by Heather Beck
“Eleanor is lovely,” the young man agreed. “But she is not what I want.”
Skye felt her blood run cold. She was sure that the voice belonged to Tom. Unable to resist the urge to know more, she quietly opened the bedroom door and crept into the hallway.
“If you don’t desire Eleanor, who do you want?” The woman’s voice rang closer and clearer than ever before.
Skye carefully made her way to the banister and looked down. What she saw made her scream.
She was no longer looking at the bed and breakfast’s front lobby, which should have been there. Instead, Skye saw an elegant, but decades old living-room. The walls and the furniture were dark and the large paintings that hung on the walls were illumined by a fireplace that crackled and glowed. The finer details of the living-room were obscured by a thin layer of fog that seemed to surround everything. It was like a mist lending an ethereal pall to the scene unfolding before her. The young man – a splitting image of Tom – and his mother were oblivious to Skye’s scream. They continued their somber discussion.
“I don’t want anyone or anything!” Tom cried. “I don’t want to live a life that is just about personal achievement. I want more than the accumulation of wealth and status.”
“Don’t you dare belittle your father’s work,” the mother scolded. “He worked hard to make something of himself and to provide the very best for you and I.”
“I am not insulting father’s work,” Tom interjected. “But his work enslaved many African-Americans and kept women oppressed.”
“Tom thinks he’s better than his parents!” the woman exclaimed. “We send you to university and this is how you repay us? You say that you want more than personal achievement and more than just money and status. Every sentence you say has the word “want” in it. You sound greedier than all the kings and queens of the world.”
“You don’t understand, Mother,” Tom replied with the same passionate tone that Skye had heard last night. “To achieve everything I want, I must want nothing.”
“You make no sense.” The woman’s shoulders dropped as she shook her head.
Skye watched as the woman hurried out of the room and as Tom’s head fell unhappily down to his chest. Suddenly, he looked up and stared directly at Skye.
“You’ll be the one to save me!” Tom cried in unbelievable pain and expectation.
Skye gasped and turned around quickly, her slippers flying from her feet. She hardly noticed their loss as she ran to the bedroom and locked the door. She jumped in the bed and threw the covers over her head, shaking in fear as she thought about what she had seen.
* * * * *
Skye woke up the next morning in a tangled mess of blankets. It took a full minute of twisting and turning until she was free.
She shivered as she thought about the weird dream she had last night. It was so real and scary. She concluded that it was induced by Tom’s story about Sir Tristan’s unusual belief system. Since Tom was the one to make her aware of Sir Tristan’s belief, it was reasonable that her unconscious mind would choose him to play the part of Sir Tristan.
Skye hurried out of bed and opened the curtains. She moaned when she saw a thick layer of fog blocking the sun. Although the clock indicated that she’d slept for eight hours, she still felt tired.
Her feet grew cold against the hardwood floor, and she searched the bedroom for her white fuzzy slippers. After five minutes she gave up the search and hurried to get dressed for her breakfast appointment with Tom.
Skye crept to the staircase and saw something out of the corner of her eye. She stared in disbelief.
“How in the world did my slippers get out here?” she whispered, knowing there was no one to answer.
“Hello, Skye,” Tom said as she entered the bed and breakfast’s dining-hall. “You look lovely.”
Skye’s blood went cold. Lovely was the word he’d used to describe Eleanor last night in her dream.
“That’s a lie.” She meant to sound friendly but her tone came out harsh. “I look awful. It feels like I haven’t slept at all.”
“But you did sleep,” Tom stated.
“Yes,” Skye said slowly. “But how would you know that?”
“The quality of our mattresses is the finest in America; everyone sleeps well here.”
“If I slept so well, why do I feel so tired?”
Tom walked Skye to a nearby chair and handed her a menu. “I know just the thing to liven you up.”
Skye scanned the menu. “What is it?”
“You won’t find it on the menu,” Tom answered. “You will, however, find it on the itinerary. How does a day of viewing some of Virginia’s finest attractions sound?”
“Wonderful. Unfortunately, sight-seeing isn’t part of my itinerary. I should really get some work done.”
“You won’t accomplish anything if you’re half asleep,” Tom pointed out. “You have to let me show you Rocky Falls. It’s the most beautiful place in Virginia.”
Skye glanced out the dining-hall’s large window. “I guess I would benefit from some fresh air, but it looks like it’s going to storm.”
“It’s not going to storm,” Tom assured her. “It won’t even rain. Virginia’s weather is always like this; threatening but never producing anything harsh.”
“All right,” Skye agreed, flashing her most devious smile. “I’m willing to put my assignment away for a few hours if you show me Rocky Falls. I want to take some pictures of Virginia for my personal use.”
“Don’t you ever put your camera down?” Tom laughed.
Tom’s laugh echoed throughout the nearly empty dining-hall. A couple of guests turned to stare at them. Donned in professional dress, Skye guessed that the few others staying in the bed and breakfast were reporters.
“I love photography,” Skye said, directing her attention away from the other guests and back to Tom. “Why would I want to put my camera down?”
“Your camera can come along, but only if you allow me to buy you breakfast,” Tom bargained.
“Sounds fair to me,” Skye giggled like a thirteen-year-old. She hadn’t felt so excited and adventurous in a very long time.
With a fully loaded stomach and camera, Skye followed Tom through the estate and out its metal gates.
“Are we going to walk there?” Skye asked in surprise, hurrying to keep up with Tom’s fast-paced steps.
“Yes,” he answered, grabbing Skye’s hand and urging her to quicken her own pace.
At first Skye felt awkward with Tom holding her hand. However, as they ran through the high lush green grass, she suddenly felt completely carefree. The thick layer of fog that surrounded them caused the loss of her inhibitions. She felt as if she could do anything and not be seen.
“Are we almost there?” Skye came to an abrupt halt, making Tom stop as well. The morning dew clung to her legs as she tried to wipe it away.
“Almost, just over this hill,” he replied, pulling her forward again.
“Rocky Falls is on the estate property?”
“You’ll soon find out.”
Skye and Tom struggled up the hill, their feet slipped and their breath came in shallow rasps.
Skye’s breath caught in her throat as she reached the top of the hill and settled her eyes upon Rocky Falls.
The large waterfall loomed high in the distance. Although fog had surrounded the estate just moments ago, the air around the waterfall was clear and pure. Blue water poured down the rocky cliff face and fell at the bottom with bursts of white mist. The water ran into a small pond where it lay.
“Can we go closer?” Skye begged. The beauty of the waterfall and pond was too much for her to resist.
“Of course,” Tom replied, running ahead.
Skye’s legs carried her quickly over the damp, long grass until she reached Tom. She stopped at his side and took a deep breath of air so pure that she gasped in surprise.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Skye whispered, more to herself than Tom.
“What are you doing over there?” Skye asked.
“Looking at you and the waterfall. You look wonderful there. Can I take a picture of you?”
“All right,” Skye handed him the camera. “You push that black button when you’re ready to take the picture.”
“I know how to work a camera,” Tom said, rolling his eyes playfully. “All you need to worry about is looking pretty for the camera. However, I don’t think that’ll be too difficult for you.” He winked at her, noting how she blushed and turned away to hide her face. “When you finish this role of film, you can get it developed at the estate.”
“The estate has a photo lab?” Skye asked as she posed for the picture.
“Of course. The Sir Tristan Estate has everything.”
“That seems to be correct,” Skye observed, “especially since it’s meant to be closed for business.”
“Although the estate may be closed to the public, it’ll always be alive.”
Skye wrinkled her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Smile,” Tom said, ignoring her question.
Skye smiled just seconds before the camera clicked.
“Thanks,” Skye said, walking forward to take the camera from Tom. “Hey!” she cried as he laughed and snapped multiple pictures of her. “Stop it!” She hated when people wasted film.
“I only took four pictures,” Tom said. He looked guilty, as if he knew his behavior was inappropriate. “You can take as many roles of film as you need from the gift shop. The photo processing is free – just for you though.”
Skye looked at Tom and quickly snapped a picture of him, although he didn’t seem to notice. “How can you make me that offer? What’s your position at the Sir Tristan Estate?”
“It’s beautiful. Don’t you agree?” Tom turned away from Skye and watched as the waterfall poured clear blue water.
“I agree, it’s beautiful,” Skye said. “But I’d like to talk about you.”
“There’s too much to tell,” he replied sadly.
The fog began to envelop the waterfall and Skye shivered in the sudden coolness.
“We better get back to the estate,” Skye said, noticing the vast change in Tom’s disposition.
They hurried over the hill and back to the estate. This time, however, they walked in silence. Full of confusion, Skye glanced at the menacing clouds and realized she felt as bad as the weather looked.
Skye fell into her bed that night with a heavy heart. Although she hadn’t yet worked on her assignment, it was the least of her worries. She was more concerned about Tom, so friendly and silly one second, and then changing into a mysterious, melancholy man the next. This bipolar behavior and intensity was starting to scare her.
As Skye wrapped the thin blanket around her, she forced her mind to focus on the reason she was here. She promised herself she’d dedicate the whole of tomorrow to working on her assignment. Despite her efforts to detour her thoughts, the events of the day ominously loomed in Skye’s mind as she fell into a deep sleep.
She had only been asleep for three hours when her eyes flew open. However, Skye wasn’t in a dream. She felt her body being pulled forward as the voice of Tom rang throughout the hallway and into her room. This time, she had no desire to search for her white slippers even though her feet were chilled from the hardwood floor. She hurried out of the bedroom and across the hallway. As discreetly as possible, Skye peered over the banister to see Tom talking to a frightened African-American man.
The fog that surrounded Tom and the man was less dense than it had been the previous night, making it easier for Skye to view the scene in front of her. A large painted picture hanging on the wall behind the two men caught her eye. It was of a man who looked very much like Tom, but older and sporting a thick mustache and stern expression.
“I…I can’t do this,” the African-American man stuttered.
Skye studied him closely. He was wearing a pair of overalls which she presumed were once white. The man looked tired and defeated; his face wore the worry that his voice projected.
“You can do this,” Tom said forcefully.
Skye leaned further over the banister and looked closely at Tom. He looked nearly the same way he always did, but was wearing a stiff-looking suit that she had never seen before. His expression was intense and mysterious; an expression that she knew all too well.
“If Mr. Tristan finds out that you helped us escape, he’ll be furious. He’ll come after me and the other slaves and kill us.”
“That’s why you have to leave tonight. My father won’t know his slaves are missing until the morning. The other slaves and you will be half way across Virginia by then. Mr. Jacobs has already loaded the others into the carriage. Your stalling is putting them all at risk.”
“Will this railroad you’ve talked about really take us to freedom?” The man’s voice was filled with so much fear and hope that Skye had to hold back her tears.
“Yes,” Tom answered passionately. “You must go now or Mr. Jacobs will leave without you.”
The man grabbed Tom’s shoulders. “Bless you! No matter what happens to us, always be happy with your actions. You’re a saint. I swear, before the end of this century you’ll have changed the face of slavery forever.”
“Hurry,” Tom urged.
Skye watched as the soon-to-be free man hurried quietly out of the house. She stared at Tom’s face; he wasn’t smiling with pride over his good deed nor was he looking concerned for the slave’s safety. Now that he’d done all he could for the slaves, he looked emotionless and empty.
Through a window, Skye watched the carriage disappear into the foggy night. There’s something wrong with Tom. She was beginning to realize that her visions weren’t figments of her imagination; they told her something important about Tom’s true nature. All she had to do was figure out what her dreams were trying to tell her.
* * * * *
Skye hurried through breakfast the next morning, anxious to start her assignment. Although Tom was supposed to be showing her around the estate, they hadn’t made any definite plans. As soon as they had gotten back from Rocky Falls yesterday, Tom said goodbye and scurried off. He left Skye wondering whether his goodbye was a formal bid goodnight or a casual way of saying, “I’m leaving”.
Skye walked the empty halls of the estate. He can’t leave. Whatever his job at the estate is, it seems important.
From the map of the estate, Skye realized she was in the entertaining room. According to her map, the entertaining room was right next to the dining-hall and was used to house guests before dinner was served. It was furnished with old-fashioned chairs and backless sofas. There was even a dusty brown piano in the corner. The walls were covered in nature paintings.
“They’re beautiful,” Skye said, her voice echoing throughout the room. This natural phenomenon suddenly made her realize how alone in the estate she really was. The only people she had seen were a few employees, all of whom had looked extremely bored.
She snapped a few pictures before entering the dining-hall. As with all the rooms in the estate, the dining-hall was decorated in an earlier period fashion and poorly lit with lanterns that hung a meter off the ground.
Skye left and moved towards the kitchen, curious to see what an old-fashioned kitchen looked like. However, she soon realized that she’d never find out as she tried, unsuccessfully, to open the locked door.
She slammed her clenched fist against the door. “The kitchen is almost as good as a dungeon when it comes to capturing hard labor.” Skye continued her private tour, cursing Tom for his absence.
After three hours of work, which consisted
of wandering the estate and snapping many pictures with her camera, Skye decided she had taken enough pictures for the day. She had plenty of good pictures of dark and gloomy rooms. She was particularly enthusiastic about her shots of the small rooms where Mr. Tristan had kept his slaves. She knew those pictures were the epitome of sadness.
Happy with what she had accomplished, Skye entered the estate’s gift shop and headed towards the checkout.
“Hello,” a clerk greeted Skye before she had even reached the checkout.
“Hi,” Skye replied with a friendly smile. “Do you process film here?”
The woman nodded vigorously. “Are you Skye Huntington?”
“I was the last time I checked,” Skye joked.
“Then our photographic services are free for you, Ms. Huntington,” the clerk replied. “By orders of Tom Dove, of course.”
“Thanks,” Skye said, handing her roll of film to the clerk.
“Your pictures will be ready in one hour. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Yes,” Skye hesitated, “what is Tom’s connection to the estate? I know he’s a tourist guide…”
The clerk dropped the roll of film. “A tourist guide? Mr. Dove is not a tourist guide. He’s the first owner of this estate since Sir Tristan.”
Skye’s eyes grew wide in response to this revelation. “Excuse me?”
“Mr. Dove is the owner of the Sir Tristan Estate,” the woman repeated as she picked up Skye’s roll of film.
“How…how is that possible?”
“Mr. Dove arrived at the estate a few days after the birth certificate of Kathleen Tristan was found. He had blood tests that proved him to be related to Kathleen. Therefore, the property belongs to Tom.”
“This is unreal,” Skye muttered, more to herself than the woman. “Why didn’t he tell me that he owns the estate?”
