Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3)

by Heather McVea

  Bryce’s face was streaked with blood as she turned around, tears flowing freely from her eyes. Forcibly stifling a gasp, Alison refused to look away. “Clearly at some point you figured out other people mattered and were as real as you; so you changed.” Pulling several tissues from the box on the coffee table, Alison took a step toward Bryce. “Here.”

  Taking the tissue, Bryce wiped at her eyes, managing to remove most of the blood. “Thank you. I know this looks awful.”

  Alison smiled. “No one looks good when they cry; you’ve just mastered it.”

  A quick laugh escaped Bryce. “Thanks.”

  Sitting back down on the sofa, Alison patted the space next to her with her hand. “Sit down. I have lots more questions.”

  Chapter 10

  It took several seconds for Bryce’s eyes to adjust to the pre-dawn darkness. She lay under a coarse, thin, beige wool blanket that barely covered her torso and legs. Her neck was stiff as the nearly flat, straw filled burlap pillow offered little support for her head.

  Sitting up, she threw her legs over the side of the narrow cot she had been sleeping on for the past eight months. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and shuddered when her bare feet touched the cold wood plank floor. An icy breeze made its way through the gaps between the slats of wood lining the outside of her servant’s shack, sending a chill up Bryce’s spine that her threadbare, white linen shift did little to diminish.

  Looking toward the corner of the room, she could see her mother’s cot was empty and the small, black iron stove next to it was barely warm, as the meager allotment of coal they were given the day before had all but burnt out.

  Taking the iron poker that rested in the empty coal bucket next to the stove, Bryce tried to stir some life into the stove. A faint, reddish glow began to radiate from the bed of coals and the woman held her hands in front of the open stove door to warm herself.

  After several minutes, with still only moderate warmth coming from the stove, Bryce turned to the small wooden table next to her cot. Pouring water from a clay pitcher into the basin that sat on the table, she quickly stripped off her shift and braced herself for the ice cold sting of the water as she splashed her face.

  Reaching for the scrap of cloth next to the basin, she wetted it and wiped her face, the back of her neck, and underarms before pulling the shift back over her head. Her petticoat, skirt, and stockings hung along the wall on several wooden pegs. Sliding her shapely legs into the off-white wool stockings, she quickly secured the garments with a black cotton cord around each of her thighs.

  The chill of the air sent shivers along Bryce’s body and she hurriedly finished dressing, some semblance of warmth finding her as she fastened the last wooden button on her brown cotton jacket. With no mirror, Bryce ran her hands along the front of her gray skirt, smoothing the coarse cotton fabric flat, before using three metal hair clips to pin her long, thick auburn hair up.

  A faint knock came from the tattered door of the shack. Unlatching the leather strap that secured the door, Bryce peered into the darkness. “You’re early.” Her voice was thin, her throat sore when she spoke, and she wondered if she was getting a cold.

  “Hardly.” A young man, nearly six feet tall, stood at Bryce’s door. He had a thick mane of red hair that grew to just past his collar. Blowing into his bare hands to warm them, he shifted from foot to foot.

  “It can’t be five yet, Aeden.” Bryce rolled her eyes at her younger brother as she walked back toward her cot. She pulled a pair of black leather shoes from under the bed and frowned as she slipped the shoes onto her feet, noticing how worn the leather was and that the soles were nearly gone.

  Standing in the doorway, Aeden Whelan had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the thin coat he wore doing very little to stay off the frigid March air. “Quarter past.”

  “Damn.” Bryce had never been a morning person and the harsh Massachusetts winters did very little to rouse her out of bed.

  “Watch your tongue or I’ll tell Mother.” Aeden teased.

  Wrapping the same blanket she slept with around her head and shoulders, Bryce playfully pinched her brother’s arm. “Then I’ll tell her how you’ve been gettin’ on with Nora.”

  Aeden’s eyes widened and even in the dim light, Bryce could see she had struck a chord. “You wouldn’t.” The man had been casually courting the house maid from an adjacent farm. He had confided in Bryce that the two had not always bothered with a chaperone when taking their evening walks.

  Walking past her brother, the remnants of snow from a storm two weeks ago crunched under Bryce’s feet. “Never can tell.”

  Aeden stopped, his breath visible in the frigid air. “I love her, and I want to marry her.”

  Looking closely at her brother, Bryce could see the concern on his face. His jaw was set and his brow furrowed. “You know that’s not possible until our contract is over.”

  Indentured to a small farmer near Boston, the Whelan family had fled the Connacht Province in western Ireland. The province, which was part of Galway county, had been struggling for nearly a generation to recover from the famines that ravished the country throughout the eighteenth century.

  Without discussing the move with his family, Colman Whelan had announced on a Tuesday afternoon that within the week his wife and two children were leaving their small plot of land for the Colonies. The land had been handed down for over five generations, but Colman had been unable to maintain the taxes and the local authority was going to seize the two acre plot.

  “We can’t pay our way.” Noleen Whelan had pointed out to her husband as they all sat around a small wooden table in their two room cottage.

  “We won’t have to.” Colman smiled. “Passage will be paid when we arrive.”

  “How’s that?” Aeden asked.

  Frowning at his family’s questions, Colman got up and warmed his hands in front of the narrow fireplace. “The captain will contract with a local land owner for our services.”

  Bryce gasped. “You can’t mean to do this. I’ve heard of people losing their entire lives in service.” She looked at her mother. “You can’t want this.”

  Noleen was a slender woman. Her light blonde hair had thinned over the years and her once vivid blue eyes were sunken and dull from years of work and worry. “I - we’ll do as your father says.”

  Bryce shook her head. “I’m nearly thirty, I don’t have to do what he says.”

  A sharp pain shot across Bryce’s cheek and she found herself on the floor, her father looming over her. “You’re not married. That means I’m still responsible for you.” The man’s hands were balled into fists at his sides.

  Aeden pulled Bryce to her feet, scowling at his father. “You’re an arse!”

  Colman glared at his two children. “Ungrateful dossers! I’ve kept you fed and clothed and this is how you repay me.”

  Aeden helped the still stunned Bryce back into her chair. “We’ve worked since we could walk, so you shut your mouth!”

  Taking a step toward his father, Aeden felt a hand around his arm. His mother’s eyes pleading with him. “Please. Let it be.”

  Aeden’s eyes darted between his mother and father. His entire life had been spent conceding his point of view to his father’s. Not out of respect for the man - his father was a vicious drunk - but rather for the unfaltering love he had for his mother. His mother was like most women, living with choices that were not entirely her own.

  Leaning down, Aeden quickly kissed Noleen’s cheek. “For you.” Glaring at his father, the blood rising to his face, the man practically snarled at Colman. “Never for him.” Looking at Bryce, Aeden put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Bryce rubbed her burning cheek and nodded. “Yes.” She looked at her father. “I’m going for Mother and Aeden.” She stood. “You can go to hell.”

  The Whelans had made the nearly two month long journey across the Atlantic. Arriving in Boston in the summer of 1773, they had been quickly con
tracted with a farmer who owned a hundred acre plot of land northwest of the city, near Lexington.

  Bryce had been assigned as a house maid and realized quickly that in spite of the circumstances, her living conditions were better than what she had in Ireland. She told herself at least they always had food and a place to sleep. Aeden and her father worked in the fields and her mother helped in the kitchen. Bryce felt fortunate the family had managed to stay together and had not been contracted to different families.

  “Did you hear me?” Aeden’s voice broke into Bryce’s remembrances.

  “What?” She forced her attention back to her brother.

  “I said I don’t give a damn about the contract.” Aeden began walking again, his sister following close behind.

  “Well, you should. We are clearly forbidden to marry while under contract and the penalty for breaking the rules can be death.” The pair stopped at the split in the walking path. One direction lead to the main house and the other to the stables were Aeden would ready the plow horses.

  “Aren’t you tired of other people’s rules?” Aeden took Bryce’s cold hand. “Don’t you want something that’s your own?”

  Bryce pulled her hand away. “You’re talking nonsense. Nothing is ours until we pay our debt.”

  Aeden sighed heavily. “You mean Father’s debt.” The man looked off into the distance. The sky was beginning to take on a pinkish glow in the east. “Five years. It may as well be a hundred.”

  Bryce didn’t know what to say. She wished she could comfort her brother, who seemed, as of late, increasingly restless and agitated. “I’m sorry.” It was true, but she knew the truth was of little solace to a man who wanted his life to begin in earnest.

  Managing a weak smile, Aeden hugged Bryce. “I’m sorry for you, too.” He kissed the top of her head. “You must want more. A husband, children.”

  Bryce stepped back and though her heart shouted at her to correct her brother, to tell him she didn’t want any of that, she nodded. “I do.”

  Looking at the sky, Aeden turned toward the stable. “We’re very late. I’ll see you tonight.” He left her standing in the dark, wondering how she could love him so much, trust him with her life, but not be able to share her most secret thoughts and desires with him.

  Walking toward the large, two story stone house that sat atop a slight hill, Bryce had been shocked by recent revelations about who she wanted to spend her life with and feared her brother would be, too.

  Hope Atherson was the only daughter of James Atherson. His wife Claire had died in child birth and the man adored his daughter, while wielding a heavy hand with his oldest child and only son, Thaddeus. The second day Bryce had been working in the Atherson house she had seen a large portrait of a woman in her thirties, with dark, chestnut colored hair and intense light brown eyes. She had learned this was the late Mrs. Atherson, and her daughter could pass as her younger self.

  Based on her experience with wealthy families in Ireland, Bryce had assumed the Athersons would pay her little attention, short of instructing her on their preferences for how the silver should be polished and when they wanted their beds turned down at night.

  “Your name is Bryce?” Hope Atherson had asked while Bryce was hanging washed sheets along the clothes line behind the house.

  “Yes, miss.” Bryce stopped what she was doing and holding the damp sheet in front of her, looked at the ground. Her mother had taught her never to make eye contact with the masters.

  “I like it. It’s different.” Bryce could hear the smile in the woman’s voice and worked up the courage to make eye contact with her.

  Bryce’s green eyes were met by intense brown ones that seemed to swirl as flecks of light skittered across the irises. “It was my great grandfather’s. He fought in the Irish Rebellion.” She couldn’t hide the pride in her voice and, feeling self-conscious, blushed as she looked back down.

  “That’s fascinating. I don’t have any interesting family stories. My grandfather came over from England, bought the land our house is built on, and then he bought more land, and - well -” Looking across the fields she shrugged. “Here we are.”

  Bryce knew there must be more skill to amassing the sort of wealth the Atherson family had and found Hope’s casualness about her station in life odd. Bryce had nothing and couldn’t imagine being so flippant about having every need and want met.

  “It’s lovely, miss.” Bryce managed through a tight throat. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but her family and a few of the other servants since she had arrived nearly a month ago. The last person she thought would be interested in talking to her was the mistress of the house.

  “It truly is.” Hope’s response came barely above a whisper and when Bryce looked up at the woman, there was a glint in her eyes that Bryce didn’t understand, but she felt her heart pounding in her chest because of it.

  ***

  Entering through the servant’s entrance at the back of the house, Bryce was greeted by Mrs. Bradley, the head housekeeper. She managed Bryce, two other girls, and Bryce’s mother in their daily chores.

  “Miss Whelan, you’re late.” Even though the woman was two inches shorter than Bryce, and nearly as round as she was tall, her attitude commanded respect.

  “It won’t happen again, ma’am.” Bryce hung her makeshift shawl on a wooden peg just inside the door and stomped her feet on the stone floor to remove any loose snow and mud. Catching her mother’s disapproving look from across the kitchen, the redhead mouthed she was sorry and knew she would hear from her mother on the topic later.

  “See that it doesn’t, Miss Whelan, or I shall have to tell Mr. Atherson.” The plump woman resumed her work in the kitchen as she and another woman named Gladys went about meal preparation. “Miss Atherson left a note that you’re to take her breakfast up this morning. She likes the tray waiting for her, so you will take it up at half past the hour.” The woman looked at Bryce, her eyes narrowing. “Do you understand?”

  Bryce nodded, left the kitchen, and began making her way through the house. Every morning, she would open the thick curtains she had closed the night before. Mr. Atherson insisted on this exercise every night in the winter. It kept the house warmer as the dense upholstery of the chocolate colored drapes blocked the drafts that seeped through the window panes.

  It took Bryce nearly a half hour to finish with the drapes, and by the time she returned to the kitchen it was time to take Hope her breakfast. Without a word, she picked the silver tray up from the wood block at the center of the kitchen and began walking toward the back stairway.

  Looking over the contents of the tray, Bryce smiled. Hope was a creature of habit, and Bryce had never known her to eat anything but dried apricots, one poached egg, and two toast points for breakfast. She liked her tea at room temperature with a teaspoon of sugar.

  Pushing the latch on the door to Hope’s room with her elbow, Bryce balanced the tray as she used her hip to open and then close the large wooden door. The sun had been up for almost an hour, but the bedroom was still cloaked in relative darkness because the heavy drapes were still drawn.

  The room was larger than the entire Whelan house in Ireland. Its walls were painted a robin’s egg blue with raspberry trim along the edges of the wall paneling. Hope’s bed was large, with a thick down stuffed mattress and mahogany headboard. Placing the tray on the light oak vanity nearest the bed, Bryce crossed the room and pulled the drapes open.

  “Oh, I’m still so tired.” Hope’s voice was low and sleepy as she pulled the white duvet over her head.

  “It’s seven thirty, miss.” The few times Hope had asked for her to bring her breakfast, this had always been the greeting she received. “You don’t want to sleep the day away.”

  Hope pushed the duvet down so only her legs were covered, revealing the thin white sleeveless shift she wore. She rubbed her hands over her face and sitting up, looked closely at Bryce. “Please don’t call me miss.”

  Bryce blushed. “Sorry. Habit.”


  Hope slid to the edge of the bed and took the tray from Bryce. Putting it on the end of the bed, she took Bryce’s hands in hers. Bring the redhead’s fingers to her lips, she gently sucked on the tip of Bryce’s index finger. A quiet moan escaped the woman as she slid the entirety of Bryce’s finger into the warmth of her mouth.

  Bryce’s knees felt wobbly, as if they might give out on her. She closed her eyes in an effort to stop the room from spinning. Seconds later, Hope was pulling her forward and down on top of her as they fell back on the bed. Hope took Bryce’s face in her hands and pressed her lips to Bryce’s, her tongue slipping past the woman’s full lips.

  “You’re amazing.” The brunette murmured as her mouth made its way to Bryce’s neck.

  The sound of a door slamming down the hall brought Bryce to her senses. This had been the way of it for Hope and her for the past three months. What had started as titillating and confusing flirtations had escalated to stolen kisses and intimate touches.

  Bryce had kissed women before. Innocent girlhood crushes when she was still a teenager, but she had never known the longing and want Hope triggered in her. She was in love for the first time in her life, and she wanted more, though she scarcely knew what that meant.

  “Why are you stopping?” Hope looked at Bryce, her brown eyes unfocused by desire.

  “Someone might come.” Bryce mustered all her will and pushed away from the beautiful woman. Standing up, she straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair.

  With an expression akin to a pout, Hope got out of bed. “You always stop.”

  She was right. As much as Bryce wanted her, her upbringing forced her to be cautious and untrusting of anything that might be a source of happiness for her. Hope and she could never be together. Besides being two women, they inhabited two entirely different worlds.

  “I’m sorry, miss.” Bryce forced back tears as she walked toward the door.