Текст книги "Hemlock Veils"
Автор книги: Jennie Davenport
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
They’d made a batch early that morning, just to test it, and though Regina wasn’t normally a swearing woman except for in her mind, she’d sworn after trying it. Three times she’d sworn, since they were the only words appropriate. It was those fancy Brazilian beans and the coarse grain and the brewing time, and the ratio, too. Apparently, Regina had been putting too much water to coffee. Those four things, and just like that the old Hemlock Diner’s coffeepot went from making the bitterest, dirtiest coffee to producing the nectar of the coffee gods. And Elizabeth said it was usually better, that with the right equipment—and Regina sensed there was some other secret, too—she could get it to absolute perfection. Regina could hardly imagine it, since it seemed perfect as it was.
She’d had to convince Elizabeth it would be good enough for Mr. Clayton, especially in comparison to what he’d been used to. Knowing Mr. Clayton, and Regina knew him well enough, trickery would be the only way to get him to try it. Elizabeth still hadn’t been sure of that when she’d left twenty minutes ago, off to meet Mr. Clayton for a walk—and more nervous than Regina had ever seen her, even after her encounter with the monster—but it was her only shot.
When enough of the second batch, containing the last of Elizabeth’s precious grounds, found its way into the pot—and Regina waited the right amount of time like Elizabeth had taught her—Regina poured it into Mr. Clayton’s favorite mug, which had been warmed (another trick Elizabeth showed her, to keep the coffee fresh and hot). She poured a sip-size amount into her own mug, just to make sure it tasted as exquisite as the first. She blew on it a bit before carefully allowing the liquid to touch her lips. It nearly scorched, the way Regina preferred, and she let a little into her mouth, savoring. And, oh dear Heaven, it was just as good as the first: rich and point (that term, which she’d just learned from Elizabeth that morning, meant the coffee had positive characteristics of flavor, body, and acidity), and even slightly nutty, though she didn’t know how. She swore again, louder than when Elizabeth had been here, since she was alone behind the counter.
The bell on the door jingled and Mr. Clayton came in alone, no Elizabeth behind him. Not a good sign. An even worse sign: he looked flustered and hurried, sliding edgily into his corner booth and flipping the paper open before he could even settle. What had Elizabeth said to him this time? Not that Regina blamed Elizabeth for being the only one with enough guts to stand up to the man, but if Elizabeth wanted to stay in Hemlock, she was going to have to learn to control her words around Mr. Clayton.
With an uneven sigh, Regina clasped Henry’s full mug and approached his booth. Sometime in the past five seconds, her neck and back had begun to perspire. Just as she placed it in front of Mr. Clayton, Elizabeth entered and, upon seeing Regina, panic flooded her eyes. She shook her head, but it was too late.
And it didn’t matter anyway, because Regina would have given it to him regardless of Elizabeth’s protest.
As Mr. Clayton lowered the paper and brought the coffee carefully to his mouth, he caught sight of the two of them, exchanging looks. A conversation between eyes. Regina’s screamed, Play along! His own flitted back and forth between them, trying to solve the mystery. Quickly, almost shamefully, Elizabeth looked to her feet and walked around Regina, taking an unassuming place at the counter. A place she would be able to hear them from.
“Anything you want to tell me, Mrs. Washington?” he asked, his voice colder than usual, and laced with suspicion.
She swallowed, smiling brightly. “Course not, Mr. Clayton.”
After studying her, he nodded; then as anticipation roiled in Regina’s belly, he took the first sip. Pulling the mug away with a knitted brow, he eyed it as though it was poison. Regina’s stomach dropped. They were doomed.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“Coffee, Mr. Clayton. I mean, real coffee.”
In an experimental manner, he brought it to his mouth, more carefully than the first time. He appeared to be savoring it, letting it live on his palate a moment—the same way Regina had earlier. “It’s…” He took another sip then shook his head. He actually smiled, ever so subtly, and what a handsome smile it was. “Well, it’s…damn good.” More loudly, he said, “The only good thing about my morning thus far.” It wasn’t hard to see the comment was meant for Elizabeth’s ears, since his eyes fixed on her back. Poor Elizabeth. Mean, ornery Mr. Clayton.
Regina faked a smile. “You like it then?”
“You’re really onto something.” After taking another sip, he actually addressed Elizabeth by name. “Ms. Ashton.” With a slightly compressed jaw and a hint of reluctance, Elizabeth turned. “Try this.” Everyone who eavesdropped paused mid-action. To one who didn’t know the events of that morning, Regina supposed such a request coming from Mr. Clayton would be strange.
“There’s no need for that, Mr. Clayton,” Elizabeth said.
“Please,” he argued, more clipped. “I insist.”
He and Elizabeth glared at each other, but eventually she joined them. “I…already tried it,” she said.
“Good. Then you know we don’t need better coffee here. Not sure any better exists.” He took another sip, slowly, and Regina swore she heard him groan as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Of course, he didn’t know that by playing it up, he dug his own grave. “This is what we’ve been missing, Mrs. Washington.”
Elizabeth took another step, and despite Regina’s nudge she began, “Mr. Clayton—”
“That’s all, Ms. Ashton.” He went back to reading his paper before she could confess, and murder brewed in Elizabeth’s eyes. Regina pulled her away.
Once a safe distance away, Elizabeth whispered, “I can’t do this. He’s going to hate me even more for tricking him. And you too, Regina.”
Regina grabbed her slender arms. “Trust me, Beth. It’ll work. Now, for the finishing touch.” She took the plate from behind the counter, at the same time Elizabeth put her head in her hands. A single cream puff pastry, whose only decoration was a light drizzle of chocolate sauce, adorned the plate. It was elegant in its simplicity, yet delectable in its rich flavor and harmonious textures: creamy and sweet on the inside, light and flaky on the outside. It was the first thing Regina had made Elizabeth do that morning, when the sky was still dark: bake her finest pastry. And it was fine. Exquisite just like the coffee, and what a combo they would be.
She walked past Elizabeth, ignoring the warning daggers that shot from her narrow eyes. Looks of envy filled everyone else’s eyes, Brian’s especially as he stood to get a better view. “I’ll take one,” he said. Regina only glared at him, but his comment grabbed Mr. Clayton’s attention. He stared at her warily, like he’d done after tasting the first sip of coffee. She placed it before him and he recoiled from it.
“Mrs. Washington, what is going on here?”
“Well, it’s a cream puff pastry, Mr. Clayton. I thought you’d be able to recognize that.”
He sighed, just barely. “I’m aware of what a profiterole is. But never, in all the years you’ve been here, have you served a pastry.”
“It’s nothing, Mr. Clayton. Just try it. It’s on the house.” Her hands shook; she placed them behind her back. “Well, go ahead now.”
His jaw shifted as he deliberated, probably wondering why she wanted to be an audience to his tasting it. Still, he picked it up, taking a bite small and large at the same time—small for a man of his size but large for such a pastry. Less than half remained. He finished chewing, swallowed, and then said, “It’s…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t…have words.”
“That good?”
“Beyond delicious. Now tell me what this is about.”
“You think this is something our residents would enjoy? Would you personally, for example, love to see this on a normal basis?”
“Are you asking for my approval?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then…yes. It would do well. Is that all?”
“Well, go on and finish it then, Mr. Clayton.”
He did, and though he was guarded, his eyes said it all: it was heaven in his mouth.
“Good. Then I think we can both agree Ms. Ashton would be an invaluable addition to this town. Something like this—coffee like that—is needed here. You said so yourself, Mr. Clayton. And let’s face it: we ain’t really a part of Oregon until we’ve mastered the art of coffee brewing in our town, are we?”
His face darkened while his temples pulsated with the grinding of his jaw. If she had been any more scared, she would have seen her life flash before her eyes, mostly the bits with Nathaniel and her only son. But she stood her ground, even as he rose.
“You can fire me if you’d like, Mr. Clayton—”
“No,” Elizabeth interjected, moving to Regina’s side. Really, she stood in front of her in a protective manner. “This wasn’t her idea, Mr. Clayton. It was a bad one, I know—”
“The hell it wasn’t my idea,” Regina blurted, putting her fists on her hips as she glared at Elizabeth. There she went again, cursing. She’d been doing a lot of that since Elizabeth came into town. She looked at Mr. Clayton, allowing that passion to bring her courage. “If you’d just give this girl a chance—”
“Never. Did you think tricking me would help your case, Ms. Ashton? Really I can’t say I’m surprised, after the way you hounded me the whole way here.” He threw his napkin on the table, his face still red. “Get. Out. Of Hemlock Veils. Tonight, when I return, if there’s any sign of you here, I’ll take the necessary steps to rid this town of you myself.”
“Mr. Clayton,” Regina reprimanded in a stunned breath. Rather than scare her, at that second he repulsed her. “You have no right—”
The way his eyes shot from Elizabeth’s to her own cut her off short. “It’s my town, Mrs. Washington. I have every right to refuse whomever I want. I will not be lied to, not here. No matter how good the coffee is. Take this as your warning: if you ever attempt anything so scheming again, I will fire you. And I really don’t want to do that.” He paused. “Is that clear?”
“Yes,” was all she could say, with a hint of enmity. She lifted her chin. She and Mr. Clayton had never been enemies before, but it seemed like a good time to start.
Elizabeth’s brow knitted when he looked at her. He shook his head with a disappointment Regina used to see on Nathaniel when he punished their son, many years ago and in a past Regina tried not to dwell on often. “Look what you’ve stirred here, Ms. Ashton.” He appeared offended, like Elizabeth had insulted him in the worst way, which made no sense at all.
“I’m…sorry, Mr. Clayton,” Elizabeth said in a voice that seemed too small for who she was. “Really. I didn’t mean for any of this. Regina was just trying to help.”
“And all it’s done is hurt.”
Elizabeth blinked, folding her arms over herself. Clearly, she bit her tongue. “I understand. And I will be gone before you come home this evening.”
He stared only briefly before nodding, but in the split second he had, he seemed to be second-guessing his decision. Before he could give himself the chance to, though—if that’s even what he’d been doing—he left the glass door swinging behind him, the bell ringing angrily in protest.
Elizabeth unfolded her arms, slumping, and her eyes glazed over as she watched Mr. Clayton approach a waiting Arne Randolph across the street. Regina wondered what Mr. Clayton thought Elizabeth had “stirred.” Chaos? Change? Or was it simply the hope inside the residents that Mr. Clayton could in fact be stood up to? Because that hope sure stirred inside Regina’s chest. It was liberating and fiery all at the same time. And if that’s what left Mr. Clayton uneasy, he had every right to be. Regina wouldn’t fear him anymore, and it wouldn’t be long before others would follow the same example.
Elizabeth would be missed, and Regina nearly cried at the simple thought of her leaving, but there was one thing for sure: her imprint would forever be left on Hemlock Veils. This town, and Regina alike, would never be the same.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth exited her motel room with a heaviness that left her lethargic. At her car, she popped the trunk and lifted her suitcase, letting it fall on top of her other belongings with a thud as heavy as she felt. It was already late in the afternoon. She would have left that morning, right after the incident at the diner, but for some reason, Regina had insisted she wait, perhaps to prolong the goodbyes. Besides, Regina had said, Mr. Clayton never came home before evening. But Elizabeth couldn’t wait any longer. The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave.
Moreover—and though she would never admit it aloud—Mr. Clayton had gotten the best of her, fear and all. And the very last place she wanted to be was here at the moment his car drove back through town.
It’d been worth a shot, she thought to herself as she left her car in the parking lot and began walking down Red Cedar Loop toward the diner, where she’d say her final goodbyes. She’d known in the beginning, when the idea of staying seemed perfect, it was too good to be true. She had kept a realistic perspective that said she had nothing to lose, yet she had lost everything. Everything she never had to begin with.
Alas, the threatening wind had won.
She paused at the widest cedar on the street, its trunk dusted in the green moss that gave this forest its character. She touched it, moist and soft, and something rough lied beneath it. She looked closer, charmed by the markings. Once upon a time—from the looks of it, centuries ago—this tree had been the contract of lovers: a rough A followed by an even rougher heart and an H. A & H.
Reluctantly, she left the inscription alone, the way the moss wanted, and on her way to the diner, she allowed her eyes to sweep the forest one last time. Just as she was about to push herself through the glass door, she caught the reflection of the Maybach in the window, driving behind her like a cloud of shiny midnight blue and silver. Everything inside her froze. Behind its reflection was Regina inside the diner, staring just as wide-eyed as Elizabeth.
Regina came out, pulling her inside. “Maybe he didn’t see you,” she said.
But he had, because the car stopped at the curb not even a block down the road.
“He never comes back this soon,” Regina added.
Elizabeth sat on a stool, the scenery around her blurring into one large wash of color. Really, what could he do to run her out of town, other than verbally attack her? He couldn’t put her in jail for staying a few hours longer than he’d told her to. And she doubted his verbal assaults could get worse than they’d already been.
The door opened behind her, bells announcing her doom, and when she turned she relaxed, her vision becoming crisp again. Arne smiled from ear to ear. “Ms. Ashton,” he said.
She stood and he remained at the door. “I’m sorry, Arne. Please tell him that. I was just saying goodbye; I didn’t think he’d be back yet.”
He waved a hand impatiently. “Never mind that. I’m here to bring you a message.”
“A message?” She swallowed.
“They’re yours, Ms. Ashton.” His smile widened, if that was even possible.
“They?”
“The house, the bakery: they’re yours.”
Her heart literally skipped a beat, and Nicole and Regina gasped. She blinked, since it would surely clear reality. “I don’t understand.”
“Let’s just say Mr. Clayton had a change of heart. You are to meet him at Jean’s Bakery tomorrow morning at seven a.m. sharp, where a deal will be made. It’ll be your one and only shot, so make sure you’re there. He doesn’t like to wait.”
“Yes.” She nodded, tripping over words. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”
He softened his voice. “I’m so glad to hear it, Elizabeth. Just remember what I said the first time we met. Don’t let anyone who’s opposed to your being here bring you down. I meant that about Mr. Clayton especially. I’d hate to see him break your spirits.”
“Arne,” she said before he turned. “Thank you.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“No, I mean, thank you. Do tell Mr. Clayton of my appreciation, but…you must have had something to do with this.”
He shrugged cryptically. “It wasn’t me who changed his mind. Nor was it your coffee he will be talking about for years to come.”
“Then what was it?”
“You, Elizabeth.” He paused, allowing her to absorb it. She couldn’t. “Don’t be mistaken; the coffee certainly helped. But believe it or not, Mr. Clayton understands a thing or two about second chances.”
After a wink, he left Elizabeth staring at that strand of dangling bells on the door’s handle, more excited than she’d been in her adult life.
***
During Elizabeth’s walk from Regina’s house to her motel room, a mysterious haze of clouds—nothing but a sheer gossamer curtain—veiled the moon, full and luminous. It made her feel less alone in the town she could now call her own. Regina had escaped the diner earlier than usual that night, leaving Nicole to close. Normally Elizabeth didn’t think Nicole would mind, but the fact that Regina left because of Elizabeth made that sour look appear on Nicole’s face.
Regina’s friendship was invaluable. If it wasn’t for her, Elizabeth would be driving some other highway right now, rather than walking the tree-lined roads in Hemlock Veils. Regina had invited her over for a late dinner, where she’d made fried chicken and taught Elizabeth a few tricks. They’d ended up lost in conversation, talking mostly of the town and who everyone was and what they did for a living, and who disliked whom: all things Elizabeth usually tried to keep her nose out of. Either way, her night with Regina had been so enjoyable she’d lost track of time, and now here it was, just a few minutes before midnight.
She walked northwest on Clayton Road, toward Red Cedar Loop. Regina’s two-story house was halfway down a side street called Whistler Lane, the last residential street before Henry Street, located west of the abandoned shops. At that moment, Elizabeth seemed to be the only living soul in Hemlock Veils. The streets were dormant, since everyone else found the nighttime unnerving here, unlike the way she found it calming. Even Regina had begged to drive her home, but here, in a town with everything so close, it felt like a waste to drive. It was just her and the moon and the light breeze against her ears as she walked, nothing more than the breath of a whisper.
Opposed to ending her walk, she slowed her steps as she approached Red Cedar Loop. With only the trees as observers, moments like this lightened her shoulders and eased her breaths. Moments like this, she remembered who she really was.
And then she wasn’t alone: from no observers to the most valuable observer of all. She continued her stride, putting her curiosity on hold until protected by the bend on Red Cedar Loop. Her breath clouded before her, more rapidly than before. She felt his eyes follow her as though she was a moving target, felt him move within the trees as she moved. She felt his curiosity, perhaps as deep as her own.
She stopped when around the bend and twisted, making sure she was hidden from human view. And with her back toward the forest, her spine tingled in the way it had before, when he’d been behind her. Last time she had heard his breath; this time she felt it, too. Her own produced robust puffs in the air, followed by smaller, rapid spurts, and not a single nighttime noise surrounded her. Even the croaks of night life had stopped, as though all living organisms waited with baited breath. Her heart thumped as she felt him tower behind her. She closed her eyes, reminding herself she shouldn’t be afraid of the heat of his mass behind her, or the heat of his breath against her hair.
She opened her eyes, turning slowly. Another heavy breath escaped her as she craned her neck, and forced herself not to withdraw. He was bigger than she’d remembered, bigger without the weight of rainfall. Without a proper light she had difficulty making out his dark colors, but she knew them well from that first night: the stripe of black, spiky fur starting at the top of his muzzle, traveling between his ears and all the way down his spine; the dark brown fur covering the rest of his body, shorter and much smoother-looking in texture, and the muscular torso beneath it that seemed to be half man, half beast. Then there were his eyes. As though he knew of her desire to look into them, he lowered himself onto all fours, his shoulders hunched and his haunches ready for attack. But instead of attacking, his snout closed in on her face, his eyes penetrating hers.
And just like the first time, it calmed every fear. It made her forget about the sharp, unnatural claws that formed his paws, or the countless fangs crowding his large mouth. His eyes, large and wolf-like, an exquisite, gold-rimmed brown: they were so full of emotion they had to be human. She exhaled, lowering her tense shoulders while her fear evaporated. But the fear seemed to catch hold of him instead.
He retreated, his body cagey. With a sniff, he brought up a paw—curious and timid at the same time. He began disappearing in the trees.
“Wait,” she said, stepping closer.
The mysterious animal—who seemed to be no animal at all—growled, lips curling back with a ripple as he bared his many threatening teeth. The fur on his spine now stood erect. And in that instant she knew he didn’t want her here. Even the beast, with no souls to call his friends, wanted her gone.
She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. Just the gesture, probably foreign to him, made him cower. That strange hiss accompanied his growl, and she hoped he wouldn’t roar. “I…I won’t hurt you.”
This seemed to puzzle him and with the twitch of one of his long, sharp ears, he tilted his head. He stepped back, his long, bushy tail doing one swift whip behind him.
“I don’t know if you understand me, but…I’m no threat.”
His eyes, so full of a knowledge she couldn’t grasp, blinked. He almost appeared skeptical. And his attack was the last thing she expected. Before her heart could even skip a fearful beat, he had her pinned against the trunk of a cedar—one on the opposite side of the street. The painful force knocked the air from her lungs, and the absence of earth beneath her feet left her disoriented. Air was hard to come by, for more than one reason, and in an attempt to regain her bearings, she searched for solid ground. But he stood on his wolf-like haunches, her feet hanging at least five feet in the air, maybe more. His front paws held her in place and the tips of his claws dug through the thickness of her jacket.
His muzzle closed in on her again, allowing her to smell the forest on his fur, and clouds of his ominous breath mixed with her quickened, shallow ones. Her head would fit so easily between his jaws, and those teeth—decorated with some creature’s blood—could gouge through her like knives through a rotten tomato. But she reminded herself of her never-failing instinct. Reminded herself of it over and over again.
That was when it showed in his eyes, that thing she couldn’t pin. All she knew for sure was he was trying awfully hard to convince her just how dangerous he was.
With a wince, she rested her head against the tree, since her body was pinned tightly to it. His claws held her in place not just by her arms, which were restrained at her sides, but the entire width of her torso. They were so massive she was sure if her back wasn’t against the tree, they could fit all the way around her and touch on both sides. She relaxed her muscles the best she could, and since she didn’t know whether he would understand her next words, she stared him in the eyes, hoping to convey her intentions. “I’m not afraid of you,” she managed, her voice slightly uneven. “And I won’t plead for my life.”
This angered him, his furry brow turning severe. The low rumble began deep in his throat, making his wolf-like lips quiver as he again bared his fangs. He wanted her to be afraid. And the way he seemed so disturbed by her presence here made random thoughts of Mr. Clayton float to her mind. The pressure of his claws increased against her, compressing her diaphragm. She would go down as the fool, the pessimist in her thought. The naïve fool from California who thought she could tame the beast. The one who’d been warned by every resident to stay away.
But she wouldn’t go down, and he would let her live like he did a few nights before. Just like he let everyone else live. The knowledge wound itself around her brain with a physical force. “It’s all right,” she said with a constricted breath. His pressure slackened ever so slightly. “It’s all right.” His eyes penetrated hers for an unmeasured period of time, telling her he understood. Through their silent exchange, he grasped her message: that while she didn’t need to fear, neither did he.
He appeared troubled, as much as a beast could, with a memorable weight in his rich brown eyes. His groan said he’d given up, and with a gentleness she hadn’t expected, he eased off of her, lowering her until her feet hit the ground. Without his claws compressing her, she could finally breathe, and the deep inhalation she took was painful. So were the ones after.
He sat on his haunches, studying her warily, his tail fanned out on the street behind him. So much for not exiting the forest. So much for the assumed treaty.
A shaky flashlight beam shone around the corner, bouncing with its owner’s steps. Both she and the beast turned in that direction, the beast rising on all fours. He met her eyes again, as though conflicted, and she whispered, “Go. Now.”
He did, darting into the trees so fast her mind questioned whether or not she’d seen him leave. It was just in time too, since Eustace appeared around the bend, shotgun at his side.
“For Pete’s sake, Beth, what are you doing out here?”
“I’m not allowed to walk to my motel, Old Man?”
“The way I hear, you won’t be needing this motel after tomorrow.”
“If I’m lucky. I don’t want to jinx it.” She tried not to cringe, since breathing brought pain.
He placed a hand on his hip. “You couldn’t have Regina take you, could you? You just had to walk.”
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing really, just that Sheppy claims he saw the monster out and about around here an hour ago. Said it was behind the motel.”
She folded her arms, lifting an amused eyebrow. “What, you think he’s waiting for me?”
“Maybe,” he said, his eyes—always glazed from age—shooting to hers. “You never know.”
“You think it’s as opposed to me being here as Mr. Clayton?”
“It’s no joke. Besides, I think if Mr. Clayton was that opposed, he wouldn’t have agreed.”
“I don’t know. I think he sees there’s something in it for him.”
“Mm,” he nodded. “I heard about your coffee. I’m anxious to try it.” He sighed, again sweeping his flashlight through the forest—the forest that appeared empty, even when it wasn’t. He still lingered out there somewhere, close. “Anyway, you better get on inside. I just had to make sure you got back okay.”
“Well…thank you. That’s sweet of you.”
He shook his head. “Bloody hell, Beth. You’re going to make me lose my hair with worry, you know that? And my hair’s all I got left. I don’t even have my real teeth anymore.”
She chuckled.
“Just be careful. I can’t say it enough.” He stuck out his hand, surprising her. “But all that aside…welcome to Hemlock Veils, officially.” He smiled beneath his long, scraggly beard, and she took his hand. “I mean it when I say I’m really pleased you’re staying. Really pleased.”
“Thanks, Eustace.” She couldn’t stop smiling on account of that even though Mr. Clayton and Nicole (she didn’t quite know where Taggart now stood in all of this) fought against her, Regina and Eustace were on her side.
And as of a minute ago, perhaps even the beast.
