“I couldn’t wait. Was about to faint.” He winked, and she nodded.
Back to business. That’s the way this will work. Whether he’d rushed away because of hunger or because he didn’t love her, she wouldn’t know. Her head hurt trying to figure it out.
Chapter Eighteen
Theo had gone home hours ago. The house rang empty, every sound she made echoing through the rooms. If she were the nervy type, she would have been freaked about the idea of being alone in the house with a ghost. Instead, the thought brought a smile to her face.
She sat at the bureau, studying the note Theo had found in his chest of drawers. He must have given Jane the unit. When, though? The note didn’t have a date…or did it? In the far left corner was a tiny scribble of writing which had faded too much to decipher. She’d tried to trace the flow of the letters with her quill to see if she could work out the rest. Maybe she could source a handwriting expert in town to help her.
Sleep wasn’t an option until she found out why Jane had died of nothing in particular. The woman had wasted away. Maybe in those days they didn’t have a diagnosis for cancer or some other disease. Or did she die of a broken heart? Did she regret turning Martinus away but was too proud to come crawling back to him, admitting her mistake?
A shiver rippled down her spine.
But maybe Martinus had sent the chest of drawers to her after he’d proposed, as a peace offering, as a chance for her to consider his offer again. If so, she must have been crazy not to accept if her rejection of his proposal had made her sad. What had stopped her?
The answer must lie in investigating Jane’s ancestors, in finding out if they could give some clues to what made her tick.
Her fiction writing had taken a backseat for the last week. She hadn’t touched her story and had begun to lose interest in it. What drove her for these answers?
When a heritage website she’d joined offered an image of Jane’s family tree, she sat forward, tingles of excitement running through her. She clicked on the link to her parents but found nothing solid to go on. They’d both drowned in a horrible horse-and-carriage accident when Jane reached twenty. She’d cared for her four brothers and two sisters until they were grown and she was about thirty-seven. They’d all moved on to marriage, while she’d remained single.
What about her siblings? The one sister had become a well-known artist in South Africa at the time—unusual for a woman. Nothing else of interest. She googled her artwork, which comprised of several oil paintings of domestic scenes. One piece drew her attention. On closer scrutiny, she could swear the bureau and the chest of drawers stood together in the same room. Had her sister painted her childhood home, thus Jane’s home? That meant Martinus had given Jane the bureau and the chest of drawers.
Joanie unpacked everything off her antique and dug around in each nook and cranny, hoping to find a note like Theo had found. There had to be something—some clue.
Twenty minutes later, sweaty, dusty, and very frustrated, she rested on the chair and groaned. Maybe the mystery is never meant to be solved.
She began to pack her things back onto the bureau when a certain part of the woodwork drew her focus. A small section on the top left corner appeared newer and freshly varnished as though it had been patched. She ran her fingers along it, surprised at how smooth the wood felt compared to the older, more worn wood of the rest of the furniture. Should I take the re-varnished layer of wood off to peek underneath? Risk messing up my expensive antique?
Biting her lip, she found a nail file in her desk drawer. With the sharp point, she dug into the wood, shaking her head at her impulsiveness.
A layer peeled off in one piece. She peered underneath, disappointed not to find a note or piece of paper. Yet, she couldn’t help staring at the tiny patch. There must be a clue inside. Has to be.
Grabbing the flashlight from the bedroom, she returned and shone it on the spot.
The sight of a tiny inscription engraved into the wood triggered a squeal from her.
Dear Jane,
You will forever be mine.
All is forgiven.
Martinus.
3 September 1891
Dated two days after Jane died.
Martinus had probably regretted not making more of an effort to reach the woman he loved. Maybe he’d been too hurt by her rejection of his proposal and withdrawn altogether from her. He’d reached out too late in forgiveness.
How tragic.
Why had Jane not come to him? She’d been the one to pull away. Had she willingly stuck to her spinsterhood or regretted it for the last three years of her life?
She studied the painting of Jane’s family home once again, trying to visualize living there. Imagine spending the rest of her life alone in that dark place, surrounded by furniture, with no laughter, even sparring voices, noisy kids, pots boiling in the kitchen. Her throat closed with despair.
Jane’s story pulled her straight to her own heart. What if she lost Theo for good and never found anyone else? A crazy idea. Youth was on her side—she had plenty more time to find another man.
She switched off her computer and put away the papers into the bureau. After midnight, she climbed into bed, exhausted, yet her brain didn’t want to sleep.
Life offered no guarantee of forever. Her parents’ deaths at such a young age were proof of the fact. What if something happened to her or Theo? She wanted to get as much of him as she could before anything did. Wasn’t that why she’d held back from him the last few weeks? Not because she wanted her space anymore. No, that was such a small thing, and Theo wouldn’t suffocate her. Deep inside, she’d feared losing him. Feared the mutilated feeling when someone you loved got ripped away from you in a blink of an eye.
Tears streamed down her face. In her cowering from the prospect, she could have deprived herself of the very thing she feared losing. Even though she wasn’t sure of Jane’s story, she didn’t want to follow in her footsteps and spend the rest of her life without the man she loved with all her heart.
But did he love her? Had she hurt him so much he’d decided she wasn’t the woman for him after all? Had it ever been love on his part or pure lust? Their lovemaking session earlier had watered the seed of doubt until she knew she couldn’t go to him, couldn’t confess her love to a man who didn’t feel the same way.
Chapter Nineteen
Theo sat at his desk, pondering the computer document he’d just read. The writing wasn’t one of his editing projects, nor a business strategy-related e-mail. Instead, he’d read Joanie’s article of the story of Martinus Schroeder and Jane Smidt.
For someone who had recently begun her writing career, she had managed to convey the depth of disappointment and tragedy suffered by both Martinus and Jane. The article gave no proof, but she relayed what she believed happened. From a journalistic point of view, maybe her opinion seeped through too much, yet he liked it. He’d edited a few grammatical problems and wanted it sent off as soon as possible.
He stared at the screen for what felt like hours. Something had happened in her heart, not only her mind. He could see it in the words of her article. Please let Jane’s story show Joanie the need for love. Had it? She stressed in the article “when love reaches into your life, you can’t push it away. Instead you have to embrace it with two hands and both feet plus all of your heart because life is short and being alone sucks.”
He smiled at her wording. So Joanie, so honest and raw.
Their adventure had come to an end, and as much as he loved spending his evenings with the sexiest woman alive, he had to return to his own life. He needed sleep, and she needed to think. She required space to ponder her future. Maybe he understood her more after researching Jane. He’d grown up with older siblings and thrived on their company. He’d never enjoyed living alone. Because he’d lived as a bachelor for more than seven years, he didn’t see what was so glamorous about it. Joanie, instead, had never tasted the freedom of only having to worry about herself and her own need
s. Cooking alone seemed a daunting task for her—not that she wasn’t capable. But she’d borne a burden too much for her young shoulders and stumbled under the load.
He didn’t want to add to her burden. As much as he felt a magnetic pull to spend every spare moment with her, and as much as he loved even the simple touch of her hand on his arm and often wished for so much more, he couldn’t impose himself on someone who needed time out.
She wanted his body, yet her sexual needs shouldn’t take precedence over her desperate compulsion to find herself and to heal the burnout. She was quite capable of meeting her own sexual needs. Most modern women were, nowadays, and although Joanie had been a virgin when he first made love to her, he could sense she’d known her body well.
No, even though she’d drawn him in the last time he’d made love to her, he’d regretted it. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed it. It’d been heaven. But he’d seen the war raging inside her. He created the conflict, which she didn’t need at this time of her life. That’s why he’d pulled away as soon as he came. He couldn’t hold her close to him afterward, knowing she would never be his. He’d rushed to the kitchen, torn between the thought he’d used her and the desire to ignore her need for space and keep on using her.
All she needed was time, and he’d be willing to give her five years if he had to.
They could divorce or even separate for a period—as many months as she needed to find herself. It was the least he could do for the woman he’d grown to love even more the last few weeks.
Time to write a reply. Easier to do than speak to her face to face because if he saw her one more time, he didn’t think he would be able to resist taking the cute tiger into the bedroom to fuck her breathless—not the right way to say good-bye for five years.
It took him over an hour to formulate the right words. He hit send. Then he prepared an e-mail to the newspaper with Joanie’s article and a few pictures he’d added.
He leaned into his chair and closed his eyes for a minute, his heart rate high and his head pounding. Saying good-bye to her had proven the hardest thing he’d done so far. In the end, it would bring them together. Wasn’t there a popular saying? “If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, they’re yours. If they don’t, they never were.”
By the time he arrived home that evening, his back had tightened in a muscle spasm. He needed a massage—probably had about five knots already. He second-guessed sending the e-mail to Joanie. She hadn’t replied even though he’d congratulated her on the excellent article. Wouldn’t she be excited he’d already sent it to the newspaper? Wasn’t she glad he’d taken the pressure off her to make their forced marriage work? He kept telling himself she must be busy at work and hadn’t had time to answer him.
His open-plan living area didn’t invite him today. He blinked at the large dining room, log kitchen, and high-ceilinged hallway with built-in shelves like a library. Too expansive and too empty. Joanie still hadn’t visited him at his home. In a way, the relationship seemed unreal as he walked through his elegant space. He headed straight for the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. Maybe exhaustion had reached its peak. Falling asleep after midnight for over a week had taken its toll.
He closed his eyes and tried to drop off, but his brain remained wired. Popping his eyes open and staring straight at the chest of drawers, an odd feeling came over him. Could Joanie be right about the ghost being Henry? When would Henry feel redeemed? When would he find rest? Was there really a ghost after all? He couldn’t dispute something had pushed Joanie and him together. What else could have moved all his clothes and belongings to her place in a flash? Why had the magic cooled off? What is going on?
Although he’d mostly solved the mystery of Mr. Schroeder’s life, he wanted answers for his own life, for the current magic.
He stared at the chest of drawers, his heart pounding. “Argh.” Every muscle ached, and he so longed to drift off to a sleep for days. He’d had enough of the restlessness, the lack of peace, the fight. He’d thought by giving Joanie her freedom, everything would fall into place. Somehow, he’d betrayed Henry. He sensed it. The vibe wafted around him.
“Look here,” he spoke to the chest of drawers, “what was I supposed to do?”
No answer.
Yes, he’d lost it. He’d talked to a ghost in a piece of furniture.
***
Three days later, Theo still hadn’t heard from Joanie. The article was due to be printed in the newspaper the next day, and he’d sent her an e-mail to keep her eyes open for it.
Nothing.
He stared at his computer screen, his eyes blurring and his focus scattered everywhere. Nothing flowed when exhaustion took over. He considered getting rid of the chest of drawers again. What is the ghost’s problem? I’ve done the right thing for Joanie.
Dreams battered him at night. Nightmares of plane crashes, of Joanie in tears, inconsolable. Joanie as a teenager, weeping in her room. The woman kissing another man. Joanie pulling away from him just before they climaxed together. He’d even dreamed of her emaciated body lying in a coffin.
What had happened to Joanie’s parents when she reached eighteen? Used to doing research the last month, he looked them up on his work computer, glad to be in between urgent editing projects.
A plane crash. Shivers convulsed through him. The dreams. Did Henry cause them? He’d touched what she felt—what she’d gone through those years.
He’d abandoned her. Yes, she’d wanted it. Was it the best for her, though?
She needs me.
He shook his head. He’d always been taught to be a gentleman—not to force himself on someone. He’d enjoyed the thrill when he first met Joanie, but, in the end, he wanted to be the good guy, the one who put her needs first.
That’s why he’d only ever gone on a few dates with women. He got too emotionally involved. His upside-down emotions had provoked the vivid, disturbing dreams—not the magic, not some bonding of their souls. No, he needed to give her space. He needed to give himself space, so he could come to Joanie when she was ready, not while he was an utter, hopeless fool without her.
Closing the Internet window, he set to work on editing a short book to come out in two months.
Joanie had survived all those years without him. She would be fine.
***
“What on earth is the matter with you?” Leonora stood in the cramped work kitchenette to make herself some tea, intruding on Joanie’s desperate need for privacy.
Joanie scrubbed the dishes in the sink, keeping her face down. Not that tears flowed. She’d done enough of that. Her body was cried out—brittle and breakable like a twig in the wind. No, she needed to hide the dark rings no amount of concealer stick could cover.
“I’m washing the dishes. Prudence hasn’t done it for so long, and I’m tired of stained cups for my coffee.”
“Where have you been hiding the last two weeks? I haven’t heard a peep out of you. Oh no, he’s contesting the divorce, isn’t he? Making it difficult for you.”
She shook her head. “It’s easy.”
Leonora came to her, and Joanie moved away, not wanting her vibe near her—a prying, harsh sensation that, for her, used to be honesty and confidence. She’d been someone to rely on. Could her friend read through her, see what a pitiful creature she’d become?
“I have some documents for you to look at. Been a bit busy, but I’ll bring them later.” To her relief, Joanie’s voice came out strong and even. Holding on by her teeth, she would get through the stupidity—the effects of her crazy heart falling in love with a man who didn’t want her.
“You love him, don’t you?”
Her body jerked farther away, and she glanced at her friend. “Not any more. How could I love someone who doesn’t love me?”
Leonora moved toward her, softness in her gaze, and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so glad.”
She pushed her friend away. “Glad about what?”
&nb
sp; “That you finally found love.”
“Yes, love is wonderful.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone. “It teases and taunts you until your heart is ripped to pieces. Tell me, what’s so fun about that?”
At that very moment, Tina walked into the room. “It hurts, but it’s good.”
“Who asked you?” Her voice softened a bit with Tina.
Her caramel-skinned colleague approached them. “At least now you know love can be good if it lasts. You won’t hide away from it like you used to. You’ll understand us better.”
She stuck her tongue out at Tina. “Thanks.” At her friend’s kind expression, she fell apart, and her resolve to keep her emotions in check at work crumbled. She covered her mouth, letting the sobs take over.
Tina reached her side in a second, wrapping her arms around her. Leonora kept Joanie’s hand engulfed in her strong one. When last had someone cared for her? She’d always been the strong one but had become the weakest of the weak.
She glanced into Tina’s face. Tears had wet her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” her friend murmured with sweet sympathy. “You must love him so much.”
“Maybe it’s an accumulation of bottling everything inside.” Joanie sobbed again then laughed through her sob. “I didn’t cry much at Aunt Edna’s funeral. Should have, I know. I was too busy worrying about the arrangements and my sisters.”
Leonora stroked her shoulders. “This man has done you a world of good.”
She stared through wet lashes at her friend. “It’s too late. He’s left. He told me it’s over.”
The tall brunette gave her hand a quick squeeze. “What did he say?”
“He…. Come to my office. I’ll show you the e-mail he sent to me.”
A minute later, they stood behind her while they read the message about the article and how he wanted to give her the five years she craved.
Her Real-Life Hero Page 16
