Foreboding rose like the tide. “What is it? Why are you looking at me that way?” she said.
“I want ya to be prepared for what you’re about to see.”
Her stomach suddenly rolled like a wave. “What am I about to see?”
Kipp swiped a hand across his mouth. “While I as waiting for ya to come down from the hill, something drew me into this room. It was like a thread pulling me straight to this portrait.”
“What portrait?”
“The one in front of me, beside you.”
“And?” Devin’s nerves rippled beneath her skin.
“And…when ya see this painting…well, it may come as a shock. I can’t quite believe it either. And I sure don’t know how to explain it.”
“Kipp, you’re talking gibberish. And you’re scaring me. Can I please look?”
As if on cue, the lamps sitting around the room shimmered to life and engulfed the parlor in light. Devin shoved Kipp out of the way and gazed at the large oil portrait. A silent scream lodged in her throat.
Her wide-eyed gaze met his and then moved back to the painting. She slid her finger across the date on the etched metal plate screwed to the frame. It read circa 1889.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “She’s the woman in white—the one I’ve been dreaming about. I could never see her face, never in the dreams and not this afternoon, But I know it’s her. She’s the one who looked down at me from the lighthouse window this afternoon. And he’s the same man. He’s wearing the shirt with the ruffle. But…how can this be? This couple…they…” The words stuck in her throat.
Kipp completed her thoughts. “It’s you and me. The couple in this portrait is the spitting image of the two of us. I have chills running down my arms.” He lifted the sleeve of his robe to show her. “I couldn’t believe it when I came in here this afternoon and saw this painting. I had to find ya. That’s why I went to the lighthouse.”
Devin couldn’t take her eyes off of the portrait. “Aside from their solemn expressions, they look so much like us. He has your dark hair and granite jawline, and even your purple eyes.”
“And she has your thick red hair, your beautiful lips, and the same freckles splattered across the nose.”
When the shock had ebbed somewhat, Devin said, “I wonder what their names are. Do you think we can find out?”
“I asked the lady at the front desk about this exhibit earlier. She told me the Monhegan Historical Society collected the paintings. Apparently all the pieces, including this one, were donated through the years by local people and stored in the basement of the Historical Society office until they finally decided to display them here at the Inn.”
“My grandmother was a member of the Historical Society for most of her life,” Devin remembered. “She used to tell me all kinds of tales about the people of Monhegan, but I don’t ever recall seeing this painting anywhere on the island. There must be a story about this couple. If the vision I saw today was a reenactment of their real lives, then they committed suicide together. This is a small island. Surely that story would have been passed down through the years. Someone knows it.”
“I was just getting to that,” Kipp said eagerly. “The lady at the front desk called the president of the Historical Society, a Mrs. Grey. She let me talk to her. Mrs. Grey told me the couple’s names. They were Kenneth Summers and Darla Freemont. He was a fisherman’s son, and she was the daughter of the lighthouse keeper. Darla’s mother was a popular local painter.”
Devin’s eyes popped open. “Kipp! Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the coincidence? KS. Kenneth Summers and Kipp Sullivan. And DF. Darla Freemont and Devin Fuller.”
“Yeah. I did notice.”
Devin could barely contain her enthusiasm. “You said Kenneth was the son of a fisherman. You’re a fisherman. That’s not a stretch, given this is Maine, but I can’t believe Darla’s father was the lighthouse keeper and her mother was a painter. My grandpa was the lighthouse keeper and my grandma was a painter!”
Kipp agreed with her. “This is too weird to simply be coincidence.”
She continued to stare at the painting. “I wonder why they committed suicide together. Such a tragedy. Did the president of the Historical Society offer any information on that?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. Legend is the families wouldn’t allow them to marry. There was a long-standing dispute between the clans. Darla was being forced to marry another man she didn’t love. Kenneth couldn’t bear to think of her with anyone but him. According to a letter the two wrote and signed on the day of their deaths, they explained how they had secretly commissioned the portrait to be painted as a symbol of their eternal love in hopes of bringing an end to the feud between their families. Then they committed suicide, choosing to remain together for all eternity.”
“Wow. True love can make people do crazy things.”
“True or not, it’s stupid to kill yourself over love,” Kipp said.
She lightly punched his arm. “I can see you’re not a romantic.”
“What do you mean?”
Her romance novelist’s mind switched into high gear. “Kenneth and Darla must have been so desperately in love that they preferred to die and spend eternity reenacting their suicide rather than be separated in life, married to other people.”
Kipp chuckled softly. “That sounds like the plot of a romance book.”
Devin beamed. “It could be,” she replied slyly. “I do know a thing or two about romance.”
His eyebrow arched. “That’s interesting. We have something else in common besides being dead ringers for a suicidal couple.”
“Do you write romance novels?” she teased. “Because that’s how I earn a living. Or, at least, I try.”
“No kidding? I don’t write, but I’ve read a few romances in my time.”
“Do tell.”
“I broke a leg one winter and was laid up for a couple of months. My mother brought over a box of books to keep me from going stir crazy. She didn’t realize she had mixed up some of her romances with the sports books. I read them and got hooked. Do ya promise to keep my secret?” His eyes gleamed devilishly.
“I promise.” She turned back to the portrait, feeling her heart contract. “I wonder if my grandma ever saw this painting. Who is the artist?”
“The signature is small, but it looks like the first initial is A.”
“A? I have a very strange feeling, Kipp.” To prove her point, she pushed up the sleeve of her robe to show him the prickles racing over her arms. She pressed her face close and squinted into the bottom right-hand corner. In tiny block print were the letters ASF.
She gasped. “ASF! Those are the same initials as my grandma. Her name was Amelia Suzanne Fuller. What do you think it means?”
Kipp plowed a hand through his dark mane. “I know it doesn’t mean your grandmother painted this portrait because ya told me she died last year. The date on this metal plate is eighteen eighty-nine. Your grandma wasn’t one hundred twenty years old, was she?”
“No. Of course not.” She leveled a gaze at him. “I hope you don’t think I’m a certifiable basket case, but I believe my grandmother led us here. These are her initials on this painting. I believe more than fate brought us together today.”
“What are ya getting at?” he asked.
“Do you believe our loved ones can speak to us from beyond the grave? Do you believe in past lives?”
“Reincarnation, you mean?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t ever think about it before. But now… It does seem hard to deny. The moment I saw ya on the pier at Boothbay Harbor, I knew I’d met ya before. It felt like I’d known ya all my life. And then, when we touched…”
She grabbed his hand. “Yes! It was the same for me. The world seemed to tilt on his axis, and I felt swept back in time. It was like I’d always known you. I remember Grandma telling me stories about spirits caught between this world and the next, and about the ones who live their lives over and
over again. I always thought they were just made-up tales to entertain me as a little girl.”
“And now, ya believe them to be more?”
“Yes, I do. Obviously, my grandma didn’t paint this portrait, but if we agree there’s such a thing as reincarnation, isn’t it possible that one of her past lives did—a woman with the same initials? Grandma always told me spirits watch over us after they’ve thrown off their physical garments and left the earthly world. I think that’s what she’s been doing. Grandma has been watching over me, and she used the woman in white to guide me to you.” Devin stepped quickly toward the lobby, pulling him along with her. “I need to speak to the president of the Historical Society. It’s very important.”
They stopped at the front desk and Kipp asked the clerk to once again ring Mrs. Grey. When she answered, Kipp reminded her of their earlier call and asked if she would mind speaking to Amelia Fuller’s granddaughter.
“I’m happy to talk with Amelia’s kin,” she said. “I remember Devin.”
Kipp placed his ear up close and listened at Devin’s side as she explained to Mrs. Grey the reason she was calling.
“The artist’s name was Annabelle Serafina Freemont,” Mrs. Grey said, “but she went by her middle name of Sera. She was Darla Freemont’s mother.”
Serafina!
Devin and Kipp gazed at each other. After she thanked Mrs. Grey for the information, the two returned to the parlor and sank into a loveseat. They fell into a companionable silence, pondering the amazing coincidences.
“Do you believe we’re Kenneth Summers and Darla Freemont reincarnated?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know how else to explain this.”
“But why did we meet now? Your grandmother passed away a year ago.”
“One year today.” Devin lowered her eyes and spoke with ragged honesty. “Grandma and I were very close. Her last words were spoken to me. She told me to follow my dreams and I’d find love. It’s been a difficult time for me this past year. My personal dreams almost came to a standstill, and I’d nearly given up on love in any shape or form. Maybe this is Grandma’s way of getting me back on track—of reminding me that love is always there, waiting for us, no matter how long it takes to reach us.” Her eyes welled.
Kipp took her hand and stroked it with his finger. “I’ve been waiting for love, too. I’m willing to do my part so that your grandma’s dreams for both of us come true.” He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist, where her pulse beat.
“How do you suggest we start?” she asked softly.
“I think we should begin by first promising each other we will never, ever go near the cliffs together.”
Devin laughed and cupped his cheek. Kipp threaded his fingers underneath her hair and caressed the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes and sighed pleasantly. “I think that’s a wonderful way to begin, but as a romance writer, I can’t help but wonder how the story will turn out in the end.” She gazed at him tentatively.
His passion-clouded gaze delved deep. When he pulled her to his chest, she felt the rhythmic drumming of his heart against hers.
“Happily ever after, of course,” he replied.
As their lips touched for the first time, a new dream replaced the other. The vision she pictured was of she and Kipp standing on the shore looking out to the sea, exchanging rings, and promising to love each other throughout all of time.
When their mouths parted, she glanced at the portrait on the wall and startled. Something about the painting was different. After a moment, she realized what it was. Darla’s mouth was no longer pressed into a thin, sad line. A smile now played upon her lips. And the fairy light of love kindled in her eyes, reflecting back at Devin.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stacey Coverstone is a multi-published author of Gothics, contemporary and historical western romance, romantic suspense, short ghost stories, and the Briony Martin Mystery Series of novellas. She lives in rural Maryland with her husband and their dogs, cats, and a paint horse named Bill. They have two grown daughters and a baby granddaughter. When she isn’t writing or spending time with her family, Stacey enjoys reading, target shooting, photography, traveling, and making scrapbooks of her adventures.
Please visit her website:
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
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Beckoning Spirit (A Romantic Paranormal Short Story) Page 3