Now Tom stood in the kitchen, intoxicated by the scent of lilac and orange blossoms. Beth stood right here in front of him. Her ghost was so real and so close he could almost touch her. He desired to pull her into him and kiss her. He feared if he touched the angel, she would disappear.
Beth turned around, her eyes widening. “Oh, Tom.” She placed a hand against her chest. “I didn’t hear you wake up.” Her voice was different. Tom saw double, as a ghostly face overlaid his wife’s. Beth shifted into Willow.
Tom leaned back against the table, blinking. “What…” He touched her arm to make sure she wasn’t just a mirage. Willow Pendleton was really standing in his kitchen.
“What are you doing here?”
She laughed. “Making a royal mess of breakfast. I hope you like runny eggs.”
Tom looked at the feast of eggs with broken yolks, charred links of bangers, and black, lumpy biscuits. “Yes, of course, it looks delicious.”
“You don’t have to lie. I can see that it’s atrocious.” Spots of white flour smudged Willow’s cheeks and nose. Her face shifted back into Beth’s.
Feeling entranced by her scent, Tom wiped away the flour, caressing her cheek. Her hand touched his, holding it against her face.
“Oh, heavens.” She pulled away abruptly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking out the window. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? The sun is finally breaking through the clouds.”
Beth turned back into Willow again, then back into Beth. Tom’s feelings were so confused he could no longer tell the difference. He touched her shoulder. Beth turned around.
Tom whispered, “God, how I have missed you.”
His wife smiled. “You have?”
“I think about you constantly.”
“And I, you,” she breathed.
Beth placed her palm on his chest. The warmth sent tingles deep into his body. He was overcome by tremors. She gazed up at him with loving eyes, as if she were peering into him. The brightening sunlight made her blonde hair so radiant.
Lilac and orange blossoms. The emotions of their honeymoon all rushed back. Tom felt breathless and dizzy, toppling over the edge, falling down a slippery slope into the silky abyss of new love. He pulled the angel into his arms. He kissed her passionately, desperately, feverishly. The softness of her lips and feel of her touch were as intoxicating as the fragrances that perfumed her skin. She moaned as he unbuttoned her lacy collar, and kissed her neck, venturing his lips downward with each pluck of a button, exploring the valley between her creamy white bosoms.
“Oh, Tom,” she breathed, rubbing her fingers through his hair. They stumbled into the den, bumping the rocking chair. The heat of his chest went straight to his loins. Like a wild heathen, Tom pulled her blouse down her shoulders. Her bosoms fell free, cushioning against his chest. She pulled up his shirt and unbuckled his pants. They kissed all the way into his bedroom, knocking against the dresser. They stripped down to their undergarments, tangled again, and fell onto the fur blankets. She moaned sweet whispers into his ear, sending butterfly wings of pleasure flapping through his head. He felt so right in her arms. As he lay on top of her, inhaling the sweet fragrance of lilac and orange blossoms, Tom opened his eyes, seeing the woman he was kissing was not Beth, but the wife of Avery Pendleton.
Tom pulled away. “Oh, God!”
Willow opened her eyes. “What?”
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “But it’s wonderful.” Her hair was tousled, her lipstick smeared, and Tom fought back the desire to rip off her undergarments and sink fully into her.
He climbed out of bed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay.” Her lids hanging heavy over her eyes, she reached for him. “Come back to bed.”
Tom put on his trousers. His heart raced as he realized the consequences of being intimate with his boss’ wife. “We can’t go through with this, Willow, you’re…you’re married, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s okay, love.” She giggled. “Avery and I don’t love each other anymore.”
“You’re still his wife!” He paced the room, fighting with his belt buckle. “Damn it!”
The young woman remained half covered by the disheveled blankets.
“Willow, please, get dressed.”
She rose up on her elbow. The blanket fell, exposing one of her breasts. “I’d rather stay right here.”
“Just do as I say!” Tom tossed her gown onto the bed.
“Mmm, you’re so sexy when you’re angry.”
“This is no light matter, Willow. If anyone finds us this way…” He pushed aside the curtains and peered out the window. The morning was so damned bright. He had a direct view of one of the watchtowers. And the sentries had a direct view of his front door.
Shit! Why do I keep screwing things up? In a matter of one week, Tom had crossed a dangerous boundary with the two women who belonged to Avery Pendleton. His mistress and his wife.
I’m walking on very thin ice.
She finally got back into her gown. Tom took her elbow and guided her to his back door. “No one can know this happened. Willow, promise me you won’t tell anyone, or your husband will have my head.”
“Promise.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Mmm, we’ll have our own little secret now.”
She kissed his lips, and he felt himself succumbing once again. A moment later he pulled away, the ghost of his wife staring up at him. He wanted her to stay, to pretend she was Beth and take her back to bed.
Willow tucked her hair into her white fur hat. “Come dine with me and the officers tonight. I’ll have my cook prepare something exquisite.”
“No, that’s a very bad idea.”
“I insist, Tom Hatcher.” She kissed him again. “I will tell the officers that you will be joining us for supper.” Before Tom could protest, Willow slipped out the back door, humming her way back to Noble House.
87
Willow left Tom Hatcher’s cabin feeling as if her feet were floating above the ground. His kiss still lingered on her lips. She couldn’t stop smiling. He adores me. The idea of it shouldn’t have seemed so shocking. Men had chased Willow all her life, telling her how much they desired her, how pretty she was. In Montréal she had fended off many gentlemen suitors. But marriage and three years of fort life had worn down her confidence. And lately, with Avery ignoring her and Tom barely showing interest, Willow had begun to wonder if she’d lost her feminine charm.
Inspector Tom Hatcher actually kissed me.
She giggled to herself, as if she were a Catholic schoolgirl who had just attended the boys’ school dance and received her first kiss. She was absolutely giddy thinking about what happened today. For a heart-skipping moment when she was standing in the kitchen, Tom looked at her with so much intensity, and then ravished her just like the wild man in her dreams.
Willow had the recurring dream again last night and woke up before dawn feeling heated and flushed. Every part of her hungered to be caressed, kissed, and fully taken. She had even touched herself in unladylike ways, imagining that Tom was inside her, but that was not enough to satisfy her desires. For months the recurring dreams promised that her lover was coming. The dreams tortured her, especially now that she didn’t have Andre to confess them to. This morning Willow decided she could no longer wait for fate. It was time to make something happen.
Now she felt heated and flushed just thinking about having Tom over for dinner. Tonight was the night to live out her fantasy with the man of her dreams. She spun in a circle, as if her lover were waltzing her across the courtyard.
A loud crack stopped Willow mid-dance.
Anika Moonblood stood outside her cabin, chopping logs with an axe. She watched Willow pass, giving her the evil eye. Avery’s favorite whore wasn’t going to spoil this day. Willow smirked, sending Anika a look that said, I have the better man.
Out of nowhere, a freezing wind howled be
tween the cabins, nipping at Willow’s face. She pulled her white fur collar tight around her throat and hurried across the courtyard toward Noble House, fearful that the Indian witch might curse her.
88
Anika brought down the axe, splitting another log. She was no fool. She had watched Lady Pendleton trying her best to seduce Tom for the past three weeks. This morning after sunrise Willow had visited his cabin. And here she was an hour later coming down his porch steps smiling and dancing.
The axe blade cracked wood.
Willow stopped and stared coldly in her direction. Like a snow fox suddenly startled in the woods. Anika returned a glare that sent the white woman running.
Serves her right.
For the past few nights, Anika had gotten drunk alone in her cabin. She had been tempted to go see Tom, but feared he would only throw her out. Her heart couldn’t take that again. The night they slept together, Anika had been aware of everything that happened. Just the touch of his hands made her skin turn warm. The way he had looked at her that night made her feel like she was more than just a white man’s whore. There was a depth in Tom’s hazel eyes that Anika had never seen in a man before. More than anything she had wanted to go back to him and just get lost in his eyes.
She had thought maybe Tom was being distant with her because he was still grieving. So she stayed away, hoping that in a month or two he would come around and see that she could make him a good wife. Then Anika would express to him that the warmth she felt in her chest was more than drunken lust. But it seemed that Lady Pendleton had swooped in like a fox seizing a wounded rabbit.
Anika noticed something on the ground. Something that Willow had dropped. A white mitten made from fox fur.
89
Ottawa, Ontario
As the voyageurs loaded the two canoes, lightning bolts crackled the sky over the river harbor. Thunder rumbled. The two Jesuits opened up their umbrellas as they walked side by side along the pier. The wind blew sleet sideways, spraying into Andre’s face. “Should we head back to the canoes?” he asked, having to talk over the gale.
“Not just yet.” Father Xavier leaned in close. “Have you noticed we’re being followed?”
“No. By whom?” Andre looked around at all the fisherman climbing down from boats, carrying buckets filled with fish and black clams that Andre decided were mussels. The Jesuits passed between more men gutting fish and throwing the chum into buckets. Seagulls flew overhead, crying out for scraps of meat. The stink and the crowds and the circling birds were making Andre dizzy. “I don’t see anyone…” The crowd of fishermen cleared a view of a woman wearing a fur coat. The hood concealed her head with such deep shadow, it gave the illusion she had no face. It was her familiar saunter and the way her hips moved that made Andre’s blood run cold. “No, it can’t be.”
Father Xavier grabbed his wrist. “Follow me.”
They moved beyond the fishy stench and entered a section of the pier where men and women were waiting to board the steamboat back to Montréal.
Father Xavier said, “In your dream, you said you chanted a prayer and burned a cross against the chest of one of the twins…then what happened?”
“She burst into flame.” Andre felt his heartbeat thumping his breastbone. “What’s happening?”
“My guess is in that in your last nightmare you exorcised her spirit. But what happened to the second sister?”
“She turned into a demon and then I woke up. You think the woman following us is a succubus?”
“Shhh.” Father Xavier put a hand to his lips.
The cloaked woman walked past them. Her hood was turned away so Andre couldn’t see her face. Maybe we’re just spooked, he thought. She’s just one of the passengers waiting to board the steamboat. Then why do I feel such a cold feeling?
And then she turned her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder as she passed. Andre reeled as he saw a crab crawling down her damp, fish-pale cheek.
90
Evil hides behind many faces, Father Xavier thought, remembering the phrase from his dream. He also witnessed the horrid profile when the woman turned. Her gaunt cheek and blue-lipped mouth resembled a cadaver pulled up from the river. She faced forward again and merged into the crowd gathering beneath the covered waiting area beside the steamboat. Many of the women were wearing fur coats, and Father Xavier lost sight of their lady stalker.
On the steamboat’s upper deck, a crewman yelled, “All aboard.”
The awaiting passengers began to crowd around the ramp.
“Okay, Andre, let’s find out if she’s really a succubus.” Father Xavier pulled out his silver cross and walked along the railing. “Let’s each take a side.”
Andre nodded and crossed the wide dock to the opposite rail. They walked parallel to one another, searching all the wet and miserable faces of the passengers. Near the rear of the waiting area, where numerous crates were stacked, Father Xavier spotted a fur-cloaked woman standing off by herself.
The priest approached her from behind. Holding his breath, he raised the cross directly behind her neck, and whispered a prayer in Latin. The woman turned and jerked her head back. Her plump face went from shock to a scowl. “I beg your pardon.”
“Don’t mind me, Mademoiselle, I’m just warding off that lightning.” He raised the cross to the sky, gesticulating.
“Well, do it somewhere else.” She snubbed her nose at him and moved down the railing.
The damsel was something wicked, all right, but not the woman he was looking for. Where are you, demon? Father Xavier heard one of the passengers cry out. Turning, he saw Andre across the pier, bumping through the crowd. Ahead of him the hooded figure weaved through the onlookers, heading for the cargo area at the rear of the docks. Father Xavier hurried down the rail. The fur-cloaked woman disappeared into the maze of crates and stacked luggage. Andre followed directly behind her. Father Xavier took a different path, skirting along the water’s edge. He reached an aisle where the woman was running in his direction. She stopped and hissed.
Father Xavier held up the cross. “Show yourself, demon. What is thy name?”
A raspy voice said, “My name is Mirabelle.” She pulled back the hood. Damp stringy hair, like black seaweed, hung over her sickly pale face. The fur coat dropped to the dock. She wore only a soaked nightgown that clung to her skeletal body. The small breasts of an adolescent girl poked the transparent fabric, exposing her nipples. When Mirabelle looked up with her dead gray eyes, Father Xavier froze, staring in awe and terror.
The priest took a step back, feeling dizzy.
The girl craned her neck, walking toward him with raised hands. Blood trickled from two slashed wrists. She whimpered, “Help me, brotherrrrr…”
Andre came bounding up behind the thing that resembled Father Xavier’s long-dead sister. Her eyes turned black. Hissing, she fled behind a wall of stacked crates.
“That was her,” Andre said. “The other twin.”
Father Xavier snapped out of his paralysis. “We’ve got her cornered.”
They both ran to the stacked cargo at the far end of the pier, splitting up. As Father Xavier rounded the crates, holding out his cross, he paused to catch his breath. Around that corner was his dead sister.
Evil hides in many skins.
Mustering up more courage, Father Xavier raced around the corner and was thrown back by a burst of flapping feathers. He fell on his rump. A flock of ravens spiraled upward over the harbor. The birds cawed and flew upriver. Andre helped Father Xavier to his feet. They stood at the end of the pier, catching their breath.
“Where did she go?” Andre asked.
Father Xavier just shook his head, ashamed that he was trembling. There was no trace of the girl who looked like Mirabelle. Nothing but a few falling feathers.
91
An hour later, the two canoes carrying sixteen men cut through the rapids. Oars slashed the white-frothed surface as the voyagers paddled up the Ottawa River. A herd of storm clouds purs
ued them on rumbling hooves. A deafening thunderclap splintered the sky with a dozen bright cracks. The oarsmen ducked, hunching their shoulders as they paddled faster in a race to escape the squall. The attempt was futile, for the icy torrents reached them, and sleet rained down hard. Father Xavier huddled in the middle with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The choppy waves added nausea to the priest’s misery. Another hot wave surged up his throat, and he vomited over the side.
“First canoe ride, eh, priest?” Dr. Coombs yelled against the wind. The burly physician sat one bench back. His thick arms drove a paddle into the river, splashing cold water onto Father Xavier’s back. He glared over his shoulder. Dr. Coombs was actually grinning. “I bet you’ve spent your entire life in the city, am I right?”
Father Xavier wiped a handkerchief across his mouth. He had thrown up the last of his breakfast and was now just heaving.
Dr. Coombs slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, priest, this is just Mother Nature’s way of showing us she’s in a foul mood. Kind of like a woman before she gets her monthly curse.” He laughed. “It’s all part of the adventure.”
“Do you have anything…for sea sickness?”
“Sorry, I don’t. All my remedies are packed in a crate. I can fish something out once we portage, but until then you’ll have to muster up some sea legs.”
Father Xavier clung to a rum barrel stored next to him. If I survive this ride, it will be a miracle.
Dead of Winter Page 19
