Eternal

by Glass, Debra

  “Drink what?”

  “Liquor.”

  It was Jeremiah’s turn to laugh. “A swig of corn whiskey is what got me through many a cold night on the march to Franklin.” His grin widened.

  “I don’t even like to camp. I can’t imagine what it was like sleeping outdoors,” I said, easing into a natural conversation with him.

  “I didn’t feel as if I had a choice,” he said dismally.

  Not wanting to press him for details about something that was obviously hard for him, I turned the conversation back to the woman who’d lived here before me. “Miss Polk couldn’t talk to you?”

  Jeremiah shook his head but then that easy grin curved his lips once more. “Well, she could—and did. At length. But she couldn’t hear me.”

  I laughed again but I found myself torn between being amused by his jokes and saddened by the fact that he’d spent many lonely years here. “Don’t you ever get bored?”

  “Insanely,” he said. His gaze found mine again, stealing my breath. Low thunder rumbled in the distance. “But now, you’re here.”

  A gush of warmth stole through me and settled in the back of my neck. I didn’t know if he meant as friends or if he meant something more. My heart soared only to come plummeting back to earth. What was I thinking? He was a ghost! I was a living, breathing human being. A relationship other than sharing conversations on the roof was not only improbable, it was impossible.

  “You’re sad,” he said, instantly capturing my attention.

  I opened my mouth to speak but jolted when I heard the shrill call of my mom. Even though I doubted she could see Jeremiah, I didn’t want her to find me on the roof. This was a secret place I shared with Jeremiah. I didn’t want anybody else to spoil it.

  I leapt to my feet. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  He gained his feet and inclined his head in a courteous, Old World bow. Reluctant to leave his company, I smiled before I scurried down the ladder-like stairs. I took the attic stairs two at time and when I burst through the door, I nearly ran headlong into Mom.

  “What’s up there?” she asked, rubbernecking to see around me.

  “Nothing,” I said breathlessly. “I thought Mr. Stella ran up there but I was wrong.”

  Fascination and curiosity gleamed in Mom’s eyes as, undaunted, she started toward the attic door.

  I gulped. “Do I smell something burning?” I asked, hoping she was cooking supper.

  She gasped. “The rolls!” And as she rushed down the stairs, she yelled back at me that dinner was ready.

  My shoulders sagged with relief. I couldn’t really explain why I didn’t want her—or worse, Ella—invading the attic. That space belonged to me. I bit my bottom lip. Jeremiah belonged to me. It struck me as ironic that a dead man had given me reason to enjoy life again.

  Before I joined my family for dinner, I pushed the door closed behind me. Well, almost closed.

  * * * * *

  For the next two weeks, I couldn’t wait to get home from school so Jeremiah and I could spend every afternoon sitting on the widow’s walk, talking, watching the world around us.

  At times, our friendship didn’t seem real, but instead, magical, as if, for those couple of hours every day, I was transported to a fantasy world.

  I never touched him, not even accidentally.

  I wasn’t ready for that. And didn’t know if I’d ever be.

  Six

  My thoughts ran rampant as I lay across my bed, struggling with my English homework. Despite a raging storm whipping through the ancient trees and the rain splattering against my windows, I couldn’t get my mind off the time I’d spent with Jeremiah on the widow’s walk.

  In fact, I couldn’t get my mind off him.

  For the millionth time today, I flipped through my notebook and looked at his photograph. My heart skidded sideways at the sight of his luminous eyes—those eyes that had the uncanny ability to bore into my soul and force me to admit my innermost secrets. I drew in a deep breath, hoping he was with me now. Watching. Wanting to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him.

  Dozens upon dozens of questions formed in my brain and I wished I hadn’t changed the subject when he’d started talking about his life. I wanted to know everything about him. Where did he go when I couldn’t see him? What did he do? Was he aware of other souls who’d refused to go on?

  Most importantly, had I lost my mind?

  Lightning flashed, startling me. I jolted and without warning, something heavy fell out of the air and plopped onto my open English book. Pulse racing, I shot up onto my knees. I blinked against the photo flash effect of the lightning, trying to focus on the object. “What the—” At first, I thought was a bug. I squinted. It was no bug.

  Tucking a lock of hair behind one ear, I leaned in closer, realizing it was a pin of some sort. Where had it come from? I glanced up at the intact, lime green rosette above my head. Had I somehow jarred the bed when I jumped, knocking it loose?

  I lifted the pin out of the crease of my book to examine what appeared to be an antique sterling silver cardinal. When I ran my finger over the cool silver, a delicious shiver coursed through my body.

  I knew this hadn’t come from nowhere.

  This was another gift from Jeremiah. Joy thrilled me at the idea as I turned it in my hand. My mom had sterling silver she dragged out on Thanksgiving Day and at Christmas. I knew from experience how quickly it tarnished and how much time it took to keep silver polished.

  My little cardinal gleamed and I would have thought it was new but for the antiquated clasp and the maker’s mark on the back. I unfastened it and then pinned it to the front of my hoodie. “Thank you,” I whispered, delighting in the idea that he’d given me a gift. And even though I couldn’t see him at the moment, I knew his soul was present in the room with me.

  “Mom says I get to sleep with you tonight.” Ella’s voice ripped me from my thoughts.

  She stood in my doorway wearing her footed sock monkey pajamas with her favorite pillow tucked under her arm.

  “No,” I said adamantly. I hated to sleep with Ella. She twisted and turned until she arranged her wiry little body completely horizontally in the bed, and worse, she kicked the sheet down to the footboard. Besides, Mr. Stella didn’t like her in the bed.

  Her forehead creased and her bottom lip protruded. “Mom said!”

  I cringed because Ella’s voice carried as loudly as the most seasoned Shakespearean actor’s.

  “Wren!” I heard Mom’s warning voice drift upward from the bowels of the house.

  Blowing out a sigh, I gathered my book and notebooks in order to stash them in my backpack before Hurricane Ella made landfall. Then, just as I feared, she launched herself happily into my bed and began clawing back the covers.

  “What’s that?” Ella asked pointing at my pin. Nothing got by her.

  “A pin.” I tried to act as if it was nothing special.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Found it.” I began stuffing my notebook into the backpack but Ella’s bounding caused the one with Jeremiah’s picture to tumble to the bed.

  The photo slid out and Ella’s lightning fast hands snatched it before I could stop her. “Who’s this?” she demanded.

  “Something for a history project,” I lied. “Give it back.”

  She jumped back, holding it out of my reach. God forbid for Ella to ever really find out about Jeremiah. The whole house would know and Mom would slap me straight back into therapy.

  “Give it back, you little twerp, or I won’t let you sleep in here,” I threatened.

  She shot me an evil glance and practically threw the printed page at me. It floated into my hands and I glanced down at Jeremiah’s beautifully sculpted features, thankful my photo was safely back in my hands.

  “You think he’s hot,” Ella accused.

  “Don’t you?” I asked, tucking the picture back into my notebook. Because heat inflamed my blushing cheeks, I avoided looking at her
.

  She giggled and I couldn’t help but smile. Although Ella was only eight, I had to give her credit. She had excellent taste in men. She preferred the villainous vampire on a television show to the good guy and had far rather watch a documentary on Tudor history than follow the latest teeny bopper craze. Her coolness, notwithstanding, didn’t make me any more amenable to having a roommate for the night.

  Ella snuggled under the covers. “I like your bed,” she said.

  “Me, too,” I replied, getting up to pad into the bathroom so I could brush my teeth and scrub my face.

  I’d already changed into my usual sleepwear, a pair of well-worn sweats and a roomy t-shirt, over which I wore the warm hoodie bearing my cardinal pin. After scrubbing the unscarred part of my face and brushing my teeth, I switched off the light and started back to my bedroom.

  Lightning flared outside the window, instantly illuminating Jeremiah’s ghost standing in my doorway.

  I gasped but he put his finger to his lips to shush me. My gaze shot to Ella who’d already fallen asleep. She snored softly. Relief flooded me and when I looked back at Jeremiah, he curled his index finger, motioning for me to follow him.

  The floorboards creaked under my footsteps and I winced and glanced back at my little sister. She didn’t stir.

  Jeremiah stood near the attic door, watching me with mischievous curiosity. My insides tangled.

  “Hurry,” he whispered.

  As quietly and quickly as I could, I darted across the little hall and followed Jeremiah up the attic stairs.

  He put his finger to his lips again. “Listen.”

  “To what?” I asked stupidly.

  “To the rain, silly.” His smile totally disarmed me and turned my insides to utter and absolute mush.

  Holding his gaze, I cocked my head and listened as driving rain pelted the tin roof. The sound was almost deafening, decidedly hypnotic. Each individual raindrop blended with the others to become one and yet each remained distinct.

  As I drank in the luscious sound of the rain peppering the roof, Jeremiah moved to the fanlight, his footsteps gliding gracefully over the floor. My gaze trailed after him and the sight of him silhouetted against the glass grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed. His graceful movements echoed the time period from which he hailed. Tousled hair topped his head and I realized he’d turned to look at me by the way he stood out against the flickering light behind him.

  Lightning blazed in the attic, casting long shadows of the delicately framed panes and Jeremiah’s figure across the unfinished floor planks. Silently, he motioned for me to join him.

  Knees trembling, I slowly crept across the floor to where he stood, so achingly aware of our closeness, I couldn’t think clearly. Thunder boomed in time with the already erratic beating of my heart.

  “Can you feel it?” he asked.

  “The thunder?” Or my pounding heart?

  His eyes dropped to my lips and then lifted to my eyes once more. “The lightning.”

  I laughed nervously. “I don’t think I want to be struck by lightning.”

  “Not that way,” he said with a half-smile. “The…energy. Haven’t you ever felt lightning?”

  “I haven’t ever really paid attention.” I fought the overwhelming need to look away from his warm stare but I found myself completely mesmerized by his ethereal beauty.

  “You’re nervous,” he said.

  I swallowed. Hard. Every part of me wished he lacked the ability to pick my emotions apart so easily. “It’s the storm,” I mumbled.

  “There’s nothing to fear. This house has withstood many, many storms,” he mused.

  I smiled despite my trepidation—which had nothing whatsoever to do with the violent storm outside.

  “Does it please you?” he asked.

  I looked at him askance. “The storm?” I asked incredulously.

  He chuckled and the sound of his laugh was so warm and seductive, it gave me the same feeling of taking a sip of hot chocolate on a cold, snowy day.

  “The broach.” His glance dropped to my cardinal pin and then returned once more to my eyes.

  I brushed my fingers across the silver. “Where did you get it?”

  “There are many such trinkets in this house,” he said. “But this one is special because I watched you, the day you went to…my…grave.”

  My eyes widened. I knew it!

  He continued. “Through the eyes of a cardinal.”

  My lips parted. Vividly, I recalled seeing the bright scarlet bird in the trees that day. “That was…you?”

  He shrugged and graced me with a slight nod.

  “How?” I asked.

  “It is very easy for me to meld with animals.”

  “So, you see what they see? Feel what they feel?” The idea that his spirit could possess an animal or a bird fascinated me.

  Jeremiah stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded.

  Curious, I continued. “Can you do it with people?”

  His gaze penetrated mine. “Yes.”

  Lightning flashed, startling me. This time, thunder immediately followed.

  He watched my reaction. “Close your eyes,” he coaxed.

  I debated.

  “I assure you no harm will come to you,” he said, obviously amused by my apprehension.

  “Are you going to…possess…me?” My voice quavered.

  “Not yet,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.”

  Yet? What did he mean by yet?

  “Close your eyes, Wren.” It was not a request.

  My heart pounded but I acquiesced. My lashes gently fluttered to my cheeks and with anticipation coursing through me, I stood, waiting. I breathed in the musty scent of the attic mingled with the fresh fragrance of rain as my mind ran wild. Intuitively, I knew he hadn’t moved. Not even an inch.

  My body tingled from his energy but when I opened my mouth to remark on it, a lightning bolt spiraled toward the earth.

  I tensed. The old house trembled.

  Electricity fired through my veins. Every hair on my body rose as if I’d somehow become one with the energy of the lightning. Without opening my eyes, I smiled.

  “You felt it!” he exclaimed.

  My eyes snapped open. “Yes, yes, I did!” I cried, giddy with excitement. I looked down at my arms and hands and then back up at Jeremiah.

  He seemed almost human in the shadows, as if his form had taken on more substance.

  Looking at him in the dim light, I found it all too easy to forget he was a ghost. I gnawed my bottom lip, wild with the desire to touch him.

  “What was it like?” he asked.

  My gaze found his and then dropped away. “It felt like…like you.”

  He stared for so long that I thought my hasty remark had embarrassed him. At the very least, I’d embarrassed myself. A hot blush crept into my cheeks. “I…I should be getting back downstairs. If Ella wakes up—”

  “She’s not awake,” he interrupted quickly.

  My lips closed. Shaking from head to toe, I realized he hadn’t given me a choice. Hope welled that he might be as interested in me as I was in him but I refused to think past this enchanted moment.

  “Hold your hand up,” he said.

  Cold chills washed over me but I complied with his request, bringing my right hand up, palm facing Jeremiah. My resolve swerved as his gaze held mine whole. He lifted his own hand.

  He intended to touch me!

  It was going to happen, and waiting for it was the most intense, torturous pleasure I had ever known. Some part of me knew this moment would remain indelibly etched in my brain for the rest of my life and even beyond. The breath left my lungs in a ragged rush as he moved his hand closer and closer until our palms faced each other a mere two inches apart.

  “Do you feel me now?” he asked, his eyes still linked with mine.

  I gave an imperceptible nod. Energy radiated from his hand until I experienced the same sensation of holding two powerful magnets close to one anot
her. Resistance sparked like an invisible barrier between us and I knew that if he moved his hand one millimeter closer to mine, the resistance would miraculously transform into instant attraction. Part of me thrilled at the idea of touching him. Another part of me feared he wouldn’t feel human.

  Or worse, that I wouldn’t feel him at all.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “I sense fear from you. And something else…”

  My heart sank and just as I started to withdraw my hand, he reached out. The magnetic resistance became an irresistible draw that pulled his hand to mine with the power of a vise. I gasped as his fingers laced between my own, as I felt an unmistakable energy grip my hand.

  He drew in a jagged breath, his gaze fixed on our joined hands. When his eyes met mine to gauge my reaction, a half-smile claimed his lips. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  Trying in vain to swallow, I nodded and, unable to hold his gaze, I looked once more at our entwined fingers. His index finger brushed my knuckle and I wanted to melt on the spot.

  “I’ve never been able to touch anyone before,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Anyone who could feel it.”

  My breaths came in shallow, quick gasps. I feared I’d hyperventilate. If he could touch my hand, could he kiss me, too? Or more? Warmth trickled downward inside me despite the chill in the attic.

  And then, common sense prevailed.

  What was I thinking? I was scarred outside and in. I was responsible for the death of my best friend. I didn’t deserve this.

  Grudgingly, I loosened my fingers.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You’re afraid,” he said.

  He was right. I was terrified. But not because I was touching him. No. Not at all. What if he found out the truth about me? What if he saw how horrible I was on the inside?

  When I tried to withdraw my hand, his hold on me tightened. My throat constricted and I made a small choking sound.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked. The pain in his eyes was my undoing.

  I shook my head as tears began to spill down my cheeks.

  “Wren, you’re crying.” His drawl was so soft and tender it only made me cry harder.

  And then suddenly, he crushed me against him and I became achingly aware of the feel of his ethereal body pressed against mine from head to toe. With his free hand, he lifted my chin so that I looked up into his eyes and then he brushed one of my tears away with the pad of his thumb. My tear-damp lashes fluttered shut and I turned my face more fully into his palm, relishing the all-encompassing feel of this dangerous intimacy.