Chapter 21: Black Ribbons

Stephanie was at odds and angry at Daniel. He had done the despicable—he’d left for Charleston. His departure had been sudden, and he hadn’t said goodbye. Becca had broken the news to her that morning when she woke up. Stephanie had been livid—ranting and raving. When she wouldn’t stop, Becca blurted out the truth, that Daniel had a heart problem. Marguerite trusted only her old family doctors, and she had insisted that they leave for Charleston right away to see a heart specialist.

“He should have told me he was going,” Stephanie lashed out.

Becca wrung her hands on her white apron. “Daniel didn’t want to worry you. He didn’t want you to know he’d been ill.”

Anger quickly turned to guilt, and Stephanie blamed herself for her father’s illness. She promised herself that she would not ruffle the waters. She was glad when Becca went home so she could be alone and sort out her thoughts.

It was late afternoon when Stephanie—feeling restless, bundled up in layers of sweaters and a heavy coat—threw a red wool scarf around her neck and slipped into an old pair of black, lined rubber boots. She stuck her cell phone in her pocket and set out with Brooks to get some fresh air and exercise. She would walk to the family cemetery and tend the graves.

They got a late start. It was late afternoon, cold, and overcast, and over a mile to the family plot. Brooks ran ahead, and when a rabbit jumped out of the bushes, he bounded off after it.

“Come back, Brooks,” Stephanie scolded, her breath frigid as she hurried down the cobblestone drive. “This is not the time to chase rabbits.”

Stephanie stopped at the wide gate that separated the two vast country estates and gazed up at Stratford Place, high on the hill. It looked dark and gloomy, and its shadow loomed over the countryside. Marguerite always lit candles on cloudy days, but she was in Charleston. It was too quiet, and she had an eerie feeling, as if someone were watching her. She peered at the windows at Stratford Place, squinting, wondering if someone was watching her from behind the white lace curtains, but they were all in place. It’s only my imagination.

Her eyes traced the cobblestone lane down the hill to the big, wrought-iron gate. It was closed, but not locked. Bradley would lock it when he came home tonight. Last, her eyes scanned the estate in its entirety, enclosed by white fencing that went on for miles.

She sighed in relief. “Everything is fine, Brooks. I don’t know why I have the heebie-jeebies.”

Brooks whined, and Stephanie walked on briskly with a purpose. She wanted to talk to her dead ancestors. They were her family and would understand. When Hedy was alive, they had talked every day about everything imaginable.

She stepped up her pace, eager to reach the cemetery. After Hedy died, she talked to Becca but never told her anything of importance. Becca was close-minded and set in her ways. She had gone to the eighth grade had never gone further than the next county away when she went to visit a cousin. She would speak in parables or repeat what she’d heard other people say. Her answers were always short and concise: A tiger’s stripes never change; the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence; that frown is going freeze on your face; don’t cry over spilled milk, and the early bird gets the worm.

Stephanie passed by the orchard, now barren of fruit, and a big hickory tree where she had gathered nuts in the fall. There was a movement in her peripheral vision. She squinted as she stood motionless, staring hard at the big pond. She made a split-second decision to pursue the intruder and walked stealthily over an embankment to the pond where she swam on sweltering summer days. The pond looked stark with pieces of ice, and the rock where she sunned herself looked slippery with a thin glaze of ice.

There it was again, a movement. It had been ever so slight, but something had moved. Stephanie quickened her pace, intent on finding the intruder, her eyes scanning the pond. It was then that she noticed a bunch of sticks piled high at the edge of the bank. And then she saw it; a muskrat building a den. A faint smile came to her lips. She stood motionless, not making a sound, hoping to blend in with nature. Surprisingly, Brooks followed suit.

It was one of those rare moments in nature that she loved when she came upon something unexpected. Her smile grew broader as she thought of Thomas and the chittering sound that he made to amuse her. She missed him. She silently ventured closer down the steeply sloping ground toward the pond, hoping to see the mate, or maybe their offspring. She pushed entangled tendrils from a gnarled, giant oak tree out of her way and looked up.

It was then that she saw him—Raven—and her mood changed from adventurous to uneasy. The enormous black bird was perched high on a limb of the oak. His small beady eyes watched her every move. Was he spying? A shiver went down her spine. Thinking about it too much could drive her crazy. She chose to ignore Raven, hoping he would go away.

Brooks took her gloved hand in his wet mouth and tugged, sensing something was wrong.

“Okay, Brooks,” she said in a whisper, not wanting to disturb the muskrat. “I’m going.”

She trudged up the bank with Brooks leading the way. Seeing the muskrat had reminded her of Thomas and set off a yearning inside of her. She struggled within herself to make sense of all that had happened. If only I had waited, she thought to herself, and not gotten involved with Richard. I love Thomas. I should have, I should have…

Twigs snapped under her boots as she trampled through some dense brush to get back to the path. She looked over her shoulder. The muskrat had stopped working on the den and was staring at her, his beady, black feral eyes penetrating, his tiny ears perked. She met his gaze and stood very still, enjoying the silent communication with the small animal. A flock of geese honking noisily flew overhead in a V formation and broke the spell. Still, the muskrat stood motionless. She breathed a sigh of relief that the geese had not landed in the pond and interrupted the muskrat’s progress.

The sky had turned from light dusk to dark gray. Stephanie broke into a half jog, slowed by her heavy waterproof boots. She was glad to be back on the path, but was very much aware that Raven was circling above. She could feel mischief about him. She heard the flutter of his wings but didn’t bother to look, so she didn’t see the black ribbon that he clenched in his beak, trailing along behind him. She put the raven out of her mind and forged on toward the cemetery. The muskrat had distracted her, and she’d lost track of time. The storm was moving in quickly.

Stephanie’s thoughts rambled. Doubt grew stronger. Who was the woman Richard was on the phone with last night? He’s probably at dinner with her right now. She trudged along, unable to let it go—dredging up bits and pieces of what she’d heard. Was she an attorney? Or maybe she was a woman he’d known for years—someone he’d dated when he was in the NFL. Was she a client? A rich woman who fell in love with him during a trial. Or a loose woman he’d met who gave away sexual favors to be with a high-ranking man. What did he mean when he said, “It’s complicated?”

“It won’t be complicated for long, Richard,” she said, speaking into the wind. “Because I’m breaking our engagement.” It was all-consuming, and she was ready to call it quits. And then she thought about the ramifications of what could happen to her father if she broke up with Richard. He could have a setback. No. No. I can’t do it with Daddy having a heart problem. I’m overthinking this. I don’t know who the woman is—maybe she’s a client, and he was saying that the case is complicated.

It was difficult because Richard could be charming and loving, but she saw a side of him that frightened her. He was manipulative and controlling. Richard was probably having dinner with another woman at this very minute.

She felt so alone.