Jared was worth waiting on, but for what reason? She shook her head as she watched the road, counting the miles as they separated her from the farm and the man awaiting her there. He was worth waiting on. But was she?
Chapter Seventeen
Briar Cliff. A week later, Kimberly turned into the long driveway that led to the stately Pennsylvania estate. Huge oaks lined the paved road, casting a dappled pattern of sunlight and shade over the dark path. She had once found it comforting, the sheltering limbs as they spread over the road, embracing each arrival. Now, she found it oppressive, restraining.
Pulling into the long circular driveway, Kimberly drew in a deep breath as she attempted to control the emotions overwhelming her. She hadn’t returned to the home she had been raised in, since her mother’s death. The conditions of the Trust would have allowed her to live there; her father would have preferred it because he could not continue residence there without her. Which had been one of the main reasons she had refused to stay.
It hurt, remembering the past. For years she had tried to block the memories, to keep from reliving the pain and fear she had known as a child. To keep from remembering her mother, so frail and fragile, huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped around her body as tears streamed down her face.
She shook her head. She wasn’t here to remember, yet somehow she knew that was inescapable.
Opening the door to her beat-up sedan, she stepped outside and stared around the grounds with a sense of déjà vu. She could hear her childish laughter, her mother’s voice calling out to her, filled with amusement and…love?
Kimmie, you know your father won’t like you climbing that tree. Was it laughter? Her chest tightened with the remembrance of the smug undertones of her mother’s voice. It had been like a dare. And Kimberly had accepted it as such.
My sweet Kimmie, don’t worry, baby, we won’t let mean ole daddy ruin our fun will we, baby…
That hadn’t been love in her voice, it had been satisfaction.
She shook her head fiercely. Was this why she had never returned? Why each time she had planned to come back to Briar Cliff something inside her had made her change her mind, there had always been something more important to do.
She pushed her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out the single key she carried there. It would open the doors to Briar Cliff, and the memories she had fought to hold back for longer than she had realized herself.
The wide, oak, double door opened smoothly. There wasn’t a squeak or a hesitation as they swung on their well-oiled hinges.
Kimmie, this is all yours. Yours and your daughter’s and your daughter’s daughter’s. Don’t let him ever take it, Kimmie. Not ever…
She had been six, standing in the foyer after yet another of her father’s furious exits. Her mother had been in tears, her shoulders heaving with her sobs, her green eyes shadowed with misery.
She stood in the same marble foyer, staring around her, seeing the past rather than the gleaming oak and teak wood trim, or the centuries old antique hall tables and cushioned chairs, or the priceless crystal decorations.
Over two centuries of dedication to the stately home had made Briar Cliff a resource unto itself. It was quite simply, as a whole, priceless. The trust set up six generations before had ensured that there would be no sales, no chance of mortgages, or of loss. It had grown only more valuable over the generations.
But the antiques and delicate wood carved borders were only glanced over. Kimberly had never seen Briar Cliff as a heritage, it had been her home. But now she saw it, felt it as something more. It wasn’t a home. It wasn’t a heritage. It had been a curse.
She moved slowly through the house, room by room, the voices of a past she hadn’t wanted to remember washing over her.
God damn you, you stupid whore. All I asked you to do was play hostess, not the slut…
You f**king bitch, he’s gone… Do you hear me? He left. Took the money your father gave him and ran. Are you so f**king lame you can’t even remember he didn’t want you…
Kimberly wanted to cover her ears, but there was no blocking the memories.
Her mother’s tears, her screams for mercy, and her father’s voice, rough-edged and filled with fury as he stood over her mother’s cowering body.
Whose do you want her to be?
Kimberly shuddered. How could she have forgotten that? She had been seven, hiding outside the drawing room, trembling in fear, terrified her father would actually hurt her mother.
She remembered her mother’s voice, slurred drunkenly, smug and amused.
Her mother hadn’t been crying. Kimberly stood outside the drawing room now, staring into the shadowed room, and seeing the ghosts of what had been.
Damn you, you lying bitch, I wouldn’t believe you either way,he had screamed. She’s your daughter. Yours. And likely just as depraved and perverted as you ever were…
What had her mother done?
She moved slowly through the house, room by room. The drawing room, the family room, the dining room. In each area she relived the fights, the screaming matches, her mother’s tears, her mother’s smug vindictive words laced with her bitter sobs.