The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1)

by Patrick E. Craig

  She went back into the living room. The master bedroom lay beyond an archway draped with diaphanous curtains. Rachel stepped through the archway. The material drifted against her skin like caressing fingers. She looked down at the huge bed. Strange feelings rushed through her, and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. She sat down and felt the softness of the mattress, the touch of the magnificent coverlet. An image began to take shape in her mind. Gerald with her, in this room...

  She stood up and returned to the living room. She picked up her suitcase and went back into the bedroom. There was a stand by the window, and she put her suitcase there and opened it. She sorted through the clothes that Augusta helped her buy until she found the swimsuit. It was a simple one-piece, modest but lovely. Augusta had tried to get her to buy a tiny bikini, but Rachel had balked.

  Rachel undressed and put on the suit. She had seen some white terrycloth robes hanging in the bathroom closet, so she went in, found one that fit her, and put it on. Then she grabbed a towel from the cupboard and headed for the door. As she passed the bedroom, she paused and then stepped back through the sheer curtains. As she stood looking down at the bed, the images came again. They were vivid and passionate; Gerald and her, alone in the room, as husband and wife. She tried to push them away, and then suddenly her heart was pounding and she could barely catch her breath.

  What is happening to me? I’ve never had such thoughts.

  She backed away from the bed, took a deep breath, and then turned and almost ran from the room.

  *****

  The rest of the day was like a dream. They went swimming in the infinite horizon pool on the edge of the terrace. When Rachel was in the water, it seemed as though she were floating above the world. The sea stretched away to the north. On the horizon, an island rose out of the low-lying white clouds. It looked as though it was suspended magically above the water. Gerald swam up next to her. “That’s Ischia. It’s one of the Phlegrean Islands. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Then she felt his arms slip around her. She had never felt the touch of a man’s skin so intimately before. He turned her face to his and smiled. “But not as beautiful as you, Rachel.”

  And then his lips found hers, and she felt herself being drawn into his very being. They stayed there in the warm water, and it was as though she were looking down at another girl from high above. And then suddenly, it was so intense that she couldn’t breathe and she broke away.

  “What, Rachel? Didn’t you like it?”

  She reached out and took his hand. “Yes, Gerald, I like it. It’s just that I never...”

  He smiled again and put his finger to her lips. “It’s all right, I understand. Come on, let’s have lunch.”

  He turned and swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out. The muscles in his back and arms rippled as he did, and Rachel followed slowly, feeling suddenly alone without him.

  *****

  Later that night, they sat on the terrace looking out over the bay as the full moon stood high above the Tyrrhenian Sea. The summer night was perfectly still, the surface of the water was smooth as glass, and the moonlight made a silver path on the sea. Gerald sipped his wine and then reached for Rachel’s hand.

  Rachel was stunning in a white, off-the-shoulder summer dress. Her long, dark auburn hair was pinned softly at the nape of her neck, and her violet eyes drank in Gerald’s face. She was being swept away, and yet part of her was still saying no. Something inside her was clinging to the last bit of her old life, like someone in a flood holding desperately to a tiny bit of rock while the water rages all around them. Warning bells blared in her heart, but a heat was rising in her that slowly engulfed and silenced them.

  Gerald stood and drew her to him. They walked to the edge of the terrace and lingered in the shadows. Gerald’s lips found hers again and suddenly she was responding to him with her whole being. They stood in the embrace for what seemed forever, and then Gerald whispered in her ear.

  “Shall we go back to your room, Mrs. St. Clair?”

  She hesitated for just a moment. The strangest sensation washed over her—like a tornado tearing through her ordered little world, stripping away everything familiar and loved. Her head whirled and she didn’t know where she was. She closed her eyes to steady herself, and suddenly she saw a man. But it wasn’t Gerald. It was Daniel! He was standing on top of their knoll, under the tree where they had pledged their friendship and love so long ago. Daniel was looking east, and she could see that he was troubled. In that moment, she felt as though everything about her life was wrong. She wanted to cry out, to stop the folly sweeping her away in a white-hot flame. A thought came to her like a life preserver tossed to a drowning woman caught in a maelstrom.

  Daniel, Daniel...come save me!

  She wanted to scream it, but before she could say the words, burning lips pressed against hers. She opened her eyes but it wasn’t Daniel that held her, it was Gerald—her husband.

  For a moment she almost pulled away, but then the strange, unfamiliar heat began to course through her body again. Before she could stop herself, she was clinging to Gerald, pulling him close, and kissing him back with such passion that he was the one who pulled away in surprise.

  He stared at her, and then he smiled in anticipation and his eyes asked the question again. Rachel nodded. The old world was swept away as though it had never been. Gerald took her hand. Rachel let go, opened her heart, and followed him into the darkness.

  Part Two

  The Prison

  Too often, we make a prison of our dreams.

  The Prison—From The Journals of Jenny Hershberger

  Chapter Twenty

  The Lie

  Rachel sat propped up in her bed, looking out the ornate picture window in her private suite in the St. Clair mansion outside Greenwich, Connecticut. It was the first of November. The first winter storm had blown through during the night and dumped four inches of snow, and the grounds of the estate had been transformed into a wonderland. The snow had hidden the park surrounding the house, and the black wrought-iron benches that lined the path leading down to the ocean stood in stark relief against the soft, white blanket that covered the ground.

  But Rachel could not see the beauty. Instead, she saw bare trees that rose like silent sentinels in a frozen world, naked branches raised in supplication as though imploring an unseen God for succor.

  Like my heart.

  A soft knock on the door roused her from her reverie.

  “Mrs. St. Clair?”

  Rachel turned at the sound of the voice. “Come in, Monique.”

  Rachel’s French maid peeked her head around the corner, and then came in with a small tray. “Good morning, Mrs. St. Clair. I brought your coffee.”

  Rachel looked at the expensive silver pot and the cup made of white bone china. A picture came into her mind of her papa standing at the wood-burning stove in the kitchen in Paradise, pouring strong, black coffee out of the old aluminum coffee pot into big ceramic mugs and singing softly to himself. Her papa had a wonderful voice. Rachel remembered how he used to come into her room when she was a little girl, before the “gone” time. He would tuck her in and give her a good night kiss. Then she would take hold of the little finger of his strong hand and hold it tightly.

  “Sing for me, Papa.”

  She recalled Jonathan’s smile and his strength as he lifted her for a moment with his finger and then let her back down. Then his rich baritone filled the room as he sang. “Loben wir ihn von ganzem Herzen! Denn er allein ist würdig. Let us praise Him with all our hearts! For He alone is worthy...”

  How she loved the Lobleid, the old praise song. Jonathan would sing it slowly and melodiously and she would feel herself beginning to slip into sleep. She would lift her tiny arms to him. “Now sing the other one, Papa. Mama’s special song.”

  Jonathan would smile, wrap his arms around her and whisper in her ear. “All right, my darling girl, but just for you, because I love you almost as m
uch as I love your mama.”

  And then he sang.

  Tonight, I whisper in your ear, I always want you near, tonight

  Tonight, I sing this song of love, You’re the one I’m dreaming of

  Tonight...

  And Rachel would drift off to sleep, in the safest place that ever was—deep inside her papa’s love.

  “Mrs. St. Clair, your coffee?”

  Rachel jolted back from her daydream. The girl was still standing next to her bed, holding the tray.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Monique. You can put it here by the bed, and please, call me Rachel.”

  “Yes, Miss Rachel.”

  Monique set the tray down and then turned to Rachel.

  “Mr. Gerald wants to know if you are coming down for breakfast.”

  Rachel’s heart twisted within her as she thought of Gerald. Gerald St. Clair, handsome, charming, beguiling, spoiled, petulant. Why had she rushed into marriage with this man before she really knew him?

  The money, of course.

  “Tell Mr. Gerald that I won’t be coming to breakfast this morning. I’m not feeling well.”

  Monique nodded. “Shall I have the cook prepare you some soft-boiled eggs and toast?

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  Monique took the tray and left. Rachel roused herself from the bed and sat on the edge. She reached over and picked up her coffee, but before she could sip it, the strong smell twisted her stomach. She got up quickly and went into the bathroom. She stood by the toilet for a moment, and then she knelt down and threw up. She had been sick almost every morning for two weeks. At first, she thought she had the flu. But now she knew for sure what was happening. She sat on the edge of the huge tub and put her face in her hands.

  Why wasn’t I more careful?

  And then the tears began to fall as she remembered Capri.

  *****

  When Rachel had awakened after her night with Gerald, he was gone. In his place in the bed lay a single red rose and a note.

  Rachel,

  Thank you for last night. It was truly delightful! If you’re wondering why I’m not here, I’ve gone back to my room to change. The rose is the first of many. Please meet me for breakfast around ten and then we’ll see the sights.

  Gerald

  She folded the note and leaned over to set it on the nightstand. Then she lay back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. She wanted to feel like a new bride should feel after her wedding night—fulfilled and joyous. But instead, she felt only emptiness.

  But it was all so wonderful last night. Why am I feeling like this?

  She picked up the rose and smelled it, but it wasn’t very fragrant. She closed her eyes and tried to bring back the memories of the night before, but strangely, the only image that came into her mind was the old chestnut tree on top of the knoll behind Daniel King’s house. Her eyes opened in surprise and she stared at the ceiling again.

  Why am I thinking of Daniel? I should be thinking of Gerald.

  In the light of day, she didn’t feel like she had the night before. The fire that had burned so fiercely in her body had dwindled down to ashes. As she lay there with her thoughts churning, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly she was feeling. And then in a moment of clarity she understood.

  Regret! I regret what happened.

  Remorse swept over Rachel like a huge, dark wall of floodwater. Something broke inside her heart, and she turned over and buried her face in the pillow. And then great sobs began to wrack her. She lay there for a long time, wrestling with the enormity of what had happened. She had given herself to a stranger. That precious gift she had saved all her life for the man God had for her had been tossed away in a moment of wine-induced desire. She felt violated and stupid and...

  I feel like a prostitute. I sold myself for money!

  Rachel finally stopped weeping and got up from the bed. She went into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen and there was no joy in her face. Her head hurt from the effects of all the wine and her body ached. She thought of Gerald waiting for her downstairs and a wave of revulsion swept over her.

  She turned on the shower and stepped right in. The ice-cold water shocked her and cleared her head. She waited for a few minutes before she turned on the hot water. She stood under the water for a long time, but it did not make her feel clean.

  Instead, shame swept over her, so intense that she had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. She roused herself and stepped out of the shower. A cool breeze from the sea floated in through the open window but it wasn’t refreshing. It just chilled her, and she stood, shivering.

  I’m so sorry, Lord. Please forgive me.

  But there was no answer to her plea. She grabbed a towel, dried off and then went into the bedroom to dress. The rumpled bed, which had seemed so inviting last night, now gaped at her like an open mouth.

  I have decked my bed with coverings of tapestry, with carved works, with fine linen of Egypt. I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon.

  But my house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.

  She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. She wanted to pray, to throw herself on God’s mercy—anything to take away the feelings she was having. But the words wouldn’t come. Rachel hadn’t talked to God in a long time.

  *****

  After she got dressed, she made her way down toward the dining room. As she was walking through the lobby, she saw Adriano behind his desk. On a sudden impulse, she stopped and went over. The concierge was going over some paperwork that was spread out on his desk. He looked up and smiled at Rachel.

  “Buongiorno, signora St. Clair. How are you this morning?”

  Rachel got right to the point. “Adriano, you obviously know Mr. St. Clair very well. Has he been here often?”

  The concierge looked uncomfortable. He hesitated for a moment and then answered. “Si, signora. Il signor Gerald è stato quello di farci visita diverse volte negli ultimi anni.”

  Rachel stared at him. Adriano shifted to English.

  “Ah, excuse me. You do not speak our language. Yes, Mr. Gerald has been to visit us several times over the years.”

  “And did he bring women with him?”

  Adriano spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Rachel stepped closer and spoke in low tones. “Adriano, I want you to know something. Mr. Gerald is not paying for this trip. I am, and I need you to answer some questions for me.”

  Adriano swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Has Mr. Gerald brought women here before, and if so, how many?”

  Adriano hesitated and then spoke. “Mr. Gerald comes twice a year. He started coming about five years ago when he was still in college.”

  “And the women?”

  “Mr. Gerald always brings a woman—always beautiful, but always a different one.”

  Adriano hesitated and then went on. “You are the most beautiful of them all. When he introduced you as his wife, I was so happy to see that si era sistemato e sposato, ah, that he had finally mettere la testa a posto, how you say, was not so wild anymore, eh? Please don’t say I have spoken to you, signora.”

  Rachel’s heart pounded, but she tried to stay as calm as possible. “Thank you, Adriano. You have been most helpful. I will not betray you to Mr. St. Clair.”

  Rachel could see the appreciation in the man’s eyes. She turned and walked toward the restaurant. When she went in, she could see Gerald sitting at a corner table. He was wearing white shorts, a blue shirt, and tennis shoes with a sweater draped around his shoulders. The dishes had been cleared from his table, and he was already sipping a glass of wine. Rachel walked up to the table. When he saw her, he stood up and smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. St. Clair.

  He reached for her but she stepped back. “Gerald, I want to go home.”

  A blank look came over his face and he stared at her. Finally, he spoke. “Home?”

  “Yes, I want to
go home.”

  “You mean back to the hotel at Amalfi? But I thought you loved it here. And what about last night?”

  Rachel raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Last night was a mistake that I...deeply regret. I realized this morning that I let you use wine and moonlight and this place to seduce me, and I am profoundly ashamed. And I don’t mean that I want to go back to the mainland. I want to go back to America—today!”

  A strange look twisted Gerald’s face, and then it was as if Rachel were seeing him for the first time. His mouth tightened.

  “A mistake? No one ever called a night with Gerald St. Clair a mistake before.”

  His arrogance infuriated Rachel. “By ‘no one,’ I assume you mean the string of women you have brought here to conquer over the years. I must have been quite dull for you—a virgin who doesn’t know the ropes in the bedroom.”

  Gerald’s face clouded. “Well, you weren’t exactly a professional—”

  Before he could finish, Rachel reached over and slapped him hard across the face. Gerald’s hand clenched into a fist, and he lifted it to strike her. Rachel could see the other patrons were staring at them. Gerald quickly put his hand behind his back. He spoke in a low voice.

  “You are fortunate that there are people around, otherwise I would—”

  “What? Beat me up and leave me here? I think I’m seeing you, really, for the first time. I don’t know why I let you touch me.”

  Rachel saw rage grip him. Then his face became a stone mask.

  “I’m Gerald St. Clair. Nobody slaps me.”

  Rachel put her finger on his chest and jabbed. Her voice was low and cold, and she felt strength in her that she had never known before. “The name Gerald St. Clair only means something now because I married you. Otherwise you would have squandered what meager inheritance you have left and then you would be Gerald Nobody. I may be a simple country girl, but I’m not stupid. Augusta would never have come looking for me if you people weren’t in trouble financially.”