Talitha

by Rachael Rawlings

  “Claire, were they here? Did you see them?”

  Slowly she turned her face up, feeling his warm breath feathering over her cheeks. His eyes were shadowed, a gleam reflecting deep.

  “No,” she said softly, her voice alien to her in its rasping. “I think it was just a dream.” Her smile was tremulous, her chin quivering. “A nightmare.”

  “Easy,” he said softly, easing one warm hand over her face from cheekbone to chin.

  She nodded, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. She was slightly embarrassed by her weakness, by the spectacle she had made of herself.

  He carefully wiped the tear away with his thumb, reaching in his pocket and handing her a handkerchief, faintly scented and expensive. Unrepentant, she wiped her face and blew her nose, keeping her head lowered.

  Feeling more composed, she looked up into his visage, the planes of his face sliced with ribbons of darkness so his expression was unreadable.

  “Claire,” his voice soothed, his hand again moving up to cup her cheek, to slide beneath the heavy curtain of her hair.

  Their lips met, his mouth slanting over hers, firm and smooth. Her breath hitched as her blood heated, the chill of fear erased by the intoxication of passion.

  The kiss changed from tender to hungry, hot and aching, wanting and demanding. She felt her hands curl into the silky strands of hair at the back of his head, and he drew her closer in his embrace. His mouth slowly eased down her damp cheeks to the smooth column of her throat. The kiss seemed to last forever, but she realized it was only a moment, just long enough to seal her love.

  With a gentle pull, he raised his head, smoothing his hands through her hair.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said softly, “or do you want to try to go back to bed.”

  She looked confused, her tear stained face highlighted by the moonlit glow.

  “I’d love to stay, right here, like this. But I don’t have the self-control for this.” He smiled ruefully. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll stay with you if you want, hold your hand,” he laughed softly, “I’d like to hold more.”

  He stood slowly with her in his arms, his limp returning as he walked the few short steps to her bed. Easing her down, he pulled the blankets back in place.

  “Feel better?”

  “Much, thanks,” she said softly, her mind foggy, exhausted.

  He pulled up the chair, easing next to her and slowly pushing the silky hair from her forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay.”

  She closed her eyes, amazed at how swiftly her mind drifted. He continued to touch her, his hand a steady weight on her arm as she let her mind go free.

  The morning dawned with a fierce glare from the frosty world out the French doors. The curtains hung open, a chill drifting in despite the furnace working overtime to maintain warmth. Claire sat up slowly, rubbing a hand warily through her hair.

  Her fingers froze as she noted the blankets pooled on the floor. The night before flashed though her mind, her fear, desperation, and passion. Had she really clung to him? Had she betrayed her feelings?

  She felt her stomach turn and sicken. What if she had embarrassed him, to put him in such a place? He was her employer for goodness sake; their personal relationship was so fragile, so new. Her face felt hot as she lay back in her bed, groaning aloud. She forced herself to rise, avoiding the mirror so she wouldn’t have to see the naked vulnerability in her eyes.

  Her second thought chased quickly on the first. What about Leta? What had happened to the little bird? She remembered the dove guarding her bed as she fell asleep. She couldn’t recall if she had seen her later in the night. Now, in the harsh light of morning, she could see the makeshift nest, the seeds spread on the desk, the towel protecting the surface, but no bird. And the balcony doors were closed. But the bird did have the habit of coming and going at will. So perhaps she had escaped into the night? For now, she would just have to keep her eyes open, and ears tuned to listen for the coo that would clue her into the bird’s location.

  After her shower, she quickly dressed but stopped to take a little extra time on her hair. When she had brushed it to a smooth shiny curtain and had added a little color to her cheeks, she stiffened her spine and opened the door.

  The spicy scent of cooking sausage mingled with the rich smell of brewing coffee and greeted her at the head of the stairs. She had abandoned the side stairs for the front ones in the last few days since it had been some time since the last spiritual encounter. This particular morning, she was amazed by her recovered equilibrium.

  This morning she wasn’t even thinking of ghosts or spooks. She was dreading facing Cole, looking into those eyes after she had broken down in front of him, actually on him, and kissed him. Wow and what a kiss it had been!

  She sighed and forced herself to walk briskly into the kitchen. He was standing at the stove, a plate of sausages in front of him and eggs frying in the pan at his left. A cup of coffee was on the counter and he took a sip while Claire watched him in silence. Even in her dread of embarrassment, she enjoyed watching him, his soft, lightly curling hair, finely arched brows, and long lashes. The carved beauty of his face, so different from any man she knew. He even seemed different from the man she had first met. Or could it be her feelings had added an attractiveness to him?

  She was smiling at herself when he turned, and his returning smile was warm.

  “I figured I could lure you down with food,” he joked, doling the meal out on plates. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine,” she responded, trying not to stiffen. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Just drinks. Juice, coffee if you like.”

  She obediently helped him set the table and get their full glasses before sitting down. She picked up her fork, toying with her food.

  He set his food down and walked around behind her, his fingers hovering over the shiny silk of her hair. “You look pale. Are you sure you feel alright?”

  She nodded, feeling the familiar flush under his careful scrutiny.

  “Claire, can I get you anything else?”

  She shook her head mutely, smiling weakly, a forced expression. She felt like such an idiot. She wished he would just sit down, let her be embarrassed in peace.

  “Claire,” he was beside her now, his voice deep, caressing. She looked up into his eyes, watched them darken as he smiled. “Can I kiss you?”

  Again, she nodded until he cupped her cheek and gave her a soft, tender kiss, a mere brush of lips.

  “Just because we’re in this situation doesn’t mean...”

  “I thought you didn’t, I mean, you weren’t interested.” Their voices mingled, his words tripping over hers. He paused as he digested what she had said and smiled, openly and warmly.

  He laughed softly. “Interested? I’m very interested. But I know the timing is poor. I don’t want to rush you or...”

  Claire found herself smiling back. “Slow is fine.”

  “Good,” he murmured, kissing her lightly again. “Now eat. I intend to work you hard to get us out of here. I want Grandma’s Christmas cookies.”

  The world was crisp with a biting wind that brushed over the surface of the snow and whipped up into their faces. Claire’s nose reddened almost immediately, and she was grateful for her knitted cap and the heavy scarf she had borrowed from Cole.

  She held a shovel and watched as Cole began immediately digging a path down the porch steps. Claire descended after him, gingerly holding the rail as she walked. There was no way she would ruin her holiday by falling and breaking a bone.

  The sun had already started melting the snow, compacting it until it was twice as heavy as the day before. The surface of the lawn was marred only by the light tracks of birds and squirrels as they foraged for forgotten food. Claire grimaced as she lifted the first shovel full. It was going to be a long day, considering the weight of the snow and the expanse of the driveway.

  With Cole leading, they started by clearing a path around his car and taking the bu
lk of the snow off the hood and roof.

  Next, they moved behind the car to clear a path. Claire soon found sweat gathering under her arms and down her back as she heaved her snow-laden shovel. Her fingers and nose grew numb with cold, but she was reassured at the sun’s warmth at her back. Just one more day of this, and the snow would almost melt on its own.

  She found her mind wandering as she completed her task. Since Cole’s kiss, she had been thinking only of him. The way he smiled, the way he felt and tasted. She appreciated the gentle concern he had shown her and the tender way he shielded her. She couldn’t deny the tiny bud of hope she felt blooming. The chance of a new love, this love, felt good and right. It was all so frightening, but she felt as though she was at the edge of a precipice. What lay beyond was glorious, breathless, and grand.

  She paused, hands at her aching back. Checking her watch, she noticed it was almost noon. A thud on her back caused her to jerk around in surprise.

  “What the?”

  A second snowball nailed her in the stomach and she squatted, grinning, to gather ammunition. The childish battle lasted only a few minutes when she slipped in the snow, landing heavily on her backside.

  “Are you okay?” His expression was concerned and he stretched out a gloved hand to help her up. She caught his hand firmly and yanked, upsetting his balance and pulling him down next to her, his astonished face inches from hers.

  “Fine, and you?” she said, grinning.

  “You play dirty.”

  “I play to win,” she replied, easing into a kneeling position.

  “Okay,” he said, pressing a chilled kiss to her lips, “you win.” He stood and helped her up. “Let’s go in and get lunch.”

  By the time they had finished lunch and cleaned up, the sun had dimmed, heavy gray clouds obscuring the sky.

  Claire looked up, concerned. It looked like rain, or snow. The temperature felt like it had dropped slightly.

  “Oh, Lord, not more snow,” she sighed, standing in the doorway.

  “It said chance of rain. As long as the temperature holds steady, we’re fine.”

  She ducked her head in agreement, but her heart was sinking. She could smell it. The cold wet soil, icy wind, the scent of winter.

  Sighing again she started to dig, arms aching. They worked until the darkness hovered, but the path through the heaped snow reached the gates and Cole was able to move his car close to allow easier exit. They had even cleared around the gates so they could pull them open, a welcome sight like an open mouth to the rest of the world.

  Dinner was canned soup and coffee. Cole persuaded her to eat a second bowl before retiring to the music room again. She avoided the wine, fearing a repeat of the nightmare. They played two hands of rummy, and when Claire felt her eyes growing heavy while Cole dealt the cards, she decided to go to bed.

  “I’ll go up too,” Cole said quickly, placing the cards in a neat stack on the table.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know. I’m tired too.”

  He followed her up the staircase, standing in the doorway as she entered her room.

  “My door will be open. If you need me, just call,” he said softly, his eyes dark and intense. The kiss on her forehead was more fatherly than passionate.

  Sleep was almost immediate and deep. She woke once, hearing the sharp patter of rain on the window.

  She was relieved and energized after a dreamless night of sleep. She was also not surprised when she looked out the window. A solid sheet of ice coated the window when she pulled the curtain open.

  She first worked at the French doors, and a sudden thought made her fingers clumsy. What of Leta? She hadn’t seen her at all the night before. She had combed the room, looking even down the hallway in case the bird had escaped without her knowing. But she hadn’t found the bird anywhere, and now she just wished she knew where the dove had stayed the night.

  In the crystal morning, the balcony was empty, the expanse of the woods glittering like fairy lights among the trees. But no dove.

  She showered and dressed, descending the stairs slowly. She opened the front door, her eyes widening in dismay. The ice was everywhere. The trees were encased, each single branch as fragile as glass. The piles of snow they had carelessly thrown were frozen in place, a crust of ice sheeting the white peaks. Worst of all was Cole’s car, the ice so thick it was difficult to discern where the hood ended and the bumper began.

  “No cookies today,” Cole said softly, standing close behind her.

  “No, not unless you know how to make some.”

  He pulled her gently to face him, his hands cupping her jaw tenderly.

  “Are you all right? I feel like I’m always asking you that. I know you’re disappointed...”

  “I’m fine. I slept like a baby, really.”

  She covered his hands with her own. He bent to give her a gentle kiss, sending her heart fluttering to her throat.

  “Good morning,” he said softly.

  With shaking hands, she linked her fingers behind his neck. The second kiss was hungry and desperate. She broke away herself, ducking her head in embarrassment.

  He pulled her close again in a warm embrace, cradling her head against his shoulder.

  “We’ll be fine. You know that, don’t you?”

  “It’s not over,” she said softly, feeling the shift deep within her bones. Something was waking.

  He went out after lunch and returned with a spindly pine tree.

  “Is that our Christmas tree?” she asked incredulously.

  “Temporary tree. Temporary. You’ll be at home with your family for Christmas morning,” he replied firmly. “Besides, it was the only one I could find that wasn’t iced over. The woods are a mess out there, broken branches everywhere. It’s amazing we still have power.”

  “Quiet,” she said scolding. “Don’t even think it.”

  “I have a generator,” he replied consoling. “And we need to get busy with this!” He gestured to the tree.

  “So, what will we decorate with?” she asked, watching as he propped the tree in the corner.

  “There is stuff in the attic.”

  They went up together, pleased to find the Christmas decorations neatly boxed and labeled. Cole carried down two of the boxes, and Claire began unpacking as he went back up. When he returned she saw he carried a familiar trunk from the attic.

  “Is that from the turret room?”

  He nodded, setting it down gingerly. “Since we had the letters and portraits here, I thought I’d bring this down too. I just saw the trunk and decided to get it out of there.”

  She said nothing but was mildly surprised. She had almost forgotten the rest of the contents of the trunk. And since the hauntings had apparently stopped, she had thought no more about Henry and his wife’s tragic love affair. To see the tray of bottles, their colored glass catching the light, made her shiver slightly.

  “Yes, I guess we should get rid of those. There’s something, I don’t know, strange about them.” She brushed her fingers over the corks, listening to the harsh clink of glass against glass.

  “Okay, let’s get going,” Cole said, pulling her back to the moment. She forced a smile and left the box of bottles, an uncomfortable doubt preying at the back of her mind.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon decorating the tree. Claire was delighted by the lovely old ornaments, the light catching their polished surfaces like gems. After much deliberation, they decided to set the tree up in the music room since it was their favorite place to relax. They used antique beads for a makeshift garland and unwrapped each ornament reverently, hanging the heavier ones on the lower boughs to assure they would not fall and break. Topping the concoction with a foil star, they sat back to admire their work. The limbs hung heavy beneath the weight of the antique glass balls and the only illumination came from the lights around the tree, but it was still special.

  Cole made coffee, hot and strong,
and they stayed in the music room until dinnertime, talking and reading.

  “You never mentioned where you live. I mean, when you’re not here,” Claire said casually, her eyes studying the warm mug in her hands.

  “A little bit in New York, but I spend the bulk of my time in a house on the California coast. I travel a lot for business and for pleasure.” He leaned against the chair back, as relaxed as Claire had ever seen him. “I’m not sure what I’ll do after the renovation is done. I enjoy traveling but not as much as when I was younger.”

  “So, you just do your business where ever you happen to be.”

  “We have headquarters in five different cities. I can work out of any of them, or at home. Computers have revolutionized our industry along with everything else.”

  “And what do you do?” Claire asked, studying his face.

  “I’m the boss.”

  Claire resisted the urge to probe deeper into his life and curled her legs up under her. Cole walked casually around the room, pausing briefly to pick out a few notes on the piano. Next, he stopped at the antique box, his long fingers skimming over the rows of bottles.

  “What do you suppose these are?” he asked quietly, almost as though speaking to himself.

  “Medicines, herbs,” Claire said, looking up from a book she had picked up.

  “Poisons.”

  She looked up, curiously. “Some herbs were poisonous given the wrong dosage. Is that what you were thinking of?”

  “Isn’t it a woman’s typical means of murder? Slowly poison the poor man to death in his gruel?”

  Claire got up and squatted next to him, pulling out a bottle at random. “Do you suppose they were Beatrice’s? Or Etta’s? I don’t know how much the upper crust dabbled in this stuff, but I know this wouldn’t have been hard to find.”

  He put the bottles back in neatly. “We may never know what happened, but I think it’s time to get rid of this stuff.”

  “What do you mean?”