Where Tomorrows Must Heal
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Molly was still in her nightgown when she heard a loud knock at the door. She opened it and found herself staring into Mr. Wainwright’s smiling face, which gave way to an expression of surprise as he looked past Molly toward his wife standing behind her with a tray full of breakfast dishes on top of one arm.
He stepped back quickly saying something about how sorry he must have disturbed them before hurrying away down the hall carrying the plate of eggs that had been delivered by Mrs. Wainwright while Molly watched him disappear around another corner.
The smell from this morning’s cooking wafted up through the air—the aroma made Molly wish for seconds but there would be time enough later today if they were lucky. They both knew better than to get their hopes too high until after dinner tonight; then perhaps tomorrow might bring good news instead of bad ones. If not…
“We’ll just make do without you,” Mrs. Wainwright said cheerfully, coming closer. “I’m sure we can manage.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she handed over the plate of fried potatoes and bacon. Then she turned off the hallway light and disappeared out another open doorway leading deeper into the house.
It was only now that Molly realized why her mother-in-law wore so many layers of clothing every day even though summer days warmed things up considerably: because she could afford to buy more clothes. Not like here where the money went much further.
But what did go farther? Food! And food meant feeding your family first before any luxuries. That is unless someone else paid for those necessities. As soon as the thought crossed her mind Molly felt sick inside knowing exactly who that other person usually was.
Sooner or later people always got greedy. When it came to greed no amount of money seemed ever enough. Even though Molly didn’t know anything about farming yet, she suspected that growing crops required a lot more work than simply planting seeds.
How often does it rain in Montana anyway? Or snow? What kind of weather are these ranchers used to dealing with each year? Did they grow vegetables along with raising cattle? Were there farmers’ markets nearby selling fresh produce?
As she pondered all these questions, Mrs. Wainright returned holding two glasses filled with orange juice and poured one for Molly before handing the second glass to her husband. After taking a sip himself, John nodded approvingly, saying how delicious it tasted.
Their faces lit up again as they sat across from each other sharing the meal. No matter how hard life became sometimes, they never forgot how fortunate they really were.
They talked easily about everything under the sun except business matters, which naturally led them right back around to discussing their children. Both parents loved talking about their kids almost as much as they enjoyed seeing them whenever possible.
Now that Tom was grown and living elsewhere, they hardly saw him anymore. Of course, it wasn’t easy getting around town, especially since Maryellen was still young and needed constant supervision. Still, both mothers wished nothing more than for their sons to come home someday.
Perhaps if they started saving now, maybe next Christmas they’d finally have some decent presents waiting for them.
Mrs. Wainwright took a deep breath as if trying to hold back tears, although neither woman actually cried very often. Instead, they held hands tightly together as if comforting themselves against an uncertain future.
This conversation happened frequently throughout the week but it brought little relief from worry. In fact, most nights ended with both women feeling worse than when they began. All they wanted was to see their boys happy and well settled wherever life had taken them.
John asked his wife how she managed to keep such a nice place looking so neat and tidy despite having four rambunctious grandchildren running wild around the house. He also complimented her on the delicious smells coming from the kitchen before turning to Molly.
“You should eat more of your breakfast before we start our day,” he said, sounding concerned. “If I remember correctly, you haven’t eaten much lately.”
She shook her head and smiled sadly. “Don’t fret yourself about me, dear husband. There will be plenty of time later today for eating.”
He frowned slightly, obviously wondering whether she was telling him the truth or not. His frown grew broader when he noticed how pale she appeared compared to last evening when the three of them ate supper together. Was she ill?
Had she caught whatever illness everyone suffered during the winter months? A chill ran down his spine imagining his daughter-in-law lying dead somewhere far away from his beloved ranch. At least she hadn’t died alone. Would she die peacefully here surrounded by friends or in agony with no one close enough to hear her cries of pain?
The thought caused him to swallow nervously, causing the corners of his mouth to turn downward. Suddenly Molly’s eyes widened at hearing herself say something strange—something she couldn’t explain.
She tried to clear her throat, but instead choked and coughed until she lost consciousness. The room spun dizzily as she struggled to sit upright in bed. For a few seconds, she remained unconscious while struggling to breathe normally again; then she blinked several times to bring reality crashing back upon her.
What am I doing here? Why did my voice sound so odd? Is this some sort of dream? Molly reached out to touch her face and found it wet with blood. Her hand slipped over the side of the mattress, falling onto the floor just outside the bedroom door. Where is Tom? What has happened to us?
***
“Molly!”
Her name echoed through the dark hallways of the old farmhouse, followed quickly by the pounding footsteps of someone rushing toward the front entrance. Then the lights flickered once before dying altogether, plunging the entire house into darkness.
Molly gasped loudly as she fought back in panic. Panic would get her nowhere fast. It might even cause another seizure like those she experienced after being shot. Although she didn’t want to think about what could happen if she passed out again, she forced herself to stay calm.
If only she remembered where she was supposed to go. Maybe Mr. Wainright had already gone downstairs and left without realizing that she was missing. Or maybe she was sleeping and simply dreamed that awful cry for help. Either way, there was absolutely no reason why anyone should call for her. So who called? Who else lives here besides Mrs. Wainright and me?
A faint light came from underneath the staircase leading to the basement below. As soon as Molly heard the voices, she knew the exactly whose voice belonged to whom. One sounded familiar, yet different somehow, reminding her of someone she had met long ago.
But who? And who are you? The man’s words trailed off as he hurried upstairs, leaving his companion behind. That person must have been calling for his wife because the next thing she heard was a loud thud and sudden silence. Molly listened intently for any further sounds before slowly rising from bed.
As she made her way across the hallway, the smell of smoke suddenly filled her nostrils, along with a burning sensation inside her nose and lungs. With each step her feet became heavier, making it difficult to move forward.
Before she realized it, Molly tripped over the edge of a chair and fell flat on her stomach. Painful scrapes covered half of her body as she lay motionless on the cold wooden floor. After a moment, the throbbing stopped and everything went black…
***
For a second, Molly felt nothing, just emptiness. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that she was still sitting in the middle of the dining room table staring up at a ceiling painted white. No longer did she feel the pain from her injuries nor the aches from lack of sleep.
Everything seemed peaceful now, almost serene except for the occasional creak of a floorboard overhead or a slight breeze blowing through open windows. How can this be happening? What do you mean, ‘what happens next?
With effort, Molly turned to look directly ahead. Two men sat opposite each other in chairs placed beside an empty fireplace mantle. Both wore similar clothing: brown suits, hats pulled low over their faces and matching bow ties wrapped tightly around their necks.
They were too far away for her to make out anything more than vague features resembling two large rocks in a stream flowing beneath the surface of the water. From where she stood, all they looked alike. Yet Molly sensed that these people weren’t human beings.
Something about them reminded her of the time she spent reading books written hundreds of years ago by monks and nuns. These men certainly resembled holy orders members of centuries past. Except for one difference—they were alive!
She took a deep breath and focused her attention on the man sitting closest to her. He stared straight ahead with his hands folded neatly between his knees. His hair was tied loosely under a hat, which gave him an air of authority. A small smile played upon his lips when he finally spoke. “You’re awake.”
His voice was soft and pleasant, much different from the rough bark of Mr. Wainright. Molly nodded slightly, trying not to draw his attention. She needed answers first.
“Where am I?”
He chuckled softly before answering, “This is our home. We’ve lived here for many generations, keeping ourselves hidden from others. You see, we don’t belong anywhere anymore, not since your world became ours.”
“I’m sorry,” Molly said. “But what does any of this have to do with me?”
The man continued to stare straight ahead while saying, “We know how you died, but we also know something very important about yourself. For instance, we learned that your father was killed by a gun fired by none other than Thomas Jefferson himself…”
***
When Molly woke to find herself lying alone in bed, she wondered if she really slept at all last night. Not until she noticed the clock on top of her dresser read three o’clock did she realize that hours had passed without notice.
It wasn’t like her to fall asleep so easily after being shot multiple times, especially considering the severity of her wounds. If only there could be some explanation for why she didn’t wake up screaming during the attack, then maybe she would understand the meaning behind these events.
Molly rose quietly from the bed, careful not to disturb Mary Kate. Then she dressed quickly and slipped downstairs to begin preparing breakfast. Her thoughts kept returning to the conversation from the previous evening.
Was that really what happened back at the ranch house? Or perhaps, she should ask, what part of it actually occurred? Why couldn’t she remember? Who are you talking about, Thomas Jefferson? And who are you supposed to be?
By four thirty, Molly had finished cooking bacon fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and gravy. All of that work left little time for eating, though she ate anyway. By five o’clock, the kitchen was spotless, dishes washed and put away, pots scrubbed clean, floors swept, and furniture dusted.
The rest of the upstairs remained untouched; no need to rush things. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Molly knew better than to get comfortable. There’s plenty of time for cleaning later, once I figure out exactly what I’m dealing with.
After finishing her own meal, Molly poured herself a cup of coffee and headed down the stairs leading into the basement. As soon as she entered the dark space, Molly heard someone whisper, “Hello.”
At first, she thought the sound came from somewhere above her head near the front door. So, she glanced up toward the upper level. Nothing unusual caught her eye. Turning completely around, she scanned every corner of the room and found nothing out of place.
Only when she looked closer did she notice that her hand rested against a wall in the center of the long rectangular space. On either side of her was a set of steps that led upward to the main area of the house.
To her right was another doorway that appeared identical to the entrance she’d used earlier. That explained the whispering noise. She was standing in the middle of a narrow passageway connecting both levels.
“Who’s there?” she called loudly enough to reach the second floor. No answer followed. “Show yourself!”
A slight breeze wafted through the passage causing ruffled curtains on either side of the opening to sway gently. With each movement, a faint light glowed faintly along the bottom edges of the fabric.
When she reached for the curtain on her left, the glow intensified to reveal a tall man wearing a white shirt and black trousers. He wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes—a typical western fashion statement.
Before Molly could speak or move, he grabbed her wrist tightly, jerking her arm backward before dragging her across the threshold onto the landing outside the room where they were attacked.
There was a brief moment of darkness before bright sunlight filled the stairwell. From there, Molly saw that she stood inside an empty hallway just past the entryway to their bedroom. They must have climbed two more flights of stairs because now she faced a large open window overlooking a wooded valley below them.
In fact, it seemed that the entire landscape stretched endlessly beyond sight. It reminded her of the view from her attic room in New York City. A shiver ran down her spine. What kind of people live here?
She tried to pull free again, but the intruder held firm. His grip felt strong and confident. Before Molly could protest further, the stranger turned and walked away. Without looking back, he disappeared down one of the hallways leading off to her right.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Molly listened intently for signs of anyone else moving within earshot. After a few moments, the silence returned. Now, instead of feeling threatened, she simply wanted to see whoever this person might be.
Curiosity won out over fear. Maybe if I can learn anything new, it will help me solve the mystery surrounding my brother’s death… assuming it is indeed connected to any of these events.
So far, she hadn’t managed much of a lead except for the name Jefferson. At least, that was something she could use against him when he showed up next week at dinner. Assuming, of course, that he would show up.
With a sigh, she pushed aside all thoughts of Thomas Jefferson for now. Instead, she focused on gathering information about this strange family living under her roof. First thing tomorrow morning, she planned to visit the saloon and try to talk some sense into those men. If only one of them wasn’t already dead by then.
***
It took Molly several days after meeting Thomas Jefferson and finding out about his plan to return home to organize her thoughts and decide how best to proceed. One night while lying awake in bed, she realized that she still didn’t know why he chose to murder his father. And what good does knowing that do anyone?
The question nagged at her during the following day until finally, in late afternoon, she decided to take action. Her first step was to find out who owned the ranch. Then, she intended to pay a call on Mr. Jefferson and ask him point blank: Why did you kill your dad?
Molly waited in her office until six o’clock passed without hearing so much as a knock on her door. The evening had begun with such promise. She’d finished most of the work she needed to accomplish before leaving town early the next morning.
All that remained was to write a letter to Mrs. O’Leary requesting permission to interview her husband, which she hoped to mail later today.
By seven p.m., however, no matter how hard she worked, the desk refused to clear itself of clutter. Finally, Molly gave up trying. There were other things she could do besides working. Like reading books or writing letters. Or even taking a walk around the grounds behind the house. So, she changed clothes and stepped out of the front door of the main house toward the stables.
As usual, a horse whinnied when she approached. This time though, it sounded like someone calling her name. As she neared the barns, she heard another voice speaking softly.
“I’ll tell you everything.”
When she reached the stable doors, she found three horses standing quietly beside four saddles hanging from pegs set into the wall opposite the entrance. Each saddle bore the initials J.T.—just like the ones worn by Jefferson and his brothers.
But neither Jefferson nor Jake appeared among the animals. Just before entering the stall closest to the door, she glanced down at the ground to make sure none of the boys were hiding nearby. Nothing moved on the dusty dirt floor; nothing stirred in the shadows beneath the stalls.
Her heart pounding, she entered the dark building and closed the swinging wooden doors shut behind her. Light spilled from the single lantern sitting atop a small metal stand near the center of the long corridor stretching between rows upon rows of empty stalls.
With each step closer to the light, the air grew warmer. Soon, sweat dampened her forehead despite the chill wind blowing through the open windows lining both sides of the wide space.
A faint noise made her stop abruptly. When she lifted her head, she spotted a man crouched near the rear corner of one end of the aisle. He wore a black hat pulled low over his brow, concealing his face completely. Only part of his left side was visible above the edge of his coat. A large knife dangled just below his waistline. “Who are you?”
He rose slowly and stepped forward. It took a moment for Molly to recognize him as the same stranger who attacked her earlier. Still, there was something different about him tonight. For starters, he seemed more nervous than angry — almost scared.
His hand trembled slightly as he fumbled with the latch, causing the blade to swing dangerously close to her throat. Once the trapdoor opened, the intruder slipped inside quickly. His body blocked out half of the lantern’s glow. In spite of the darkness, she caught a glimpse of his profile—a lean jaw covered by short brown hair and an angular nose.
Without warning, he raised the knife high overhead and brought it crashing down on top of her skull. Pain exploded across her brain. Before she knew it, she collapsed to the floor where she lay motionless staring straight ahead.
For a few seconds, she felt nothing but pain. Then, gradually, it receded enough for her to regain consciousness. Slowly, she sat upright and looked around. What happened? Where am I? Did they hurt me again?
She saw a pair of boots sticking out from underneath her right arm and recognized them immediately as Thomas Jefferson’s. Next came a flash of movement as Jefferson bent down and placed her feet back onto the ground.
Then, suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her knees. “Don’t move,” he said gruffly as he held her against his chest with one arm wrapped firmly around her upper torso. He then searched her pockets until he found what he sought. Releasing her wrists, he stuffed her purse into her shirt pocket and tied her hands together with rope.
“What is this?” Molly asked as soon as she regained full use of her arms.
Jefferson didn’t answer her directly. Instead, he walked past her and headed deeper into the darkness of the stable. After several steps, he stopped and turned around. His gaze swept across the dim interior of the barn. “We’re going somewhere safer.”
Molly tried not to think too much about why exactly he wanted to take her anywhere else. She wasn’t sure if it was because he thought she might be able to help him escape or simply that he needed someplace darker and quieter than the rest of the ranch house. Either way, being taken away from here would certainly put her mind at ease. At least temporarily.
***
The moonlight shone brightly outside the window of their room as Molly listened intently to Jefferson speak to himself in the darkness. The sound of his soft whisper echoed off the walls of the tiny bedroom. Occasionally, he paused to listen as well. Finally, after five minutes passed without any further explanation, she decided to ask him a question.
“Why did you want me to come along?”
Instead of answering her direct question, he spoke louder so she could hear better. “You’ve been asking questions all night. And yet, no answers have ever arrived.”
Before she had a chance to respond, he continued talking. “I’m taking you home with me now. You can stay there while we figure things out.”
It sounded like such a simple solution. Of course, it also meant leaving everything behind: the ranch, Tom, and even Jefferson herself. But, for reasons unknown, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Not when he’d already done so much for her.
After another minute, Jefferson finally stopped whispering for good. Without saying goodbye, he turned toward the door and began walking toward the entrance hall. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced back at her once more before disappearing into the hallway beyond.
When he reappeared moments later carrying two saddlebags slung over his shoulder, Molly stood up and followed him out of the room. He led her down the narrow staircase and through a doorway on the other side, which connected to an adjacent corridor lined with three bedrooms.
As they neared Jefferson’s quarters, Molly realized how tired he must still be considering his lack of sleep during the previous day and night. Yet, despite that, he acted as though he hadn’t slept at all since yesterday afternoon.
With each step closer to his room, she became increasingly uncomfortable. This wasn’t just because she didn’t know where they were heading. No, it went far deeper than that. Something told her she should turn around and walk out of here as fast as possible. That she shouldn’t go near him anymore.
But, she refused to listen to her instincts. With every passing second, she grew convinced that she belonged with him; that he truly cared about her welfare. So, instead of turning around, Molly took one last look at Jefferson’s face before closing the distance between them.
He seemed startled by her sudden appearance. When he turned around, she noticed something strange—his eyes glowed faintly red under the light of the single lamp sitting atop his dresser. It reminded her vaguely of bloodshot cataracts, only much larger and brighter than normal.
A cold shiver ran down Molly’s spine as she stared at those glowing orbs. They looked almost alive…like they were searching for something within her body. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she wondered if maybe she really was crazy. Was it possible that she’d actually imagined seeing Jefferson’s true nature? Or perhaps it was a trick of the light playing tricks on her brain.
Whatever it may be, she knew she had to stop thinking about it. Right now, she had bigger problems to worry about than Jefferson’s strange abilities. Like escaping before anyone woke up and discovered who they were traveling with.
Still holding onto the bedpost next to her, Molly leaned forward and kissed Jefferson softly on the lips. Then, as quickly as she could manage, she let go of the post and stepped back. Still staring at his bright-red eyes, she waited patiently until she saw the color begin to fade away again.
Jefferson watched her carefully as she pulled open the door and slipped inside. A moment later, he came through after her. Once both of them had made themselves comfortable against the wall opposite the entrance to his suite, he closed the door securely behind him.
Then, leaning casually against the front corner of the desk, he folded his arms across his broad shoulders and studied her. For several long seconds, neither said a word. Neither moved either. Instead, they merely sat there quietly watching each other.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
His gaze never left hers as he answered slowly. “We’re getting married.”
She blinked twice as confusion washed over her. “What?”
“That’s right,” he replied calmly. “Now, I don’t expect you to believe my words just yet. After all, your mind has probably been filled with false information these past few days. But, someday soon, it will become clear to everyone why we need to get hitched sooner rather than later.”
Her mouth fell agape as she tried to make sense of his statement. “So, we are engaged then?”
“Not quite.” His answer surprised her. In fact, it confused her so badly that she forgot about being angry or upset for a brief time. She shook her head and frowned. “You mean not exactly…”
The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled. “No, Molly. We aren’t engaged yet —at least, not officially. But, eventually, we’ll marry. And, as soon as we do, it would be best if no one else ever found out our secret.”
Molly nodded as she thought about what he’d just said. “Why?”
For some reason, Jefferson hesitated before answering. He appeared lost in deep contemplation as he pondered whether he should share everything with her. Finally, he sighed heavily and gave her the short version of his story.
By the time he finished telling her about his life growing up, Molly felt numb inside from shock and disbelief. Somehow, she managed to keep herself together enough to ask questions along the way.
As he talked, she learned more than she wanted to know about Jefferson’s father, mother, brothers, and sister. Not once did he mention anything about his wife, but he hinted that she died sometime in the late 1980s. All too quickly, though, their conversation ended.
When Jefferson finally stopped talking, silence reigned supreme throughout the entire length of his suite. The only sound she heard was the faint hum coming from an electrical outlet near the ceiling above them.
After a minute or two passed without any sign of movement from Jefferson, Molly cleared her throat and spoke first. “I’m sorry for asking such personal questions, but I needed to find out the truth for myself. You see, I’ve been having nightmares lately about a family member dying.”
It took him another full five minutes to respond. By that point, she’d already begun wondering if she’d even spoken aloud because nothing happened. So far, Jefferson hadn’t done a thing except stand silently next to her while she told him her troubles.
But, finally, he lifted his hand and placed it gently on top of her own where it rested against the wall. Almost immediately, Molly felt a warm tingle run through her fingers and up her arm. There wasn’t enough room between them for his fingertips to touch her skin directly, but she didn’t care. It still made her feel better knowing someone cared for her so deeply.
A little longer went by before she realized she couldn’t take it anymore. With her heart pounding like thunder, she turned toward him and asked, “Will you please kiss me…just for old times’ sake? Please!”
He looked down at her briefly before lifting his chin and giving her a soft peck on her forehead.
With her breathing ragged, she stared into his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
The End