The Bone Garden: A Novel

— The way you seem familiar to me. —

— I don't know why I should. —

— Yet I keep having this feeling that I know you. That we've met. —

— I can't think of any reason we would have. —

— No. — He sighed. — I can't, either. — He looked at her. — So I guess there's no reason for me to cancel my trip. Is there? —

There was more to that question than either one of them was acknowledging. She met his gaze, and what she saw in his eyes scared her, because at that instant she saw both possibility and heartbreak. She was ready for neither.

Julia looked at the sea. — Henry and I will do fine. —

That night, Julia once again dreamed of Rose Connolly. Except this time, Rose was not the girl with the patched clothes and the ash-smudged face, but a sedate young woman with upswept hair and wisdom in her eyes. She stood amid wildflowers as she gazed down a slope, toward a stream. It was the same gentle slope that would one day become Julia's garden, and on this summer day, tall grass rippled like water in the wind, and dandelion fluff swirled in the golden haze. Rose turned, and there was a grassy field, and a few tumbled-down stones marking the spot where another house had once stood, a house that was now gone, burned to the ground.

From over the crest a young girl came running, her skirts flying behind her, her smiling face flushed from the heat. She flew toward Rose, who swept her up in her arms and swung her around and around, laughing.

— Again! Again! — the girl cried as she was set back on her feet.

— No, your auntie's dizzy. —

— Can we roll down the hill? —

— Look, Meggie. — Rose gestured toward the stream. — Isn't this a lovely spot? What do you think? —

— There are fish in the water, and frogs. —

— It's a perfect place, isn't it? Someday, you should build your house here. Right here on this spot. —

— What about that old house up there? —

Rose gazed up at the charred stone foundation near the top of the crest. — It belonged to a great man, — she said softly. — It burned down when you were just two years old. Maybe someday, when you're older, I'll tell you about him. About what he did for us. — Rose inhaled deeply and gazed toward the stream. — Yes, this is a fine place to build a house. You must remember this spot. — She reached for the girl's hand. — Come. Cook's expecting us back for lunch. —

They walked, the aunt and her niece, their skirts rustling through tall grass as they strode together up the slope, until they went over the crest, and only Rose's auburn hair could be seen glinting above the swaying grass.

Julia woke up with tears in her eyes. That was my garden. Rose and Meggie walked in my garden.

She climbed out of bed and went to the window, where she saw the pink light of dawn. At last all the clouds were gone and today, for the first time, she saw sunshine over Penobscot Bay. I'm so glad I stayed long enough to see this sunrise, she thought.

She tried to be quiet and not wake Henry as she tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen to make coffee. She was about to turn on the faucet to fill the carafe when she heard the distinct sound of rustling paper in another room. She set down the carafe and peeked into the library.

Henry was slumped in a chair at the dining table, his head drooping, a blizzard of paper spread out before him.

Alarmed, she ran toward him, fearing the worst. But when she grasped his shoulder he straightened and looked at her. — I found it, — he said.

Her gaze fell to the handwritten pages that lay on the table in front of him, and she saw the three familiar initials: O.W.H. — Another letter! —

— I think it may be the last one, Julia. —

— But this is wonderful! — she said. Then she noticed how pale he was, and that his hands were shaking. — What's wrong? —

He handed her the letter. — Read it. —

Thirty

1830

THE GRUESOME OBJECT had been steeping for two days in whiskey, and at first, Rose did not recognize what the jar contained. All she saw was a flap of raw meat submerged in a tea-colored brew. Mr. Pratt turned the jar and held it up to Rose's face, forcing her to take a closer look.

— Do you know who this is? — he asked.

She gazed into the jar, where the object preserved in that unsavory bath of liquor and old blood suddenly bobbed up against the glass, which magnified every feature. Rose recoiled in horror.

— It's a face you should recognize, Miss Connolly, — said Pratt. — It was stripped from a body found two nights ago in a West End alley. A body carved with the sign of the cross. The body of your brother-in-law, Mr. Eben Tate. — He set the jar down on Dr. Grenville's table.

Rose turned to Grenville, who looked equally shocked by the evidence in his parlor. — That jar was never in Norris's room! — she said. — He wouldn't have asked me to come here if he didn't believe in you, Dr. Grenville. Now you have to believe in him. —

Pratt reacted with an unperturbed smile. — I think it's quite clear, Doctor, that your student Mr. Marshall deceived you. He is the West End Reaper. It's only a matter of time before he's apprehended. —

— If he's not already drowned, — said Grenville.

— Oh, we know he's still alive. This morning, we found footprints in the mud, coming out of the water near the docks. We will find him, and justice will be served. This jar is all the proof we need. —

— All you have is a specimen pickled in whiskey. —

— And a bloodstained mask. A white mask, just as certain witnesses — — he looked at Rose— — have described. —

Rose said, — He's innocent! I'll testify— —

— Testify to what, Miss Connolly? — Pratt gave a dismissive snort.

— You planted that jar in his room. —

Pratt advanced on her with a look of such fury that she flinched. — You little whore. —

— Mr. Pratt! — said Grenville.

But Pratt's gaze remained on Rose. — You think your testimony will be worth anything? I know full well that you've been living with Norris Marshall. That he even took his strumpet home for Christmas to meet his dear old dad. Not only do you lie underneath him, now you're lying for him. Did he kill Eben Tate as a favor to you? Did he take care of your troublesome brother-in-law? — He placed the jar back in its cloth-lined evidence box. — Oh, yes, a jury will certainly believe your testimony! —

Rose said to Grenville: — The jar was not in his room. I swear to it. —

— Who authorized the search of Mr. Marshall's room? — asked Grenville. — How did the Night Watch even think to look there? —

For the first time, Pratt appeared uneasy. — I only did my duty. When a report comes in— —

— What report? —

— A letter, advising the Night Watch that we might find certain items of interest in his room. —

— A letter from whom? —

— I am not at liberty to say. —

Grenville gave a comprehending laugh. — Anonymous! —

— We found the evidence, didn't we? —

— You would stake a man's life on that jar? On that mask? —

— And you, sir, should think twice before you stake your fine reputation on a killer. It should be obvious by now that you've sorely misjudged the young man, and so has everyone else. — He lifted the evidence box and added, with a note of satisfaction, — Everyone but me. — He gave a curt nod. — Good night, Doctor. I'll see myself out. —

They listened to Pratt's footsteps as he walked down the hall, and then the front door closed behind him. A moment later, Dr. Grenville's sister, Eliza, swept into the parlor.