but me-it wasn't a suicide. Everyone kept offering condolences, calling it such a tragedy, and it was all 1 could do not to scream out the truth.'
She twisted her head to face him. Her eyes were wet and glistening, the exact color of violets. 'I hated that he was made to sound a hero. I was the one to hide his suicide, and yet I wanted to tell everyone that he was a coward, that he had left me to pick up his pieces. I wanted to shake them and shake them and shake them and make them stop saying what a good father he was. Because he wasn't.' Her voice grew low and fierce. 'He wasn't a good father. We were nuisances. He only wanted Mama. He never wanted us.'
'I'm sorry,' James whispered, taking her hand.
'It's not your fault.'
He smiled, trying to coax one from her in return. 'I know, but I'm still sorry.'
Her lips quivered-almost a smile, but not quite. 'Isn't it ironic? You'd think that love is a good thing, wouldn't you?'
'Love is a good thing, Elizabeth.' And he meant it. He meant it more than he ever could have dreamed he would.
She shook her head. “My parents loved too much. There simply wasn't enough left over for the rest of us. And when Mama was gone-well, we just couldn't take her place.'
'That is not your fault,' James said, his eyes searching hers with mesmerizing intensity. 'There's no limit on love. If your father's heart wasn't big enough for his whole family, that means he was flawed, not you. If he'd been any sort of a man, he would have realized that his children were miraculous extensions of his love for your mother. And he would have had the strength to go on without her.'
Elizabeth digested his words, letting them sink slowly into her heart. She knew he was right, knew that her father's weaknesses were his weaknesses, not hers. But it was so damned hard to accept it. She looked up at James, who was staring at her with the kindest, warmest eyes she'd ever seen. 'Your parents must have loved each other very much,' she said softly.
James drew back in surprise. 'My parents…' he said slowly. 'Theirs was not a love match.'
'Oh,' she said softly. 'But maybe that's for the best. After all, my parents-'
'What your father did,' James interrupted, 'was wrong and weak and cowardly. What my father did…'
Elizabeth saw the pain in his eyes and squeezed his hands.
'What my father did,' he whispered savagely, 'should earn him a place in hell.'
Elizabeth felt her mouth go dry. 'What do you mean?'
There was a long silence, and when James finally spoke, his voice was very strange. 'I was six when my mother died.'
She held silent.
'They told me she fell down the stairs. Broke her neck. Such a tragedy, they all said.'
'Oh, no.' The words slipped from Elizabeth's lips.
James turned his head abruptly to face her. 'She always tried to tell me she was clumsy, but I'd seen her dance. She used to hum as she waltzed partnerless through the music room. She was the most beautiful, graceful woman I've ever seen. Sometimes she'd pick me up and waltz with me resting on her hip.'
Elizabeth tried to comfort him with a smile. 'I used to do that with Lucas.'
James shook his head. 'She wasn't clumsy. She never walked into a sconce or knocked over a candle. He hurt her, Elizabeth. He hurt her every damned day.'
She swallowed, her lower lip catching between her teeth. Suddenly his uncontrollable rage at Fellport made a touch more sense. The anger was more than two decades old. It had been simmering far too long.
'Did he-did he hurt you?' she whispered.
He gave his head a little shake. 'Never. I was the heir. He used to remind her of that all the time. She was worthless now that she'd given him me. She may have been his wife, but I was his blood.'
A shiver rushed down Elizabeth's spine, and she knew he was quoting words he'd heard far too many times.
'And he used me,' James continued. His eyes had grown flat, and his large, strong hands were trembling. 'He used me to further his rages against her. He never agreed with her methods of parenting. If he saw her hugging me or comforting me when I cried, he flew into a fury. She was coddling me, he would yell. She would turn me into a weakling.'
'Oh, James.' Elizabeth reached out and stroked his hair. She couldn't help herself. She'd never known anyone so in need of human comfort.
'And so I learned not to cry.' He shook his head despairingly. “And after a while I pulled away from her embraces. If he couldn't catch her hugging me, maybe he would stop hitting her.'
'But he didn't stop, did he?'
“No. There was always a reason she needed to be put in her place. And eventually-' His breath whooshed out on a raw and shaky exhale. “Eventually he decided her place was at the bottom of the stairs.'
Elizabeth felt something hot on her cheeks, and it was only then that she realized she was crying. 'What happened to you?'
'That,' James replied, his voice growing slightly stronger, 'is perhaps the only bright spot in the story. My aunt-my mother's sister-came and snatched me away. I think she'd always suspected that my mother was mistreated, but she'd never dreamed it was as bad as it was. Much later, she told me that she would be damned if she was going to let my father start in on me.'
'Do you think he would have?'
'I don't know. I was still valuable. His only heir. But he needed someone to abuse, and with Mama gone…' He shrugged.
'Your aunt must be a very special woman.'
He looked over at her, wanting more than anything to tell her the truth, but he couldn't. Not yet. 'She is,' he said, his voice husky with emotion. 'She saved me. As sure as if she pulled me from a burning building, she saved me.'
Elizabeth touched his cheek. 'She must have taught you how to be happy.'
'She kept trying to hug me,' he said. 'That first year, she tried to show me love, and I kept pulling away. 1 thought my uncle would beat her if she held me.' He raked his hand through his hair, a short, angry laugh escaping his lips. 'Can you believe that?'
'How could you have thought anything else?' Elizabeth asked quietly. 'Your.father was the only man you knew.'
'She taught me how to love.' He let out a short, staccato breath. 'I'm still not up to snuff at forgiveness, but I do know love.'
'Your father doesn't deserve forgiveness,' she said. 'I have always tried to follow God's sermons, and I know that we're meant to turn the other cheek, but your father doesn't deserve it.'
James was silent for a moment, and then he turned to her and said, 'He died when I was twenty. I didn't attend the funeral.'
It was the ultimate insult a child could aim at a parent.
Elizabeth nodded with grim approval. “Did you see him as you were growing up?''
'I had to on occasion. It was unavoidable. I was his son. Legally, my aunt hadn't a leg to stand on. But she was strong, and she cowed him. He'd never met a woman who stood up to him before. He had no idea how to deal with her.'
Elizabeth leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. 'I shall include your aunt in my prayers tonight.' Her hand drifted to his cheek, and she gazed at him with wistful regret, wishing there was some way she could turn back the clock, some way to hold that long-ago little boy and show him that the world could be a safe and loving place.
He turned his face into her hand. His lips pressed against her palm, seeking the warmth of her skin and honoring the warmth of her heart. 'Thank you,' he whispered.
'For what?'
'For being here. For listening. For just being you.'
'Thank you, then,' she whispered back. 'For all the same things.'
