“This is my home, you imbecile! You are the one who is confused.” Their eyes locked—she refused to concede. With her jaw clenched, she hugged the book across her chest. Her cheeks burned with heat.
“Lady, I’m not sure where you’ve been hiding all day, but this is my home.” He took note of the book. “What have you got there?”
“None of your business.” She blinked hard and sat straighter.
He moved closer as he spoke in soothing tones. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I do know I watched you run inside my house this morning. I searched all over for you, and you . . . you . . . somehow managed to disappear.” He waved his hands in an exaggerated circle. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but there is definitely something weird about you.”
“Ghosts? I assure you, sir, I am quite real.”
“Prove it,” he said, edging closer.
“I’ll do no such thing. Why should I prove anything of a sort?”
“Because you are in my house.”
He was so close now she could almost touch him, and she smelled the scent of soap—hardly the vagrant she’d first thought him to be. She was more offended and curious than frightened at this point, especially when he seemed to find her anger amusing.
She gave a rather undignified snort and her eyes flashed. “You are insane, sir.”
“I’ve been called worse . . . and that’s probably true, but the fact remains, here you are, and you’re trespassing.”
“For goodness sake, why do you keep saying that? Are you daft?"
“Daft—who says daft?”
“I do! Now you’re just making fun of me!”
She dug her nails into her palms feeling frustration grow, yet oddly enjoying the banter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thrown off the burdensome mantle of submission and said exactly what she thought. It felt good!
It wasn’t something she could explain, but she sensed that this man wasn’t going to strike her—wasn’t there to beat or hurt her in any way. Maybe it was the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, but it made her want to throw politeness to the wind and exercise a bit of spirit she thought had died. “You are making fun of me,” she challenged.
“Absolutely not.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just seems an odd choice—a little dated.”
“Dated? How dare you!” But there was no anger in her voice.
“Look, we’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot. I’ve offended you, and I’m sorry.” He extended his hand to her as if he expected her to take it.
The breech in etiquette wasn’t particularly offensive, although a gentleman didn’t normally offer his hand to a lady first. Nevertheless, she ignored his outstretched hand. “Friends? We haven’t even been introduced—I don’t even know your name, sir.”
He gave an exaggerated bow. “Jack Vines, at your service, ma’am.”
“You are a highly unorthodox man, Jack Vines. I’ve a feeling I may be daft as well, as I’m still sitting here talking to you and not yelling for assistance.”
“Oh we’re back to that again, are we? Pray, to whom would you be yelling for assistance?” His tone took on an exaggerated air.
“Why, my husband, of course.” The thought of Hunsdon sobered her a bit.
That brought no response—it was clear he didn’t believe her. Instead, his eyes traveled back to the book she was still holding. “May I see what you are reading?”
Indecision seized her better judgment and twisted it. She knew she should urge him to leave, certainly not accommodate his request, yet despite herself she turned the book around so he could read the cover.
He reached for it, and in doing so, his hand passed right through hers. The look on his face was one of horror, a look she was sure was reflected on her own. He almost dropped the slim volume. His image rippled like a reflection in a pond. Like an illusion, he danced in front of her for a moment before the waves stilled.
“What are you?” she whispered.
“Me?”
“Are you an angel?”
He shook his head. “Definitely not an angel, and I’m not a ghost . . . I don’t think.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “I would hope that I would remember dying.”
“So if you are not a ghost, and I’m not a ghost . . .” She faltered. She raised her palm extending it toward him.
He mirrored her gesture until their palms met, sending the images flickering once more. They broke contact and waited for the shimmering to settle.
“Astonishing,” she said.
He looked down at the book in his hand, reading the title, “The Crest 1915. What is this?”
“My yearbook.”
“Your yearbook? You mean it belongs to you . . . what school?”
“Lynchburg High School.” There was only one high school, yet she noticed his look of confusion as if he were waiting on her to clarify. “Is there another?” she asked.
“Yes—eight to be exact.”
Jewel laughed aloud at the absurd thought. “Ridiculous. You are mistaken, sir. There is only one, and that is, LHS.”
“But how did you get this? It’s almost a hundred years old.”
“What!” She laughed again. “No, silly, it’s mine—1915. Two years ago.” Then she sobered seeing he was serious.
He flipped through the pages, not sure what he was looking for, but stopped abruptly. “This is you.” He studied the picture and then studied her. “But how . . . It can’t be. Why you’d be . . .”
“I’d be what?” Her face had gone white, and she trembled.
“You’d be over one hundred years old. Jewel . . . it says your name is, Jewel Boydoh. Is that right?”
She nodded, too stunned for words.
“Jewel, this is 2014.”
“No?” She shrank back. “It isn’t possible. It simply isn’t possible.”
“And yet somehow it is. Tell me . . . you say this is your home—what do you see when you look around?”
“I . . . I see my room,” she answered.
“No, I mean, describe it for me.”
Jewel flushed, unable to find the words. “I don’t know . . . a bed, my dresser.” She flung her arm, indicating the room, “Chairs, fire in the grate . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. For me, this is an empty room. It’s freezing.”
“No—no, there is a fire. Look over there. Surely, you can feel its warmth.”
He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. She noted the particular way it stood up, and then smothered a ridiculous thought to smooth it back into place. He moved abruptly across the room toward the fire in the grate. Its flames danced around the room. She saw his intention—
“No—wait!” she cried out.
He stooped, hesitated, and then put his hand right into the flame before turning to stare at her calmly.
“How’d you . . .” The words came out in a whisper.
“You see . . . nothing.” He withdrew his hand and held it out for her inspection. Miraculously, it was unscathed.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, Jewel. There’s just nothing here.”
She felt as if the world was spinning around her. It didn’t make sense. How was it possible for him to be in the room and not see what she saw? Then it occurred to her. “You’re still holding the book. My book.”
“So?” He stood and walked across the floor.
“Isn’t it obvious? It is something we can both see—something that is exactly the same to both of us. I had the book, now you have the book. It is something that can be passed back and forth.”
But rapidly approaching footsteps outside her bedroom brought further speculation and discussion to an abrupt halt. With a desperate signal, she gestured to silence him. Panic filled her. There was no place to hide. She watched helplessly as the door opened.
Chapter 5
Her frantic attempt to silence him caused Jack to freeze. He waited, listening for anything
that sounded out of the ordinary. The moments ticked by. “What’s going on?” His voice echoed in the empty room, eyes falling to the yellow-orange glow of moonlight that carpeted the floor. The room was cold, so cold he swore he could see his breath coming out in small puffs as he spoke. “I don’t—”
“Sh-h-h!” She put a finger to her lips. “Footsteps.” Terror flashed in her eyes, as she turned to the door. He watched her body grow tense in the semidarkness, then vanish like smoke before his eyes. Perhaps she had simply faded away. Regardless, he could no longer see her image. She was gone.
Left standing alone in the room, he had that surreal-like feeling one might have as if awakening from a dream. Maybe he was daft, he laughed at himself. He liked the lilt of the word when she said it. He tasted the word again on his own lips to see how it sounded—not as endearing. If not for the yearbook still grasped tightly in his hand, he might think he’d imagined it all. Confused, he turned on the light, and tried to imagine what she had seen. What had she heard? “What was it, Jewel? What terrified you?”
Puzzled, he went to the door and searched the hall. Had someone or something walked through this door? Was there something going on this very moment, something he was supposed to prevent? Think, Jack, think. This was insane.
Jack recalled the peculiar way she spoke—not an accent as much as abnormally proper. Her waist-length hair stood out, too. It fell across her shoulder in a single braid—he compared it to the width of his wrist. Of course, he was no expert on such things, but even the gowns she wore were different from anything he’d ever seen. They reminded him of something he’d seen in an old movie or postcard. His gut told him something unique was going on, but he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t believe she was a ghost, but he couldn’t explain her presence in his house . . . her house. It was all too confusing.
He recalled her reaction to their exchange; she thought he was an angel. Under normal circumstances, he would have found that amusing, but this was too bizarre. He would just go downstairs and Google Ms. Jewel Boydoh. There was definitely something going on, and he intended to get to the bottom of it.
He took the steps, two at a time, eager to return to his office and boot up his computer. When he arrived, he noticed that the cat had polished off his dinner and was now grooming a paw with meticulous care. She was sitting on the back of his favorite chair as if she belonged there.
“There’s just something odd about a man that keeps a cat.” He directed his comments toward the feline. Jack had always pictured himself more the sandy-haired lab sort, but as no sandy-haired labs had shown up begging for scraps, he was forced to contend with the cat. Focus, Jack.
He found his computer case sitting where he’d left it when he returned home that evening. Unzipping the bag, he reached in, and pulled out his two-year-old Toshiba laptop. It was in good shape considering the years of abuse it received accompanying him on various construction sites. While he waited for it to boot up, he thought of the ads he had seen for Ancestory.com. That was a way to go, but he’d try Google first.
He clicked on the search engine and typed in the name. There were nine hits for Jewel Boydoh. Two were Facebook accounts and one was Twitter. “Uh—no, pretty safe to say those aren’t her.” The others didn’t appear old enough, either.
Maybe he needed to narrow the search. So he typed in the name, city, and state. This time the first thing that came up was an Ancestry.com ad. It was a listing, and the DOB would just about be right. He couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. He’d have to join the registry, but that didn’t matter, he could always cancel. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet, and extracted a dog-eared Visa. He’d used it to start his small business, but long since paid off the balance.
He typed in the numbers using the old hunt and peck method—typing had never been his thing. While he waited for confirmation, he drummed his fingers on the desk. The browser took him straight to the page that listed her information. The 1910 census showed a Name: Jewel E. Boydoh, age 13, DOB: 1897. That had to be her! White, female, born in Lynchburg, Va. She lived at home with an older sister, two uncles, and aunt, mother, and father. Her father was Reverend Randolph Boydoh. It gave the name and street address. He wasn’t exactly sure about the street number, but he knew the street. The census hadn’t given a lot of information, but it gave him shivers to know that she really had existed. She wasn’t just some picture he looked up in a book.
He clicked print to send the document to his printer. The printer heads traveled back and forth quickly until it spat out a copy of the 1910 census. There in black and white he could see her name scrawled across the paper. He fingered the fancy script.
“I’ll be darned,” he said, shaking his head. Her name is right there—Jewel Boydoh. How amazing! He suppressed the urge to run back upstairs, call out to her, and share his discovery. What were the odds that she would still be alive and living in a nursing home? He did the math—a ripple of disappointment stifled his joy. His quick calculations put her at around 116. Still, he reasoned, these were unusual events. He couldn’t count anything out of the realm of impossibility. He held fast the belief that nothing happened without a reason. Maybe he would find out more the next time he talked with her, but for now, he was at a dead end.
*****
The door swung open with such abruptness, Jewel jumped, her hand covering her throat in an attempt to hide her rapid pulse. Her eyes darted, searching out the strange man, relief flooding her when she didn’t see him. Yet she still had trouble getting her heart to return to its normal gait.
“I thought I heard you talking with someone?” Hunsdon stood with his hand poised at the door.
Jewel swallowed hard, almost choking. Think, Jewel . . . don’t let him see you flustered.
“Jewel?” Hunsdon stepped into the room. “You look as if you’ve seen the devil himself. Who were you just talking to?”
“I-I guess I’m still just a little light-headed.” She lied—or maybe she hadn’t. She didn’t think this Jack person was the devil. Was that possible? “Just a bit addled, is all.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. She could see by the narrowing of his eyes that he was not convinced.
As if on cue, her white Persian jumped from the floor onto her lap and rubbed her head along Jewel’s arm, providing a plausible explanation. “It’s Theodosia. Now there’s a good kitty.” She stroked the cat’s silky fur. “I guess I was talking with Theo and didn’t even realize.”
“I heard you cry out ‘No, don’t.’”
“Of course! She was about to pounce on my embroidery basket.” She turned to the cat. “Naughty kitty!” She scolded the kitten, giving it a light tap on the end of its pink nose. The kitten responded playfully, batting at her finger with a dainty paw.
He sniffed. “That is why animals are better left outdoors. Why are you out of bed?” he asked, changing the subject quickly. He was at her side in three steps, taking her by the elbow.
“I was hungry,” she admitted. She knew he would expect her to acknowledge his kindness. “How thoughtful of you to have brought me a tray.”
“Yes, well, you are welcome, my dear. We can’t have you roaming the house. The servants talk, and I know you don’t want them privy to your secrets. Addie has been asking after you all day. I told her you were bed-ridden with another of your headaches, but you’ll have to make an appearance in the morning. Culpeper is moping around after you as well. Honestly, Jewel, I do wish you wouldn’t spoil them so. It’s positively dreadful how you’ve bewitched them. I made excuses today, but I’ll expect you to have breakfast with me in the morning.”
Her jaw tightened, the only outward sign of resentment, as she set her features with a smile. “How thoughtful of you.”
“I’d planned on surprising you with a trip, you know. I’ve business in Charlottesville, and I thought it would be a lark for you to come along, but now I think you’d be better served staying here, where you won’t be any trouble.”
Her mind cau
ght on the words trip and business—He’ll be out of the house! Hunsdon’s work as a doctor often took him away to Charlottesville for a few days. The entire household breathed easier when he was gone. She cast her eyes downward, focusing all her attention on scratching under the cat’s chin so that he might not see the excitement in her eyes.
Hunsdon made a production of getting her back into bed and fussing over her. He tucked her in like a child, before standing to gaze down at her. “Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“You fidget when you are nervous. For goodness sake, my dear, you needn’t be embarrassed in front of me. I know what you are . . . in here.” He laid his hand on her breast.
She drew in a sharp breath, as he ran his hand gently along the swell. She tried to hide the revulsion and fear. Her entire body grew rigid.
The corner of his mouth drew up in a half smile. “Ah, little one, I see how your pulse beats; you think to lure me into your bed tonight. You think to change my mind and accompany me.” He shook his head and planted a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “Perhaps after you have thoroughly repented.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, but inside her body was still in turmoil. She felt violated and as if she’d never be safe again. Hunsdon had only consummated their marriage eight times in the last two years. She often awoke at night and found him standing by her bedside, gazing down at her. It was quite unnerving, but he rarely touched her. She often wondered if he was sleepwalking. But this morning something had changed. He attacked her, forcing himself on her in a way that was cruel even for Hunsdon. He had taken her once, but she had managed to escape, fleeing to the frigid garden just as the sun was coming up.
Jewel frowned, thinking of the stranger. Why had he suddenly appeared? How was it even possible? It was all so bizarre. She had been praying so long. Could he be the answer to her prayer? She fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming black demons were surrounding her. They were piling on top of her, choking off her air. She was drowning in a sea of them, and when she thought all was lost, she cried out to God, and in an instant, they vanished. She sat bolt upright in the bed, gasping for breath.
Timeless Moments Page 3
