“Do you think they found the chest?”
He shrugged. “I do not think so. The ivory key was the only thing they could have taken.” He caressed her with his indigo eyes. “Does it matter? It is all over now.”
“Of course it matters! If they found the chest, then they got what they wanted. If they didn't find the chest, then they must have spent the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders, wondering who would discover it and accuse them of whatever it was you knew they were doing.”
“They were stealing furs and using the money to buy land in the east. They had formed a company into which they funnelled the funds; then an attorney in England bought the land outside the colonies. They were going to set up their own country.”
“Well.” She sat back, satisfied. “At least you know their plans didn't work. The colonies fought against the British and won independence. Then the land was divided into areas we call states and each one governs itself under the protection of the United States of America.”
Armand looked interested, but she could tell she had mystified him again. “But who is the ruler? Is he English, French or Spanish?”
“New France, as you called it, is now called Canada, and is ruled by a prime minister. America is governed by presidents, and they're all American.”
“American? Are they Indians?”
“No,” she said, chuckling. “Americans, People born in America, or who have lived here long enough to become citizens.”
“Are there so many, then? Even in my time British women gave birth to British subjects.” His brow was furrowed, as if he couldn't grasp her words and make sense of them.
“I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow I’ll bring a history book as well as the newspapers. There must be a dozen at the farmhouse. Maybe they will explain better than I can.” She began repacking the picnic basket, realizing for the first time that the late sunset was putting on quite a show. They had spent most of the afternoon and early evening talking. “I'll be back in the morning,” she promised, more to herself than to him. “And I'll bring a few provisions, so I won't have to keep walking up and down that damn hill.”
“Do not curse, it is—”
Before he could complete his sentence, she finished it for him. “I know...it's unladylike.” She chuckled, wondering what it would be like to take him away from the island and into civilization. Talk about culture shock! He'd probably go into cardiac arrest! “I’ll try to remember, but it won't be easy.”
“Merci,” he murmured with the trace of a smile, standing so she could fold the plastic-lined sheet.
“You're welcome,” she answered automatically, her mind on other things. Where would he sleep tonight? On the ground, floating in the air, curled up by the rock? Where? She handed him the folded material. “Here. I'm leaving this with you. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case you need it,” she said impatiently.
“Do you think I will need to eat again while you are gone?”
“No, but—but where will you sleep?” She finally got out, feeling extremely foolish until she saw his expression. He hadn't thought about that at all!
“You may have a point, chérie. I have no idea where—or if—I will sleep. Or even if I will be here when dawn breaks.” He smiled, and the glow warmed her insides. “But we shall see, no?”
“We shall see, yes,” she answered. “Meanwhile, try to think of other things, things that could help us solve the mystery of why you're still here. Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with an answer.”
“I would love to put our two heads together, chérie. It would be most, uh, stimulating. Yes?”
“And you're supposed to be a respectable ghost!” she admonished. “Respectable ghosts don't go around making advances!”
“How do you know?” His eyes twinkled, “You told me I was your first ghost.”
“Men! You're all the same! You profess to love Faith, but you'd tumble in the hay with the first girl who comes along!”
He stiffened as if she had hit him. “You are right. I do love Faith. I was pretending, for just a moment, that she was you. I am sorry if I hurt you.”
She knew she should have let up, but some perverse demon in her wouldn't allow it. “Then just remember who I am, please. Let's solve your problem so you can get back to wherever it is that you're supposed to be, and I can get on with my own life.”
“Oui,” he muttered, turning his back to her. “We shall do just that, Mademoiselle Hope. Good evening.” And he strolled away, disappearing behind the boulder and leaving her alone.
The instant he disappeared, she felt lonely.
CHAPTER FOUR
A foggy mist floated eerily a few feet above the calm water. Puffs of white caught in the pine trees like angel hair, tugging at the branches as if asking to be allowed to float freely wherever the soft breeze carried them. It all seemed so achingly familiar to him.
He huddled in a fetal bundle under the waterproof sheet, and watched the slim form of the woman run down the path toward the small boat tied to the pier. Where was she going? There was no use calling out or running to her. He could not go far without hitting that invisible wall, and he doubted she would hear his call. His fingers itched to comb through her long, almost waist-length hair and cradle her head against his chest.
The emotions that thought provoked stiffened his body in protest. His hands clenched the sheet tighter. But he didn't have the power to eliminate those thoughts. An almost overwhelming sadness pervaded his very being. Mon Dieu! He was a ghost. A ghost! It did not matter that he felt more a man than a specter. Fact was fact. He was out of his time, his past, his own life...caught up in the whirling, confusing tide of the future. And he did not even know what his future was!
His friends and relatives, as well as his enemies, were gone, leaving him totally alone but for a woman who looked like his Faith. A woman who swore that she and others like her were liberated. What did that mean? Aside from being allowed to run around naked, what else could she do in this new, modern society? He had seen the pictures—the photographs—but he was not sure what they were for. He had seen the contraption she called a zipper, but besides closing her jacket, what else did it do? It looked like a substitute for buttons. There was nothing new in that; all it did was change something that worked fine before. He couldn't comprehend all the differences Hope had pointed out.
Her small boat made a strange, hollow rumble that echoed through the stillness of dawn. He squinted, noticing for the first time that there was a contraption on the stern that was making the noise. Hope steered away from the snug harbor and headed toward the far shore and another dock. The boat moved quickly, much faster than fourteen voyageurs could paddle their canots de maîtres up the accessways in search of furs.
His brow creased in frustration. There was so much he did not know and could not understand! Had he frightened her so that she had decided to leave the island permanently? He did not think so, but how could he be certain?
He rested his head on his knees and shut his eyes tightly. Even though he had been so cavalier with Hope yesterday, he was scared to death. Afraid to see the past or to look into the future. Oddly, most of all, he was afraid of losing Hope.
No matter what she believed, he couldn't feel the way he did toward her if Hope Langston wasn't really his Faith, could he? His love. His life. No man would be drawn to a woman just because she looked like the woman he loved. He had to feel the compatibility of souls also.
A low moan was torn from his throat, but no one else was there to hear it resounding through the crisp morning air.
Hope raced the car engine as she headed toward Two Harbors, a small town just down the highway from the dock that took her to her island. She needed to be alone for a little while in order to digest everything that had happened. She simply had to make some kind of sense of all this or admit she was going bonkers.
But sense wasn't a factor to be introduced conveniently into this
particular set of circumstances. In fact, it was the last thing she could use as glue in this whole episode. A ghost? On her island? Impossible! Especially one more than two hundred years old, and just as arrogant as any men she might encounter today. She couldn't control the grin that teased the corners of her mouth. Some things didn't change with the passage of time, and apparently the male ego was one of them.
But why was Armand here? Something had happened to make him—or his spirit—remain stuck in time. But what? And why now? She didn't know enough about the topic to be able to give an educated guess. Next stop, the library. Certainly there had to be books on ghosts, or reincarnation, or whatever it was that Armand was involved in! Right now she didn't have a clue as to whether it was the violence of his death or his intense love for Faith that had brought him back. Perhaps it was something else entirely.
In any case, there had to be something that would lay him to rest. Could the secret lie within the buried chest where Faith's miniature was, or was it the ivory key that opened it? Or finding Faith's grave and chanting some magic words over it? Or Armand's grave? She didn't know, and obviously neither did Armand. But her loss of sleep last night had confirmed what they both already knew. She had to find some answers, and this morning was as good a time as any. Besides, she needed so many things to make their lives a little easier while they were working this problem through.
So far she didn't have any answers, but felt confident she would find something.
They'd just have to try one thing at a time and see what happened. Hopefully some research at the library would provide answers to her questions—and give her the answers she needed.
Only when she reached the small, picturesque town did she realize that she needed bigger facilities. A bigger library, bigger stores, more sources of information.
But the trip to Duluth would have to wait for another day. Right now, she would make do with the local library and at least get her shopping done.
She walked the main street browsing through the many outfitters' shops, where anything anyone could ever need for camping in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area was for sale or rent. Between the rows of buildings, she occasionally glimpsed the vast waters of Lake Superior lapping at the shore and docks. On any other day, she would have strolled the length of town and loved the slow-paced atmosphere.
But today she had to hurry...there was so much to do!
Hope gave a sigh as she reached into the trunk for the last paper bag. Her purchases were even more extensive than she had planned. The trunk, the back seat, and even part of the front were crowded with packages and groceries. It had taken several trips to get everything into the small boat.
She had bought everything she thought they might need for the next couple of weeks to make Armand's time on the island more comfortable. What food she had at the house was supposed to have lasted a couple of weeks, and had been bought for only one person. There was certainly not enough left to satisfy his appetite. Ghost or not, he ate like the robust man he appeared to be.
As she guided her boat toward the island, the late-afternoon sun hung like a bright orange ball just above the treetops making the tall conifers blaze. Despite her tiredness, the sunset was too breathtakingly spectacular to ignore.
A more immediate attention-getter, though, was the sound of someone shouting her name. She turned and searched the island's shoreline. Armand stood about a hundred yards from the dock, waving his arms to attract her attention. His white shirt was open at the throat, revealing the edge of a nest of dark hair that no doubt covered his chest. His dusty Hessian boots looked inky black from the distance. The dark gold pants outlined his strong, pillared legs. He must have been tall for his time, she mused, guessing he was a few inches under six feet. No one could have looked more solid and less like a ghost than he did.
Swerving the small craft toward him, she watched him grow larger as she approached. A small thrill of happiness shivered through her as she realized he was still there. She hadn't had enough dealings with ghosts to know for sure that he would still be around. She had only hoped.
His smile was dazzling as she shut down the motor and glided into shore. Leaning over and hooking his strong fingers over the edge of the bow, he hauled the boat into the sloping shore. “I did not think you would return,” he said, his indigo eyes riveting her to the seat.
“I had some shopping to do,” she replied. “But what happened to you? I thought you couldn't get off the hill?”
His eyes darted away but not before she saw the pain etched there. “I still cannot, but it seems that I am able to reach the water on this side. On the opposite side I can walk three rods into the water. Then I hit the same wall.” A heartbreakingly sad smile twisted his lips. “At least I know where I can bathe.”
“Have you followed it all the way around? Perhaps there's a hole somewhere!” Her voice echoed the excitement her uplifted face revealed.
He shook his head, his dark hair catching the last scarlet rays of the sun. “It is no use, my sweet, I cannot climb over it, nor can I swim under it. I know. I have been trying ever since you left early this morning.”
She looked behind her to where the supplies were stacked. “Then help me get this stuff up the hill. I've got a few surprises for you.”
Both brows shot up. “For me? Presents?”
She laughed, a clear bright sound that drifted across the treetops. He wasn't aware that sound had been a long time coming; until him, there had been no reason to laugh, no one to laugh with. “Yes, presents,” she said gaily as she threw him one of the larger bags. “Things that will make it easier for you while you're…”
His voice was soft, his glance even softer as he looked down at her, the bag held in his arms. “While I'm still here?”
“Yes.” She reached for another bag, ignoring the twinge of emptiness that touched her with that thought.
She filled his arms with packages, then picked up a bunch herself. Companionably they walked up the almost overgrown path to the top of the knoll, Hope just behind Armand, watching the muscles of his back as they stretched with every step. For a ghost he was in remarkably good shape. For a man he was absolutely terrific.
“So, what is all this?” he asked, dropping the packages on the dappled ground beneath the large oak.
She groaned with relief as she let go of her load, then sat down and began burrowing through the larger bags. With a satisfied grin, she held up her bulky find. “Aha!”
Armand's eyes narrowed warily. “And what is that lumpy object?”
Hope examined the fabric, then looked at him, stifling a smile. “It's a down-filled sleeping bag. One of the best on the market.” She undid the string and allowed it to unroll. “See?”
Armand hunkered down, feeling the material, turning it over in his strong capable hands. “A zip-pier? Is that right?” he asked, playing with its stem.
“Yes, a zipper. You crawl into it, and then you zip it up and it keeps you warm.”
“And very comfortable?”
She nodded emphatically. “Very.”
The smile that creased his mouth and indented his cheeks suffused her with warmth. She stared up at him, mesmerized. “Merci bien, ma petite,” he said softly, touching her soft cheek with his finger and sending a bolt of lightning down her spine.
Her lips barely moved in reply. “You're welcome.”
His gaze was riveted on her mouth, his whole body drawn toward her as he balanced on the balls of his feet. “How sweet you are,” he murmured before bending down and gently capturing her parted lips. His kiss was warm and soft, yet firm. Heated brandy coursed through her bloodstream as his mouth moved over hers to capture the very essence of her.
She hugged one end of the sleeping bag, her fingers gripping the cloth as if to tear it. Electric responses rushed through her system, forcing her to focus completely on the soft caress of his mouth.
When he eased away she trembled from the chill his absence brought. Her eyes were half-closed, and her pul
se throbbed visibly in the small indentation at the base of her throat.
“You are very special to think of me,” he murmured, drawing his hand away from her neck.
She cleared her throat and pasted a smile on her lips, one that she was sure looked even more stupid than it felt. “I can't have a frozen ghost on my hands. What would I do with you then?”
He grinned, relaxing once more. It seemed strange, but for a moment she would have sworn he was as moved by their kiss as she had been. “Keep your food from spoiling?”
Her eyes rounded. “The food! It's still down at the dock!” She jumped up and ran for the path. “And so is the rest of the equipment!”
She didn't even glance back to see if he was following. She needed the time to sort out her own emotions before confronting his. She was sure they both knew that the kiss had been more than it should have been.
“I also have some Levi's and a shirt for you!” she called over her shoulder. “They should be more comfortable than what you have on!”
“What is this...Levi's?”
“Blue jeans!” She laughed, imagining his look when he saw them.
“I do not want them,” he said, coming up behind her to take some of the bags out of her arms. He retraced his steps up the hill. “I have an excellent tailor. He is the only one I trust.”
“You'll love them,” she promised. “Besides, your tailor isn't here, so these will have to do.”
“We shall see,” he said, but his voice assured her that his mind was closed on the matter.
Twenty minutes later, she knew he was right. She tried to stifle the laughter that begged to escape from her throat, only barely controlling herself. The lightweight plaid-flannel shirt she'd bought him fit too tightly around his powerful chest. The sleeves hung beyond his hands. But the jeans…The jeans were even funnier.
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