Their resident angel of music, an inconsistent spirit who had given the girls several names but had settled on Cy, haunted their parlor in occasional concerts: faintly playing their upright piano, manifesting enough for just the faintest echo, this time a new ragtime tune. The rolling jaunt of the tune had Eve bouncing down the stairs and sweeping into the rear kitchen where Antonia had left Eve’s primary sources of sustenance: a pot of coffee and sliced hard-boiled eggs.
In the entrance hall mirror, Eve fussed and repinned her hair once more. Glancing out the window, she tucked an arm of her dark-tinted glasses into a buttonhole. The day was bright and she needed to weather it well.
“Beautiful, Cy, what’s this?” Eve called, gliding into the parlor with her coffee to see the spirit floating at the piano, charcoal-silver hands bouncing over the ivory with deft skill the truly gifted never gave up, corporeal or no.
“Why, this is the latest from Mr. Joplin!” the ghost exclaimed jubilantly. “His ‘Maple Leaf Rag,’ just out this year. If you ask me, this is the one that will truly make him!”
“Wonderful,” Eve said, leaving the spirit with his music as she buoyantly floated out the door as if she too were a ghost.
Once outside, glancing around for any of her attendant ghosts, it appeared that every spirit was giving her space. Sometimes the dead knew the living needed moments just to themselves, and she was relieved not to have to say so.
Hailing a hack so she wouldn’t arrive already tired and perspiring, Eve feared the roiling nerves in her body would shake the sense right out of her. Part of her wanted to run back to her house and hide under the covers, because really, what did she know about any kind of real intimacy? Nothing. Only the brief, fond moments with Jacob. Those had mostly been as awkward as they’d been enamored.
What did she know about…kissing…? Not a thing. She had no experience. And as someone who liked to know what she was doing, or at least appear so, Eve was mortified at the prospect of being a failure. Desire and fear battled within her, and she was glad she hadn’t laced her corset tightly because breathing was already a trial. The carriage slowed to a stop.
Eve accepted the driver’s help descending from the step, paid him, mumbled something about having a nice day and turned toward their appointed corner.
Her breath caught in her throat.
There he was. Standing at the mouth of the park, framed by trees, hands behind his back, a shaft of sunlight adorning his dark curls. His brilliant smile when her eyes met his nearly lifted Eve off her feet, and she moved toward him, magnetized. Dressed immaculately in one of his well-tailored black suits and black cravat, his burgundy waistcoat’s flare of color made it clear they weren’t at work.
Goodness, how dear, how good, how handsome he was. Fear was subsumed by his magnificence.
“Hello,” they chorused as she neared him. Their unison continued with a respective “You look lovely, wonderful,” and they chuckled. This time, even the blush was mutual.
Jacob bent to pick up the wicker picnic basket he’d set down while waiting. He held out his other hand for her, and Eve took it.
“It’s a lovely day,” Eve offered.
“A perfect day,” he agreed.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Does there always have to be a plan?” he asked with a grin.
“No…I…”
“We’ll know the place to pause when we see it.”
As they walked along for a while, Eve wondered if he, like she, was scouting for an appropriate locale: a shaded area, a copse of trees and brush that provided privacy, a natural little hideaway where they could escape from the world…
Turning the bend in the path, they saw the spot at the same time, mutually slowing as they looked up the hill toward a little plateau away from the paths where the outcropping of schist gave way to a blanket of leaves and moss. One grand willow tree towered over a ledge that seemed to Eve like some kind of fairy bower. There was a partition in the hanging curtain of willow fronds as if a green tent held a panel open, invitingly.
They climbed the slight incline, and Jacob strode into the canopy ahead of her. Ducking in after him, she watched him set the basket down, open one side, and withdraw a thick woven blanket, spreading it out on the mossy rock for them.
Bowing, he gestured that she sit. Eve did. Kneeling beside her, Jacob withdrew a silver plate of grapes, figs, and roasted chestnuts. He then withdrew a metal canteen and two small teacups, pouring her what appeared to be a sparkling punch.
“There’s just a little bit of German cordial, a blackberry schnapps, in this mix, if you don’t mind,” Jacob said. “I didn’t mix it too strong.”
“This all looks lovely, thank you.” Eve removed her glasses in the shade, setting them to the side. “I should have brought something, I’m sorry.”
“You’re all that’s needed,” he replied, rising to his feet. Examining the willow tree boughs, Jacob reached up and moved a branch to the side, tucking it under a fork in another limb to close the partition like one would close a curtain, creating an entirely private canopy.
As he returned to take his place beside her, Eve quailed, thinking her heart must be audible with how hard it pounded.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured. Reaching out, he removed a grape from the stem and held it. “I can imagine it might be hard for a strong-willed woman such as yourself to allow herself to be indulged.” Jacob leaned closer. “I appreciate you letting me treat you. It is not because I want to lord anything over you. I just…like the idea of pleasing you.…”
Jacob looked at the fruit, then at Eve’s lips, then her eyes. He offered the grape. She leaned in and opened her mouth. Jacob placed the grape upon her tongue. Eve closed her mouth over the fruit, her lips lingering to kiss the tip of his finger before she withdrew. The small, seductive gesture affected him in a shudder that thrilled her. She ate, savoring the sensation, everything heightened.
Lowering her eyes at him, she managed to speak in a breathless murmur. “I, too, like the idea of pleasing you.…” Plucking another grape from the stem, she held it out and he responded in turn, opening his mouth to take the proffered fruit. His beautifully drawn lips pressed against her fingertip, and it did indeed create a frisson of delight.
Taking her hand in his, he turned it over, brushing his fingertips over each line as if engaging in palmistry, divining meaning in the creases. He kissed her palm and Eve sighed. His fingers brushed the lace of her sleeve, sliding a finger under a button of the cuff. With nimble grace, he opened two buttons. Leaning in, he kissed the delicate underside of her revealed wrist, a divine sensation that made her gasp, and, maintaining the press of his lips, he looked up at her with eyes that could start a fire without a flint.
After countless breathless moments, Jacob shifted, taking her hands in his, edging her away from the refreshments, sliding closer to her, knee to knee, folds of blue gathered skirts splaying over black broadcloth.
“I confess,” Jacob began carefully, “I seek a prize that has been denied us before, in any number of stolen moments. But here and now, with ceremony and celebration, I’d like to make a point of something I’ve been desperate to do.…” He stared at her lips, gently taking her face in his hands, running a thumb over her mouth so that she had no doubt about his intentions. “May I?”
“Yes, please,” Eve whispered, trembling as he drew closer, leaning in, closing the distance between them.
He tilted his head, keeping that same gentle grasp upon her face as the tip of his nose grazed her cheek and finally, tenderly, he pressed his lips to hers.
Slowly, artfully, Jacob kissed her top lip then her bottom lip, the sweetest sensation that drew out Eve’s breath in a quiet little moan that parted her lips. This sound encouraged him and he pressed harder, matching the part of her lips with his own, allowing for more expansive exploration. Eve’s trembling hands fina
lly found purchase in his hair, her fingers diving into his smooth curls as she’d so often longed to do. Raking her hands through his hair, she grabbed him and shifted his head toward her neck. Eagerly he seared her jawline with a string of kisses and slight tracing of his tongue, earning another gasp.
Grasping his hands, she brought his fingers to the scarf around her throat; he did not hesitate in taking her cue. Untying the knot, Jacob slid the scarf from her neck tantalizingly slowly with one hand, his other hand bracing Eve’s back for the swoon he seemed determined to evoke. In the wake of the silk as her collarbone was revealed, his lips followed the lines of her fine bones, one side then the other, then back up her throat to her chin, and then again to press upon her lips.
She melted in his hold, and he shifted to cradle her in his lap, drawing back for breath.
“We needed this day,” he whispered, looking down at her dreamily as her eyes fluttered open to stare up at him in wonder.
“It’s been all I could think about, this…” Eve confessed.
“After all our near misses, I couldn’t just kiss you on impulse,” Jacob said. “There needed to be a production, an event, because the torturous build needed a grand payoff.”
“Torturous, you say?” she asked, trying to be coy, shifting her head in his lap, letting pins loosen and her hair to begin to come undone.
“Yes, you delicious tease,” he breathed, his eyes rolling back as he shifted his legs beneath her.
“Is it…what you’d hoped for?” This time, any wiles failed, any hobbled ability to flirt vanished, and she asked in a tiny voice devoid of art, just a simple, aching question, hoping he’d enjoyed it.
“Oh, you defy expectation, my dear,” he reassured her with a smile. “You don’t disappoint. A pretty girl like you, a wise, working woman...” He chuckled, and then for the first time in all this, he hit an awkward stumble. “I’m sure it wasn’t your first. I…hope I did well.…”
Eve’s face went blazingly red, and she tried to prop herself up and turn away, but he scooped her back into his arms again.
“Oh, Eve!” Jacob exclaimed. “It was? I was your first?”
Eve nodded, her hands darting to cover her face in a vain attempt to hide.
“Darling, please look at me,” he pleaded with a little laugh, one arm still hooked around her waist, one hand gently tugging on her sleeves. She peeked through her fingers at him. His expression was so warm, excited, and adorably fond. “I am honored to be your first kiss.”
Eve turned, shyly burying her face against his lapels, breathing in his scent of gentle soap, a whisper of mint, fresh and sweet. “I’m…I’m sorry if I’m not any good at any of it—”
“Oh, you are,” he interrupted, folding her tightly against him. He pressed his cheek against her head, stroking her hair, murmuring in her ear. “Believe me. This is everything I’ve been daydreaming about.”
“You’re too kind to say otherwise,” she said with a chuckle.
Something discomfiting overtook her, and she extricated herself, leaning back so there was a foot between them, blurting out an awkward thought before she could retract it. “Do I want to know about your first kiss?” Eve asked, almost a rhetorical question. “I’m not sure I do. The mere thought of it fills me with a shocking pain.”
“Oh, come now, we must be adult about things; people have histories and pasts,” Jacob scoffed. “It was with Sophie. We wanted to know what all the fuss was about, and we wanted to share the experience with a friend. But that is how we knew we weren’t suited for one another, not in that way. It was a learning experience. But it had no fire.”
Before Eve could react to this, Jacob clamped both hands around her waist and spun her back into a cradle hold again. He dragged his nose and lips along the slope of her neck, murmuring as he lifted toward her ear.
“Whereas with you, Evelyn Whitby”—his soft words against her temple were punctuated with sensual actions—“there is such”—his lips grazed her ear and kissed the lobe—“exquisite”—edging across her cheek, he poised his mouth over hers—“fire. Set me alight again…” he begged against her lips.
Eve arched in his hold, entirely won, pressing her bosom to his chest as her arms locked around his neck. Boldly, she pressed her parted lips against his to truly taste him, and the crash of the kiss this time was a deep, entwining fusion as hands flew across one another’s backs, nails digging in against layers of fabric, seizing and releasing one another only to rake their hands up and down arms, around waists, every clutch and release beginning new breaths that dove into another kiss.
The unraveling of neckwear was the modest limit of their dishabille, but Eve took her turn with Jacob; he was just as enthusiastic, gasping at each stage as Eve untied then slid his cravat away and covered his collarbones, throat, and top of his sternum in reverent, slow kisses.
“You are…” he purred, burying his fingers in her hair, grasping her as he shuddered from the effects of her sensuous offerings, “very good at all of this. . . .”
“You inspire me,” Eve said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her forehead to his. “I never thought I could be so affected by someone as to fear I could lose myself, but in you, I regain myself. Thank you for being a safe harbor in what is a tempest within me.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Eventually they tumbled back upon the blanket, breaking apart and looking up at the tree canopy, gasping for breath, laughing, and sighing.
They took to the food and punch, cuddling close, nuzzling and gently caressing, pacing themselves from losing any more control than they already had. Setting the finished dishes in the basket, Jacob first handed over her tinted glasses, which she hooked upon the scarf she loosely retied at her throat. He then handed her an envelope.
Inside were two tickets to Carnegie Hall: the premiere of a new work by Tchaikovsky.
“My favorite modern composer!” Eve exclaimed. “Oh, Jacob, how did you know…” He pressed his lips to hers again softly then rose and held out a hand. She took it. “This has been one of the best days I’ve ever had…” she dared to say. “And it’s not even over.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “I’m so happy. And yes, I can’t say I’ve had a better one. You are my favorite company, Eve Whitby. You…” He hesitated. “You’re just the very best.” A sudden, concerned look crossed his face. “Ghosts…haven’t been watching us, have they? That…would be rude.”
Eve laughed. “They have not. They know better than to fall out of my good graces in such a manner as to be despicable voyeurs.”
He untucked the willow bough, and the door between the branches reopened.
“Wait…” Eve reached out and stopped him from stepping out onto the slope. “Ghosts may not be watching, but anyone with eyes will know what we’ve been up to.” She drew him back into the willow-branch shade, their mutual blushes making her bite her lip and giggle as she straightened his cravat then smoothed bits of willow leaf and moss off his coat.
Her fingertips took extra time putting his hair back into a semblance of order. Pausing, her fingers toyed with a silken lock. “If you ever saw me clenching my fists around you. . .” She was breathless as she took in his handsome visage. He stared at her with a dreamlike expression. “It’s only because I’ve wanted to run my hands through your gentle curls for quite some time.”
He laughed happily.
“My turn,” he said delightedly, dusting her off the same, straightening and smoothing her skirts, taking particular care to return her hairpins to a sturdy hold. As he moved behind her to tuck up a few fallen locks from the back of her coiffure, he punctuated each pin with a slow kiss on the back of her neck.
“Careful or you’ll undo me all over again,” Eve gasped, reaching up to straighten the centerpiece of obsidian and silver gifted from Antonia.
His arms enfolded her, and he dre
w her back against him. “Is that meant to be a deterrent?”
Eve had no retort, only a sigh, swaying with him and letting her head fall back onto his shoulder as their embrace lingered, arms entwined as she folded hers over his, the two of them holding on to this passion with all their strength and spirit.
When they finally exited their bower, Eve couldn’t help but notice the glances of passersby who eyed them and either smiled, smirked, or looked wistful. There must have been quite an aura around them, or their flushed faces and starry eyes gave too much away.
They were en route to a host of carriages set up at the corner of the park ready to take on fares when Eve felt the air around her grow icy. Her warm cheeks cooled as Olga and Vera suddenly manifested on either side of her, just ahead of Jacob.
“Take care, Eve,” Olga said. A Ukrainian immigrant, a spirit a few years older than Zofia who died in the same garment district fire, Olga carried only a simple echo of that tragedy on her spectral person: the hem of her simple work dress was burned. Olga was loyal and watchful though she very rarely manifested outside of a séance. “I don’t know what else to tell you, but I’ve a dread I don’t usually feel. There’s always danger in the work, just…”
“Keep a careful eye out,” Vera added, floating next to her, drawing her shawl over her bony shoulders. “I don’t know any more than Olga knows, but, Dios mio, something feels heavy.”
“I’m not going to be intimidated, certainly not today,” Eve insisted, putting a hand to the obsidian on her head, taking a deep breath and shielding. Turning to Jacob, she explained that she’d gotten a warning.
“We’re going to a concert,” Jacob said. “There’s hardly a threat in that!”
There was a line of waiting carriages, and Jacob moved quickly ahead to pay for the first one, a fine, enclosed cab with open windows and a garland across the top. The walk wasn’t far, but Jacob seemed to want to make a fine event out of the whole day and Eve didn’t stop him.
A Summoning of Souls Page 15