“Don’t worry, it isn’t anything horrible.” He reached over and threaded her small fingers in his. He hadn’t given her time to put her gloves on, and her fingers were freezing. “You’re good with the girls.”
She didn’t appear to mind the sudden subject change. “I love working with kids. You aren’t so bad yourself. You want children someday?”
“Absolutely, just been waiting for the right woman to come along.” He took his eyes off the road, giving her a brief but meaningful gaze.
His house wasn’t far from Jeff and Cindy’s. The traffic was light. It wasn’t long before Jack pulled into his own driveway and killed the engine. He’d left the porch light on, so Sam would have a good view of the wrap-around porch. She opened the door and scooted out the passenger side before he could open the truck door for her.
He couldn’t suppress his smile.
“What! Are you laughing at me?”
“Not a bit. I hope you aren’t disappointed. You know it needs a ton of work.”
“I know. I don’t care about that. It’s the history, the lives, the what-ifs behind these homes.”
They reached the stairs leading to a stone archway. She ran her hand along the masonry and stonework. “Wow.” She gazed around as if he’d set her in a room full of gold. “Would you look at this porch?”
“You really love these old places, don’t you?”
“It reminds me of the daycare where I stayed when I was a little girl. It was off Grace Street. Some of my best childhood memories were playing on that porch. It was a huge Victorian converted for the kids. It had a roomy verandah, like this one with a swing.” She sighed. “Oh, I loved that place! It didn’t occur to me until now why I love these houses. I guess my love started way back then.”
Obviously, she’d journeyed back to some childhood memory. She looked beautiful in the porch light. He closed the distance between them, standing toe to toe, gathering her in his arms.
“You’re something else, Samantha Rose.”
She turned those jade-green eyes on him. The appeal of her lips drew his head down as if they were magnets. The feel of his mouth as it touched hers, soft at first, then urgent as she responded. She tasted sweet, her fragrance intoxicating. They stood clinging to each other, her hair tickling his cheek in the wintry breeze.
She shivered, bringing him back to his senses. He broke away, ending the spell that had them locked together. “Sorry, I guess we should go in, out of this winter air. You're shaking.” His voice was huskier than he intended. He cleared his throat with a nervous cough and stepped back.
He didn’t give her time to answer. Taking the keys from his pocket, he fumbled to get them in the lock. It bothered him to admit, but he was trembling, too—only he knew it had nothing to do with the cold.
Chapter 20
Samantha closed her eyes as Jack’s head dipped toward her. In breathless anticipation, she waited. The minute his mouth touched hers, Sam experienced a rush of warmth that washed in delicious waves, clear to her toes, and the second he pulled away she longed to draw him back. She found it difficult not to protest. She’d be happy to stand outside all night if he’d just wrap those solid arms around her and kiss her once more.
Jack waited for her, standing in the doorway, the light from the foyer spilling out to illuminate his strong jawline. Minutes ago, she’d dreamed of seeing the inside of the house. Now she felt content to let the nighttime air cool her flushed cheeks. Despite her reluctance, her feet plodded forward. She entered the house, brushing past him.
In the brightly lit vestibule, Sam’s eyes came to rest on the magnificent staircase. She reached a hesitant hand toward the intricately carved banister, throwing a backward glance over her shoulder to Jack. He nodded his approval as she continued to explore. She turned a semicircle to discover a crescent-shaped window seat and another cushioned seat that ran the length of the entrance hall.
The house had a wonderful smell, a musky combination of wood and plaster that transported her back to childhood. No wonder Jack wanted to find out more information about the owners. Seeing the inside of the house made her curious about the families that had lived here.
“It’s magnificent.”
Jack scratched the back of his head, giving her a half smile. “It needs work to be sure, but when I’m done . . .”
She nodded, understanding the value could not be put into words. The door to her left opened to reveal more beautiful wainscoting.
“Is this what they call a pocket door?” She approached it, testing the rollers by gliding it back and forth.
“Exactly. This is the dining room. As you can see, I’m using it as a bedroom.”
Sam’s eyes fell on the bed. Jack’s robe rested across the foot board, slippers on the floor. Once more heat crept into her cheeks as she pictured him sleeping there. She averted her eyes.
He seemed to sense her discomfort. Making light of the situation, he took her by the elbow and ushered her into the next room. “The kitchen’s back here. Would you like hot chocolate, or do you prefer coffee?”
She shook her head. “Not this late. Keeps me awake. But I’ll take you up on the hot chocolate. I never turn down chocolate.”
“I’m not much with the stove. Instant okay?”
“Sure, as long as you have marshmallows.” She smiled, pulling out a wooden chair. Her fingers lingered over the scroll work. “Did you make this?” The top of the pedestal table was smooth to the touch.
He gave a quick nod, opened a cabinet, and withdrew a small box with a picture of a Swiss chalet on the front. “The marshmallows are included in the pack.” He jiggled the envelope.
“You weren’t kidding were you? You really know how to impress a girl.”
“Then hold on to your shoes because I’m about to blow your socks off.” He retrieved two mugs, dumped the contents of the packets, filled the cups with water from the tap, and set them in the microwave.
“Sure you don’t need help over there? Those little buttons look complicated."
“Hey, I got this.” He laughed. “I may not be much with the oven, but I’ve mastered the art of microwave cooking. I have it all down to a science, you know.”
When the oven stopped with a series of beeps, he opened the door and handed her a steaming cup. “Be careful. Don’t burn yourself.”
“Thank you.” Sam wrapped her fingers around the mug, enjoying its warmth on her cold fingers.
“Follow me. I’ll give you the grand tour of the downstairs on the way back to my office.”
Sam trailed behind him through a maze of rooms, noting most of the floors already looked finished. He indulged her each time she stopped to comment on some small feature or ask a question regarding his work. She enjoyed her trip along gleaming dark floors, thrilled at all the rich wood wainscoting on the walls. Sam was in heaven.
Oh, Lord, please let this man fall in love with me so we can live happily ever after in this wonderful castle. She chewed her lip to keep from laughing outright.
Jack’s office, being one of the smaller rooms, had a simple decor. Noting the fireplace, she calculated it was the third she’d seen on her tour. The room included a soft-looking leather sofa that dominated the room, a desk pushed back against one wall, a coffee table, a few framed pictures graced the space, and a mounted flat screen.
“I’m pretty sure they didn’t have those at the turn of the century.” She pointed to the sleek television.
“Hey, a guy needs a few vices. You may have noticed my stove and refrigerator aren’t period, either. It’s a little hard getting the iceman to deliver these days. Make yourself comfortable.” He motioned for her to sit on the couch. “So, how do you like the place so far?”
“Are you kidding, I love it! The floors look amazing. Are you completing those first?”
He nodded. “Some of the molding was in bad shape. I took it down to replace. I’ll finish the floors, paint, and then put it back up. This house has been pretty well-preserved downstairs. T
he upstairs isn’t in the best condition. From what I gather, a couple bought the place back in the ’70s and stayed here until they went to a retirement home. It sat vacant for several years.”
He propped his feet on the edge of the table, taking a tentative sip from the mug. “It took a while, but I scraped up the funds. It’s been a slow process. Jeff’s a big help. The floors are finished down here. Now we’re working upstairs on the bedrooms.”
“How long have you and Jeff been friends?”
“Since college. Jeff and Cindy are like family. My mom and dad are back west, so they sort of adopted me.”
“I gather they enjoy giving you a hard time.”
“You could say that.” He chuckled.
“It seemed like they touched a nerve tonight. I’ve never seen you upset about anything.” She stroked the ceramic handle with her thumb. “I understand if you’d rather not talk about it.”
“It isn’t that,” Jack protested. “It’s just . . . well, something happened, and it seems pretty impossible. I don’t understand it myself.”
Lord, let him know he can trust me. Whatever he has to say, help me to be open-minded.
*****
This is it, Jack told himself. Sam twisted herself on the couch so she faced him. Her face was so serious it was almost comical. She did care about him, he realized. The revelation gave him the courage to continue.
“A few weeks back, I was at the kitchen table when I heard crying. There’s a garden in the back—you can’t see much of it now because it’s dark out, but it’s surrounded by high walls on all sides. Someone would have to crawl over to get inside. Anyway, I went outside to see what was happening, and I found this woman. It’s winter and she’s dressed in this thin gown. I call out to her, thinking she’s sick, hurt, or something and she takes off running. She runs right past me and into the house!”
Sam pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes growing wide. “What did you do?”
“That’s just the thing . . . when I followed her into the kitchen . . . there was no sign of her anywhere. I searched the house from top to bottom. All the doors and windows—everything was locked. I don’t mind telling you, it freaked me out . . . a lot. After all that searching, I came up empty-handed . . . well . . . that’s not true. She dropped this.”
Jack got to his feet, walked to his desk, and brought over a box. He rummaged through it, pulling out a handkerchief. “I picked it up and kept it . . . here.” Jack offered it to her, noticing a slight hesitancy as she accepted it.
Sam gathered the dainty lace square and fingered the monogram. “JW?” Her eyes narrowed, processing the information and then she looked at him, stunned. “Jewel Wiltshire? The name you’ve had me researching? You think she’s a ghost? But how did you get the name from initials?”
Jack smiled and sat back down. “Here’s the rest of the story. Later that same evening, I was working at my desk when I heard a sound upstairs. The room right above this one.” He pointed upward. “I immediately went to investigate and found her in one of the empty bedrooms.”
Her jaw fell open. “The hair on my arms is standing up. You saw her ghost?”
“Not exactly. She was looking through a book. This book.” Jack reached down and pulled out the yearbook. He passed it to Sam.
She ran her palms along the leather binding. “It’s like new!”
He leaned over, opening the book and flipped several pages. “This is Jewel. It’s her yearbook.”
Sam studied the picture. “She’s beautiful.”
Jack gazed at the photograph and nodded. “This is where things get strange . . . stranger, I should say. Sam, she isn’t a ghost. She is living. Here . . . I mean, I think she is . . . it’s weird. I know she’s here, and yet she isn’t. Anyway, we haven’t seen each other since that first day, but we communicate through letters. This box is full of them.”
He let the information settle, trying to gauge her expression. “I realize how crazy it all sounds. I’m not sure I’d trust it myself if I weren’t the one telling the story. But I’m not insane.”
“No. No, I know you’re not. Want to know something weird? I believe you. If you’re insane, then I’m insane, too.”
It seemed as if Jack had been holding his breath for the length of the story, and now he could exhale. “Then you believe me?”
“It’s incredible. I won’t lie, but, yes.”
“Please know that I wanted to tell you, but it isn’t the kind of thing you go blurting out when you first meet someone.”
“How do you think it’s possible? And why have you only been able to communicate through the letters?”
“I’m not sure about that. At first, I wondered if it had something to do with the yearbook. Then I remembered the handkerchief. As we passed the letters back and forth, I questioned if it might not be the house itself that holds the key . . .”
“What is it, Jack?”
“The letters stopped about a week ago, and I’m worried about her. Sam, Jewel told me in her letters that her husband Hunsdon Wiltshire is abusive. He locked her in her room once for three days. I’m afraid he’s done something to her. Do you remember that article you found for me, the one about his family being murdered? It makes me nervous.”
“Maybe whatever this is that allowed you to communicate . . . like a portal or something closed. She could still be okay.” Sam lay a sympathetic hand on his arm.
“I’m her only friend, Sam. I promised to help her. What if I’m too late?”
“It might still be all right. You can’t think the worst . . . we’ll go back to the library. We’ll do more research.” She stopped when she saw him shake his head. “There’s something more, isn’t there . . . something you’re not telling me.”
He gave a solemn nod. Taking Sam by the hand, he led her through the rooms and up the stairs. Not bothering to knock, he entered, flipping on the switch. The floors were a mess. Large sections of the floor had no boards, the wood stripped. They had to be careful not to step in any of the cut out segments.
“This is how we exchanged letters.” He stood by the window seat, lifting the lid. “At first, we assumed it was the yearbook that held the key, but we discovered we could put the letters in this hidden compartment. I asked Jewel to carve her initials in the cover here, on the underside. She told me she did, but there are only these scratched markings. One day there was nothing here, and the next, this gouged out area. I don’t know what it means . . . but my gut says something is wrong. I’ve written to her and checked for a response every day, but none of my letters have been answered.”
“What happened to your letters?”
He stopped, ran a hand through his hair, and blinked. “They’re gone. Hadn’t thought about that, but there is something else. A little over a week ago, before the letters stopped, Jeff and I were working up here. These floors are horrible; pet stains, water damage from a leaky roof, you understand, stuff that not even the sander can remove.”
Sam nodded, trying to follow what he was saying.
“I know each spot in this room like the back of my hand. Then last week, the first day I didn’t receive a letter, I was walking out when I noticed this.” He pointed to a large stained section near the door. The wood appeared dark. “It wasn’t here when we were working, it just materialized. I think it’s blood.”
“Jack, you don’t think—”
“I can’t say. That’s why I’ve considered having it tested. The only thing I can say for certain is Jewel was living in this house, and her letters stopped. Now this. Just like the scratches on the seat, they mean something, they have to.”
Jack watched as Sam bent over to study the raised lid. She ran her hand inside the bench, springing the button on the secret compartment. She stumbled back suddenly as if something had bitten her. Her face grew ashen as she pointed to the seat. “Uh, Jack . . . you’d better check again. It looks like there is something down there.”
Daring to hope, Jack raced to the seat. He stuffed
his hand into the small space and pulled out a slip of paper. His blood turned to ice when he read the words, written in a bold, unknown scrawl:
YOU’RE TOO LATE! SHE’S DEAD TO YOU.
*****
Part II
__________
Chapter 21
April 25, 1917
Rays of sunlight stretched through the curtain illuminating hundreds of tiny particles. Dust drifted through the abandoned chamber, sparkling like diamonds—miniature jewels. Jewel. Those exotic, dark eyes and silky hair. Would her image ever stop haunting him?
Hunsdon Wiltshire wasn’t about to give in to the seductive memory. The pull on his emotions told him she still had power over him. Hunsdon wanted to be rid of her. He wished purging her from his memory was as easy as cleaning her blood from the floor that horrible afternoon. He had allowed no one entrance to the room since that day, not even Addie, who had helped him scrub away the evidence of the fight.
How dare Jewel think she could cast her spells on him and keep him under her charms? No way was he going to allow her to hold dominion over his mind.
His shoes echoed as he paced. He liked the crisp staccato sound his heels made as they struck the hardwood. Back and forth. The lingering fragrance of Jewel’s perfume hung in the air, although it grew faint after all these months. Most of her clothing remained in the wardrobe. He drifted across the floor like a man in a dream, flung open the door, and brought the sleeve of one of her garments to his face. The intoxicating jasmine scent clung to her dress, wrapping itself around him. He slammed the cabinet and checked the hidden compartment for the hundredth time since its discovery. Fool!
Hunsdon hadn’t fallen in love with this she-devil; she’d cast a spell on him. Now he had proof! He glared at the pile of letters that had been the catalyst for all this trouble. Eager to discover the depths of her deception, he’d devoured each of them, committing them to heart. He half expected them to burst into flames since the prophecies came to pass.
Timeless Moments Page 13
