by Wendy Webb
He drew her close and kissed her then, the way he had kissed so many women during the past four years. It was Addie’s first kiss, and he knew this without even asking. Neither of them knew how long they stood there on the platform, enveloped in the fog, holding each other.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Jess whispered into her ear so convincingly that he himself believed that he had.
“I’ve missed you, Jess,” Addie said, meaning every word.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“How can you be sure it’s her?” Simon said, taking a bite of salad and examining the photo more closely. “I mean, this must’ve been taken, what, a century ago?”
“It’s her,” Kate said. “If I showed it to my dad and Johnny, they’d identify her as the woman we saw on the beach. But that just can’t be, right? It would make her body more than one hundred years old.”
“What if the woman in this photo and the woman on your beach were, say, mother and daughter, or grandmother and granddaughter?” Simon offered. “How do you know for sure it’s the same person?”
“That would make sense, if I hadn’t also been dreaming about the husband,” Kate said, her eyes shifting to the man’s handsome face. “I saw both of them, Simon.”
Kate’s thoughts drifted back to her dreams—there were no cell phones, no televisions, no electronics of any kind in any of the dreams. No cars. No modern music.
“I just sort of took it for granted that she was alive now—well, recently, anyway—but when I really think about it . . .”
“You think you’ve been dreaming about the past.”
Kate considered this, staring at the photo. It seemed like the only reasonable answer. But how far in the past?
“It explains the ninety-year-old nightgown, that’s for sure,” Simon said.
“Our great-grandparents are sitting with them in this shot,” Kate said. “They all look pretty young. Simon, you know when they were married, right? That might give us a date to go on.”
“I can’t rattle the year off the top of my head, but I can certainly find it in the old family Bible,” he said, pushing back his chair and making his way out of the room.
“Nineteen-oh-five!” Simon shouted from the library. “Harrison and Celeste were married in nineteen-oh-five!” He bounded back into the dining room.
“The date of this photo must be close to the same time, then,” Kate said. “Judging from how young Harry and Celeste are in the picture, I’d imagine it was taken shortly before or after they were married. Within, what, five years, I’d think.”
“You know . . .” Simon took a bite of French bread and considered this point. “Say this is really your woman. You’ve got a concrete date to start researching who she was. You won’t be stabbing in the dark, so to speak.”
“I can just start my search from 1905 and work forward from there,” Kate agreed.
“It tells you she lived around here,” Simon said, pointing to the photo. “Look, they were having their picnic on the lakeshore. You can see the house in the background.”
Kate eyed the photo and nodded.
“She might have just been visiting, though,” Simon backpedaled. “What if she and her husband were here on vacation when this photo was taken?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kate concluded. “They were obviously friends with Harry and Celeste, so her disappearance would’ve been newsworthy in this town on that basis alone. You don’t sit around yukking it up with the richest man in town if you’re a nobody. And she was murdered, that much we know, so it would have made the papers here. ‘Friend of the Connor Family Found Murdered.’ That’s big news in a small town.”
Simon took a sip of coffee and shook his head, furrowing his brows.
“What?” Kate asked.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Simon said. “We know it was murder, because the police told us. But for all we know, this is the first time anyone has seen her body. She came out of the lake. It could be that, back then, people considered this a missing persons case.”
“A wife who ran off,” Kate mused. “You’re right, Simon. We just don’t know.”
Something began to seep into Kate’s body, weaving its way through her limbs like a thread being tightly wound around her. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Simon reached across the table to take his cousin’s hand.
“It’s just that, when Johnny couldn’t find any missing persons reports anywhere in the country that matched her description, I was so sad at the thought that nobody missed this woman and her baby,” Kate said. “And now I know that she had . . . people. Loved ones. Friends. Look at her. She was beautiful and happy and having a great time, right here at this house. That means people missed her when she died. These people.”
“Our people,” Simon said, squeezing her hand.
Kate looked at him. “What did you say?”
“Our people,” Simon repeated. “These are our great-grandparents laughing with her. These two couples are obviously friendly enough to sit around with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine and have a photographer there to document it all. That’s what the picture portrays, anyway. If this whole impossible situation is really happening, then the woman who has been invading your dreams and, by the way, washed up dead on your beach, was someone close to our great-grandparents. She was here, in this house.”
Kate looked around the room and felt a cool breeze whisper through her hair. She could almost see Harry and Celeste entertaining this young, handsome couple, right there in the same room where she and Simon now sat.
It felt as though she was caught by the intangibility of time. Could the past and present exist at once, in the same place? Were Harrison and Celeste living there now, entertaining visitors in the long-ago past? Were they enjoying dinners here in the dining room a century before as Kate and Simon were now? Was it all happening in the same moment, but a century apart?
“We found this photo in one of those old trunks upstairs,” Kate started. “If this woman and our great-grandparents were close friends, as we’re now postulating, it might stand to reason that there are more photos of her, or even news clippings about what happened.”
“That’s right,” Simon confirmed. “I saw a ton of old clippings in one of the trunks. I think Celeste might have been a scrapbooker.”
Kate’s mind was traveling in several directions at once. “I feel like I want to look into this further, but I’m just not sure what to do first.”
“Did you bring your computer?”
Kate winced. “I didn’t. On purpose. Kevin has sent me a thousand emails since we split up, and I didn’t want to be tempted to read any of them. I’ve got him blocked on my phone.”
“There’s a laptop set up in the library alcove for guests. You could start by doing a quick search online.”
Kate’s eyes danced and she raised her brows. “We do have a date to go on. I could just start searching for Harrison Connor, 1905 and see what comes up.”
“Or even Wharton, Addie, 1905,” Simon offered.
“Better yet!” Kate smiled, pushing herself up from the table.
She hurried into the library, wondering if this mystery could be solved with just a few clicks of the mouse. But hours later, her head pounding from staring at the brightly lit computer screen, she realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
Simon poked his head around the corner.
“Anything?”
Kate shook her head. “I found lots of stuff about Harrison and Celeste, and obviously lots of info about Canby Lines, but beyond that, I’m hitting a brick wall.”
He sighed and folded himself into an armchair. “If only you had her full name.”
Kate swiveled her chair around to look at him. “I suppose I could look through the trunks again, see if there’s anything with her name on it.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Doubtful. Unless . . .” He held up one finger and leaned in toward Kate.
�
��Unless what?”
“Unless Harrison or Celeste kept a diary.”
Kate stared at her cousin for a moment. “You’re brilliant! Do we know if either one of them did?”
“Well, no,” Simon said, leaning back in his chair. “But even if they didn’t keep a full-blown diary, they certainly might have kept a datebook where they—or their household help—recorded their appointments and entertainment schedule and such. ‘Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, dinner, 5:30 p.m.’ Something like that.”
Kate folded her arms. “Would it still be here, though? After a century? I throw out my calendar from the previous year every January.”
“Do you really? I’ve got my datebooks going back, oh, I don’t know. Ten years? I love to look back through them. It’s like a window into the past.”
“I suppose I should go upstairs right now and start hunting,” Kate said, leaning back to run a hand through her hair. Her hand stopped at her forehead—it was clammy to the touch.
Simon shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re tired. I can see it on your face. I’d offer to help you look tomorrow, but the contractor is coming in the morning to talk about the third-floor renovation.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said. “I don’t expect you to be as heavily involved in this as I am.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Do you know what’s weird?”
Simon grinned. “A better question would be what’s not weird. But go on.”
“Her body,” Kate said. “I can’t get the image of it out of my mind. She looked . . . I don’t quite know how to say this, but she looked like she wasn’t dead at all. Like she was sleeping.”
“I know,” Simon said. “We talked about this when you first arrived, remember? About how Lake Superior preserves bodies because of the cold.”
“She was floating in that icy water for all of those years,” Kate said, leaning her head back, a chill washing through her. “The other thing I was thinking was . . .” Kate attempted to finish her thought, but in that instant, she shivered. “Can you get me some coffee, Simon? I’m freezing all of a sudden.”
Simon came over to her and took her hands in his. “You are cold. Wait right here.”
He returned with a silver tray containing a bottle of cognac and two warmed glasses.
“Come on, let’s go and sit by the fire,” Simon directed, with a smile. “Coffee won’t do it. Hot brandies all around.”
When they had settled into overstuffed chairs by the fire in the library, Kate under an afghan for good measure, Alaska at her feet, she resumed her thought: “I was thinking about the body,” Kate started. “And the baby’s body. They’re lying in the morgue right now.”
“I know, sweetie,” Simon said.
“And they’re so, so perfect, if you can call a dead body perfect, that the police are looking for a missing person from this time and place.” Kate shivered as she spoke. “If sh-she really is the woman in the photograph with Harry and Celeste, that means she died sometime around 1905.”
“That’s right,” Simon said, leaning in toward Kate and feeling her forehead. “We’ve already talked about this, honey.” He eyed her. “Listen, I think you’re coming down with something.”
“Yes, but . . . ,” Kate started and stopped. “But how did she stay that w-w-way? How does a d-dead body stay perfectly preserved for nearly a century?”
“Kate, your lips are turning blue,” Simon said. “Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it. I’m calling Peter Jones.” He reached for the phone on the table and dialed his family doctor.
Kate was shivering beneath her afghan, trying to sip her hot brandy with shaking hands, spilling some in the process. She felt ice cold deep inside, in her core. Simon snuggled into the overstuffed chair with his cousin, throwing an arm around her in an effort to warm her with his body heat while he spoke quietly on the phone with the doctor.
Kate kept talking. “My dad says b-b-bodies are well pr-preserved in this lake because the water is so clean and cold,” she mumbled. “But not like this. Not perfect. They look waterlogged and sort of spongy, he said, they don’t decay, but they don’t remain as beautiful . . .”
“That’s right, Peter,” Simon said into the phone, his voice low. “We were sitting and talking, and she just started shivering. Her lips are blue! She’s freezing. And now she’s sort of—I’m not going to say incoherent, but loopy. She keeps repeating things we’ve talked about. It happened all of a sudd—There is? So what should I—? Okay. We’ll do that. Yes. I will.
“Peter says there’s a virus going around,” he said to Kate, who was still murmuring about bodies and cold water.
He took hold of Kate’s hand. “Oh my God. You’re like a block of ice.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’m taking you upstairs and getting you into a warm bath. I didn’t put tubs into every guestroom for nothing.”
“I’m sorry to be such a b-bother,” Kate murmured as Simon led her up the stairs. He could feel her legs shaking with each step.
When they got to Kate’s room, he flipped on the light and made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the water in the tub and sprinkled in some soothing bath salts that turned the water bluer than Kate’s lips.
“This thing has a heater in it so you can stay in the water as long as you want, and it won’t get cold,” he said. “Oh, come on. Fill, already!” This he directed at the tub. In a few moments the steaming tub was full. “Let’s get those clothes off,” he said to Kate, unbuttoning her shirt.
“Wait a minute . . . ,” she mumbled.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m a gay man and your blood relation,” he laughed. “I couldn’t be less interested in what you’ve got under your clothes.”
“T-t-true.” She managed a laugh. “But I’d like to keep some mystery.”
“Then you get in there yourself,” he said. “But be careful. I’ll be right outside the door.”
Kate peeled off her clothes and lowered herself into the tub, the water sizzling as her icy-cold body came into contact with it. Kate submerged herself up to her neck, curled herself into a fetal position, and rested her head on the side of the tub, closing her eyes and taking in the delicious scent of the bath salts.
Simon poked his head into the room. “Don’t fall asleep in there.”
“I won’t,” Kate said through a yawn.
“Seriously,” Simon said, turning on as many lights as possible. He grabbed a book from the nightstand and settled onto the bench in the bathroom. “I’m not leaving you alone to have your head slip under the water. You drowning would put a damper on our visit.”
Kate chuckled but couldn’t open her eyes.
“You just relax, and I’ll read,” Simon said. “When you’re ready to get out, let me know.”
“I’m not so cold now,” Kate said, her eyes still closed lightly. She was indeed feeling warmer, but she was swimming in thoughts that were not entirely her own.
When Kate had been lying in the tub for nearly an hour, a rosy color came back to her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked around.
“Well, that was dramatic,” she said.
“You love to be the center of attention.” Simon smiled. Then, more seriously, he asked: “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Kate said. She sat up and leaned against the tub. “I’m warm now, but I still feel pretty weak. What happened?”
“Peter says it’s probably a bug that’s going around town right now,” Simon said. “He hadn’t heard of anyone reacting like you did, but chills and fever are not uncommon. And honey, you just took the chills to a new level.”
“It was so bizarre,” Kate said, rubbing her arms. “Suddenly I just felt cold. Ice cold. Deep inside. I can’t really properly explain the feeling. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
“Do you still feel it?”
Kate considered this. “A little, I guess,” she said. “But nothing like it was before. I remember once at the paper, I was covering a New Year’s Da
y celebration. This club in town called the Polar Bears raised money by plunging into the icy lake. I did it with them to write about it. It’s just like what I felt tonight. It was as though I had suddenly jumped into ice-cold water.”
Simon eyed his cousin. “You know, we were right in the middle of talking about how those bodies were preserved in the cold water.”
“I know,” Kate said. The two cousins held each other’s gaze.
“That tells me you should step back from this thing a bit,” Simon said. “You’re getting too involved. You’re internalizing. I don’t like it, Kate. It feels dangerous, somehow.”
Kate didn’t know what to say to that, but Simon saved her the trouble. “You hop out of this tub and get into your jammies. I’ll go make you a cup of tea.”
“I should really walk Alaska,” she said, her chin on the rim of the tub.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simon said. “I will do the honors tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kate protested. “Alaska is my responsibility, I should . . .”
But Simon cut her off. “Stop it. It’s getting cold outside, and you could catch a chill if you go out into the night air. That’s the last thing you need. Besides, I actually like parading around town with a dog twice as big as an average timber wolf. Now, I’m going to get that tea.”
Ten minutes later, Kate was in her pajamas and snuggled in bed as Simon came through the door with two steaming mugs and some books on a tray.
“I’m going to read you to sleep, and I’ve got three choices of novel for your listening pleasure,” Simon said to her as he put each cup of tea on a nightstand and then slipped under the covers with Kate. “The Widow’s House, The Library of Light and Shadow, or The Queen’s Vow.”
Kate eyed the selections. “They all sound good. You choose.”
Simon opened one of the books. “Okay, missy. Lie back, close your eyes, and listen.”
Kate took a sip of her tea and snuggled down into her nest of pillows. “Simon?” Kate looked up at this dear man.
“Yes, darling?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He smiled and pushed the hair out of her eyes.
