The Mirror - Page 197

“Come on, Yoda, this isn’t like you. You’re such a good boy. Come on, and we’ll get you a treat!”

Wildflowers reached up where they could catch the sun, and the deeper shadows showed hints of green.

If she heard rustling, she imagined squirrel, chipmunk, rabbit. And refused to let her mind drift to bear.

She prayed her adventurous dog stuck to the path and didn’t end up getting them both lost.

A rustling—bigger than squirrel, chipmunk, rabbit—made her heart skip. Then a deer leaped across the path and vanished in those green-hued shadows.

Birds sang out; the pines whispered.

And she felt it, that pull. Just a tug at first, but irresistible.

“Oh God. Here? Now? Why?”

Though she slowed her pace, it pulled her forward, a thread she simply couldn’t break. So she went deeper into the shadows and light, deeper yet until all she heard was her own heart pounding.

It stood on the path, dappled in that light and shadow. And here, in the deep woods, the predators framing the glass seemed at home.

Yoda sat at its feet, his head ticking back and forth.

Did he see himself? she wondered.

She didn’t. She saw a blur of light and shadow, the green of trees, the brown of the path. But not a reflection. A continuance.

“How is this even possible? How could it be out here?”

When Yoda wagged at her, she crouched down. “You have to stay because I have to go. I have to.”

She straightened, stared at the mirror as she heard—distantly—the sound of hooves.

“If anything hurts my dog, I swear, I’ll make them pay for it.”

She went through the mirror.

And into the woods, on the path. The same path, she knew it, but different. The air so much cooler, and if she hadn’t felt fall in that air, she saw it in the trees flaming with it.

1805

Arthur Poole slowed his horse from gallop to a light trot. No hurry, after all. He had nothing but time today. And his mood stayed lifted high after the gallop.

He was a contented man, a successful man, and one who considered himself in his prime. As hardly more than a boy, he’d sailed from London and near poverty to the rough and rugged coast of Maine.

With a dream. With ambition. With a strong back and determination.

And with those, he’d built ships, and a thriving business. He’d built a home worthy of a successful man, and soon—after he’d ridden out of woods that belonged to him—he’d sit by the fire in that home—Poole Manor—put his feet up, and have a glass of whiskey.

But now he enjoyed the ride, the solitude, and the time for reflection.

He’d built a family as well, and had such pride in them. More, and it surprised him, even more pride than he had in his business, his great house, the village below that carried his name.

The scrappy boy from London.

And he felt joy that his eldest son—four minutes ahead of his twin—had asked for the hand of Astrid Grandville. Not simply because she came from a good family, a wealthy family, but because she had a spine and mixed it with a sweetness.

And above all, she loved his son, and he loved her. He could see it, feel it, and felt that joy in knowing it.

Collin would marry for love. He hadn’t, Arthur thought. He’dmarried for need, for ambition, for the wealth that came with the wife.