life, shot a
look in his direction. Her dark eyes softened to a warm welcome
before she shifted her attention to the customer in front of her. The
elderly gentleman clearly had no idea what he wanted, and Summer
was patiently describing each of baker Shawn Cook’s pastries. This
could take a while.
Fine with Jude. He propped a hip against the display counter. If
his leg didn’t still ache, he could stand there and watch her all day.
Probably should still be using a cane, but since he could get around
okay without it, he’d left it at home. The man finally selected a raisin
scone and a cup of Earl Grey tea. Summer rang his order through
and handed him his change. Jude slid along the counter until he
stood in front of her. “Buenos días, mi corazón.”
She flashed him a smile. “Buenos días.” Before he could ask,
she’d poured him a large black coffee and set the paper cup on the
counter. “Anything to eat?”
“No, thanks. I grabbed a bowl of cereal at Cash’s.”
A woman bounced over to stand beside Summer, her blonde
ponytail swishing from side to side. “Hey, Jude.”
 He grinned. “Hi, Daphne.”
Summer’s boss and Shawn’s wife, Daphne Cook, flung an arm
around Summer’s shoulders. “I can handle things here. Take a break
for a few minutes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Summer reached behind her to untie her apron. Her eyes met
Jude’s. “Meet me in the alley?”
“Sounds good.” He watched her as she hung the apron on a nail
by the kitchen before disappearing through the swinging doors.
Then he lifted his cup in Daphne’s direction. “Thanks, Daphne.”
“You’re welcome. Looked like you were a little worried about
something. Everything okay?”
“I’m good. Cash is going through a rough time, so I am worried
about him.”
Her dimpled smile faded. “I’ll be praying.”
“I appreciate it.”
Bells jangled as he stepped out into a light spring breeze trailing
the heady scent of blossoms in its wake. While Daphne always
seemed to know everything that was going on in town, Jude was
impressed that she never pried into her customers’ business. She
was always there with a listening ear and compassionate heart, but
she never pushed anyone to share. She and Shawn, who attended
the same church Jude and Summer did, had created a haven in the
Taste of Heaven bakery—a place where everyone in town was
welcomed like family. One of the many things Jude loved about this
small town he and Summer were considering relocating to
permanently.
Jude strolled through the alley between the bakery and the
pottery shop next door. Summer leaned against the brick wall next
to the back door of the building. Jude set his coffee on a dumpster
before reaching her, pulling her into his arms, and pressing his lips to
hers, greeting her the way he’d wanted to but couldn’t in the bakery
filled with patrons.
When he let her go, her cheeks were flushed as she smiled up at
him. “¡Guau!”
 Jude chuckled. Wow was right. Since she’d only regained her
memory of their relationship a few weeks ago, he didn’t take a
minute with her for granted. Her smile faded. “How is Cash?”
After he’d turned out the light at his brother’s place the night
before, Jude had texted her to let her know what was going on and
ask her to pray. “Not great. I think he managed to sleep a bit on the
couch last night, but he tossed and turned a lot then had to go to
work at six this morning.”
“Do you think it’s really over?”
“Given how devastated he is, I’m guessing she closed the door
pretty firmly.”
“Poor Cash. I’m glad you were able to be there for him.”
“Me too. I think I better stick close to my phone the next few
days in case he calls again.”
“Of course.” Summer hesitated.
Jude brushed a dark curl from her face. “What is it?”
“My dad left another voicemail last night.”
A chill skittered across his skin. Summer’s parents had been
determined she would marry a man who shared their ethnic
background and had done everything they could to keep her and
Jude apart. Her father had even threatened to pin the assault that
had resulted in Summer’s memory loss on Jude and send him to
prison if he didn’t stay away from her. After they’d lied to her about
her attack and covered up their own involvement in it, the rift that
had always existed between her and her parents had grown nearly
impassable. Still, her father had been reaching out lately in an
attempt to repair the breach.
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. I don’t have much to say to him after the way he treated
you.”
Jude cupped her face in one hand. “Don’t let me stand in the
way of your relationship with your parents. I’d never want to do
that.”
Summer covered her hand with his. “I know you wouldn’t, but I
don’t know if I can let that go. The man would have gladly sent you
to prison for life.”
 “He was desperate. I’m sure he thought he was doing what was
best for you.”
She grimaced. “You’re a much more forgiving person than I am.”
“I doubt that’s true. But I don’t want you to carry around
resentment or bitterness toward them. That’s no way to live.”
“I know you’re right. But I have no idea how to even begin
working on our relationship after everything that happened.”
His thumb caressed her cheek before he lowered his hand.
“Think about it, okay? And pray.”
“I will. For that and for Cash and Renee.”
“Yes, please pray for them. I’m really worried about Cash.”
“I will.” Summer shot a reluctant glance at the bakery. “I better
get back to work.”
Jude sighed. “All right, if you must.” He touched his lips to hers
lightly. “Dinner tonight?”
“Sounds good.” She threw him one last smile before disappearing
into the building.
Jude reached for the coffee he’d set on the dumpster, took a big
sip, and leaned against the cold metal side of the receptacle. Did he
want Summer to resolve her issues with her mother and father? For
her sake, of course he did.
Even if it would make his life a lot easier if they never spoke to
either of her parents again.
 CHAPTER FIVE

Cash grunted as he heaved the bar, loaded with a hundred and fifty
pounds of weight at either end, above his head. He’d lost count of
how many times he’d lifted it already, likely more than ever before.
Still not enough to drive thoughts of Renee out of his head,
unfortunately.
He hoisted the metal bar three more times before his shaking
arms told him he’d better set it in the holders or risk dropping it on
his head. His entire body screamed at him when he swung his legs
over the side of the bench and sat up. Cash was grateful for the
pain, which was a lot easier to take than the intense ache in his
chest.
Sweat dripped down both sides of his face and Cash reached for
the white towel he’d flung over a chair. After scrubbing his face and
neck with it, he rose, wiped down the bench, and started for the
change room. The hours before he could go to bed stretched before
him, as gaping as the Grand Canyon and every bit as daunting.
Cash showered, toweled off, and yanked on his jeans. When he
reached for his black T-shirt, the reflection in the floor-length mirror
of the image on his bare left shoulder caught his eye. A rose tattoo.
He’d had the rose done in his sister Tessa’s memory—her favorite
flower as well as her middle name. He ran a finger over the petals
and stem before turning to look at his right shoulder. The etching of
the small bird—a wren—contorted his gut. He’d gotten that tattoo
ten years ago, a sign of his unending commitment to Ren. Not that
day in the tattoo parlor or a single moment since had he regretted
the permanence of that move. Not until now, when what he had
written in ink on his arm—on both his arms—would only serve as a
constant, heartrending reminder of what he had lost.
Cash yanked the T-shirt over his abs. He was lifting his jacket off
the hook in a locker when a hand clamped on his shoulder. More
pain shot along his arm, but he ignored it as he swung around to
see one of his paramedic buddies. “Hey, Tony.”
“Cash.” His colleague dipped his head. “Any plans for tonight?”
“Nope. Why?”
“A few of us are headed over to the Houndstooth. Want to join?”
The local pub was a favorite of the people he worked with, and
Cash hung out there with them occasionally. Given his current state
of mind, it likely wasn’t the best idea tonight. Cash slammed the
locker closed. “Sure.”
“Great.” His friend started for the showers. “See you there in
twenty.”
“Sounds good.” Cash trudged through the gym. As usual, most of
the patrons called out to him as he went by. Cash wasn’t really in
the mood for idle chitchat, but he forced himself to answer when
anyone spoke to him, not wanting to have to field questions about
why he wasn’t himself today. Tony, hair damp from his shower,
caught up to him before Cash reached the door.
When they entered the dimly lit establishment with the low
ceilings, a pang shot through Cash’s chest. He and Renee had taken
a trip to Europe a couple of years ago, and this place always
reminded him of the pubs they’d visited in England and Ireland.
Should have thought about that when Tony invited him. After
greeting five or six paramedics and a couple of other people he
knew who were already seated at tables imbibing a pint, Cash rested
his forearms on the bar. “Hey, Frank.”
“Cash.” The owner of the pub and its most frequent bartender
ran a cloth over the wooden bar in front of him. “What can I
getcha?”
“I’ll take a Lady Friend.” The local India pale ale was likened, on
the pub menu, to a punch in the jaw, accompanied by a warning
that it was not for the faint of heart. Exactly what Cash was looking
for tonight.
The bartender tossed the cloth over his shoulder and set a small
square napkin with the pub logo on it in front of him. “Rough day?”
“You could say that.”
“Woman trouble?” Frank bent the draught tap toward him and
held the glass mug, tipped forward, beneath the gold stream.
“You could say that too.”
Frank set the mug on the napkin. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Cash lifted the mug to his lips and drained half of it
before setting it down with a thud. “Thanks, though.”
Frank lifted a hand in the direction of a patron who’d settled at
the other end of the bar and was attempting to get his attention.
“I’m here if you change your mind.”
Cash nodded and lifted the mug again.
“Did I hear you ask for a Lady Friend?”
He spun around on the stool. Lisa Bechtel. He’d just seen her at
the gym. How had she managed to change into that slinky,
sleeveless black top and tight jeans so fast? “Hey, Lisa.”
“Hi, Cash.”
Lisa slid onto the stool next to him, her arm brushing against his.
“So?”
“So, what?”
“You alone tonight? Where’s Renee?”
“No idea.” Cash took a swig of the ale and gestured to Frank for
a refill.
“Really.” Lisa leaned closer. “Something going on between the
two of you?”
“Not anymore. Apparently.” He hid a wince. Shouldn’t have given
her that much information. Clearly the ale was already loosening his
tongue. Cash nudged the empty mug closer to Frank and accepted
the fresh one the bartender held out for him.
Lisa rested a hand on his forearm. “She dumped you?”
 Cash barely resisted the urge to yank his arm away. The last
thing he felt like doing was spilling his woes to a woman whose
advances he constantly had to rebuff. And that was when she knew
he had a girlfriend. What would she do when she believed he was
free?
He wasn’t. He might know in his head that things were over
between him and Renee, but it was going to take his heart a lot
longer to come to terms with that. If it ever did. “Look, Lisa, I don’t
really feel like talking about it, if you don’t mind.”
Clutching the mug, he searched the pub for Tony and his other
friends. They were clustered around a table in the middle of the
restaurant, talking and laughing. Cash caught Tony’s eye when he
glanced over, and Tony waved for Cash to join them. Not exactly
what he was in the mood for either, but it would be better than
fending off Lisa’s advances. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Her red lips formed a perfect pout as he hopped off the stool.
Cash made his way through the crowded pub to an empty chair
across from Tony. He knew most of the people at the table, and
everyone greeted him warmly when he sat down. This might be
okay. He’d have a drink or two, maybe eat something since he didn’t
have any desire to go home and cook for himself, then head to his
apartment and get a little sleep. Make it through another day
without breaking down completely. If he could do that often enough,
maybe at some point this desperate pain in his chest would let up a
little and he could get on with living his life, whatever that life might
look like now.
Cash frowned. Sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn’t
going to make anything better. And it would only call attention to
what he was going through, which would lead to a whole lot of
people asking a whole lot of questions he had no wish to answer. A
server came to the table and Cash ordered a pound of wings. He
had little interest in food, but it likely wouldn’t be the best idea to
drink much more on an empty stomach or he might not be able to
walk out of the place.
Somehow, he made it through an hour or two of chatting with his
friends around the table. As he lifted his mug to drain it of the last
drops of ale, he caught Tony studying him from across the table.
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Tony didn’t look convinced, but before he could say anything
else, someone next to him grabbed his arm and pointed out a play in
the hockey game splashing across the big screens mounted on every
wall.
Likely a good time to get out of here. Cash worked a few bills out
of his wallet and handed them to the server, then grabbed the jacket
he’d slung over the back of the chair and slid his arms into it.
“You going?”
Cash met Tony’s gaze across the table. “Yeah. Early shift
tomorrow. Thanks for the invite.”
“No problem. You calling a cab?”
“I think I’ll walk.” The cool evening air would likely do him more
good than anything. Tony nodded and Cash started for the door.
“Cash.”
His heart sank at the plaintive wail. Slowly, he turned around.
Lisa wobbled toward him in her high-heeled boots, one sleeve of her
faux-fur jacket hanging halfway down her bare arm. Great. She was
drunk. Just what he needed.
Her heel caught the corner of the mat in front of the door, and
she stumbled into him. Cash grasped her upper arms and held her
until she was steady. Or steadier, anyway. “Thanks, handsome.” She
slurred the words a little and Cash repressed a sigh. No way he
could leave her like this. “Come on. I’ll call you a cab.” Cash held the
door open so she could traipse out. When they reached the
sidewalk, she slid her hand through his arm. “Why don’t you take me
home?”
“The cab driver will do that.”
“No, silly.” She giggled like a young teen. “I meant home with
you.”
“That’s not a good idea.” Cash reached across his chest with his
free hand and wrangled the phone out of the inside pocket of his
jacket.
“Why not?”
 “Because we’ve both had a little too much to drink and we’re not
thinking rationally.” Actually, one of them had clearly had a lot too
much to drink, but he didn’t think it would be helpful to point that
out.
Lisa tugged on his arm, hard enough to pull Cash a step closer.
“What difference does that make? It’s not your brain I’m after.”
Cash really needed to get a cab here quickly and get her in it
before she made a big scene in the middle of the street. He clutched
the sleek silver device and stabbed at the numbers with his thumb.
When the dispatcher answered, Cash ordered a car to come to the
pub, relieved to have set his plan in motion.
“Cash.” Lisa slid a hand inside his jacket. “You know I like you,
don’t you?”
He grabbed her hand and held it away from his body. “I like you
too. We’re friends. Which is why we can’t go home together.”
She swayed on her feet. Reluctantly, Cash slid an arm around her
waist to steady her. “I don’t understand that. I like you. You like me.
We’re both adults and alone. Why can’t we go to your place? You’re
hurting, Cash. I can see that.” She extricated her hand from his and
ran a finger down his cheek. “I can make you feel better.”
She likely wasn’t lying. Lisa was extremely pretty, with long,
blonde hair and deep blue eyes, not to mention a body toned by all
the time she spent at the gym. He’d overheard plenty of guys in the
locker room comparing notes on the things they’d done with her,
although he always walked away from those conversations. No
doubt she could even make him forget about Renee. For a few
minutes anyway. Then his life, already crumbling around him, would
become a complete train wreck.
Before he realized what Lisa was planning to do, she’d pulled his
head down and kissed him. Cash jerked away and stepped back. He
glanced around. Had anyone seen that? This was a small town. If
one person had witnessed what happened, rumors would spread like
wildfire. No one was in sight and Cash’s shoulders sagged. The last
thing he needed was for Renee to catch wind of a story involving
him and Lisa making out in the middle of Elora. That would only
confirm that the things she’d accused him of might actually be true.
 Seemingly unaware of his brush-off, Lisa rested her head against
his chest. A movement half a block down the street caught his eye.
Her cab.
The device he still clutched in his fingers vibrated, and Cash
glanced at it. The heart that had been thudding wildly in his chest
since he’d pushed Lisa away suddenly felt as though it stopped
beating entirely. Renee.
“I’ll get it.”
Before he could stop her, Lisa grabbed the phone from his hand,
stabbed the on button, and lifted it to her ear. “H’llo?”
Cash lunged for the phone, knowing, even as he did, that the
damage was already done.
 CHAPTER SIX

Jude set his fork on his empty dinner plate. “Nancy, that was
delicious, as always.”
Summer’s landlady flashed him a smile as she slid his plate on
top of hers. “Thank you, Jude.” She set the dishes in the sink and
turned on the taps. “How are the wedding plans coming along? Have
you set a date yet?”
Summer’s dark eyes met his. “Not yet, but we’re thinking June.”
Jude managed a smile for her, although he was having trouble
focusing on anything beyond the current crisis in his family. It almost
felt wrong to be so happy, to be planning a future with the woman
he loved, when his brother was hurting so much.
Nancy swiveled to face them. “This June? As in next month?”
Summer laughed. “Yes. We don’t need a lot of time to plan. We
only want a small wedding. A few friends of ours from Toronto will
likely come, and you, Daphne, and Shawn from here, otherwise it’s
just Jude’s family. Pastor Jonas said he has a couple of Saturdays
free in June although they could fill up fast.”
Jude pondered her words. That was only a few weeks away.
Would Cash be better by then? The loss he was dealing with was
crushing him. How would he be able to celebrate with him and
Summer? Jude wiped his fingers on a white paper napkin. Was it fair
to ask Summer to wait until his brother recovered? No, it wasn’t fair
to either of them. It could take months or even years for Cash to
Another random document with
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Carmine, che non se l’aspettava, la guardò alla sua volta come
stupito che tali idee le potessero venire in testa.
— Non far la sciocca, andiamo — le rispose. — Ti assicuro che
adesso, dopo quaranta anni tu ne avevi venticinque ed io trenta,
ricordati, non desteremmo scandalo neanche se ti trovassero seduta
su i miei ginocchi...
Era stata al certo una bella donna quella vecchietta rugosa e bianca
che l’età aveva stremata, e che pareva ancor memore dei bei tempi
della giovinezza.
Stettero per poco in silenzio. L’uragano continuava.
— Ti farò un lettuccio presso a questo buon fuoco — disse Carmine
che fumava raccolto in angolo della cassapanca. — Se dimani
schiarirà, te ne andrai di buon mattino.
— Credo anche io — rispose Geltrude — che sarebbe imprudenza
tornare al molino. Ma ti avverto che non ho sonno e che tu devi
mantenermi la promessa che mi facesti tante volte.
— Quale promessa?
— Di narrarmi tutta la storia dei due fratelli, dei due duchi di
Fagnano... A proposito, hai avuto nuove di Riccardo?
Carmine trasalì e levandosi la pipa di bocca guardò la mugnaia.
— A proposito? A proposito di che? — chiese con evidente
mal’umore.
— Via, via, siamo soli, non è vero? Nessun timore che si possa
origliare all’uscio di strada: ognuno a quest’ora e con questo
tempaccio se ne sta rintanato innanzi al focolare. Eppoi non hai
compreso da certe mie parole che qualche cosa la so anche io?
Quando ci accorgemmo che Riccardo aveva una certa idea che a
nessuno nato come lui sarebbe venuta in testa: che egli da questa
povera casuccia ove fu raccolto per carità, aveva osato alzar gli
occhi tanto in alto, in alto sia pure per contemplar la stella che vi
splendeva, nè tu nè io ce ne mostrammo sorpresi, come se ce
l’aspettassimo, come se fosse una cosa naturale, ed invece in un
altro come lui sarebbe stato una cosa da non potere esser pensata
neanche dalla mente di un pazzo.
— Fanciullaggini! — disse Carmine tra una boccata e l’altra di fumo.
— È vero sì, fanciullaggini, alle quali non penserà più ora che per
aver vissuto fra tanta gente, in paesi ove si diviene più pratici della
vita, avrà compreso che in certi casi è da folle financo l’alzar gli occhi
al cielo; ma perchè non ci sorpresero allora? Tu avresti dovuto
accorgerti che io, per non esserne stupita dovevo sapere qualche
cosa.
— Sai che ti dico, Geltrude, sai che ti dico? — rispose Carmine
scrollando il capo. — Che volgono tristi tempi per noi, e assai più pel
duca.
— Come? come? Perchè?
— Perchè ho inteso dire che i Francesi... te li ricordi? quegli stessi
che sebbene in pochi furono qui da noi sei anni or sono dopo aver
scacciato dal trono, orribile a dirsi, il Re e la Regina e che furono poi
alla loro volta scacciati dal Cardinale sotto i cui ordini il nostro
Riccardo fece prodigi di valore tanto da esser nominato capitano.
Ora invece son molti, molti; si dice che la Corte sia di nuovo fuggita
in Sicilia, e che si preparino brutti tempi perchè coloro che nell’ultimo
anno dello scorso secolo presero le armi per riconquistare il trono,
hanno avuto molti danari per assoldar gente a far la guerra ai
Francesi e a tutti coloro che prenderan le loro parti.
— Gesù, Gesù, che mi conti! E Riccardo per questo è partito col
Ghiro, col Magaro e con quel vecchiaccio impenitente di Pietro il
Toro?
— Lo temo pur troppo, anzi ne son quasi sicuro. E vedremo ancora
questi nostri monti disseminati di morti e bagnati di sangue, anche di
sangue innocente!
— Sì, ma come c’entra il duca di Fagnano che, beato lui, ha tanti
danari e già si è posto al sicuro con la figliuola?
— Ci entra perchè i Francesi l’hanno a morte con lui, e al certo ne
sequestreranno i beni, ne saccheggeranno il castello, e forse chi sa,
verranno a chiaro certe cose... Il duca ha nemici assai fra i suoi
stessi parenti che l’odiano perchè essi son tutti frammassoni e quindi
amici dei Francesi, mentre lui è, come dicono, borbonico e
sanfedista.
— Frammassone! — disse la vecchia Geltrude in aria pensosa. —
Intesi dire questa parola quando il fratello del duca fu messo in
carcere più di venticinque anni or sono, donde pare che fosse fatto
fuggire. E allora si disse che era stato il duca attuale a denunciarlo
come eretico, come, che so io, repubblicano... Ci credi tu a queste
voci? E credi tu che il vero duca, il primogenito, colui al quale
spettava il maggiorasco con tutti gli immensi beni ereditati dallo zio, il
marchese di Cerzeto, sia veramente morto?
— Ma — rispose Carmine — so quel che si disse, che era fuggito in
Francia, donde il duca fece venire l’atto di morte.
— E parmi che era stato condannato.
— Sicuro, dalle leggi ecclesiastiche e dalle civili, dall’una come
eretico e come stregone perchè quando lo arrestarono trovarono in
camera sua teschi, stinchi, animali impagliati, fiale, libri stampati con
caratteri strani, e moltissime lettere dei suoi amici di Francia che
provavano come egli non credesse a Dio, sempre sia lodato, e
congiurasse per fare quel che poi i Francesi fecero: uccidere i re, i
signori, i preti, i frati e proclamare la Repubblica. Perciò fu
condannato in contumaccia alla pena di morte.
— Ma era davvero un uomo così sanguinario, così invasato dal
diavolo?
— Chi? lui? — esclamò Carmine con impeto. — Era il più buono, il
più dolce, il più caritatevole signore che sia mai nato su questi monti.
Era sempre proclive a consigliarci, ad aiutarci e non sdegnava lui, il
potente duca di Fagnano, marchese di Cerzeto e grande di Spagna
di prima classe che aveva il diritto di stare col cappello in testa
innanzi al re, capisci? innanzi al re col cappello in testa, non
isdegnava, poichè si intendeva di medicina, di entrar nelle umili
casucce dei contadini se sapeva che alcuno fosse malato, per
curarlo, provvedendolo insieme di medicine, di cibi e di vini generosi.
— Il fratello è tutt’altro uomo — disse Geltrude — superbo, avaro,
non l’ho visto mai rispondere al nostro saluto. I pochi giorni dell’anno
che dimora qui con la figliuola se ne sta sempre nel castello. Ma via,
Carmine, so che tu ci entri per qualche cosa nella storia del fratello
che fu condannato a morte come eretico e come cospiratore. Son
cose oramai passate, che hai da temere infine? Ti confesso che
muoio dalla voglia di sapere la verità. Ti giuro sulla Madonna del
Carmine che non una parola mi uscirà di bocca. E poi, il duca ora è
ben lontano; ha portato con sè la figliuola e si dice che non tornerà
più... Che ci vuoi fare? È da tanto, da tanto che mi struggo dal
desiderio di sapere come andò la faccenda.
— Quale faccenda?
— Del matrimonio. Perchè non credere che la cosa sia rimasta
occulta. Il duca di Fagnano, il morto, sposò in piena regola la povera
Rachele, la figlia del barone di Pietrasanta la quale poi morì di una
morte sì strana. Ma dove, ma come, ma quando? Nessuno ne sa
niente. Il barone di Pietrasanta, quando seppe che la figliuola era
l’amante di un discendente di quei duchi di Fagnano coi quali i suoi
per tanti secoli, si può dire, erano stati in lotta e che era finita dopo
tanto sangue sparso da una parte e dall’altra con la rovina totale dei
Pietrasanta, oppresso dalla miseria, dall’onta, dal dolore, morì
quando la figliuola non potè più occultargli le conseguenze del suo
fallo. Insomma, caro Carmine, vedi che è inutile il continuare a far
con me l’inconsapevole. Andiamo, via; non sono stata un tempo la
tua amica del cuore? non ti ho sempre voluto bene anche dopo che
la vecchiaia ci ha raffreddato il sangue? Eppoi, chi sa, certe cose è
sempre buono a saperle in due.
Il vecchio Carmine aveva ascoltato con un viso che rifletteva i vari
sentimenti dell’anima. Infine parve convinto.
— Ebbene — disse levandosi la pipa di bocca — se mi prometti di
esser prudente e ne comprenderai da te stessa la ragione; se, cosa
ben difficile per voi donne, mi giurerai di tener per te i particolari della
triste storia che ti narrerò, i quali se si sapessero potrebbero forse
costare la vita a me e quel che più importa a persona anche a te
molto cara: se dunque...
— Via, via, non la far più lunga — esclamò la vecchia — ho capito,
ho capito: questa persona molto cara a me, è Riccardo, non è vero?
Riccardo?
— Prometti dunque — disse Carmine — prometti di non dir mai a
nessuno quel che ti narrerò.
— Se l’ho giurato sulla Madonna del Carmine!
— Ascolta dunque e saprai quel che può l’avarizia, l’ambizione
nell’anima di un uomo.
L’uragano era cessato: il paesello taceva nelle tenebre. Ed ecco la
storia che il vecchio Carmine si mise a narrare.
— Il vecchio duca, il padre dei due fratelli Tommaso e Silvestro,
prediligeva il primo che esser doveva l’erede dei suoi titoli e dei suoi
beni, ed anche perchè più buono d’indole dell’altro che fin dalla
prima giovinezza si era addimostrato superbo, arrogante, ipocrita e
propenso solo ai bagordi, tanto che non aveva voluto darsi nè alla
carriera delle armi, nè a quella del sacerdozio che era la carriera
percorsa da tutti i cadetti della grande famiglia; e quantunque il duca
avesse preso ai suoi servigi un dottissimo abate per l’educazione dei
suoi figliuoli, mentre Tommaso studiava con passione, Silvestro a
venti anni sapeva appena appena leggere. Tra i due fratelli non ci
era punto buono accordo, e non certo per colpa del primogenito che
dal minore si sentiva odiato ed invidiato pel grande affetto che
meritatamente a lui portava il padre, al quale non aveva dato mai un
dolore, mentre l’altro non ci era giorno che non gliene facesse una.
Ora una madre, a cui Silvestro aveva sedotta la figliuola faceva
risuonare di pianti e di grida il castello: ora un padre, cui Silvestro
ubbriaco aveva ferito il figlio, chiedeva un risarcimento; ora un
contadino ricorreva per un abuso, o un sopruso, o un danno
prodottogli dalla malvagità del giovanotto; insomma il vecchio duca
ne era disperato. Nè si può dire che fosse del tutto contento
dell’altro, sebbene quieto, tranquillo, studioso, troppo anzi studioso
per un giovane che per la sua nascita, era chiamato a ben altro che
a viver la vita dello scenziato, onde l’avrebbe voluto meno timido,
meno semplice di costumi, più incline al fasto. Insomma sarebbe
stato ben lieto se l’uno con le sue virtù avesse avuto un po’ dei vizi
dell’altro, e l’altro coi suoi vizi avesse avuto un po’ delle virtù
dell’uno. Ora mentre Silvestro, il minore aveva fama di essere un
gran scavezzacollo, l’altro incominciava ad acquistar nome di un
grande scenziato, quantunque ancora giovanissimo, e si teneva in
continua corrispondenza con gli altri scenziati, di Francia
specialmente, i quali finirono col guastargli la testa.
Quando il vecchio duca venne a morire, i due fratelli, l’uno dei quali
aveva ereditato col titolo tutti i beni, una fortuna colossale, mia cara,
cui si aggiunse poi quella del marchese di Cerzeto, non ebbero più
freno alle loro inclinazioni. Silvestro quantunque povero si diede a
sfoggiarla facendo dei debiti, e quando non trovò più chi gli desse
dei danari, ne chiese al fratello che in sulle prime non glieli negò, ma
poi fu costretto a stringere i lacci della borsa onde l’odio si accrebbe
del cadetto che non poteva più soddisfare le sue costose passioni.
Da qui malumori, liti, scene violente, che avevan diviso il paesello in
due parti, dell’una parte la gente seria, dall’altra tutti gli amiconi, i
compagni d’orgia del cavaliere Silvestro. Però anche la gente seria
non poteva trattenersi dal rimproverare al nuovo duca l’abbandono
dei suoi vasti poderi, abbandono che danneggiava anche i poveri
contadini ai quali mancava il lavoro e col lavoro la pur miseria
mercede.
Così stavano le cose quando incominciò a parlarsi vagamente di un
amoretto del duca, il quale fin allora non aveva voluto prender
moglie, non solo, ma non aveva voluto mai aver che fare con donne,
neanche a svago giovanile. Indovina mo’ chi aveva fatto il miracolo
di innamorarlo? La figlia di un acerrimo nemico di casa Fagnano,
una giovanetta bella come un sole, pura e buona come una santa, la
quale aveva un padre di testa sì dura, di cuore così impregnato
d’odio per quella famiglia la quale aveva rovinato la sua che avrebbe
dato più volentieri la figliuola al diavolo o al più pezzente dei
taglialegna della Sila anzicchè ad un discendente di quei duchi di
Fagnano, uno dei quali gli aveva ucciso il nonno, un altro aveva
ferito il padre e rimontando a ritroso dei secoli ad ogni generazione
si sarebbe trovato un barone di Pietrasanta ucciso da uno dei duchi
di Fagnano, e uno dei duchi di Fagnano ucciso da uno dei baroni di
Pietrasanta.
Un secolare litigio per una certa eredità, già in possesso di
quest’ultimo, era stato vinto dai primi, onde al barone di Pietrasanta
non era rimasto che il titolo nobiliare e la miseria per compagni: la
miseria dei signori è più tetra, più triste, più angosciosa della miseria
di coloro che in essa son nati! Ora, dirai, tu se il duca si era
innamorato della figliuola del barone, il matrimonio, non avrebbe
posto fine alla secolare inimicizia e i danni apportati dall’una all’altra
famiglia non sarebbero stati riparati? E questo avrei detto anche io;
ma chi, chi avrebbe potuto persuadere il barone, superbo più del
diavolo, iroso, cocciuto, accecato dall’odio? Neanche la figliuola,
quantunque fosse l’unico essere da lui amato, neanche la figliuola,
che dopo la morte di lui sarebbe rimasta povera e sola, lo avrebbe
indotto ad accettare per genero il nuovo capo della aborrita famiglia.
I giovani dunque si erano incontrati non so dove e si erano intesi non
so come, ma sai bene che l’amore, quando vuole rendere infelici due
cuori sa bene come fare, e non ci son mura abbastanza massicce,
nè porte abbastanza ferrate ed inchiavardate, nè condizioni sociali,
nè lontananza ad impedire che si compia quel che ha decretato; so
soltanto che si amarono con tutto l’impeto e la giovanile
spensieratezza, di cui poi la poveretta dovè subire le tristi
conseguenze. La casuccia nella quale il barone di Pietrasanta, dopo
la totale rovina della sua famiglia, si era ridotto a vivere era posta in
fondo al villaggio: il giovane duca fu anche da me incontrato
parecchie notti quando vi ronzava intorno, anzi una volta io mi
appiattai per accertarmi se fosse vero quel che si buccinava che
quando il barone se ne andava a letto, ella aprisse la porta
all’amante e dovetti convincermi che si era detto il vero e che il duca
entrava per uscirne all’alba.
Egli però tutto il giorno se ne stava chiuso nella sua biblioteca; ma
intanto altre e ben gravi voci correvano sul suo conto, propalate dagli
amici del fratello; che il duca attendesse ad opera di stregoneria; che
manipolasse non so quali filtri col sangue dei fanciulli rubati da alcuni
suoi fidi alle madri: che facesse rubare i morti dalle loro fosse per
farne non so qual diabolico uso; e si diceva inoltre che egli era in
segreta corrispondenza coi rivoluzionari della Francia che
congiuravano per uccidere i re, e per mettere sugli altari, invece di
Dio, il Diavolo: che nel castello andavano spesso di notte alcuni
sconosciuti detti frammassoni, appartenenti ad una setta nemica del
re e della religione! E che davvero una o due volte al mese degli
uomini che giungevano a cavallo da molto lontano, andassero al
castello me ne accertai anche io; ma se davvero sgozzassero dei
fanciulli, se un prete celebrasse la messa sul grembo nudo di una
donna e bevesse del sangue umano, invece del vino consacrato,
questo poi non so, ma anche questo si diceva. Nè il fratello del duca
smentiva tali voci, anzi col suo contegno incerto, con la sua aria
imbarazzata quando qualcuno gliene parlava riusciva a confermarle.
Un bel giorno, che è, che non è, si veggono arrivare molti soldati con
gli uscieri e un giudice, i quali circondarono il castello. Immagina i
commenti, immagina quante se ne contavano: si faceva a chi la
dicesse più grossa. Il giovane duca quantunque buono, caritatevole,
generoso, non aveva nè amici nè nemici, all’incontro del fratello il
quale era spalleggiato da tutti i suoi compagni di crapula. La sera
con grande stupore si vide il duca salire in una carrozza col giudice il
quale aveva un aspetto assai arcigno e severo. In breve corse la
voce che il duca era stato arrestato, confermato dal cavalier
Silvestro, il cui volto era atteggiato a dolore mentre rispondeva:
Gliel’avevo detto io, glielo avevo detto io! a chi gliene domandava.
Ed il cavalier Silvestro rimase padrone e signore del castello.
Qui Carmine si interruppe: riaccese la pipa e si diede a fumare in
silenzio.
— E il cavalier Silvestro è l’attuale duca di Fagnano! — disse
Geltrude che aveva ascoltato attenta e raccolta.
— Nè più nè meno — rispose Carmine — il cavalier Silvestro è
l’attuale duca di Fagnano!
— Che, se ho ben compreso, denunciò suo fratello...
— Non ho detto questo — rispose Carmine con aria sorniona.
— Non l’hai detto, ma tu ne sei convinto.
— Oramai ne son convinti tutti! — mormorò Carmine.
— Prosegui dunque, prosegui, chè al certo ora verrà la parte più
interessante.
— Passarono due o tre mesi — continuò Carmine — in cui noi altri
nulla sapevamo della sorte toccata al duca, sapevamo soltanto, che
al castello ci era tavola imbandita ogni sera e suoni e canti e... tu
intendi il resto. Il cavalier Silvestro si era circondato di ben
cinquecento armigeri, scelti fra i più temuti malfattori sfuggiti alla
giustizia e se la godeva senza scrupoli in un libertinaggio sfacciato.
Una sera io era tornato allora allora dalla montagna e, stanco come
era, mi accingevo ad andare a letto, quando intesi picchiare alla
porta di strada. Chi poteva picchiare a quell’ora? Apersi e vidi un
uomo che non riconobbi non solo perchè era buio fitto, ma anche
perchè nascondeva il viso nella falda del mantello. — Chi siete e che
volete? — dimandai. — Lo sconosciuto entrò, si tolse il mantello e
alla luce della lanterna chi vidi? Il duca di Fagnano, quello che
avevano arrestato, proprio lui. — So che siete uno dei pochi
galantuomini di questo paese, mi disse, e perciò son venuto a
chiedervi un gran servigio. — Io ero sbalordito: lo sapevo in carcere;
era dunque libero? era dunque fuggito? Il duca lesse lo stupore nel
mio viso e si affrettò a dirmi: — Sono evaso stanotte. Mi occorrono
due testimoni nel mio matrimonio con la baronessa di Pietrasanta. Il
parroco è stato avvertito e ci aspetta in chiesa. Volete essere uno dei
miei testimoni? — Potevo rifiutare? Ero così stupito che non seppi
dire nè si nè no. Uscimmo. Fuori vidi un uomo in attesa: era l’altro
testimone, nel quale riconobbi Pietro il Toro.
— Ah! — esclamò Geltrude — ora comprendo perchè...
Carmine non la lasciò proseguire e continuò:
— Tutti e tre in silenzio scendemmo per la stradicciuola che conduce
fuori il paese. Giunti presso la casa del barone di Pietrasanta il duca
ci accennò di sostare poi fece sentire un sibilo leggiero, dopo il quale
la porta della casa si aperse e io vidi una figura di donna avvolta in
un mantello, la quale prese il braccio del duca. Tremava a verghe
come se avesse la febbre, mentre il duca con dolci parole la veniva
rincorando. Infine fummo nella chiesa che era deserta e buia: solo in
fondo due ceri ardevano innanzi all’altar maggiore ove il parroco in
cotta e stola aspettava in compagnia di un chierico. — Signor
Parroco — disse il duca — come vedete io non sono un eretico; io
credo alla nostra sacrosanta religione; se biasimo ciò che gli uomini
han voluto farne, ho sempre riconosciuto le sublimi verità contenute
nel Vangelo, Perseguitato dalle calunnie degli uomini, io nato duca e
signore di questa contrada, son costretto a venir come un fuggiasco
ed un colpevole innanzi a voi perchè col vostro ministero
santifichiate l’amore che lega l’anima mia a quella di questa povera
creatura. In così dire tolse il mantello che tutto avvolgeva la figliuola
del barone di Pietrasanta ed io vidi quella poveretta, bella come una
Madonna, una Madonna addolorata, che a stenti frenava i singhiozzi
mentre si stringeva al braccio del duca che era pallido e tremante
anche esso per la commozione. E fu allora che mi accorsi con uno
stringimento ineffabile di cuore che quella poveretta era incinta.
— E pensare — esclamò Geltrude scrollando il capo — che l’uomo
era il duca di Fagnano e l’altra la baronessa di Pietrasanta, due
signori così ricchi e potenti!!
— Eh, cara mia, che ci vuoi fare? È questo il conforto di noi poveretti
bistrattati dalla fortuna, il vedere che essa talvolta sceglie le sue
vittime anche fra coloro che ci destano invidia. E commosso al par di
me era Pietro il Toro. Te lo immagini tu Pietro il Toro commosso?
Quello lì ha molti peccati sulla coscienza: ha vissuto dieci anni nei
boschi in compagnia di gente della peggiore specie, e pure quello lì
ha un buon cuore; in quella sua figura grottesca ci è un’anima
capace d’ogni nobile sentimento.
— Ma va innanzi, va innanzi, chè adesso mi spiego tante, tante cose
che mi parevano strane.
— Dunque il parroco celebrò il matrimonio, mentre il duca sempre
pallido e grave a stento frenava il dolore, e la poveretta si struggeva
in lagrime. Ho sempre nell’orecchio il suono di quella voce soffocata
dai singhiozzi con la quale rispose al parroco quando questi le
chiese se accettava per legittimo sposo il duca di Fagnano. E
quando il parroco li benedì ed ella si gettò fra le braccia del duca,
non solo io ma anche Pietro aveva i lucciconi negli occhi. Ah, sono
scene che non si dimenticano se si campasse cento anni! Poi il
parroco ci fece firmare in un suo certo libro, in cui tanto il duca che
quella poveretta avevano apposto la loro firma. Pietro il Toro però
fece un segno di croce...
— Ma dunque il figlio che poi nacque è il legittimo erede...
— Aspetta, aspetta che udrai cose da inorridire. Quando uscimmo
dalla chiesa, il duca si rivolse a noi e ci disse: Grazie del servigio che
ci avete reso. Io non posso per ora condur meco questo angelo di
creatura che è adesso mia legittima moglie innanzi a Dio e innanzi
agli uomini; ma presto farò in modo che possa raggiungermi. Voi,
quantunque di umile condizione, siete due galantuomini, quindi a voi
la raccomando, e se Dio un giorno mi farà trionfare dei miei nemici,
oltre che da Lui, avrete da me il compenso adeguato alla vostra
buona azione.
Pietro ed io non sapevamo che rispondere. Il duca di Fagnano
raccomandava a noi la sua nobile sposa, a noi poveri diavoli?
Quando ci rimettemmo dallo stupore e dalla emozione, i due sposi
erano già andati via. E fu allora che Pietro, il quale ha le scarpe
grosse, ma il cervello sottile mi disse: — Senti, compare Carmine, la
testimonianza che abbiamo fatto stanotte ci attirerà dei guai
addosso. Io del resto per pietà di quella povera creatura son
disposto a prendere per il collo chiunque le volesse far male e il
duca può star sicuro che non avrà parlato indarno a Pietro il Toro. E
posso assicurarti, cara Geltrude, come ti dirò in prosieguo, che
senza la mia prudenza Pietro ne avrebbe fatta qualcuna delle sue,
che sarebbe riuscita assai dannosa a persona cui noi tutti vogliamo
un gran bene.
— Ora sì che capisco perchè Pietro...
— Scorse un mese e nessuna nuova giunse a noi del duca: nel
castello però continuavano i banchetti e la vita allegra per mostrare,
faceva dire il cav. Silvestro, che egli rinnegava il fratello reo di tanto
orrende infamie contro la religione e contro il Re di cui egli era uno
dei primi sudditi. Si era saputo però che era giunto a fuggire dal
carcere con l’aiuto dei frammassoni e che in contumacia era stato
condannato alla pena di morte come reo convinto di sacrilegio, di
stregoneria e di non so quali altri delitti; nello stesso tempo si seppe
che il Re aveva investito del ducato di Fagnano il fratello del
condannato e dato a lui tutti i beni confiscati a quest’ultimo. Allora
nel paesello si incominciò a credere che chi aveva architettato le
accuse, chi aveva denunciato il duca era stato il fratello sperando di
succedergli come avvenne. Pietro ed io soli sapevamo che il duca
aveva lasciato un erede il quale fra poco sarebbe venuto al mondo,
ma benchè Pietro volesse fare del chiasso, pure io giunsi ad
impedirlo. Poi, come sai, dovette rifugiarsi su i monti, dopo il guaio
che gli capitò...
— Per aver sposato Rosaria, la più bella ragazza che avesse mai
portato una tovagliuola bianca, lui così brutto! Ricordo che noi altre
l’avevamo predetto, ma si credeva che parlassimo per invidia...
— Io dunque rimasi solo a custodire il segreto che mi era di un gran
peso, perchè se fosse venuto a sua conoscenza il nuovo duca mi
avrebbe fatto far la pelle, come è vero Dio.
— E di quella poveretta che era di buon diritto duchessa di
Fagnano?
— Nulla; non andava in chiesa, non si faceva vedere dalla finestra,
nulla! Si diceva che il barone fosse infermo; io intanto facevo i conti
ed ero sicuro che la duchessa, perchè a chi se non a lei spettava un
tal titolo? esser doveva lì lì per mettere al mondo il frutto dei suoi
poveri amori. Quando una notte, oh, non la dimenticherò mai
quell’orribile notte! fui svegliato da ripetuti picchi alla porta di strada.
Mi alzo e spaventato chiesi chi picchiasse. — Aprite! — rispose una
voce aspra e minacciosa che mi fece agghiacciare il sangue nelle
vene, tanto più che mi era parso di riconoscere la voce del barone di
Pietrasanta. Apersi la porta con mano tremante, ed era proprio lui, il
vecchio che pareva si reggesse in piedi solo per uno sforzo della
volontà. Al lume della lucerna vidi che era livido e gli occhi gli
sfolgoravano. Venite con me — mi disse con voce imperiosa; e
sicuro che avrei ubbidito si diresse verso la casa del parroco, attigua
alla chiesa ove era stato celebrato il matrimonio del duca con la figlia
del barone. Giunti, il vecchio che pareva convulso picchiò a gran
colpi come aveva fatto alla mia porta, finchè la serva del parroco non
scese ad aprirci, immagina con quale spavento nel viso. Il barone
salì di corsa le scale seguito da me e dalla serva atterriti, penetrò
nella camera del parroco che era a letto e gridò con voce rotta dal
furore. — Dove avete, dove avete il registro dei matrimoni? Il
parroco sorpreso, sbigottito, non osò neanche di protestare e stese
la mano additando un grosso librone su un tavolino presso al letto. Il
barone vi si precipitò e si diede a sfogliarlo mentre la mano gli
tremava e gli occhi pareva volessero schizzargli fuori dell’orbita.
Infine urlò con una voce che ci fece sobbalzar tutti: Nulla, nulla,
nulla! Ah, l’avevo detto io, l’avevo detto... non solo la rovina, ma
anche il disonore... Poi avventandosi a me ed afferrandomi pel collo.
— Avete fatto voi il testimone, voi a quella sciagurata e al suo
ganzo? — Sì, risposi io più con un cenno della testa che con la voce,
tanto ero sconvolto. — Ora dove è, dove è? — gridò il barone voltosi
al parroco che per quanto era durata quella scena non aveva detto
parola ed era pallido come un morto — dove è l’atto matrimoniale?
— Ma che so io? — balbettò infine il parroco — non ricordo... non so
di quale matrimonio intendete... — Diteglielo voi — urlò il barone
rivolgendosi a me, diteglielo voi. — Io, sdegnato dalla esitanza del
parroco riacquistai un po’ di coraggio e me gli rivolsi dicendogli: — Il
barone intende parlare del matrimonio celebrato in una notte, or fan
cinque o sei mesi, tra il duca di Fagnano, fuggito dalle carceri, e la
baronessina di Pietrasanta, a cui Pietro il Toro ed io facemmo da
testimoni. — Io non so nulla, io non so nulla! — gemette il parroco
più morto che vivo. — A questo intesi un’onda di sdegno nel cuore:
se Pietro il Toro fosse stato colà, certo il parroco non avrebbe detto
più messa. — Dunque mia figlia è una vile baldracca — muggì il
barone — o tu sei un mentitore. — In così dire era per avventarglisi
contro, ma sopraffatto dal dolore stramazzò come colpito al capo. Io
cercai di dargli aiuto, ma una voce parea mi dicesse: Va, corri da
quella poveretta che forse ha più bisogno di te. Mi ricordai di quel
che avevo promesso al duca: compresi che una ben terribile scena
aveva dovuto avvenire in casa del barone, al quale forse la
sventurata non aveva potuto più oltre nascondere il suo stato: e
mentre il parroco e la serva cercavano di soccorrere l’infelice che
giaceva come fulminato sul pavimento io fuggii da quella casa per
accorrere in casa del barone.
— Ben fatto, ben fatto! — esclamò Geltrude — davvero che non ti
avrei creduto capace di una simile risoluzione, perchè so bene
quanto sei incerto nelle tue cose tu...
Carmine non rilevò la malignità contenuta nelle parole della sua
amica, e commosso dai ricordi continuò nel suo racconto.
— Mi diedi a correre a correre, certo che qualcosa di grave era
avvenuto. Sapevo l’odio che il barone covava contro i duchi di
Fagnano; sapevo che sopportava con fierezza le sue avversità, ma
non si sarebbe acconciato al disonore che gli veniva poi dal suo
peggiore nemico; certo la figliuola non potendo più occultare il suo
stato aveva dovuto svelargli il matrimonio; certo qualche cosa di
terribile era avvenuto. Mi ricordai della raccomandazione che ci
aveva rivolta il duca: la poveretta aveva bisogno di aiuto, di
soccorso, di un amico, mentre il padre l’aveva abbandonata, nè era
in caso di giovarle in nulla. Con questi pensieri giunsi trafelato alla
casa del barone; non ebbi bisogno di picchiare perchè la porta era
aperta. Entro, e uno spettacolo miserando mi si offerse. La povera
signora giaceva supina sul lettuccio così bianca che pareva non
avesse più sangue nelle vene. A lei vicina era Giovanna, una
vecchia contadina, unico avanzo della numerosa servitù di un
tempo, la quale vinta dal dolore era impotente a prestarle aiuto. Al
rumore che feci nell’entrare la giacente aprì gli occhi e mormorò con
filo di voce. — Grazie d’esser venuto; è il buon Dio che vi manda.
Quando ecco intesi un vagito che mi fece trasalire. — È mio figlio,
disse la disgraziata; portatelo via.. mio padre l’ucciderebbe... Ve
l’affido chè io mi sento morire. — Così dicendo fece uno sforzo, si
sollevò a mezzo il letto e mi porse un bimbo nato allora. Io stendevo
le braccia, quando la poveretta che soffocava dai singhiozzi, si diede
a baciarlo e a ribaciarlo gemendo. — Quale sarà la tua sorte, quale
sarà la tua sorte, o figlio, o figlio mio?! — Io non so come mi tenevo
in piedi; sentivo sconvolto il cervello e il cuore gonfio di angoscia. —
Lo farete battezzare, disse infine la misera: lo chiamerete Riccardo
come il fratellino che mi morì. Se mai il duca ritornerà gli darete
questa lettera che gli farà riconoscere il figlio suo e ne avrà la prova
sicura. — Io avevo preso tra le braccia il fanciullo che ravvolsi nel
mantello e non potei rispondere che con cenni di assentimento così
ero convulso; conservai la lettera suggellata e tornai a casa. A, tu
piangi adesso, Geltrude, ora immagina qual cuore era il mio innanzi
a quella madre che si separava dal nato delle sue viscere, sicura
che non l’avrebbe mai più riveduto!
Invero la vecchia Geltrude ascoltava con gli occhi gonfi di lagrime.
— Come tornai a casa, non te lo so dire. La mia vita fin allora era
scorsa tranquilla e serena: quel fanciullo che una morente mi aveva
affidato, poichè io sentivo che la poveretta ne sarebbe morta, la
sconvolgeva e forse mi sarebbe stato causa di dolori e di rovina. In
quell’orgasmo mi si era fatto la luce sull’accaduto: il nuovo duca
aveva imposto al parroco di lacerare l’atto matrimoniale per
garentirsi d’ogni possibile pericolo, d’ogni rivendica dei titoli e dei
beni usurpati. Le sue spie avevano dovuto avvisarlo delle nozze
celebrate in quella notte, e se non ricorse allo espediente di
sopprimere anche i testimoni gli è che di me non aveva paura
perchè mi sapeva timido e amante del quieto vivere; di Pietro,
risoluto e attaccabrighe, nemmeno perchè aveva dovuto prendere il
bosco: e forse contava anche sul furore del barone quando avrebbe
saputo il fallo della figliuola. Insomma io mi trovai in casa con un
fanciulletto e passai tutta la notte a cullarlo finchè all’alba comprai un
po’ di latte per sfamarlo, risoluto a tenerlo nascosto per un pezzo
onde non attirar su me l’attenzione del duca.
— E del barone e di quella povera signora?
— Il barone colpito d’apoplessia fu portato a casa. Si disse che era
andato dal parroco per confessarsi. Non riacquistò più i sensi e morì
dopo tre giorni. La figliuola dopo pochi giorni lo seguì nel sepolcro,
ed a me rimase il fanciullo che poi feci credere d’aver trovato nel
bosco in un frattume.
— E che disse Pietro il Toro quando seppe l’accaduto? Gli parlasti
della lettera suggellata?
— Ah, tu vuoi saper troppo adesso. Io ho potuto dirti quel che
riguardava me, ma quel che riguarda Pietro il Toro non posso e non
debbo. Ti basti il dire che fece.. quel che dovevo aspettarmi per la
sua indole e quel che un giorno forse potrebbe riuscire assai utile a
qualcuno. Intanto il duca era partito per Napoli, chè col titolo e con le
ricchezze era cresciuta l’ambizione sua. In Napoli, ebbe un ufficio a
Corte, sposò la figliuola di un gran signore, dalla quale ebbe
un’unica figlia, che portò qui quando rimase vedovo e la giovinetta
uscì dal convento ove si era educata. E si dice che non l’avesse
voluta con sè a Napoli, perchè gli era d’imbarazzo continuando egli a
vivere nei vizi e nella crapula. Però si assicura che quell’uomo il
quale sacrificò il fratello alla sua ambizione, ami assai la figliuola,
pure standone lontano; anzi lui dice che la tiene qui per sottrarla alla
corruzione della Corte. Sarà poi vero che la tiene qui per questo?
— Ma ora l’ha ripresa con sè...
— Vuol dire che si preparano dei tristi tempi... Anche sei anni or
sono la portò seco.
— Ma — disse Geltrude che non credeva di aver saputo abbastanza
— nulla, nulla proprio faceste nè tu nè Pietro per rivendicare il nome,
le ricchezze al figlio legittimo del duca di Fagnano? Io avrei
dissuggellato quella lettera, tanto per sapere...
— Sei curiosa tu! E chi avrebbe dato retta a due poveri contadini
come siamo noi? Sarebbe stato lo stesso che cozzar contro un
muro, e chi cozza coi muri si rompe la testa. Prendersela col duca di
Fagnano, che parla col re e con la regina nè più nè meno come io
parlo con te; accusarlo di aver denunciato il fratello, e questo
sarebbe niente, di aver lacerato o bruciato un atto matrimoniale, di
aver rubato, i titoli, le ricchezze?... Eh, mia cara, per osar tanto
Pietro ed io avremmo dovuto essere ben altro che due poveri
contadini! Quindi decidemmo di non parlare neanche della lettera di
sua madre a...
— A Riccardo — esclamò la vecchia — via, dillo... o che temi
adesso dopo avermi narrato tutta la storia?
— È vero; ma, sai, mi par sempre di commettere un’imprudenza!
Dunque decidemmo di non parlarne a Riccardo che quando e se
sarà in grado di far valere i suoi dritti... Ma, via, non ti par che
l’abbiamo fatta assai tardi? Ricordati però quel che mi hai promesso;
neanche una parola ti esca di bocca di quel che ti ho narrato.
— Ma se te lo giurai sulla Madonna del Carmine — rispose la
vecchia che intanto si era data attorno per acconciarsi un lettuccio
sulla cassapanca. — Però devi dirmi sinceramente se credi che il
duca, il vero, il legittimo, sia morto in Francia.
— Così ha detto il fratello, così han detto tutti coloro che frequentano
il palazzo, così ho inteso dire dagli armigeri. Ma poi... chissà! È una
storia assai vecchia, son ben ventotto anni ormai! Via, via, dormiamo
che è tardi.
In breve il silenzio regnò nella casa. L’uragano continuava coi sibili
del vento e i rombi del tuono.
Era scorsa appena una mezza ora quando la porta di strada risuonò
di un picchio poderoso seguito da una voce che gridava impaziente:
— Vecchio Carmine, poltronaccio, dormiglione, alzati e vieni ad
aprire. Ci vuoi far morire affogati?
— To’ — disse Carmine svegliandosi di soprassalto — sembra la
voce di Pietro. Geltrude, Geltrude, hai tu inteso?
— Sì, ho inteso — disse Geltrude. — Mi ero appena appena
addormentata.
— Ma insomma — continuava a dir la voce — vieni ad aprir sì o no?
— Vengo, vengo — gridò Carmine balzando dal letto e accendendo
una lucernina.
— Tanto ci voleva? — esclamò Pietro il Toro, il primo ad affacciarsi
sull’uscio. — Su presto, un buon fuoco, un gran fuoco, un paio di
caraffe di vino, del pane e del salame...
— O del formaggio che val lo stesso — disse il Ghiro comparendo.
— E Riccardo, Riccardo? — chiese Carmine che ancora non si era
rimesso dalla sorpresa.
— Attende col Magaro a mettere nella stalla i nostri cavalli... già, i
nostri cavalli, due bestie che ti faranno sbarrar gli occhi dalla
meraviglia. Ah, ma tu sei in buona compagnia! — disse poi Pietro il
Toro vedendo Geltrude che seduta a mezzo il lettuccio badava a
ricomporsi. — Ah, vecchio, impenitente!
— Sta zitto tu, mascherone di fontana, spaventa passeri — gridò
Geltrude offesa.
— Andiamo, andiamo, non dirò nulla di tanto scandalo se vi
affrettate a mettere una o due fascine al fuoco. Se aveste tanta
acqua addosso quanta ne ho avuta io, vi sarebbe passata la voglia
di far gli sposini!
Carmine però non si moveva dalla porta e guardava nel buio per
veder giungere Riccardo: dall’allegria dei due compari aveva
compreso che ci era qualcosa di buono in aria.
— Capperi! — esclamò quando vide entrar Riccardo.
— Buonanotte, zio Carmine, buonanotte. Ti abbiamo svegliato a
mezzo il sonno — disse questi entrando e deponendo una valigetta
sul lettuccio.
Il giovane aveva aperto il ricco mantello, e la esclamazione di
Carmine era giustificata dal vederlo vestito come uno dei signori che
eran venuti parecchie volte a far visita al duca. Stentava quasi a
riconoscere in lui il giovane che aveva visto venir su come uno dei
tanti diseredati dalla fortuna costretti a logorar la vita negli stenti.
Non mentiva il sangue, non mentiva! Come gli si attagliavano bene
quelle vesti che conferivano alla singolare bellezza di lui un’aria
signorile, e che egli portava con la disinvoltura di chi vi è usato!
— Basterebbe vederlo — disse tra sè e sè Carmine — per
convincersi che è lui il vero duca di Fagnano.
Anche Geltrude era rimasta ammirata; e subendo il fascino che la
ricchezza delle vesti esercita su i contadini, non aveva osato volger
la parola a quel giovane che pure aveva vissuto con lei in tanta
dimestichezza. La guardava come se lo vedesse per la prima volta;
non era più per lei il misero trovatello, del quale incerta fin allora le
era l’origine: sapeva bene adesso che era lui il signore legittimo, il
padrone vero di quelle ricchezze che facevano dei duchi di Fagnano
i più cospicui signori del regno, e sentiva come una confusa
soggezione di trovarsi insieme in quella casuccia.
Intanto ardeva sul focolare una gran fiammata innanzi alla quale i tre
compagni di Riccardo si eran seduti e con le gambe aperte, le mani
al fuoco si ristoravano dalla stanchezza, mentre Carmine aiutato da
Geltrude attendeva a preparare un po’ di cena. Riccardo si era
seduto anche esso e pareva pensoso con un’ombra di tristezza nel
viso che discordava con l’allegria dei suoi tre compagni.
— Lui non mi par molto soddisfatto — disse Geltrude sottovoce a
Carmine mentre mesceva del vino nelle bottiglie — invece gli altri
sembra che abbiano toccato il cielo con le dita.
— Me ne sono accorto anche io — rispose Carmine. — Pure non hai
visto che armi, che vesti proprio degne di chi è nato duca?! E quella
valigia con borchie ed ornamenti che sembrano d’argento?
— E saran forse d’argento! — fece Geltrude che indugiava
nell’andare attorno per poter con l’aiuto di Carmine penetrare nel
mistero.
Riccardo intanto si era scosso dai suoi pensieri e fattosi presso ai
compagni che s’erano chinati verso lui per intender meglio:
— Il luogo dunque sarà la radura del Gariglione. Tu, Pietro andrai in
Basilicata da Taccone e da Quagliarello...
— Li vidi in quella notte — borbottò Toro — gente di fegato, ma
anche ladri e sanguinari.
— Lo so — rispose Riccardo abbuiandosi vieppiù — lo so; ma su
essi bisogna contare, visto che i galantuomini sono in lega con
coloro che vengono per far da padroni nelle nostre case. Tu,
Magaro, avviserai Povonese, Marotti ed il Vizzarro che troverai nei
boschi di S. Eufemia e dell’Aspromonte: tu Ghiro, andrai in cerca di
Parafante, del Giurale, del Boia e di Benincasa. Bisogna intenderci
per organizzare la difesa, per disciplinarla...
— Disciplinarla? — esclamò Pietro con tale una smorfia della sua
grottesca fisonomia che gli altri scoppiarono a ridere. — E sarà
possibile? A stenti e in qualche modo soltanto ci riuscì il Cardinale
che pure dovè chiudere un occhio, e talvolta tutti e due...
— Non far lo scrupoloso Pietro — disse il Magaro scrollando le
spalle — che anche tu all’occorrenza...
— Che cosa anche io all’occorrenza? Ho forse sgozzato dei vecchi,
dei fanciulli, delle donne nelle chiese ove si erano rifugiati? Ho forse
appiccato il fuoco alle case dopo averle saccheggiate e avervi
rinchiuso gli abitanti, sol perchè qualche loro nemico li aveva
qualificati per rivoluzionari? Ho forse commesso nefandezze su i
gradini degli altari, di quegli altari che insorgemmo per difendere?
— Non dico questo, ma...