A Stranger in Alcott Manor

by Alyssa Richards

  He didn’t move at first, but he kept his eyes on her. His chest pumped up and down too quickly. He looked to the ocean and faced the oncoming wind. His mind was filled with unfortunate images of what she and Ira must have shared, how deeply they must care about one another.

  “I thought you were dead!” she said above the crashing waves.

  He walked toward her, calm, though a piece of him was broken. Nine years, he reminded himself. He had been gone for nine years. But the hurt had a grip on his heart. Not anger. He wasn’t mad at her, he understood. Life moved on. At least for her it had. The heartbreak nearly swallowed him whole.

  “I watched constantly for some sign that I could hang on to, something to give me hope that you were still alive—there was nothing.” Her eyes filled with tears and when her expression softened with emotion, they streamed down her cheeks.

  “It’s okay,” he reached for her, wiped the tears from her face. “I was gone, and you had no way of knowing where I was. You thought I was dead. I hear you on that.”

  Nature whipped around them with building fury and yet something peaceful settled between them. Something solid. Her tears stopped.

  “Would you have fallen in love with him if I hadn’t left?” he asked.

  A flash of lightning ripped through the sky, thunder crashed and startled her. The clouds opened and rain fell in fat, heavy sheets.

  He began jogging away from the beach with her in tow. He led them to a small red barn not far from the house, one that wouldn’t be there in the current day. Just shy of the horse barn, he pointed to the thick, black border. A new photo.

  She gathered her skirts, jumped over the line.

  Once inside the barn they faced one another. Rain soaked their formal clothing and dripped onto the floor. The barn was filled with the clean scent of sun-dried hay. Bermuda hay, he guessed. Horses grazed in their stalls.

  A barn swallow swooped twice like an acrobat and Peyton ducked to get out of its way. Beau found a pack of matches and a gas lamp. When he lit the lamp, the barn filled with an orangish glow.

  He stared at her. What little bit of makeup she had worn earlier in the day was gone and her hair had mostly fallen from its pinned-up style. She was the most natural beauty he had ever known.

  She hadn’t answered his question and he thought twice about asking it again. If she said she had met the love of her life in this man, it might just kill him on the spot.

  He stood close, leaving only room enough for the heat between them. “I just want to know the truth,” he said.

  The rain pattered on the roof, filling the silence.

  “No,” she said. “I would never have fallen in love with him if you had still been around.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “And now?” he asked. “Are we over? Is it too late for us?”

  She ran her fingers along the side of his face, and he closed his eyes. He could still feel the future they once promised one another. It was vivid, alive, even though so much time had passed. He had been so driven to leave Charleston with her, to leave his father, to figure out where he belonged in the world.

  They were going to travel together for the first year, seeing as much of the world as possible. Then settle into a house on the beach, in a small town, maybe North Carolina. Someplace with a porch where she could watch the waves and he could play his guitar. They planned to open a photography studio, one they could run out of the house or in a spare room over the garage.

  “Is it?” he whispered. He opened his eyes.

  Her lips were parted, like she searched for the words. To let him down easy? He wondered.

  “Beau—” She shook her head.

  “Just tell me the truth.” He would have to have that. At least.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “We’ve never been over. Not for me.”

  The years of desperation, the years of missing her, loving her and needing her converged into that one moment. She leaned toward him and he wrapped her in his arms, holding her close and feeling, for the first time in too many years, that his world had fallen into place.

  When he kissed her, it was the sweetest he’d ever known. Her lips soft, her mouth lingering. He paused, not wanting to rush. He knew, for as much as he’d prayed to go home, what he had really wanted all these years, was to go home to her.

  He kissed her again, sliding her close. Knowing he’d do anything she asked. She was the only heaven he’d ever known. His hands gliding gently through her hair, across her back. His entire world safe once again in his arms, but for a moment or a lifetime, he didn’t know.

  She turned to the side, stepped away. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay.” His heart ached with the same excruciating emptiness he’d only known in the last nine years. His breath left his lungs in a slow exhale, like life seeping from his body.

  She walked further away from him, looked out the window, the rain driving hard against the glass. When she turned toward him again, her expression had changed. She held still and his breathing stopped.

  When she moved toward him fast and with determination, air filled his lungs in a rush. He caught her in his arms, stumbling backward. Her kisses passionate, her arms around him, holding on, holding tight. He lifted her against him, her mouth on his, adrenaline shooting through every nerve ending like a drug.

  She’d never been the aggressor with him before, she’d never had to be. Jealousy competed for first place in his mind at how she had changed. Images raced with her and this other man. He pulled away, their breathing ragged. He yanked his vision in a better direction and reminded himself that she was in his arms now. She had said that their relationship wasn’t over for her. Did she still love him? He didn’t know.

  She took his bottom lip between her teeth, tugged.

  He lifted her, spun her until her back was flush against the wall, held there by his body. She pulled at his wet jacket until it was freed and on the floor.

  He wanted to rip at her dress until nothing and no one stood between them. As it used to be, as it could be again.

  There was nothing real beyond what they shared in this moment. Even the walls around them would fade in a few hours. In its stead would be some Alcott facade that hid unspeakable horrors that happened to a beautiful, innocent little girl. Those secrets kept everyone trapped, unable to move forward. Those secrets had stolen his life.

  He peeled his wet shirt from his body and reached beneath the layers of her skirts. She grabbed at him, pulling him closer. God, he wanted her more than he wanted to breathe.

  He pushed his hand along her bare thigh, and the curve of her hip made him gasp. Memories of her body left him dizzy. He had waited what felt like a lifetime to be with her again. Now that she was here, the heat was all-consuming. With one last kiss, he lifted her to him, twirled her slowly. Out of breath and out of time, they both realized that this wasn’t something either of them could stop.

  Their bodies moved with one another, feverish, crazed. One more kiss. Then another. His fingers unfastened the fabric-covered buttons along the front of her dress.

  She gasped and grabbed at his bare back, her driven pace erasing what little sense of time and place he had. He buried his face in her neck, her rose-scented skin an echo from their past.

  It had been years since he had known her like this. So many that he was afraid he would forget what being with her was like. But this time was just like their first time. Heated and frantic with a meant-to-be power unlike anything he had felt or known, and he fell into it as he always had, heart first. When she cried out he went with her, knowing he would never love another.

  She was his past, he had once been her future, and for as long as he could remember her love was wrapped tightly around his heart. When he built a makeshift bed for them on the floor out of hay and blankets, he kept an eye on her. Her pale body glowed in the yellow lamplight, her sexy smile soft and tipped to one side, as he’d often seen in his memories. He wondered if she would act differently as time passed. Was
this a temporary reunion or was she the girl he had wanted for all time?

  Her touch, her extreme tenderness made him shiver, because he knew it wasn’t a hesitancy or reservation. It was longing restraint this time, the promise of what was yet to come. He had forgotten about that, at least. Her pace and pressure, until just then.

  He marked a path of kisses downward and along the curve of her breasts, teasing with his tongue. The sweet honeysuckle taste of her skin made his heart race.

  “You are the only thing that kept my hope alive.” He kissed the inside of her thigh, gently sucking the tender skin. “I’d replay moments like this with you, over and over. Just to remind myself that life was worth living, that you and I had been real.”

  “I missed you so much I thought I was going to die,” she breathed. “I think I almost did.”

  His tongue caressed and explored, had her arching, reaching. And then, all at once, shuddering. His name on her lips let him know he was still in her heart, that he wasn’t the only one who felt the power between them.

  When he hovered over her, she ran her hands over every inch of him, as if she reacquainted herself with his body. She scissored her legs around his waist, rocked her hips against him with a slowness that hypnotized him. Movements that were strong and deep and reached his soul.

  Her eyes were bright and clear, locked onto him like she had finally found what she needed, what she wanted. He’d forgotten what it was like to be with someone he truly loved, to feel the endlessness of the connection, the sensation of coming home. She moved with him beat for beat, hungry, impatient, intent, In her eyes, he saw a spark of recognition, she was his now and he took her to the edge, his body screaming for release. When she opened her mouth in a voiceless cry, he told her he loved her and let go.

  Some time later, with the warmth of her body curled against his, she asked him how he survived for nine years in this world without a home, without family or friends.

  “I replayed everything about you in my mind, over and over so I wouldn’t forget. I found a black diary in the library, and I filled its empty pages with every memory I had of our years together—where I took you on our dates, the catchphrases you used, your mannerisms, the outfits you wore. I forced myself to recall every detail about you, your face, your body—the shape of your breasts, the taste of your skin, even the sound of that breath you take when I’m first inside of you.”

  Her laughter echoed gently through the barn. She had always laughed like that, full and rich, like warmth from the sun. For the first time, he felt life in this godforsaken place.

  “There’s nothing better in my life than being with you,” he said. “My life is yours, Peyton. It has been from the moment we met. I’m yours forever if you’ll have me.”

  17

  Mrs. Miller checked the time while she paced in front of the row of tintypes.

  It seemed later than what the cream-colored watch face read. She checked her cell phone, noting her watch had been slow. She wound the knob on the side of the slender gold watch. She didn’t think they made wind up watches anymore, but her husband had given her this one when they first married. She refused to give it up.

  She adjusted the vase full of fresh flowers she’d brought to the ballroom for her daughter’s arrival. She shouldn’t have cut any of the flowers from the manor’s garden out back. But pink and yellow roses were Ruby’s favorite, and her homecoming deserved the best.

  Peyton came back so quickly the first time, she really had expected to see her family by now. She pulled the small bottle from her pocket, tilted her head back and squeezed two drops into each eye.

  “Age-related macular degeneration can be caused by psychological stress,” the doctor had said. She nearly fell over when he told her that. First Peyton causes her to lose her daughter, then she causes her to nearly lose her eyesight before Ruby Lee returns. If she didn’t come back soon, she would make sure Peyton lost everything.

  She reached for her necklace with the large, gold owl charm, the one with the magnifying glass in the middle. Holding it over the tintype that had been made at an Alcott Thanksgiving, she stroked the image of her daughter’s hair. Her baby girl was all grown up, and thankfully she had kept her red hair. It was darker now that she was older, a lovely auburn. She ached to run her fingers through those soft tresses, wondered if her daughter would let her put them in a braid.

  She gripped the frame more tightly. She had searched fifty-nine tintypes that day, looking for Peyton. It took her almost two hours and looking at so many tiny details nearly ruined what little bit of good eyesight she had left. But with the help of her owl magnifying pendant, she found her. She scratched at the glass that held Peyton’s and Beau’s images. They stood in the distance, hand-in-hand, facing one another at the forest’s edge.

  That was the day of Benjamin Alcott’s niece’s wedding. Peyton and Beau should have been searching for Ruby and Horace, not enjoying some long-awaited reunion.

  The way she and Beau had loved one another, Mrs. Miller didn’t think Peyton would ever recover—which had been part of her goal. But now that she thought Peyton was enjoying the love of both Ira and Beau, it was an injustice she would sure as hell put right.

  She would make Peyton pay again—this time for not bringing Ruby home like she was supposed to and for thinking only of herself—while she and Ruby and Horace suffered.

  She wondered which authentic Alcott family suit Ira would want to wear. He would look dashing in Benjamin Alcott’s black tuxedo, or he would also look nice in Senator Alcott’s tan suit. Maybe Ira would be able to bring her Ruby back to her. At the very least, she was certain he would be an unwelcome visitor in Peyton’s life.

  She slipped her black handbag over her arm and headed toward the door. She needed to bring Bertha Mae’s camera back to the manor today. She passed by the tintype of Rachel Alcott. That dress would be just the right size for Peyton’s youngest niece, Emma Catherine. Perhaps she would photograph Ira and Emma Catherine together. Jayne Ella would be happy to help her set that up.

  18

  Peyton was spent. Utterly, completely, happily spent. Beau stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. Gentle kisses that melted on her skin. In the flickering light of the lantern, his face drifted in and out of her focus, and he looked like a dream. The shadows played tricks, making her wonder if he might disappear.

  Her fingertip traced his broad chest and curled blond hair that covered him. She lingered over his muscles that must have been maintained through hard work and chores. Certainly not the obsessive gym workouts he used to do.

  She told herself that everything would be okay. They could find Ruby and Horace, they could find the secret that made the manor hold on to the past, they would find a way home. But the wind rattled the square window on the opposite side of the barn, and reality seeped in. Mrs. Miller clipped Beau’s wings on the day she made those tintypes. His beautiful soul, the one Peyton thought belonged more to the world than it ever did to her, would want to explore more than ever when they got home.

  Not to mention the fact that she had effectively ruined her relationship with Ira by being with Beau. She had broken every promise she’d ever made to Ira, which was unlike her. He would be crushed when he found out what she’d done. She remembered The Clean Slate Theory and what it said about revealing secrets only to clear your own conscience. But she didn’t think she could keep this from Ira. She would have to tell him. Her mother might be able to keep secrets for decades on end, as could Bertha Mae, but Peyton wasn’t cut from that particular Alcott cloth.

  Then she wondered, what if they made it back and Beau didn’t want to travel? What if Ira still wanted to marry her, even once he knew what she had done? What would she do then? Her heart pumped panic-ridden adrenaline through her body like water through a firehose.

  But Rachel was dead. There would be no way to figure out how she died. Not until the manor shuffled through all of these specific tintypes and worked its way back to the beginning. Only then co
uld they follow clues that would help them solve the mystery.

  Horace and Ruby were nowhere to be found. There was no way out. No way back. Perhaps not for a long, long while, if ever. By then Ira would have moved on. She couldn’t blame him, she had had to do the same thing. But she would have been lying if she’d said it didn’t smart.

  Beau ran his finger along the side of her breast, and his magical touch brought her focus back to him. He was the secret she had buried deep in her heart. The one she kept from everyone—her mother, her friends, even her therapist and certainly Ira. But here in this strange reality that was hidden within the walls of Alcott Manor, she had finally opened all the deepest corners of her heart.

  As if Beau knew, he kissed her again. And again. He worked his way around to her collarbone, her breasts, slowly he kissed a path along her torso until she no longer cared what they would wake up to.

  They kept on for hours, making up for lost time. Dozing only occasionally. When she thought the darkest part of the night had passed, she rolled over to see if he was awake, to ask him about the next day.

  His face was peaceful and yet radiant, happy, as if everything were right in his world. She lightly traced a finger around the frame of his face and his eyes fluttered open. When he realized she was gazing at him, he smiled. They didn’t talk or kiss or touch. They just looked at one another for a long while, their unspoken connection speaking volumes.

  “You are the one who kept me alive,” he finally said. “I prayed every day and night, I believed that we would be together again. That’s the only thing that kept me going.”

  She rested her head on his chest, wrapped her arm around him and held on. Don’t leave me, Beau. Don’t leave me. Was it okay for her to think that? She had spent so much time trying to let go, trying to put him in the past. Trying to start fresh, begin anew. She had set up mental guardrails, to keep herself from thinking too much about the future they didn’t get to have. Now those were blasted all to hell. Memories of her life with Beau flitted around Peyton’s mind like butterflies, beautiful, airy, fleeting.