He couldn’t be real. To her eyes, he was very nearly a mirage. All those promises. None kept. Nothing but lies. Now, as the man drenched by late afternoon rain and pooling water on her parquet wood floor, stood before her, she thought she might finally have an answer to the years of questions. Heat burned beneath her blouse and deep anger threatened in the hollow of her neck. Calm. Stay calm.
“Jefferson, will you take Mr. Hale’s coat please?” She turned to Jefferson, who, over the years, had become more family than the butler. He nodded, but a worried look crossed his narrow blue eyes, and she thought she could almost hear the question he wanted to ask. Is it okay? Are you sure you want this man here now? She blinked once, slowly, to indicate yes, and Jefferson obliged.
“Mr. Hale, I see you are soaked through. Please allow Jefferson to take your overcoat and bring us hot tea.” Her cultivated southern lilt betrayed none of her unease. With an elegant wave of her hand, she motioned to a room off of the foyer . “We can sit in the sun room and watch the storm. I believe we have some things to discuss…?” Hale’s eyes darkened with some unknown emotion. Her question lingered and Evelyn accepted a narrowed and appreciative look from the uninvited guest. Evelyn, as a Dupree, was gifted with classic good looks and on this evening she was in stunning form. Mr. Hale could not hide the appreciation in his eyes. Evelyn had no need for his unsaid compliment, yet a bit of satisfaction crept into the corners of her mouth.
Mr. Hale shrugged the sopping overcoat off of his shoulders and handed it over to Jefferson. Though he knew the butler well, and years had passed since last he’d seen him, Mr. Hale did not so much as nod a hello in his direction. Evelyn noticed and her lips thinned, an attempt to save her wrath for the appropriate moment.
“Mr. Hale, I believe you remember Jefferson Vicemont, a permanent and much loved fixture in the Dupree Home? Come, and if your shoes are soiled please remove them.” Evelyn turned and strode toward the sunroom; on this evening, only the raging storm that pounded the sky and the great bolts of lightening that illuminated the wooded field just beyond the gates of Dupree Manor, could be appreciated. The room was a giant arch of double-paned glass. Potted, exotic foliage stood in clusters around the perimeter. An elegant chaise, two antique arm-chairs, and rich oriental rugs were the rooms only furnishings.
Her breath was measured and even, her hands still. She was schooled in the art of control. Dupree’s were always in control. This would be no different.
“Mr. Hale, please sit.” She motioned to the low, silk chaise, putting Hale in the position of looking up to meet her gaze. Control.
“Evelyn, I have to tell…” His words were cut off by a swift motion of her hand.
“Do not offer apologies or excuses, Mr. Hale. I have not the time nor the patience for genuflections. The very idea that you have walked into my home and presented yourself for my wrath is enough to show me that indeed, you are incorrigible. I have thought so for many years of course.” Evelyn walked to the large, floor to ceiling windows and looked out at the expansive and majestic gardens that lay at the west of the patio. Images of the man that sat behind her flit across her mind in rapid succession. Memories of him striking out and lashing the boy who lay so still on the ground of the garden floor. Visions that for over twenty years could not be wiped from her mind, her heart. Deep anger welled in Evelyn and for a full minute she struggled for control of herself.
She spun cleanly around, meeting the aging eyes of the man she both searched for and despised the past two decades. He seemed to shudder beneath her gaze. A drop of rain slid down the side of his cheek, from the sopping mat of his hair and almost mocked her as it masqueraded as a tear. She did not believe Norman Hale would be crying tears for what he’d done. For the pain he’d caused.
“Norman. Where is Paul?” Each word deliberate and slow.
“He’s dead, Evelyn. That’s what I came to tell you. I thought you should know. “ He bowed his head. “He was killed Thursday…Thursday night.” A deep breath and Hale looked up and past her, to the gardens. He also had memories of what happened in that garden so many years ago. Events he would swear he had no control over.
“Dead?” She choked on the question, a lump of outrage and disbelief to painful to swallow. This just couldn’t be. This just couldn’t be true. “He was killed?”
“Evelyn, I’m sorry. Think of me what you will, but know that I would never have done what I did so many years ago if it hadn’t been necessary.”
Evelyn blinked back hot tears, and Hale rose to his feet, wanting to comfort her, knowing he could not.
“Listen to me, Evelyn! He was murdered and I believe they’re coming for you next. In fact, I know this. I have proof. They found him, Ev.”
Evelyn sank to a cushioned chair, her hands trembling. Her heart beat so furiously in her chest that she believed Norman Hale could see it pounding through her blouse. They murdered him. Paul is dead. After all of these years, all of her prayers and investigators, bribes and diligence. Now, he was dead and she would never again look into his face. Her hands would never touch him. Twenty years of searching had left her hope. What was left now?
She turned to Hale with the force of the storm that raged outside, “Norman Hale, how could you let them find him! How could you let him die? You did this, you did this, YOU!” Control had taken a back seat to long seeded rage; her body shook visibly, hatred and tears burned her eyes.
“No, of course I didn‘t. I couldn’t save him. Evelyn, please listen to me. I may know who they are. But we must talk and we don’t have much time. I have something to show you.” Hale held out a slip of paper, yellowed and delicate. “Evelyn, I kept him safe for twenty years. I did my best. I swear I did. But they found him. I know how you must hurt but dammit! He was my son, too.”
