Joey set the sculpture down among the others. It still wasn’t time, too soon to demand explanations or press matters that needed to be resolved. She steadied her shaking hands, pressing them together as she moved to the next set of bookshelves. Like the others, it was filled with volumes of every description, and she sought among them for some harmless topic that would take them away from dangerous ground.
She found what she was looking for in a slim volume of European folk and fairy tales. The illustrations were quaint but lavish, and she paused at one depicting the story Beauty and the Beast. The Beast in this case was a creature with a head that resembled a cross between a bear and a boar, dressed in the finery of a past century.
“Your collection of books is impressive,” she said into the silence. Luke paused in his pacing to glance up, though he stayed by the fire. “With the winters so long and cold and no electricity, I imagine books could go a long way toward keeping a person sane.”
“When there are no other distractions,” Luke responded. His voice was even, and his silhouette against the firelight seemed less rigid. Joey turned the pages carefully.
“I used to love these stories. My mother used to read them to me when I was young.” She broke off before memories could trap her and continued, “You have quite an interest in mythology. I’ve always found that to be a fascinating subject.”
Luke had moved halfway across the room, stopping at the sofa as if it were an unbreachable barrier. “It can be Myth is powerful because it has roots in reality.”
Joey cocked her head with a wry smile. “Yes. But it can also give us a nice, safe distance from reality.” She closed the book and set it back in place, wondering why every subject of conversation seemed to carry an unexpected complication. “And reality has an unfortunate way of sneaking up on us anyway, no matter how we try to ignore it.” She stared at rows of titles without really seeing them.
Luke’s voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear it. ” ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio…’ ”
“Shakespeare, too?” She focused again and found a row of that author’s works on one of the top shelves, out of her reach. “But Hamlet is a tragedy, isn’t it? I never much cared for tragedy.”
A sense of fragility came over Joey that sprang from equal parts unwanted memories, unrelieved tension, and a sudden and overwhelming sense of aloneness. She wanted desperately to recover her equilibrium, but it seemed lost and far beyond her reach. She turned her back so that Luke wouldn’t see what she was sure her face revealed and circled the far end of the room, passing the darkened kitchen and stopping in the most distant corner.
It was something of a shrine—that was her first thought as she looked down at the tiny corner table. Beautifully carved shelves rose above it to form niches, each containing some small item. Two candles, unlit, completed the image of a place set off as a sanctuary. For memories? Joey wondered.
She stopped the thought by focusing on the objects. There was a hairbrush—the handle made, like the table itself, of intricately carved and painted wood. She picked it up carefully. There were still a few soft midnight-black hairs caught in the bristles. A woman’s hair.
For an instant Joey wondered if it could have belonged to one of Luke’s earlier lovers—one of those Maggie had warned her about. Surely not even the most arrogant of men would keep a shrine to his former conquests? The mere idea seemed ludicrous, but as her eyes traced over the items on display, there could be no doubt that they had belonged to a woman.
There was a mirror, a silver one finely made though simple, and a gold ring set with a single flawless ruby. Joey was almost afraid to touch them. The other shelves contained similar articles, but it was the table itself that displayed the most compelling object.
The music box that held the place of honor was exquisite. It had a classic design that suggested age but was in perfect condition polished and, like the rest of the shrine, free of dust. Joey could not resist running her fingers over the silver and gold molding; the tiny picture carved on the lid that depicted canoes on a river surrounded by forest and mountains. Without thinking, she lifted the lid.