The Wish Collector
Page 66
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Clara’s heart constricted, pain rising inside of her but she pushed off the feeling of desperation. Mrs. Guillot had been right. She would find peace in the knowledge that she’d given it her all, tried her very best to convince Jonah that she was not ashamed of him and that he must find a way to hold his own head high. But if, in the end, he insisted on pushing her away, it would be up to him to find his own peace. Without her. Because he would never accept his face before he accepted his soul.
Clara pressed her lips together, looking off in the same direction as him for a moment, her heart feeling as if it were cracking down the middle. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about what Mr. Knowles told you? The phone . . .”
He was quiet for a moment before he finally said, “No. And I don’t feel like talking about it.”
That might have hurt Clara most of all. They’d been intimate, yes. He’d made love to her only minutes ago. But since they’d met, he’d been her friend, her deepest confidant, the person she talked everything through with. And she’d felt like she was that same person for him. And now to be shut out of his thoughts, his world, was like a blade to her heart. He’d said he forgave her, but maybe that wasn’t completely true. “You can trust me, Jonah.”
He let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a moan. “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me, Clara. My own brother couldn’t.”
She watched him for a moment. Yes, that had to wound him deeply. Maybe he wouldn’t talk to her, but she’d been thinking about the whole situation for several days now, and she had something to say to him about Justin. “Your brother—”
“Clara.”
“No, Jonah, I’ll leave because you want me to, but I’m going to say this first. I went through that folder your brother put together about the Chamberlain family history, each note he made, each thought he jotted down, and I feel like I gained insight on the kind of man he was. Just a little but enough to say this.”
Clara took a deep breath. “Your brother should have shared what he knew with you, instead of being vague. But he didn’t because he believed you would blow him off unless he had concrete evidence. Was he wrong?”
Jonah stared out at the trees, quiet for so many beats, Clara didn’t think he’d answer her. “I don’t know.”
“You feel betrayed by everyone, and the rest of them deserve that and more. But your brother, Jonah, he had your best interests at heart. He was a man, like you, trying to make good choices, trying to do right by the people he loved, trying to be the opposite of your father who’d hurt him as he’d hurt you. His choices weren’t always the right ones, but anything bad that happened because of them was not intentional. He wasn’t perfect, and I think all of these years you’ve pretended he was. You’ve put him on a pedestal and created some sort of saintly caricature in your mind. He wasn’t saintly. He was just a man. Just your brother. But I believe with all of my heart that he loved you, and he’d want the best for you now.”
Clara stood and watched as Jonah’s hand trembled and came up off of the bench where it had lain. He was going to reach for her. Hope ballooned and then burst when it dropped back onto the wood. His eyes remained downcast.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, and she could hear the regret in his tone, the sorrow. And it increased hers because it didn’t have to be this way if only he’d see it. “I’m sorry I stole the magic of this place from you.”
Clara regarded him, recalling his words. There are no ghosts in the garden. The wall doesn't weep. The stone absorbs water when it rains and then releases it as it dries. Jesus Christ. It's not magic. It's just science.
"You didn’t steal anything from me, because you're wrong," she said, and it surprised her to hear the surety, the strength in her own voice, because she still felt so hollow inside, so desperate to convince him.
Jonah seemed to pause, tilting his head in that way of his to peer at her more closely from his good eye. He blinked in confusion as though he’d expected her to sound hurt and wasn’t sure what to make of the reason she did not.
But she realized then, that his words, meant to be harsh, had only made her more confident in her conviction. "There is magic. Us. We're magic. Two lonely people who found each other despite the barricade between us. I felt your heart, Jonah, even through a wall made of rock. We're magic, but you're too blind to see it. Choose to continue hiding behind the wall if you want, but don’t ever tell me there’s no magic. You’re the one who’s chosen to shut it out.”
Clara’s gaze went to the cabins in front of her, outlined in the dim light. Again, she had that feeling that everything around her was stilled . . . hushed. Waiting for something that might or might not happen.
She envisioned them again, the men and women and children who had called this place home once upon a time.
She pictured Angelina herself, making her way from the grandeur of the big house to the dirt paths that led to the squalor of these small cabins.
She wondered if John had ever seen this place, if perhaps it was there where they’d met in secret and fallen in love. And her heart bled for all of it.
“They would have done anything to have the ability to leave this plantation together,” she mused softly, to herself maybe as much as to the man sitting on the bench willing to watch her walk away. “To walk through the streets hand in hand, to claim their freedom.” Her eyes moved to him. “And you, you dishonor them and yourself by staying locked away by choice.”
Jonah didn’t answer, but she could see in his posture, in the way his shoulders hunched, that he was suffering too. But if he wouldn’t do anything about it, she couldn’t force him to. She could only love him. And offer him grace. But this time, from afar.
“What would they say to you?” she asked before turning and walking away. It was her closing argument. She left him to answer the question on his own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The bar/restaurant was bright and crowded, the sounds of raucous chatter barely making its way to Jonah’s ears where he stood against the building across the street.
He watched her hungrily as she laughed at something the male dancer he’d seen her dance with at the masquerade ball said. Jonah was unable to hear the sound from where he stood, but the sweet memory of it lived inside of his soul, and it wove through him then, causing him to suffer. Causing him to pine. Causing jealousy to rip a jagged path down his spine.
Why was that guy touching her? Did he think that because he was her dance partner, he was allowed to touch her anytime he wanted? As though he had some right to her body?
His hands fisted at his sides. Didn’t the stupid bastard know she belonged to Jonah?
Only she didn’t. His fists uncurled. She didn’t belong to Jonah, because he’d pushed her away. He’d told her to leave, demanded she stay away. And then as though that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d tried to steal the magic that brought her such joy. But she hadn’t let him and wasn’t that just like Clara? To hold on to something that held no basis in reality? We’re magic. Us.
God, he was used to pain, or so he’d thought, but this was of a level he hadn’t even known existed. He closed his eyes as a raw groan moved up his throat.
Why was he doing this to himself? To prove that he’d been right, that he could never offer her the life she deserved to live? The one she was living right then under the bright lights of the restaurant with a group of friends in a very public place.
She seemed to be enjoying more social activities lately. As she should. As a young, vibrant, beautiful woman like Clara was meant to do.
Clara wandered away from the group, peering out of the large glass window, and for a second he swore their eyes met. She saw him, he felt it, or even if she didn’t, she still knew he was there. But she wouldn’t come to him. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. She’s already done it twice—two times more than he deserved—and that was all he was going to get.
Clara looked away, smiling at something a girl said as she came up beside her, turning her back on Jonah.
Clara had fought for him, she really had. He’d recognized that, and it’d made his heart throb with love for her and his insides twist into a knot of fiery longing.
Clara pressed her lips together, looking off in the same direction as him for a moment, her heart feeling as if it were cracking down the middle. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about what Mr. Knowles told you? The phone . . .”
He was quiet for a moment before he finally said, “No. And I don’t feel like talking about it.”
That might have hurt Clara most of all. They’d been intimate, yes. He’d made love to her only minutes ago. But since they’d met, he’d been her friend, her deepest confidant, the person she talked everything through with. And she’d felt like she was that same person for him. And now to be shut out of his thoughts, his world, was like a blade to her heart. He’d said he forgave her, but maybe that wasn’t completely true. “You can trust me, Jonah.”
He let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a moan. “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me, Clara. My own brother couldn’t.”
She watched him for a moment. Yes, that had to wound him deeply. Maybe he wouldn’t talk to her, but she’d been thinking about the whole situation for several days now, and she had something to say to him about Justin. “Your brother—”
“Clara.”
“No, Jonah, I’ll leave because you want me to, but I’m going to say this first. I went through that folder your brother put together about the Chamberlain family history, each note he made, each thought he jotted down, and I feel like I gained insight on the kind of man he was. Just a little but enough to say this.”
Clara took a deep breath. “Your brother should have shared what he knew with you, instead of being vague. But he didn’t because he believed you would blow him off unless he had concrete evidence. Was he wrong?”
Jonah stared out at the trees, quiet for so many beats, Clara didn’t think he’d answer her. “I don’t know.”
“You feel betrayed by everyone, and the rest of them deserve that and more. But your brother, Jonah, he had your best interests at heart. He was a man, like you, trying to make good choices, trying to do right by the people he loved, trying to be the opposite of your father who’d hurt him as he’d hurt you. His choices weren’t always the right ones, but anything bad that happened because of them was not intentional. He wasn’t perfect, and I think all of these years you’ve pretended he was. You’ve put him on a pedestal and created some sort of saintly caricature in your mind. He wasn’t saintly. He was just a man. Just your brother. But I believe with all of my heart that he loved you, and he’d want the best for you now.”
Clara stood and watched as Jonah’s hand trembled and came up off of the bench where it had lain. He was going to reach for her. Hope ballooned and then burst when it dropped back onto the wood. His eyes remained downcast.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, and she could hear the regret in his tone, the sorrow. And it increased hers because it didn’t have to be this way if only he’d see it. “I’m sorry I stole the magic of this place from you.”
Clara regarded him, recalling his words. There are no ghosts in the garden. The wall doesn't weep. The stone absorbs water when it rains and then releases it as it dries. Jesus Christ. It's not magic. It's just science.
"You didn’t steal anything from me, because you're wrong," she said, and it surprised her to hear the surety, the strength in her own voice, because she still felt so hollow inside, so desperate to convince him.
Jonah seemed to pause, tilting his head in that way of his to peer at her more closely from his good eye. He blinked in confusion as though he’d expected her to sound hurt and wasn’t sure what to make of the reason she did not.
But she realized then, that his words, meant to be harsh, had only made her more confident in her conviction. "There is magic. Us. We're magic. Two lonely people who found each other despite the barricade between us. I felt your heart, Jonah, even through a wall made of rock. We're magic, but you're too blind to see it. Choose to continue hiding behind the wall if you want, but don’t ever tell me there’s no magic. You’re the one who’s chosen to shut it out.”
Clara’s gaze went to the cabins in front of her, outlined in the dim light. Again, she had that feeling that everything around her was stilled . . . hushed. Waiting for something that might or might not happen.
She envisioned them again, the men and women and children who had called this place home once upon a time.
She pictured Angelina herself, making her way from the grandeur of the big house to the dirt paths that led to the squalor of these small cabins.
She wondered if John had ever seen this place, if perhaps it was there where they’d met in secret and fallen in love. And her heart bled for all of it.
“They would have done anything to have the ability to leave this plantation together,” she mused softly, to herself maybe as much as to the man sitting on the bench willing to watch her walk away. “To walk through the streets hand in hand, to claim their freedom.” Her eyes moved to him. “And you, you dishonor them and yourself by staying locked away by choice.”
Jonah didn’t answer, but she could see in his posture, in the way his shoulders hunched, that he was suffering too. But if he wouldn’t do anything about it, she couldn’t force him to. She could only love him. And offer him grace. But this time, from afar.
“What would they say to you?” she asked before turning and walking away. It was her closing argument. She left him to answer the question on his own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The bar/restaurant was bright and crowded, the sounds of raucous chatter barely making its way to Jonah’s ears where he stood against the building across the street.
He watched her hungrily as she laughed at something the male dancer he’d seen her dance with at the masquerade ball said. Jonah was unable to hear the sound from where he stood, but the sweet memory of it lived inside of his soul, and it wove through him then, causing him to suffer. Causing him to pine. Causing jealousy to rip a jagged path down his spine.
Why was that guy touching her? Did he think that because he was her dance partner, he was allowed to touch her anytime he wanted? As though he had some right to her body?
His hands fisted at his sides. Didn’t the stupid bastard know she belonged to Jonah?
Only she didn’t. His fists uncurled. She didn’t belong to Jonah, because he’d pushed her away. He’d told her to leave, demanded she stay away. And then as though that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d tried to steal the magic that brought her such joy. But she hadn’t let him and wasn’t that just like Clara? To hold on to something that held no basis in reality? We’re magic. Us.
God, he was used to pain, or so he’d thought, but this was of a level he hadn’t even known existed. He closed his eyes as a raw groan moved up his throat.
Why was he doing this to himself? To prove that he’d been right, that he could never offer her the life she deserved to live? The one she was living right then under the bright lights of the restaurant with a group of friends in a very public place.
She seemed to be enjoying more social activities lately. As she should. As a young, vibrant, beautiful woman like Clara was meant to do.
Clara wandered away from the group, peering out of the large glass window, and for a second he swore their eyes met. She saw him, he felt it, or even if she didn’t, she still knew he was there. But she wouldn’t come to him. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. She’s already done it twice—two times more than he deserved—and that was all he was going to get.
Clara looked away, smiling at something a girl said as she came up beside her, turning her back on Jonah.
Clara had fought for him, she really had. He’d recognized that, and it’d made his heart throb with love for her and his insides twist into a knot of fiery longing.
