The ceiling disappeared. White sky met her gaze; drops of cold water feathered her face. She shivered again and glanced back down at Jamie. He lay still next to her, his hand covering hers. Her vision blurred.
I’m hallucinating. This must be what happens with a raging fever. Jamie, wake up. I need you.
Sophie’s heart stuttered and pain coursed through her chest.
No, not hallucinating. Dying! Am I dying?
The snow returned and she tried to reach out to the strange vision. Before she could do anything else, the room spun, and her world went black.
* * *
Jamie jerked awake at Sophie’s shiver. Leaning over the bed, he put his hand to her mouth, then her cheek, and relief slicked through him as heat bloomed against his skin.
“Sophie? Honey, wake up.” His voice shook as he whispered her name again. Her shaking worsened, and he pulled the covers to her shoulders, just as he heard the front door slam.
“Jamie!” Emma called from the foyer. “I’m home.”
Jamie jogged down the hall and peered down from the landing. “Up here.”
Emma’s straight blonde hair slid behind her shoulders as she lifted her head. Deep blue eyes so much like her sister’s narrowed in concern as she peered up at him. “You sound weird, what’s wrong?”
“Sophie’s fever spiked, and now she’s shaking. She’s freezing.”
Emma took the stairs two at a time. “Did you give her anything?”
“Yes, Tylenol. I don’t know if it’s helping though.”
Emma ran to the bedroom as Jamie grabbed a couple of blankets from the hallway closet and followed her. “Emma?” Jamie scanned the room and found her standing over the empty bed holding Sophie’s LVAD wires. Wait—empty? His heart raced.
“Where is she?” Jamie moved to the side of the bed and ran his hands over the sheets.
Emma dropped the wires. “I don’t know. Did you see her leave the room?”
“It would have been impossible.”
Emma grasped his shoulders and turned him to face her. “Did you check the bathroom? She probably just went to splash water on her face.”
Jamie pushed her hands away. “Check downstairs.” Without waiting for Emma to agree, he ran through the upper floor, yelling Sophie’s name. He lingered in each room just in case she might appear at his call.
Emma met him back in his bedroom. “She’s not downstairs…or in the basement.”
Jamie pulled at the sheets on the empty bed and dropped to his knees, shaking hands digging into his scalp. “Where is she? Where is my wife?”
CHAPTER TWO
Ammonia. She hadn’t expected heaven to smell like bleach. And voices? No, yelling. God allows yelling in heaven?
Then wet, bone-chilling cold pressed into her skin, her bones, her mind. Why’s it cold…and why am I wet? If my bedroom has central heat and a fireplace, certainly heaven does, too.
Most of all, the pain had vanished...the expected burn as she breathed no longer clutched her chest. She took in a deep breath, and forced her eyes open. Light made her blink even as she swatted at the stench. “What—?”
“Betty, get Dr. Wade, quickly!” a female voice yelled.
A form bent over her. A pretty woman, her hair whisked under what looked like a bonnet. She wore a woolen gray coat and not a stitch of makeup, as if she were some sort of religious conservative. The woman removed a dark glove and pressed a warm, soft hand to Sophie’s head. “Miss, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you. Why am I cold?” Sophie asked.
“You’ve fainted in the snow. We’re going to take you to my home. My husband will help you. He’s a doctor.”
Snow? This is heaven, right? Why is there snow in heaven?
Sophie tried to sit up but before she could manage, a pair of strong arms lifted her. Her head snapped up, and she stared into warm, brown eyes.
Not Jamie’s. These belonged to someone unfamiliar.
“Put me down!” She pushed at his shoulders. “Where is my husband? Where’s Jamie?” Wriggling her body in an effort to dislodge herself from the stranger, she only managed to skew her all too inadequate clothing.
“I don’t know a Jamie, ma’am. I think you may have hit your head.” His deep-set gaze assessed her. A lock of sandy blond hair fell over a wide forehead. His face, weathered and sun-beaten, cradled a gentle smile as his eyes met hers. Not quite gentle enough, however, to stop the nervous shiver that coursed through her body.
“My head is fine. Put me down.”
With his wide shoulders, he carried her without trouble, and her efforts to get him to release her failed. Although she had lost quite a bit of weight over the past year, she certainly didn’t feel as waifish as she had moments ago.
“Ma’am, quit your wrigglin’. No harm will come to you.”
Something in the softness of his southern drawl eased her fear – albeit slightly. He shifted her in his embrace, but there was no sense that he might set her on her feet. “What’s your name?”
“Richard Madden, ma’am.”
His name dropped away as her surroundings came into view. Snow-covered trees surrounded them. The sound of crunching under his feet distracted her focus as he carried her toward a home that looked like something out of a Benjamin Franklin restoration. Sophie looked everywhere, trying to take it all in.
The brick Federal style manor loomed ahead; seven steps led to a cobblestone porch, housing two large white doors and an iron doorknocker. Sophie guessed the heavy iron would echo through the entire house.
I’m hallucinating. Isn’t that what brain tumors do to you? Great! A brain tumor and a failing heart!
“Are you the doctor?”
“No, ma’am, I’m a neighbor of the Wades. I’m going to take you into the house.”
She pushed at his shoulders again. “No, wait. I don’t know these people. I don’t want to go into their house.”
“Ma’am. No one will harm you. The Wades are good people.”
She allowed herself to relax slightly at his words. This must be what they call Stockholm syndrome. I’m trusting my kidnapper.
“Who are the Wades?” she whispered.
Before the man could answer, she heard a deep voice ask, “Nona, what’s amiss?”
She turned toward the sound and saw a tall stranger come into view. A glance revealed dark blond hair graying at the temples and a quick smile.
“Michael, this girl appears to have fainted out by the stables. I found her when I went out for my morning constitutional.”
Sophie’s heart raced, the sensation alien to her after so much time with one which barely beat. Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of what happened.
“Richard, bring her into the parlor,” the deep voice bellowed. “Nona, have Betty get some warm blankets. She’s probably frozen to the bone.”
Richard walked up the front steps and into the large foyer. Sophie’s gaze couldn’t linger on the surroundings of the entrance as he carried her into the room just to the right of the front door. Richard laid her gently on the sofa and solid muscles constricted beneath his thick, woolen jacket. When he exhaled, she smelled a hint of alcohol on his breath.
The man he called Michael hovered over her with kindness in his light gray eyes.
The doctor?
“Now, young lady, let’s have a look at you. How did you end up by the stables?” He turned to Richard. “Was she with you last night?”
A look of offense flashed over Richard’s expression. “The lady wasn’t with me, Michael. I’ve never seen her before.”
Darn right, Skippy. I was with Jamie.
“Who are you guys? Am I dead? Is this heaven?”
“Heaven?” Michael chuckled. “Nona has often referred to our home as heavenly, haven’t you, Mrs. Wade?”
Sophie shot a frantic look around the room. “But – uhh, I think I died.” Sophie’s hand pressed against her stomach as she whispered, “Why are you all dressed in costume?”
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Nona disappeared, returning a moment later followed by a large, dark-skinned woman wearing a gray dress and crisp, white apron. “Here are the blankets.”
As the doctor’s wife moved to her side, Sophie took in her appearance. Nona had removed her bonnet, and strawberry blonde hair, streaked with light strands of gray, reminded Sophie of many of the women’s hairstyles in her collection of nineteenth-century photographs: parted in the middle and secured at the nape of her neck. Tiny in stature, no more than five feet tall, and in constant motion, Nona flitted around the room.
Sophie’s gaze drifted over the deep blue of the woman’s intricate, velvet dress. She had discarded her plain gray coat, revealing pearl buttons and frilly lace at the neck of the gown. It looked like something out of Gone With the Wind. “What a beautiful dress.”
“Thank you. We have a wonderful seamstress in town.” Nona fingered one dainty button proudly. “Madame Desmarais is a wonder with a needle and thread.”
“Oh, I thought perhaps you’d made it.”
Nona chuckled quietly. “I have several that I have sewn. However, this one is a favorite, and today is a special occasion.”
Sophie wondered what the special occasion could be.
Perhaps a costume party?
“Richard, thank you so much for carrying her in.” Nona turned away from Sophie.
“No harm. She doesn’t weigh anymore than a bag of cottonseed.” Richard’s southern accent came out thick and heavy.
Sophie darted a glance in his direction.
A bag of cotton seed? How much does that weigh?
She assumed it must be some kind of southern expression and shook herself from her fog. “So, if I’m not dead, is this an hallucination?” She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I must be dreaming.”
“Excuse me, dear?” Nona asked.
Sophie sat up further and caught a reflection of herself in the gilded mirror hanging low on the wall. Standing slowly, her legs shaky from months of bed rest, she was surprised to find that in every other way, she felt fine. Her heart beat normally and her breathing was no longer labored. Despite her weakness, she felt as though she could run a mile.
She glanced into the mirror and let out a rather inelegant snort. Still dressed in her pajama bottoms and one of Jamie’s old sweatshirts, she ran her hands over her waist. She stared at her appearance, not recognizing the young woman staring back at her. Her heart disease had caused more weight loss than even she had been aware of. The pants, once a bit tight over her full figure, now slipped low on her hips.
I look sixteen.
Lifting the pant legs so she could see her feet, she heard a gasp from Nona. Sophie pressed her frozen toes into the lushness of the Oriental rug on the floor and looked around at the strangers. “Where are my shoes?”
“Ma’am, you should sit down,” Richard said.
“And cover your ankles,” Nona whispered.
Suddenly embarrassed, Sophie nodded and sat back onto the sofa.
“Michael, is she all right?” Concern marred the woman’s otherwise flawless features.
Doctor Wade turned to Sophie. “Young lady, what’s your name?”
“My name is Sophie—Sophie Ford. Where am I?”
“My wife found you lying out by the stables. I’m Dr. Wade, and of course, Nona, whom you’ve met, and the gentleman there is Richard Madden, our neighbor.” His eyes grew serious. “Where is your family, and why are you unattended? A young lady should not be unattended.”
“I don’t know. I think I…died.” Even as the words left her mouth, she realized how crazy she sounded. “At least, I was supposed to be dying, but then I had this strange vision...”
Oh, yeah, vision makes you sound so much saner.
The tall man in the corner raised his eyebrows at the doctor, and Sophie felt Michael’s fingers squeeze her wrist slightly as he took her pulse. He raised his eyes in concern and then repeated what he’d previously said, enunciating each word a little more forcefully. “My wife found you out by the stables. I am Dr. Michael Wade, this is my wife Norine, whom we all call Nona, and the gentleman over there is Richard Madden.”
“Yes, you said that, I just don’t understand why…” Her words fell away as she stopped a sob with the back of her palm. Sophie tried to breathe in an effort not to hyperventilate.
Where is Jamie?
“Where is your family?”
“My family?” She narrowed her gaze. “I …uh…well, see, I was at home, and then everything got sort of fuzzy, right after Jamie fell asleep. I know he gave me a dose of….where is Jamie? Did I die? This just can’t be real. Jamie would never let me go. He promised me forever.”
“No, ma’am, you are alive, I assure you.” He patted her hand kindly and then checked for broken bones. “Where are you from? Is there somewhere we can take you? You have family in these parts?”
Nona frowned. “Michael, does it look like she hit her head? She seems very confused.”
When the doctor probed Sophie’s head at his wife’s urgency, she swatted his hand away. She’d had enough invasive examinations during her life, and no way would she accept probing in her afterlife. Sophie screamed on the inside.
“No bumps. No physical injuries.”
Sophie shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the confusion, as she began to recognize this wasn’t heaven. Where was Jamie?
“Look at the poor dear, she’s shaking,” Nona murmured. “Michael, the blankets.”
The doctor gently laid blankets over Sophie, and she fingered the delicate fabric of the top cover.
“Do you live nearby? Is there somewhere we can take you?” Michael asked.
“I live in Portland, but I don’t know how I got here.” Frustrated, Sophie sat up. Nausea hit her with force. She remembered she hadn’t eaten more than the oranges Jamie had insisted on earlier.
Earlier…or a lifetime ago…or in my subconscious. What the heck is going on?
Nona bustled over, sat down next to Sophie, and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about anything. You must have lost your memory. Just lie back and relax. You’re safe here with us. You couldn’t have shown up at a better, safer place. You are welcome to stay as long as you have need. With a little rest, perhaps your memories will return.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I haven’t lost my memory. I’m Sophie Ford. I’m married to James Ford, and I’m supposed to be dead.” Then under her breath, “Or, not, apparently.”
She had to admit, she felt relieved that she wasn’t dead. But still—where is Jamie?
“You’re married? Where is your husband? Is he one of the soldiers working with Richard?” Nona frowned. “Michael, why would her husband leave her in the snow?”
“My husband isn’t a soldier, he’s an artist and musician, and he would never leave me in the snow. Wait a minute.” Her hand flew to her forehead. “Snow? Where am I? There wasn’t any snow in Portland yesterday. Just rain.”
Richard frowned and Sophie didn’t miss his patronizing tone as he drawled, “You couldn’t possibly have been in Maine yesterday, ma’am.”
“Maine?”
“Yes, ma’am. It would have taken you several days to travel here to Harrisburg, especially in this weather. Not to mention it wouldn’t be safe,” Richard said.
“Harrisburg?” Sophie’s stomach roiled. “As in Pennsylvania?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Pennsylvania? What is going on?
“What’s the date?” Sophie asked.
“January 31.”
Okay, same date. Why are these people in costume?
“It’s been a mild winter this year, although not mild enough for you to be in what you’re wearing.” Nona sounded a bit like her old pastor’s wife, who insisted on dresses and hair pulled away from the face.
“I was sleeping.” Sophie didn’t know why she should feel defensive about her pajamas.
“We are in the middle of a war, and one of the soldiers could have seen
you in your state of undress.” Nona shuddered. “Who knows what could have happened.”
Sophie’s panic raised its ugly head again. She laid her hand over her stomach, in an effort not to puke. “War?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said, ‘war.’ What war?”
Nona whipped her head toward her husband. “What a strange question. Michael, she must have hit her head. Are you certain you checked her thoroughly?”
Sophie pushed herself up with limited breath. “What war?”
Nona tsked and said slowly, “The War between the States.”
Unable to stop the screech that escaped her lips, Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “The 1860s War between the States?”
“Well, it’s 1863. Of course it’s the 1860s War between the States.” Nona turned back to Michael. “You must check her again.”
“If I’m not dead…am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. How long have I been here?”
Nona’s eyebrows knitted together. “We just found you...in the snow.”
Sophie’s throat closed and her eyes filled with tears. Taking a deep breath, choosing to limit her words, lest men in white coats suddenly arrive to take her away, she decided to work out her confusion later. “I think I’m all right, Mrs. Wade. Perhaps I do just need to rest.”
“Please, dear, call me Nona.”
Sophie took a moment to appraise her surroundings. The parlor appeared exactly as she had always envisioned an authentic nineteenth-century room would look like. Right down to the American Federal sofa she lay on. Sophie noticed the man who carried her in standing in the corner. He seemed to be brooding.
Wait. Brooding? I wouldn’t have a dream with the quintessential brooding male. Okay, Sophie, think. In my world, what would the large man be doing right now? Smiling? Joking? Dancing? This is my dream...or my heaven, and I refuse to have anyone brooding. Of course, the fact I’m concerned about someone brooding, just goes to show how crazy I am. Maybe this is the entrance point to a padded room.
If she closed her eyes, counted to ten, maybe she’d wake up. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sophie slowly counted the seconds off then looked again at the man in the corner.
The Bride Price Page 2
