“After I give my speech, we’ll leave. I promise.”
Still pouting, Charlene headed to the punch bowl. A middle-aged man approached her before she’d made it through the crowd. She nodded and nearly dragged the man to the dance floor.
Thank God. That’ll keep her busy for a while, Brianna thought.
She searched the room for Anita, even checking the hall and outside. The woman had vanished, and no one remembered seeing anyone who fit her description. Brianna gave up the search and returned to the punch table to watch Charlene being yanked around the dance floor.
Mr. Zywicki approached the podium. Brianna’s hands shook as she threw the paper cup in the trash can next to the table and walked closer to the stage. He gave a short spiel to the crowd and then introduced her.
Her knees wobbled, but she managed to climb the stairs without falling.
“Good evening, everyone. My name is Brianna Rossi, the instigator of the renovations.”
The crowd snickered and clapped. She waited until the applause died down to explain her father’s involvement with the Bridgeport YMCA and why he felt it was important to the community. She hoped everyone would support the facility as the ideal venue for social outreach and networking.
“My father believed in giving back to the community he loved. And though he’s gone, the world is a better place because of him. I’ve decided to continue his charitable work by creating the Daniel Rossi Foundation to provide scholarships to those in need. There are pamphlets in the back of the room for anyone who is interested in learning how to apply. Thank you.”
Brianna rushed off the stage, glad she’d done her duty and was free to leave. She went in search of Charlene and found her at the appetizer table, nibbling on a pig in a blanket. “Are you ready to go, or do you want to dance some more?” she whispered.
“Oh, I’m ready. I can’t survive that goon stepping on my toes one more time.”
They snuck past Mr. Zywicki and out the door.
***
A barely audible whimper filled the room—a woman crying, broadcasting from all directions. Brianna stiffened. Her eyes flew open to scan the room, silently praying that Ms. Kennedy hadn’t returned to finish what she’d started.
The room was empty, chilly, and held an aura of sadness and hopelessness, different from the night Ms. Kennedy appeared.
Brianna waited, her breath caught in her throat. Even though the angry spirit failed to materialize, instinct told her something was there.
When the crying continued, Brianna climbed out of bed and rushed to the window, hoping to see a hoard of cats roaming around the front yard.
No sign of animals. No approaching storm. No wind.
From the corner of her eye, Brianna caught a glimpse of movement. Heart beating fast, she faced her adversary, but it wasn’t the evil specter. It was a gossamer mist, similar to the mass that rose from the floor and dragged Ms. Kennedy from the room. It wavered at the foot of the bed. The form solidified, and the features slowly came into focus—Sarah, in her spirit form. She looked exactly like her photograph, beautiful and delicate. Her eyes held an innocence Brianna had lost long ago. Her golden-blonde hair cascaded in ringlets to her waist but shielded her face as she stood with her head bowed. Her white organza gown flowed in gentle waves around her legs. With the full moon reflecting an ethereal aura of white light around her body, she looked like an angel.
But was she the angel of death?
The back of Brianna’s neck prickled. She thought about calling out to Charlene, but she could hear her snoring. Any other time, her guttural aria would be funny, but comedy was now a distance emotion, replaced with paralyzing fear.
The bedside lamp was five steps away. If she made a run for it, light would flood the room in a matter of seconds, but would it frighten Sarah away? She didn’t want her to leave. Not until she knew why Sarah was here. Was it to give her a message or a warning?
Brianna shivered in her thin nightshirt as she waited for Sarah’s next move. In the faint light, she could see Sarah’s lips moving as she tried to speak, but nothing came out. After several attempts, a faint whisper escaped. “Didn’t know. Didn’t know . . .”
“Didn’t know what, Sarah?” Brianna’s voice sounded shrill as her panic rose. “Tell me. I want to help you if I can.”
The specter of Sarah stayed mute.
Brianna’s breath plumed in the frosty air. “Dammit, Sarah. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Sarah broke her silence. With her arms outstretched in supplication, she said, “Save us.”
“I can’t save anyone if I don’t know who you want me to save.”
With a rush of air, Sarah moved closer. Her face was inches from Brianna’s, so close that she could see tears in Sarah’s violet eyes and a smattering of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.
Suddenly, Brianna felt the soft touch of Sarah’s diaphanous fingers as they pressed against her shoulders. She wondered if Sarah could hear her frantic heartbeat or notice her ragged breathing.
Would she care?
Brianna tensed, waiting for Sarah to crush the life from her body. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
The pressure of Sarah’s hands increased. Brianna trembled beneath them until a mixture of changing patterns and scenes played out in her mind. She realized that somehow Sarah was able to transfer images and emotions of her life into Brianna’s consciousness.
The first vision was of the explosion that rocked the community in 1918, killing more than a dozen miners. She could see Sarah’s father lying on the ground, bleeding from his injuries.
The next vision showed Sarah’s father in a hospital bed surrounded by his wife and six children. During his recovery, the mine superintendent came to the house and told him he no longer had a job. That day her father’s easy-going personality changed. He became moody and short-tempered. With the family food supply dwindling, he struggled to find a way for the family to survive.
The setting changed, and Sarah stood in front of Ms. Kennedy on the front steps of the manor. Sarah’s father stood beside her, his arm still in a sling. Ms. Kennedy handed the man a wad of bills which he shoved into his back pocket without counting it. He walked back down the path without looking back. He’d found a way to save his family.
Frightened and with a heavy heart, Sarah watched him walk away. She whispered, “Please turn around, Daddy. Please.”
Her father hesitated at the gate, but he didn’t look back. He shoved it open and rushed down the street. The clanging gate left a lasting scar on Sarah’s heart, and a tear slipped down her face. She brushed it away and faced Ms. Kennedy, determined not to show any fear.
Sarah sped Brianna forward in time—through the days of having disgusting men groping her every night. The humiliation, the denial, the anger. Then the bargaining with Ms. Kennedy to release her from her father’s obligation. The depression when denied and the acceptance of her fate. Sarah had gone through every stage of grief and loss. Every sensation was palpable.
Brianna couldn’t imagine the horror this young woman endured in her short life. Now that she had seen and felt Sarah’s emotional state, the young woman’s desire to end it all made much more sense.
The veil of despair lifted the night Sarah met James. Brianna recognized the location—her bedroom. The walls, sheets, and bedspread were red, and gilt-framed paintings of landscapes and flower-filled vases created the perfect environment for the brothel’s illicit activities.
James paced back and forth in the exact location Brianna had seen him in her vision. Lean and muscular, his wavy ash-blond hair kept falling into his eyes. He was fresh-faced with a prominent chin and statuesque nose, like a Greek God.
Brianna observed the tentative relationship grow after their first encounter. James came back to the manor many times, borrowing money from friends to spend time with the girl he loved.
Sarah would sneak out to meet James on Sundays when Ms. Kennedy closed the b
rothel. She would meet James under the sycamore tree by the river, the same tree she and Riley had claimed as theirs.
Brianna was shown one day that must have been a special memory. James leaned against the trunk of the sycamore tree holding a pink tea rose. As Sarah approached, she asked him if he’d stolen it. James confirmed her accusation with a crooked smile and a nod, handing her the rose. He said the color was a perfect match to her lips, the lips he loved to kiss. They sat beneath the tree for hours, talking and planning their future, a future away from Fairmont. Before Sarah left, James carved J.C. loves S.S. in the tree bark and enclosed it in a heart.
Sarah’s memories continued to invade Brianna’s thoughts in such a rapid stream that it made Brianna dizzy. Sarah showed her the day James proposed. They had walked along the river, enjoying a warm summer breeze. When they reached their tree, James dropped to one knee and presented Sarah with a handkerchief.
Surprised by his gift, she unfolded the fabric to expose a stunning, round ruby ring set in a silver band. James said it had belonged to his grandmother. It came all the way from Ireland. He asked if she would make him the happiest man alive and marry him.
Sarah was speechless. She’d dreamt of this day but never expected it to happen. Hope was a powerful emotion. Brianna could feel Sarah’s joy. Now she could escape her dismal life and share a future with the man she loved.
Sarah had accepted his proposal with a caveat: she couldn’t leave the brothel until she’d paid her father’s debt. They discussed their options. There weren’t many. Even if they pooled their meager funds together, it would never be enough. Ms. Kennedy’s percentage was too high, and most of the pittance James earned in the mines went to the company store for food and supplies.
Their salvation came when the United States joined the allies in the war. James talked to an army recruiter. He learned he could make more money in four months than he could if he worked in the mines for an entire year. He enlisted that day.
They met by the river one last time before he left. He swore he would come back for her, and she promised to wait for him.
Time moved forward and Sarah broke off the engagement. A week later, she discovered she was pregnant. Sarah struggled with the need to tell James he was a father and the fear that he wouldn’t believe the baby was his.
Brianna saw Sarah writing a letter to James. She couldn’t read what it said before Sarah sealed it in an envelope. Brianna heard women’s voices outside the bedroom door, arguing about who was first in line to use the bathroom because their clients would be arriving soon. She sensed Sarah’s dread.
Sarah’s heart fell into her stomach as heavy footsteps clomped down the hallway. It could only mean one thing—Ms. Kennedy would be at her door any minute. With the letter clutched to her breast, Sarah rushed across the room. She had to keep her secret. If Ms. Kennedy found out she was pregnant . . .
And then the vision vanished.
“Wait, what happened when Ms. Kennedy came to your room?”
Sarah’s form flickered as if she didn’t have enough energy to stay visible.
Brianna’s stomach convulsed. She fought the strong urge to vomit. “What did Ms. Kennedy do to you? Did she find out about the baby and force you to abort your child, or was it your idea to drink the tea? Tell me, Sarah! I need to know.”
Sarah didn’t answer, but lifted her hands as if begging for forgiveness. Brianna watched in wonder as Sarah’s spirit passed right through her body to stand at the window. The curtains stirred, but remained closed. Sarah laid a protective hand on her stomach.
She wants her child. I know it.
Sarah’s figure continued to waver in and out of sight until she burst into an array of sparkling particles of light and transformed into a bright, twinkling orb.
Brianna kept her eyes glued on what remained of Sarah. The orb glided toward the adjacent wall and stopped in front of the fireplace, hovering for what seemed like an eternity. With a swoosh it vanished inside a decorative square block at the corner of the mantel.
Brianna bolted across the room to the fireplace, running her hand around the decorative flower motif where Sarah had disappeared. She inspected the block and jiggled it back and forth until it shifted to one side to reveal a hidden compartment.
Brianna peeked inside, but it was too dark to see anything. She stepped back to analyze the situation.
Sarah came here for a reason. If you want to know the truth, you have to do this.
Brianna took a deep breath and slammed her hand into the shadowy crevice. An envelope was stuck in the back. She pulled it out and ran back to bed, flipping on the light as she climbed under the sheets.
The letter was still inside. She eased it out and read.
August 22, 1918
My dearest James,
You are probably surprised to hear from me since I was the one who broke off our engagement. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I realize I was wrong. I should never have allowed your brother to come between us. I love you. I pray you still feel the same. If you don’t, I will understand. You’ve had a chance to see what life can be like outside of our small town. You may not wish to return, especially to me after what I’ve done. I have kept a secret from you, but you have a right to know. I am with child, your child. I counted back to the time I conceived. It was the night before you left for boot camp. Despite the sorrow of your leaving, you made that night one of the happiest nights of my life. Now I will have a permanent reminder of the love we shared.
I understand if you do not want to be a part of this child’s life, as I expect you have your doubts. I want you to know that I will accept whatever you decide. I don’t have much time, so I must have an answer soon. I cannot hide my pregnancy much longer. I will need to leave here before Ms. Kennedy finds out. She forced Becky to abort her baby. I won’t let that happen to ours. I will protect our child with my life.
I plan to run away once I have your decision. I was able to sneak a letter to my grandparents in Maryland. They have asked me to come and live with them. They promised to protect me from Ms. Kennedy. I will not have to raise our child alone. My family will help. If you wish to be a part of this child’s life, I will be in Baltimore on Charles Street in Federal Hill. Anyone on the street can tell you where the Garrett family lives. That is my mother’s maiden name.
If I do not hear from you, I will never bother you again.
Still, Forever, Promise,
Sarah
The letter was one more piece of the puzzle. Brianna was confident Sarah hadn’t committed suicide. She suspected Ms. Kennedy was the one who gave Sarah the tea that killed her and her unborn child.
But why is Sarah still here? Is Ms. Kennedy forcing her to stay, as she did Mrs. Talbert?
Brianna put Sarah’s letter in the top drawer of the nightstand and flopped back on the pillows. She couldn’t go back to sleep. She had to help Sarah find peace so she could move on, and she had to get rid of Ms. Kennedy? But how?
Chapter 34
Off-key singing coming from the bathroom woke Brianna. She burrowed under the pillow, wanting at least another hour of sleep. Sarah’s late-night visitation had kept her up until dawn.
Unable to ignore the caterwauling, Brianna sat up. “Why must she be so loud?” she said, pounding the mattress with her fists as Charlene breezed into the bedroom wrapped in Brianna’s new fleece robe.
“Well, good morning, sleepyhead. About time you got up. We have business to take care of today.”
“Are you warm enough?” Brianna said, sarcasm dripping off her words.
Charlene tugged the robe tighter and tied the belt. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Brianna grimaced; the headache from last night still pounded at her temples. “What kind of business?”
“While you were gone yesterday . . . running errands, I called every ad agency in Fairmont I could find. I found the perfect one. They have excellent reviews, and we have an appointment at ten this morning to discuss our marketi
ng campaign.”
“Ugh. All I want to do is go back to sleep.”
“Maybe you should go to bed earlier. Did you stay up all night talking to Ben?”
“I—”
“Chop, chop. We can’t be late.”
Miffed by Charlene’s cheerful exuberance, Brianna slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom. She eyed her cozy robe as they passed each other. Really? She couldn’t bring her own?
Charlene had used all the hot water again. Brianna took another cold shower, cursing the whole time about rude visitors.
By the time Brianna emerged from the bathroom, Charlene was dressed, wearing a short black skirt, scarlet silk blouse that showed a tinge more cleavage than necessary, and jeweled sandals.
Brianna’s choice of attire was on the conservative side—chocolate-brown dress pants, a purple tailored shirt, and brown pumps. Satisfied with the results, she went downstairs to find Charlene in the kitchen making scrambled eggs. By the time breakfast was over, Brianna was in a better mood.
Her good temper was short-lived, for the drive to town was painful with Charlene changing the radio station after every song. The only redeeming aspect of the entire trip was that she didn’t sing.
Brianna tuned out the music and focused on the drive. She had eleven miles of unspoiled scenery to enjoy before they reached downtown. She loved this part of the journey, driving down country lanes where urban development hadn’t destroyed nature. She took her fill of its beauty, because she knew it was so ephemeral. It reminded her of all the family camping trips she’d taken through the years.
She forced herself to concentrate on the here and now, not quite ready to think about her parents and all that she’d lost.
Her comfortable silence was soon interrupted by Charlene. “Do you think we’ll run into Riley while we’re in town?”
Brianna shook her head. “I doubt it. His dad’s store is on the opposite end from where we’ll be.”
“We can stop by on our way home.”
“No!” To soften the abruptness, she added, “We won’t have time. I have phone calls to make when we get back.”
Still, Forever, Promise Page 24
