“Serviceable,” Laverne said, a hint of despair in her voice.
“I’ve never been one to get carried away by frills and ruffles,” Eve explained. Not on the outside, anyway. Anything overly fussy made her feel terribly self-conscious.
“No matter what styles you prefer to wear, we will still be friends.”
“Of course.”
“And as your friend,” Laverne continued, “I must tell you, at least half of your dresses should be burned.”
“Burned!” She felt herself blush, her face growing warm. “That seems rather… drastic.”
Laverne waved a dismissive hand. “All right. Donated to the church so they can be distributed to the poor.”
“Half?” Eve’s voice was too low, too uncertain.
“For months I have watched you walk past my shop, and all I could do was shake my head and pray that one day you would come inside. All the brown must go,” Laverne said, walking around Eve and looking her up and down critically. She cocked her head and fluttered her fingers. “And this rust!” she tsked. “Shameful, with your coloring.”
“I can’t replace my entire wardrobe!” Eve protested, wishing she’d wandered around the general store while Lucien climbed into his rented room, instead of coming into Laverne’s Dress Shop. Peppermint. She should have bought more peppermint.
“Not all at once,” Laverne replied. “You could use a couple of nice colorful calicos, to start.”
“Colorful?” Eve whispered.
“And at least one elegant silk gown.”
Eve sighed and eyed the blue. She really didn’t have any use for a silk gown. There was no reason to dress herself in silk and satin. She was a wool and cotton person, and that was that. Such a purchase would be extravagant and senseless and… why on earth did she fight this so hard? They were talking about a dress or two. Nothing more.
“All right,” she finally said. “If I must.”
Laverne smiled. “You must. Oh, Eve, you will be magnificent when I’m finished with you.”
And Lucien wouldn’t be here to see the finished result, Eve thought as she headed for the door half an hour later, having been properly measured and draped with one material after another. By the time Laverne was finished with the dresses, by the time she was able to so much as get a decent start on the first one, Lucien, and her ghosts, would be gone.
*
Riding to Eve’s house in a horse and buggy was preferable to walking. Again. She’d made a ridiculous production of running into him on the street. What a surprise! How sweet of you to offer me a ride! It had been all he could do not to snort in her face.
Miss Gertrude, properly fooled, watched from the front window of her boarding house. The gray-haired man who delivered for the general store had watched as well, wearing his own smile as Eve climbed into the buggy with Lucien’s assistance.
Her early morning accusation still stung. She had no idea how much.
He’d expected better of her. He wanted more. Eve was the one person in the world he had expected would always believe him. The one person who would never accuse him of fabricating a ghost, a story, a piece of fiction to shock or disturb.
“I don’t lie,” he said as her little house came into view at the end of the road. There was a goodly distance between Eve’s house and her nearest neighbor, and at times the cottage, sitting there all alone, looked enchanted. And it was, in more ways than one.
A distracted Eve looked his way. “What? Oh,” she said when she realized what had prompted his statement. “I know. I’m sorry. I never should have…”
“You don’t know,” he interrupted. “You couldn’t possibly know. I never lie, Evie. Miss Gertrude stopped me as I came down the stairs, after climbing in through the window I left open last night. She asked me how I slept, and I said fine. That was the truth. If she had asked me where I’d slept, or if I had sneaked out last night, I would have told her the truth. I even felt guilty about misleading her last night, when I supposedly retired for the evening.” Particularly now, knowing how Alistair had treated her in the past. Nothing good ever came of deceit.
“She didn’t ask, did she?” Eve asked, an uncertain ring in her voice.
“No.”
Eve breathed a sigh of relief.
“But if she had I would have told her the truth.”
“Oh,” Eve said softly.
“You’re the only woman in the world I would go this far for. Pretending to go to bed,” he mumbled. “Crawling in and out of windows. It’s undignified and deceitful and… wrong. It’s just wrong.”
“Everyone fibs now and then,” she argued without heat. “A little.”
“All my life,” he said as he pulled up to her door, “I have been accused of lying. People didn’t believe that I saw what I saw, that I heard what I heard. I have been beaten, burned, and shunned for lying, when all I had done was tell the truth.”
Her eyes softened. She tilted her head to one side and her lips parted slightly. Dammit, he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him. That wasn’t the purpose of this conversation.
“So no matter what I tell you, no matter how ridiculous or unlikely my words might be… I will never lie to you.”
Lucien set the brake, but when he made a move to leave the seat a tender hand on his arm stopped him. “So,” Eve said softly, “I can ask you anything and be certain of receiving a truthful answer.”
He faced her. “Always.”
Eve took a deep breath and straightened her spine, as if she were preparing herself for a battle. “Do you find this dress attractive?”
He looked her up and down quickly, taking in the prim cut of the dress, the unflattering dark rust color. “No. It doesn’t suit you at all.”
“Why not?”
Lucien looked her in the eye. “You wear pretty colors and lace against your skin, and old maid garments for the world to see. You’re hiding, Evie. Hiding the woman you want to be beneath the woman you think you should be.”
“I only asked if you liked the dress,” she protested.
“No,” he said abruptly. “I do not.”
Eve wrinkled her nose, not pleased with his answer. If she didn’t want the truth, she should not have asked.
She wasn’t finished. “When you got my telegram, did you know it was from me even though I didn’t sign my proper name?”
“No. I told you that when I arrived.”
“And if you had known it was me, would you have come anyway?” She looked him in the eye, as if she might gauge the answer more clearly that way.
“Yes.” He allowed himself to smile, a little. “In fact, I might not have missed that first train, if I’d known you were waiting at the end of the journey.”
She didn’t smile in return. Instead she looked at him hard, steadfast, and serene. There was another question coming, but it wasn’t one she could spit out without taking a moment to gather her courage.
“Have you ever been in love?” she finally asked. “Really, truly, deeply in love?”
“Yes.”
Eve licked her lips. One shoulder moved, just slightly. “How many times?”
“Twice.”
She wrinkled her nose, again. “Twice with the same woman?”
Lucien sighed. Why exactly had he put this conversation into motion? “No.” He steeled himself for the questions that would come next. Questions that delved into his past, his heart, his very soul. No matter how much easier it would be to do so, he truly would not lie to her.
Was promising the truth to Eve like whacking a hornet’s nest with a short stick?
“Well, you are honest, aren’t you?” she said as she gathered her skirts and readied herself to exit the buggy. Lucien hopped down and hurried around the conveyance to assist her.
“What about you, Evie,” he asked as he took her hand to steady her. “Can I ask you anything and be assured of the truth?”
She hesitated a moment, but finally answered, “I’m afraid not.”
She d
idn’t ask if she had been, and still was, one of those two women he’d loved. If she had, he would have said yes and awaited the consequences. He had no idea what those consequences might be.
*
Eve never took an afternoon nap; she considered them a waste of time. But two things sent her to her bedroom this Thursday afternoon. She and Lucien were having dinner at Daisy’s tonight, and she didn’t want to fall asleep halfway through the meal. She’d slept well last night, but not long, so a nap wouldn’t hurt.
But the main reason she was hiding in her bedroom, stripped down to her chemise and lying on top of the covers, was that Lucien was downstairs, fiddling with his specter-o-meter and mumbling to himself.
Twice! He had been in love twice! Honesty was highly overrated. Who was this other woman? When had he had time to fall in love with someone besides her? Had that woman come in the past two years, or before she and Lucien had ever met? The questions she refused to ask drifted and danced through her brain.
She made herself close her eyes. A nap, that’s what she needed. A nap that would take her mind off of ghosts, murder, and the man downstairs. Eventually she did drift in that direction. Her limbs relaxed, her breathing slowed. Yes, a nice relaxing nap, that’s what she needed.
“Wake up,” a soft voice whispered.
Eve’s eyes opened slowly, to find Viola herself sitting on the side of the bed. She wasn’t hazy today. In fact, she looked solid. Warm and real. Eve reached out a finger and touched Viola’s hand. It was simply a woman’s warm hand.
Viola Stamper was even more beautiful in person than as a ghost. Her hair was a marvelous golden shade, and her skin was flawless. Every feature on her face was perfectly formed, including those striking pale blue eyes. No wonder men fell in love with her!
She was wearing a wrapper, the same wrapper she crept down the stairs in each and every night, and apparently nothing else. Shocking, for an afternoon visit.
Eve sat up. She should be frightened, but she wasn’t. She should call for Lucien, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to talk to Viola.
“You’re here,” Eve said.
Viola smiled and nodded. “I came to warn you. You must leave this place.”
Eve shook her head. “I can’t. I love this house. It’s mine.” She’d never had a home before, not since her mother’s death. That’s when her father had started dragging her all over the country, from place to place. “It’s mine,” she said again.
“It’s not safe.”
“There are more important things in life than being safe,” Eve whispered.
“That is true,” the ghost who was not a ghost responded, her voice so low Eve could barely hear her.
Eve sat up on the bed, bringing her face closer to Viola’s. Yes, she did look alarmingly real. “I want to help you. What happened that night?”
Viola’s beautiful face changed. Her expression was no longer serene, but instead spoke of a deep sadness. “I wanted a child, so badly. Alistair’s baby. A child to love and hold. My life was perfect, except for that one lack, and yet it seemed that child I did not have became everything. When Alistair was gone, the house was so empty. It echoed with emptiness. I knew that if I only had a child everything would be better.”
“You were lonely.”
“Yes. And I knew that if I had a baby in my arms my life would be perfect. I would no longer be lonely.”
This was her opportunity to find out the truth about what had happened. No more relying on gossip and poor memories. “What happened?”
Viola looked at Eve with cold, blue eyes. “Alistair was gone. Business in Savannah. He’d said he’d be back the next morning, so I only had this one chance… this one chance.” She looked away from Eve. “I thought I could close my eyes and pretend it was Alistair inside me, but it didn’t work that way,” she whispered. “I had never realized how much I loved my husband, until I lay there with another man…” She couldn’t say any more. “Not even a child to bear and birth and care for was worth that sacrifice. It wasn’t simply a biological function, as I had convinced myself. It was the ultimate act of betrayal. From that night on, I dedicated myself to being the best wife Alistair could possibly have. To loving him completely. For a while, I thought everything would be fine, even if I never had Alistair’s baby.”
“The other man,” Eve asked. “Who was he?”
“He came back. He kept coming back. He wanted to know if there was a child, and when I said no he said we should try again. And again. And again, until I was carrying the baby I wanted so desperately.” Ghosts weren’t supposed to cry, but a few tears ran down Viola’s cheeks. “But I knew by then that I didn’t want a baby in my arms, unless it was Alistair’s. Why wouldn’t he just go away and let me forget that night?”
She turned her head, looked down and away, and then she once again looked at Eve with brilliant blue, tear-filled eyes. “Should a woman pay forever for one mistake?”
“No.”
“I’m paying, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Have I been dead a long time?”
The question broke Eve’s heart. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Viola looked down at her own hand. The fingers were long and slender, and she watched the simple play of her hand in the air between them. “I didn’t believe Alistair, when he said we were dead. I thought he was just… torturing me, making me pay for my mistake. But your friend, the one downstairs, he’s very different.”
“Yes, he is.”
“So I guess I really am dead.”
Eve nodded. “Viola, the other man…”
“He told,” Viola said sharply, her hand drifting down. “He said he would, when I tried to send him away that last time, but I didn’t believe him. I was wrong. He must’ve told Alistair, that’s why he’s so angry, and since then… I have paid for my mistake.”
Eve took Viola’s hand. “Tell me who this other man was. Maybe I can help you. Maybe I can help to end this.”
“I can’t tell. I’m too ashamed.”
“Don’t be. Let me help you. Let me be your friend.”
Viola looked as if she were considering the possibility, and then she snapped her head toward the door. “Get out of the house,” she whispered hoarsely. “Run.” She turned her head slowly and laid her panicked eyes on Eve. “He’s here.”
Chapter 13
Intent as he was on his work, sitting cross-legged there on Eve’s parlor floor, Lucien was still startled when soft footsteps sounded on the stairs. He could actually hear Eve breathing too hard, gasping as she ran down the stairway. By the time he stood she was rushing into the parlor, her hair mussed, her wrapper held close to her body.
“He’s here,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Who’s…”
“Him!”
He was with Eve in two long strides, and lay his hands on her shoulders to calm her. She trembled deep. Hard. “Who is he?”
“Viola’s lover. And if you’re right about Viola and Alistair both being murdered, the killer. He’s here,” she said breathlessly. She shook all over.
“No one is here but me,” he said calmly, looking directly into her eyes and doing his best to calm her. “You no doubt had a dream…”
“Of course it was a dream,” she snapped. “But it was also real. Ghosts do visit people in their dreams, you know.”
“Yes, of course I know.”
“And Viola visited me.” The trembling subsided, a little. “She said I should leave this place, that I was in danger.”
“From Alistair.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so, though.” Her eyes grew bright. “Just before she left, she said that he was here.”
“Evie, no one is here, I assure you.”
“She sounded so certain.”
“Time and place for Viola is not the same as time and place for us. The man she speaks of might have been in the house at any time in the past thirty years, and to her it seems as if that ti
me is now. That he is here now, when in fact it’s been thirty years. Remember, Viola doesn’t know she’s dead. She might have been reliving that final night or any other day of her…”
“Oh, she does know she’s dead!” Eve said. “Thanks to you. I’m not sure how, but… you did convince her.”
“That’s a step in the right direction,” Lucien said, relieved that his time here had not been completely wasted.
Gradually, Eve relaxed. Her breathing became more normal, her pale face regained some color. Finally, she closed her eyes. “She was so real,” Eve whispered. “I touched her.”
“I want to know everything she said,” Lucien insisted. “Every word you can remember. Tell me now, before the dream begins to fade.”
She tilted her head back and looked him in the eye. With her hair going this way and that, and her ugly wrapper parted to reveal her throat, she was more tempting than she realized. “Viola wanted a child, and that desire drove her to… to make a mistake with another man, just as the Reverend Younger said. It was only one night, a night she immediately regretted, but this man kept coming back and he even threatened to tell Alistair what had happened. Viola thinks he did tell Alistair, and that’s why he killed her.”
“Who is this man?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She said she was ashamed of what had happened, and then before I could make her change her mind she said he’s here and disappeared.”
“Perhaps she was just changing the subject so she could leave without telling you his name.”
“I don’t think so. She was truly frightened.”
“Well, no one is here but”—a rap on the front door silenced him, and made Eve almost jump out of her skin—“me,” he finished.
“I can’t answer the door like this!” Eve whispered.
“I can’t answer the door at all. I’m not supposed to be here, remember?”
“Your horse and buggy are out front,” she hissed.
“Oh, yes.”
“Hello,” a muffled male voice called out as another knock came. “Anyone home?”
“Garrick Hunt,” Eve whispered. “What’s he doing here?”
Shades of Midnight Page 14
