Though there was little reason to be sure about almost anything, I clung to the hope that someday, soon, I would return home. I believed it wouldn't be long before the tragedy of Warren's brutal death disappeared, and I could return to Jasper Island. There, hopefully, I would see the Daltons - Opal and Edward, Ayden, and most of all, Heath. I would certainly be too ashamed to tell them all that had happened over the years I was gone. Never could I reveal that Momma had been brutally raped by a Confederate soldier, and then had shamelessly ran off with her half-brother, Patrick-Garrett, pretending to be his wife, and living a life of sin and lies. There was never any doubt that I would keep the memories of years spent locked away by my evil step-grandmother shut off and protected in my own mind and soul. I would never divulge how I was tortured, betrayed, and raped by Warren, my own father. The journal that held all the secrets to the past, the key to my unholy existence, would forever remain hidden from the eyes of the world. No one could know all that I had suffered.
As the horse-drawn carriage hurried through the crowded streets of one of the largest cities I would ever see, my mind wandered to the simple times on Jasper Island and my youthful days playing with Ayden and Heath. It had been years since I had last seen them, and my last days had been unhappy. Heath and I had a horrible fight; he was frustrated with my immature ways. I realized now how silly and childish I was, how there was very little to cry over. Then everything in my life I over-dramatized, all except my love for Heath. My heart still skipped a beat when a vision of him flashed before my eyes, although it became harder and harder to remember what he looked like.
Then I recalled Ayden and our special bond. Ayden was my age, and because of that, understood my emotions with greater ease than his older brother, Heath. Ayden was as emotional as I was, and just as temperamental. I recalled our regular encounters with Victor, the ghost that roamed Jasper Island. Only Ayden and I saw Victor, well, except for Momma when she was at the height of her insanity, just before she tried to kill herself by plunging a letter opener into her stomach. That was when Daddy sent her away. I would never see her again. Even though Momma had done some terrible things in the past, I missed everything about her. I longed for her gentle touch, her sweet angelic voice to sing me to sleep, and I missed seeing her beautiful doll-like face. Though as the years passed, when occasionally I looked into the mirror, I saw her in my own reflection.
While the carriage rolled down Fifth Avenue, I marveled at the prestigious mansions that lined the city street.
“Here we are,” Richard announced as the carriage stopped before an enormous house. It was a five-story granite mansion, resembling a French chateau, and certainly nothing like the squalor I had recently come from. I immediately noticed the gargoyles perched high on the ends of the gables, peering down upon me, no doubt wondering why I was being granted entrance into such an affluent residence. Of course, I wasn’t worthy. I was spoiled and dirty from what Warren had done to me. I was vile and unholy, just as Eugenia had told me. I was certainly not worthy of being in the presence of such high-status people as Richard and Judith Parker.
Richard eagerly led me inside, and we were greeted by an elderly man. He was short and plump. The only hair that remained on his head grew by his temples in shades of salt and pepper. His eyes were large, almost frog-like.
“Welcome back, sir,” he greeted Richard, after closing the heavy glass front double doors.
“Good afternoon, Edgar,” Richard replied handing him his hat.
Edgar gave me a quick scan with his curious pale, watery eyes, then turned and placed Richard’s hat on the rack in the foyer.
“May I have your dinner brought in for you, sir?” Edgar asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Edgar nodded and headed off through the foyer and into a dark hall as I followed Richard into the large, posh parlor to the right. It was a room I imagined Eugenia Arrington would be most envious of. All the furnishings were French antiques, the drapes covering the tall windows were a dark, plum-colored velvet with gold tiebacks, and most certainly priceless paintings, adorned the walls.
Richard lit a fat cigar and came to stand beside me as I admired the paintings. “Judith hates these,” he informed me. “In fact, she hates everything I like.”
I turned and looked at him, not sure if he was serious. I could not imagine her disliking anything about Richard. He was tall and handsome, smart and funny. He was gentle and obviously generous. I thought she was lucky to have such a man devoted to her.
Richard motioned for me to sit and offered me a drink. “A little brandy to help relax you?” he asked, while pouring.
“No, thank you.”
“Come now, it’s not polite to let me drink alone,” he said, and he handed me the wide glass that he’d filled nearly to the top. I agreed, to be courteous, and took a small sip.
“That’s better. Edgar will have Agnes prepare our meal, and we will dine together. She is a fine cook. She cooked for the Queen of England, in fact.”
“Really?”
“This is true,” Richard said, nodding his head. He took a long drag on his cigar.
I sat quietly for a moment, trying to take it all in. I felt unfamiliarly safe and unusually comfortable with Richard. He lived like a king, though I worried about his queen - Queen Judith. I felt she hated me, yet I wasn’t certain why, exactly. Richard had an uncanny way of reading my mind; somehow he knew most of what I was thinking, what deep down troubled me about his wife.
Richard crossed his long legs and sat back in the large, purple velvet chair, and gazed curiously at me. I sat up straight, proper, and respectful as Momma and Daddy had taught me. I wanted to appear older and more sophisticated than I was. I longed to be respected and liked, just for being me, though I knew Richard was enamored by my looks well before my character. I hoped and prayed he wouldn’t see that I was soiled; I held my breath praying he couldn’t tell what had been done to me. If he knew, without any doubt, he would throw me out on the street and slam the door shut without looking back.
“I’m glad you agreed to stay with us for a while. And to be perfectly honest with you, Judith doesn’t hate you,” he declared.
With wide eyes, I sat waiting for his explanation. He smiled confidently, placed his cigar in a nearby ashtray, and leaned in close to me. “She is merely jealous of your beauty, as you will find in life that most women are. Judith is jealous of all the women I sketch.” I didn’t know what to say.
Edgar appeared in the doorway and announced that dinner was served. Richard stood and extended his hand to me, then asked, “Will you do me the honor of dining with me, Miss Lillian?”
The wide smile on his face caused me to smile. I took a much needed breath, rose, and slid my arm through his as he casually led me into the dining room adjacent to the parlor. Agnes was waiting for us to sit and eat. She was a small-framed, fragile looking older woman with snow-white hair.
The meal was seven courses, and I couldn’t fathom how she’d prepared such a grand feast in only an hour. I hadn’t a decent meal in a long time, and I wanted to devour everything on my plate, but I refrained and ate like a lady, leaving a bit of food on each of my plates. Richard helped himself to a second portion, and when he was finished, wiped his chin and announced he was stuffed. Agnes came out to clear the dishes and shot me a look of disapproval. Richard didn’t notice.
“Come, let me give you a tour of our fine home,” he offered, as he came over and eased the chair out for me.
I trailed behind him as we made our way through the maze of rooms and ended in the rear of the kitchen. To my astonishment, there was an elevator! I had never been in one before. Richard laughed with amusement at my hesitation. “Nothing to be frightened about,” he said, and he nudged me in.
I gingerly stepped into the boxlike room and gulped hard, afraid of the tiny space. Richard eased the lever and we started to move. I anxiously leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, wishing to get out very soon. I cautiously opened my ey
es when we were almost there. Richard noticed me clutching Momma’s journal. “I see that book means a great deal to you. You refuse to put it down.”
“Oh,” I muttered. I looked down at my hand and suddenly realized I was still gripping onto it, as if letting go would mean I would have nothing left of Momma and Daddy, even if they were the ones who had left me with a permanent pain and feeling of worthlessness in my heart.
“If you would like, I can put that in our safe. That way you can put the book away knowing that no harm will come of it and that you won’t lose it again.”
The only item I possessed from my own mother was that journal, with the exception of my reflection. I certainly didn’t ever want to lose it again, so I agreed to have Richard lock it away for safekeeping. “And when I leave in a few days, you will give it back to me?” I asked with some trepidation, because I needed to put so much trust in him.
After the elevator abruptly stopped, Richard opened the metal gate and we entered the fifth floor. He appeared amused at my confusion and laughed to himself. “This house is filled with the finest objects money can buy,” he said, ignoring my question, taking me along a narrow, dim hall, passing dozens of closed doors along the way. “Judith travels the world to obtain the finest French eighteenth century furniture and porcelains. She has acquired the finest bronze sculptures in all the world, the most priceless oil paintings, and expensive oriental rugs to furnish this mansion. And my dear, all of it . . .” he stopped before a small hand-carved black walnut door at the very end of the hall, “means nothing to me.”
Richard removed a small key from his trousers pocket that immediately sent shivers down my spine and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The key was a reminder of bitter days from my past, filled with torment and anguish I would not soon forget.
“This is what means everything to me,” he said, and we stepped into his magical world.
It was a large room blanketed with beautiful natural sunlight that cast a bright glow over the dozens and dozens of sketches on wide canvases that rested on tall wooden easels. With a beaming smile, like a proud papa, he showed me each of his drawings of beautiful women. Some were fully clothed. I blushed as I peered closely at the nude portraits. Warren was right about Richard, I thought. He was certain Richard would sketch such distasteful art. I didn’t think it was distasteful, though I kept that opinion to myself.
“Judith doesn’t know about this room,” Richard confessed, as I stared at one particular portrait of a young woman, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
She was lying on her side on a settee, relaxed and sprawled out with a silk sheet loosely draped over her voluptuous body; only her large, round breasts were exposed. Her dark hair was long and styled in large ringlets that cascaded down her soft, milky white shoulders.
Richard slowly eased behind me, and I jumped as I felt the heat of his breath against my neck. “Her name was Vivienne. She sat for me for an entire day, up here in this very room. She was breathtaking, wasn’t she?” he asked in just above a whisper.
I took a step to my right, away from Richard, and laughed nervously, then said, “She is. Why didn’t you make her famous?”
Richard’s eyes grew dark and disturbed, then his brow lifted, and he gazed out the window and into the orange glow of the late summer sunset.
“She died, tragically. It was an accident, a terrible carriage accident,” he said somberly, then took a deep breath. “She was so lovely.”
I imagined she meant more to him than just a captivating, beautiful woman who took his breath away, but I said nothing as my heart raced from the memories of one man’s uncompromising affections for a woman. I never wanted to have any man feel that way for me again.
Richard appeared to be consumed with sorrowful memories of the past as he stood staring back at her haunting image. I felt awkward, as if I were spying on his soul. There was a part of Richard that seemed like a young, lost boy in the midst of a grown-up world when he looked that way.
I waited for what seemed like hours for him to come out of his trance, and when he did, he apologized. “I’m sorry, Lillian,” he mumbled, and once again willed his face to glow with a brilliant, charismatic smile. “Let’s put your treasured item in the safe, then I will show you where you will stay.”
We reached another floor, and after I handed him the book, he told me to stay put near the elevator and he would be right back. I watched Richard go into a room, then close the door behind him. He was out in only a minute, then he led me down one more level to the second floor where I was invited to stay.
This room was beautiful, filled with elegant furniture and a luxurious bed that in years past I could only dream of.
“I hope you will be comfortable here,” Richard said.
I gazed all around, and then turned to Richard where he stood in the doorway.
“It’s only for a few days,” I stated with great dignity.
Richard nodded in acknowledgement, said, “Sleep well,” and eased himself out the door without locking it.
* * *
Chapter Two
A reason to stay alive
Sometime in the middle of the dark, stormy night, I shot up in bed from a horrible night terror. The ferocious thunder boomed, shook the entire mansion, and left my heart racing in my chest. With fear and bewilderment, I looked around and almost didn’t remember where I was. Then, somewhere in my mind, I remembered Richard, took a breath, and slipped out of bed. I had nothing on but my chemise, and I was cold. The dampness of the rain had seeped into the house. I quickly dressed, and then wandered out of my room, not really thinking about where I wanted to go.
Although I had a safe place to stay, I felt incredibly lost and alone. The city mansion was very different from the ominous Sutton Hall, yet I was frightened, wandering down the long, dark halls looking for who knows what. Maybe I was hoping to find Richard up in his private room, still staring at that beautiful woman he had sketched long ago.
As I crept along the dark, eerie halls, my mind transported me back in time, and I became confused and easily startled. A flash of lightning bolted out from under the infinite row of doors that lined the hall, followed by a loud boom. Anxiously, I jumped back and pressed myself up against a door. I thought I saw Warren’s face in the flash of light. I was sure I heard Eugenia holler for me. Time seemed to travel from the past to the present, and I wasn’t able to put things into perspective. My vision became blurry, my legs began to shake beneath me, suddenly unable to support me. It felt like my heart was going to stop beating at any moment, and when I felt a hand grab my shoulders, I just about fainted.
“What are you doing wandering about at this time of night?” Richard asked from behind me.
I had stumbled upon his room, and as soon as I caught my breath, I tried to explain. “I had a nightmare, I was confused,” I uttered, choking back my tears.
Richard heard my fright; his hands felt my whole body trembling. Another flash of lightning lit the room behind him, and all I could see was his masculine silhouette.
“There is nothing to be frightened of,” Richard reassured me with a tender hug, but I pulled away, starting to cry.
I wanted so much to be brave, to put on a suit of armor and fight my way home. I hated myself for letting Richard see how terrified I was. So I brushed away my tears with the back of my hand, cleared my tight throat, and said, “I should be getting back to my room.”
Richard stepped closer. I could feel his eyes on me. “May I ask what it is that frightens you?” he asked softly. “Can you tell me all you have been through, what that man has done to make you such a timid and faint-hearted girl?”
Richard already knew too much. He knew how I had witnessed Warren’s death, and he was aware that I’d had some kind of traumatic past; however, there was no way I was going to reveal the details to him, or to anyone . . . ever.
I quickly excused myself and hurried to find my way back to my room, leaving Richard standing there,
probably regretting the day he met me. I wanted to climb under the covers, and I wished the night would end. I began to think it would be best to leave first thing in the morning, before I made too many mistakes and more regrets. I fell asleep with my journey home in the front of my mind.
I woke the next morning, ready to begin the rest of my travels. I looked forward to my return to Jasper Island. It didn’t take me long to wash up and make my way to the elevator. I kept my chin high; I feared nothing with the new day I had been blessed with. I wasn’t going to let fear control me; I wasn’t going to give in to the sins of my past. With the new day came an entirely new beginning for me, I told myself. I would no longer allow the past to weigh me down, nor would I keep my mind locked away in some frightened state. I did, anticipate Richard’s attempts to persuade me not to leave. But, I had it in my mind that I would move ahead, even if what happened in Savannah, the tragic death I had caused, were to catch up to me.
Agnes was preparing a morning feast when I came down. She stood cooking over the stove, which she could barely reach, and didn’t turn to look or say a word to me. Edgar was pouring Richard a cup of coffee when I entered the dining room. They both turned and greeted me with subtle nods as I took a seat.
“Nothing for me this morning,” I announced. “I need to get an early start.”
Richard folded up the paper in his lap and raised his brow in question, while Edgar excused himself.
“You're leaving? I thought you agreed you should lay low for a while. It’s only been a few days since . . .” Richard stopped and gave me a look that told me I knew what he was talking about.
“I know what I agreed to, but my family is waiting for me. It’s been so long already. I really need to get home,” I explained, and stood to go.
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