“Elisabeth was the last to die. She didn’t have the weight the other two did to expedite her death . . . her eyes flew franticly between the five of us—the five men she idolized and trusted to keep her safe, begging us to save her. William tried more than once to make a run for her, each time being crushed back down beneath the butt of a rifle or the end of a bayonet,” Patrick’s whisper was so tight with sorrow, it sounded like it would snap.
“When Elisabeth took her last breath, the scream that ripped through William’s body was terrifying. He sounded like the angel of death coming to tear apart every last living thing on earth, down to the last remaining organism.”
A lone tear ran down my face, but my body was so paralyzed, I couldn’t move my hand to wipe it away.
“And then, his face just went blank—empty. There was nothing left. The brother that we’d loved and idolized, the strongest militia leader in the colonies, was just . . . gone.”
Patrick lifted his face from between his hands, and it was so lost in sorrow, I reflexively reached my hand out to place it over one of his.
“They lined the five of us men up, still on our knees in front of the lifeless woman before us, and shot us each once in the stomach, leaving us behind to die a slow death.”
I restrained the scream that begged to be released from my throat. The thought of each one of the Hayward brothers being shot in the stomach, and lying beside one another as they awaited death, grated my hold on sanity.
“We were all too ready to die, the only thing we wished was that death could have found us sooner,” he said, and his voice sounded steadier. “That’s when Noah found us.”
“Noah?” I questioned, my voice sounding hoarse from the long silence.
Patrick nodded his head. “Noah was a man that lived on another plantation near ours. We’d always considered him an old recluse, but now understand the reason for his reclusion. He and his group of Guardians were the ones that Immortalized each of us. They’d seen the smoke rising from the fire the British had set to our house, and reached us just before we all passed on to whatever awaits us after this world. It was too late for our mother, Emma and Elisabeth . . .” he finished, as his face grew weary.
It had taken a great deal of strength to relive this gruesome event that had forever cemented this male family of five.
I moved from my seat and sat beside him, wrapping one arm around him and drawing him close to me in a weak attempt to comfort. But how could one ever comfort this kind of pain? I didn’t know how to react or what to say. I felt like an unwelcome intruder into a very private moment.
“I’m so sorry, Patrick.” The words sounded even more inadequate than I’d imagined. “Thank you for telling me. I truly appreciate it.”
He sat up straighter, and his eyes grew more composed.
He patted my leg. “You’re welcome. I knew you’d want to know.” He hesitated, blankly observing the screaming seagulls still above us. “I didn’t want William to have to tell you.”
I didn’t need to ask why. I remembered Patrick’s prelude to his telling of the Hayward family massacre when he said he’d do anything to protect William. This was one way of doing so—by not making his brother revisit the ghastly memory.
“I should get you back before he goes into withdrawals.” Patrick’s charming smile was back in almost full form, so I felt I could remove the comforting arm still wrapped around him.
We stood up from our makeshift bench and walked down to the edge of the surf, letting the waves lap at our ankles.
“Can I ask you a question?” I knew it was needless to ask because I knew that he, above anyone else, would always give me the cold, hard truth; no buffering for my benefit or to protect my feelings.
“Shoot,” he answered, matter-of-factly.
“Why is it—with Nathanial and Abigail, and Joseph and Cora being United so long now—has the Council never granted you or William a Betrothal?”
He guffawed, grabbing his stomach during the hysterics. I glared at him with annoyed eyes. “Gosh, Bryn . . . the way you said that makes William and me sound like losers.”
“No, that’s not what—”
He held up his hand, shaking his head. “No, I know that, but when someone puts it that way . . .” He looked amused, and he stroked his chin with his index finger. “For me, the Council hasn’t found anyone gifted or beautiful enough.”
I shoved him aside into the waves, rolling my eyes in the process.
“No, really, it’s probably because they haven’t found anyone patient enough to put up with me and my antics— isn’t that how you put it?” His taunting eyes gleamed.
“I’m sure that’s not it,” I responded, refusing to be baited by his antagonism. “You’d make a very fine husband if”—I lifted an eyebrow and raised one finger—“they find you a saint for a wife who’s on a mission from God.” I laughed while he feigned a sad puppy face.
“I’m just teasing,” I assured him.
“I know, but I deserve it.” He leaned down to pick up a flat black rock and threw it with stunning force into the ocean. Even with my new vision I couldn’t track it.
“As for William, the Council’s tried and tried to Unite him with several women.”
The taste in my mouth became bitter.
“But I bet you can guess the one reason those never worked out.”
I look at him puzzled.
He rolled his eyes and lifted his hand, holding out a finger and tapping the end of my nose. “You.”
I smiled my response.
He just shook his head, looking bewildered by my ignorance.
There were no more surfers to be seen now, and just as we turned to trudge through the billowy sand towards the cottage, Patrick kneeled down for what looked to be a broken half of a sand dollar. When he pulled it free of the sand, he revealed a whole one. He wiped it clean on the end of his sweater and handed it to me.
“For you.” His eyes wouldn’t meet mine and he stood as if he was suddenly shy. “You know, it’s nearly impossible to find a whole one—a perfect one.”
I glided my fingers over the sandpaper-like shell in my hand as he continued.
“Just like”—his eyes flickered to mine for a moment before they shied away again—“you.”
Before I could react, his eyes darted to something behind me. I turned to see what had caught his attention. It was William, standing on the edge of the porch. He waved, and I waved back as he loped into a jog towards us.
I turned back to Patrick, but he wasn’t in front of me any longer. I caught a glimpse of his figure sprinting with blinding force in the direction we’d just come from. Remembering the sand dollar in my hand, I looked long and hard into it, hoping its stained white surface would hold the explanation for Patrick’s unusual behavior. I sighed and frowned at the shell when it revealed nothing to me.
The frown dissipated the moment my eyes were distracted by the man jogging towards me with a smile on his face that cleared my mind of all else but him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SAVING PAUL
“Thanks for everything,” I said, after Cora released me from a hug.
“Anytime. Sorry I’m such a blabber-mouth, but this guy can be kinda tight-lipped when it comes to anything that makes him look like an even bigger saint than he already is,” she said, encouraging her husband away from the good five minute embrace with his older clone.
Joseph’s eyes looked shinier than normal when he was pried from William, and while Cora embraced William, Joseph did the same with me.
“You’re like a sister to me now,” he whispered. Despite every physical appearance, his voice was not identical to William’s. It was not golden and rich like honey—it was tighter and a couple notes higher. “Take care of him, okay?”
I could only nod my head, too moved by his words to trust my vocal chords. He released me and wrapped his arm around Cora, who’d just pulled away from William after whispering something to him.
“Don’t worry about it, you’re forgiven,” William said to her, pulling me under his arm and moving to his older brother and wife; trusting I needed his physical support where they were involved.
“It was good to see you, Nathanial.” William withdrew his arm from me to grip his brother in an embrace—they looked like two bears wrestling from their overbearing size.
“You, too. We’ll miss you,” Nathanial replied, patting his brother’s back.
“You’ll see me again soon enough. I’ve finally found my reason for settling down.” William pulled back, and he and his brother exchanged a knowing look.
William moved to Abigail next, leaving me and Nathanial to look awkwardly at one another. A simple good-bye didn’t seem appropriate given everything, but neither did an embrace. He offered a suggestion; he extended his hand.
“I enjoyed being here. Thank you,” I said softly, reaching my hand for his. They connected and he froze—his eyes grew wild as he glared at me as if I was the most dangerous creature to ever walk the earth. His hand snapped back.
My feelings were more than hurt, but I tried to put all this aside as I moved to Abigail, extending my hand to her to say good-bye.
Nathanial charged to her side and pulled her behind him, his face still screaming shock.
“Nathanial?” William questioned, sounding perturbed. He wrapped his arm around me, steadying me.
“Have a safe trip,” Nathanial growled, before whisking past us with Abigail in tow, back into the cottage.
I turned to William, close to tears. He was glaring at the closed door where his brother and sister-in-law had departed. Why did they hate me? I knew I was far from worthy for their brother, but couldn’t they see that I’d give anything for him, including my life?
“He can be such a jerk sometimes,” Cora scolded, sounding the meanest I’d heard her yet. “It’s a good thing you and I got the good brothers.” Her voice lightened and she walked over to wrap an arm around me from the other side.
“Where’s Patrick?” I asked, looking around for him in an attempt to distract myself.
“He’s off moping somewhere. He’s the odd man out now,” Cora said, as William opened the Bronco door for me.
“He’ll meet up with us tonight before we get back to the Manor,” William explained, still seeming furious over Nathanial’s behavior.
“Don’t worry about your car, Bryn,” Joseph assured. “Patrick’s is here too, so they can keep each other company.”
I smiled as my eyes targeted the open garage in front of us where my Camaro laid in wait beside Patrick’s restored’68 Mustang. It was a beauty—red with white racing stripes and a turbo-boost—and he’d already made an impression on the black beauty beside him. She looked like she was swooning beside the muscle and flash to her right.
William had called Joseph a couple days ago and asked him to pick up my car where it had remained in Newport, and they said it could stay here until we found a more permanent spot for her.