The Haunting of Alcott Manor, page 20
part #1 of Alcott Manor Series
“The house wants you.” He raised an arched eyebrow, a silent warning, reminiscent of the earlier, more verbal ones.
“I know.” She felt like the biggest stuffed teddy bear on the carnival game shelf. She was the brass ring. The prize.
But why?
“I can’t believe the manor would trap me just to make me a member of its ongoing party. I thought maybe I had a job to do, that it wanted me to clear the way for Benjamin to go home. But I’m no closer to that than when I arrived.”
She felt the old, familiar anxiety rear up inside of her. Benjamin may not have destroyed anything recently, or at least nothing that they couldn't fix, but that wasn't a guarantee that he wouldn't strike hard before the judge’s visit—and in a way that they couldn't recover. Hope was not her favorite strategy.
“I don't know. I can’t explain the manor. Not entirely, anyway. But we’re going to keep our distance from its influence for a good while.”
They walked a good bit further until they reached a spot where the sand ran up into a small forest of pine trees. It was private. Peaceful. The scent of pine was one of her favorites, and she began to feel like herself again. Less of a prize.
Henry laid his jacket on the sand and offered his hand to her. Once they were both seated, he said, “Oh. You’re not afraid of alligators, are you?”
“Uh, generally speaking, yes. Why?”
“There are some nights when they crawl from the swamp on the south end of the property and rinse off in the surf.”
“Seriously?” Gemma’s eyes darted around the area she’d just thought peaceful and safe.
“I am serious. Sometimes I see them make a midnight run.” He gently lifted her hand and brushed a kiss against the inside of her wrist. “They sit very still where the sand meets the sea, never blinking, even when the water washes over their eyes.”
She watched while he dragged his lips upward along the tender light of her skin, his kisses as gentle as a breeze or a precious thought. “Now I don’t know who to be more afraid of…sea bathing alligators, miscreant ghosts, or overly possessive houses.”
“Probably the latter. Or both of the latter. But, as your loyal knight, I shall protect you from all of them.” His gaze lifted to hers between his kisses, and his lips parted into a momentary impish grin.
“Even the alligators?”
“Particularly the alligators.”
Her giggle was quiet.
Maybe they were safe.
He relocated his kisses to the side of her neck, and her mind followed the slow purse of his lips and the measure of his movements. His rhythm nearly matched the slow slosh of the waves. The tide felt lazy and hypnotic under the moon’s red cover.
She felt affected herself.
“Do you think that’s how the house draws people in—makes them think the manor is where their dreams could come true?”
He marked her neck with two more kisses before he answered. “Maybe. I should think it would have to make itself appear like an attractive option.”
“Well, it did at that. I’m not sure I’ve completely shaken that feeling that I’ve finally reached the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
He extended his arm and rested it on his bent knee, his eyes locked with hers in a gaze so deep she felt under a spell. “Well. If that feeling hasn’t yet abated, Ms. Stewart, then maybe you have found gold. Maybe what we have here…is perfect.”
Perfect.
“Not perfect.”
“No?”
“Nothing is perfect.” Her conviction was firm.
His eyes scanned her face, reading her, seemingly understanding her. He glanced toward the ocean for a brief moment. An inhale. As though he pondered how to get through to her.
“True. Perfection is probably overrated. Though I think what we have found here is perfect for us.”
A softening washed over her, taking with it her former convictions about ideals. The force moved through her from tip to toe, knocking over old walls and fences she’d erected for safe boundaries. Though now she felt stronger in the absence of them.
“Henry.” She pressed her hand on his and drifted somewhere between worlds of gratitude and unbelieving. “The way I feel about you, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”
“Neither have I.”
“It's overwhelming.”
“In the best of ways, I hope.”
“In the very best of ways. I just… I mean, where are we heading with all of this? You work in London. You’re here only until the house is finished. My life is established on the other side of the country.” She hadn't wanted to ask, not tonight. Suddenly, she simply had to have answers. She needed to know what he was thinking. She didn't want this to disappear.
Henry fiddled with the jacket beneath him and positioned himself in front of her.
On one knee.
With her hands in his, he said, “We’re heading into forever. Together. If you’ll have me.”
She felt her lips separate into an O. “Forever,” she finally said. “Together.”
“I know this must seem sudden. I’ve known for some time, Gemma. Almost from the beginning. And even before then.”
He caressed the side of her face. Gently. “You see, I’ve known since I was a young boy that there was someone out there just for me. Someone who searched for me the way that I searched for her. I’d given up hope until you finally arrived.”
Like a magician, he produced a ring with graduating gold steps of diamond-laden squares, culminating in a large, step-cut emerald centered in the middle.
He slipped the ring on her finger. “I’ve loved you all of my life. Now that you're finally here, I want us to be together.”
“Forever,” she said again. Her entire life seemed to speed before her. From the time when she was a little girl, and she first heard the ideal melody that made her dream of the man she thought could be, on through the course of her life to this moment. When he was finally here. “You know, I think I’ve searched for you, too. I just didn't realize it until now.”
“Marry me, Gemma. I’ll spend the rest of my days making you happier than you've ever dreamed.”
Giddiness spread through her in a chill, and at once her world righted itself. Her life made sense in a way she’d never expected it to. The scenes from her ideal life at the manor revisited her. Though she was clear enough now to know that she wouldn't live at the manor, maybe Henry was right. Maybe they had found gold. Apparently, with the right man, it could be that simple. “Yes, Henry. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He kissed her, his breath warm and sugared such that her mouth opened to taste it. She heard the melody again. They created it together, she realized. Its lilt, its symphonic perfection, promising and delivering the sublime on the same structured beat.
“You’re safe with me, Gemma. I want you to know that. I’ll never make a promise to you that I can't keep.”
“I do feel safe with you.” She inched the hem of her dress upward until she could easily straddle his hips. She needed to be close to him, she needed to be heart to heart with this man she loved.
“I guess you must, to allow yourself quite so close to me in this way.” His mouth widened into a generous grin. His hands explored beneath her dress, up her bare thighs and over her hips.
Her laugh originated from some magical place within that only Henry could share with her. Her happiness was more complete than she had ever known.
His eyes widened with apparent appetite. “Ms. Stewart. May I ask where you left your undergarments?”
She giggled. She'd forgotten. “They didn't work with the outfit. Panty lines are unseemly.”
“I am glad that you are aware of these things.” The smile on his face made her think he must be at least as happy as she was. The care in the depths of his eyes showed her that he remembered how broken she’d once been—how shattered they’d both been—maybe not that long ago.
The slowness of his tender strokes, albeit deliberate, offered a way forward, a path they would travel together. His manner was a steady force, like the strength of the tide, one she willingly joined and pushed the pace of now and then.
His gentling touch made her head and body spin in increasingly tight turns. Emotions switched effortlessly between ecstasy and doubts that called to her with tiny voices. Only the doubts were weak and withered now and touted the same warnings that she'd heard before. Warnings that she decided didn't suit what she and Henry shared and where they were headed.
No, she didn't know everything about him. But she knew enough to know she’d made a good decision this time.
She held on to his broad shoulders and gasped when she lowered herself onto the force of his flesh. A wave crashed hard behind her and his breath trembled against her mouth.
“Forever, you say?” she whispered against his ear.
“That was my hope. My prayer.”
The visions she'd seen tonight danced in colored memory through her mind. “I can see forever from here.” And she could. It required no effort to do so.
Maybe the manor had just relocated those scenes, she decided. Maybe it stole a piece of real and threaded it against itself as the backdrop. It didn't matter. These dreams were her future now, she was sure of it.
Henry tugged her hips against him more quickly, and her body answered to the new rhythm in a shudder. He stiffened beneath her, pulling her flush against him until they were an extension of one another. She gasped and moaned against the damp of his skin. The wind spun around them, in warning or in celebration, she could no longer tell. So, she ignored the dance and the call of the wind patterns—and was unable to stop herself from melting into Henry and the future they would share.
Chapter 24
Gemma and Henry snuggled together on the back porch swing that overlooked the ocean. The deepest shades of the night had passed, and several birds announced the coming of the new day, though it was still too early for the sun to rise.
With a goose track quilt draped over them, she listened to Henry tell stories of the Alcott children who used to run through the hallways of Alcott Manor. He was a gifted storyteller, and in the way that natural gifts always were, it suited him. He could have been reading a recipe aloud, and she would have wanted to hear him tell it from start to finish. It was regal almost, the way he swept her into the story.
“When do you have to be back in London?” Her thumb caressed the band of her engagement ring. She couldn't stop looking at it.
“I’ll be here until the project is finished. We've come this far. I'm going to see it all the way through.” He lifted her hand so that the ring was between them now. “Do you like it?”
“I adore it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It was my mother’s. My father gave it to her. No one has ever worn it but her.”
She breathed a sigh of unexpected relief. “I can't imagine anything more perfect.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “London doesn’t need you back anytime soon?”
“Right now, this is my work. It takes priority.” He ran the back of his fingers against her cheek. “Plus, I've waited for you for too many years to spend any time away from you.”
She met his lips in a slow kiss. “How do you feel about Northern California?” She lobbed the question gently and hoped he might say his company had an office there that he’d always wanted to see.
“Let's talk about that—”
The clang of an old-fashioned bell rang through the house, and Gemma and Henry sat up with a start.
“What was that?” she asked.
They dashed inside, Gemma following Henry toward the front of the house. When an image of Anna nearly ran them over, Henry pulled Gemma out of the path. They stood together and watched while Anna opened the front door.
A tall, slender man with thick, dark hair greeted Anna cordially. Henry and Gemma followed Anna as she escorted the stranger to the music room. They slipped in behind the couple before she closed the double doors, and the man swept Anna into his arms.
She cradled his face in her hands, and they kissed and hugged as if they’d just been reunited after a long absence.
“What did he say?” He held her hands in his.
She sighed. “He won’t give me the divorce.”
The man's entire stature slumped two inches. “How is that possible? Did you tell him?”
“I told him about you. About us. I was absolutely clear that I didn’t love him, that I would never love him, so he would let me go. He said he wouldn’t divorce me because you were a dangerous, selfish man. He said that you were going to marry Sarah Baker, now that she’s returned with her parents from Europe, because she's wealthy and you have her fooled. He said you only want me for access to his money and if you can’t have me, then you’ll marry her. He's absurd.”
Sam walked to the empty fireplace and leaned against the mantel.
“Sam?”
“He’ll give you the divorce, won’t he, Anna?” He didn’t look at her when he said it. And it wasn’t a question, but a declaration with the most desperate tone. “You’ll show him the birth notice, he’ll see who Lizzie Mae’s father is, and he’ll give you the divorce then.”
Anna placed her hand on her stomach in an effort, it seemed, to steady it. She didn’t rush to Sam. Instead, she stepped away. It was that formal walk Gemma knew too well. It was the same circle step she’d taken after she found a voicemail on her home phone from an unknown female who asked for her husband to return the call. Gemma knew that Anna was hoping beyond reason that what she felt in her gut wasn’t true.
“We’ve been over this, Sam. If we make Lizzie Mae’s parentage known publicly, neither she nor I will have a future. At least not in this town. They’ll shun us both.”
Sam rushed to her and braced her shoulders with his palms. “Then we’ll move. We’ll leave here, the town can think what they want, and our beautiful Lizzie Mae will never be the wiser.”
“How, Sam? Do you think Benjamin will pay for our new life together? Do you think that once he’s told that Lizzie isn’t his that he’ll pay for her dresses and dolls and for us to set up our new family across the country?” Panic seeped into her voice and pushed it higher.
Sam dropped his arms from Anna.
“Your business is in trouble, isn’t it? Benjamin was telling me the truth.”
“I love you, Anna. This nonsense with my business isn't anything I can’t handle.” He gave her a little shake and her head bobbled.
“Have you overextended yourself in the business? Have your deals gone under?”
Sam laughed. There was a glow of sweat on his face and his eyes were a tad too wide. “I can handle my business. I always have. I don’t think you’re looking at this situation with Benjamin clearly. He wants to be President of the United States. He’ll pay you to stay quiet about our affair and Lizzie Mae.”
“I don't think he will.”
“Then you’ll ask your father. You’ll tell him that Benjamin has threatened your life and that you need money to leave him.”
“My father would have paid Benjamin to marry me. He won’t do anything to separate me from him.” Anna lowered herself into a chair and placed her fingertips over her lips. "I have no way out, and you're going to leave me, aren't you?"
The door to the library opened, and a young maid with blonde hair and blue eyes entered the room with a feather duster. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma’am."
Gemma frowned at the sight of the young girl, who looked oddly familiar. She leaned toward her and wondered if she'd seen a picture of her somewhere recently. Or had she seen her in some apparition that the house cast forth?
She walked several cautious steps toward her before the girl could leave the room. Henry grabbed Gemma’s arm to keep her from getting too close to the memory.
When the girl spun around to close the double doors, Gemma saw her face full on. At once, her Alice-in-Wonderland features rang a bell. The blue grosgrain headband had been replaced with a frilly cotton hat, and only a wisp of her blonde hair was visible.
“It can't be," she whispered.
Sam and Anna faded until they disappeared into the past that was never resolved.
"That maid, it's the young girl who died in the house. She's trapped in these memories now."
"She must have interacted with them somehow.” His words were an explanation, but even more so a warning. Henry’s eyes were fixed in a stare, a wide and steady one. It was the kind that had seen too much, maybe even how the manor could retain a new guest.
“She was here on the anniversary of Anna's death. The memory would have played from start to finish while she was here.”
“She belongs to the house now.”
They searched every nook of the furniture in the music room, cautiously. They glanced up every now and then, in case they needed to avoid another impromptu memory that wanted to speak and relive its misery.
Regrettably, their search didn’t bring any fruitful discoveries. Gemma sighed. Yes, it was possible that Benjamin would leave his home alone for another day and night. So, if they didn't find the note, and if she didn’t clear imprints in the house, maybe it would be okay. Although, it made her feel stupid to trust a ghost.
The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and workers would file through the front door soon. They headed toward the winter garden.
“That was Sam, apparently.” She glanced at her hand in Henry’s. Such a simple gesture. Innocent. Heartwarming. She wanted to do this for the next fifty years or so—stroll with him, hand in hand, near an ocean.
He nodded. “Yes. The father of Anna’s baby, Lizzie Mae.”
It was a shock. For some reason, Gemma didn’t think of Victorian age dwellers as those who had illicit affairs. They wore dresses with high frilly necks and seemed so proper.
“So, I guess Anna never told Benjamin about Lizzie Mae,” she said.
“So it would appear.”
“Do you think Sam loved Anna at all?”
He sighed. “Didn’t appear to me that he was a man capable of caring about anyone but himself. I think if she hadn’t been a wealthy woman, he wouldn't have given her a second glance.” He ran the side of his thumb along the top of her hand in slow and subtle strokes.
