At five Elaine hugged the children goodbye. “Did you have fun?” she asked Jessica with the curly red hair and the button nose.
“You bet,” said the five year old. She ran to fling her arms ‘round Star’s neck and the horse bent obligingly.
Maggie stood with the small group of kids around her. “Time to go, guys,” she called. “I’ll give you a ride, Tom, if you’re ready.” The boy picked up his backpack.
Maggie gave Elaine a hug. “Thanks again,” she said. “It means such a lot to them and it’s so good for them.”
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“I hope so.”
“Of course. I can see their coordination and their confidence improve every time.”
She ushered the children into a blue minivan, checked their seat belts and swung into the driver’s seat as Tom climbed into the passenger side. “See you.” She pulled away with a wave.
“Call me,” Elaine yelled.
“Will do.”
Elaine stood for a moment watching the van disappear into the trees. So no one else could see what she saw in the mirror. Whatever it was, it was just for her.
After Maggie had left, Elaine’s thoughts were constantly on the mirror. She rushed through all the thousand and one tasks that must be attended to in caring for animals, anxious to see what the mirror would reveal next. It had started gently with her, letting her hear some faint music, then showing her the empty room.
As soon as the horses were settled she sat on the couch, willing the mirror to perform its magic. It was the solstice. It was her birthday. The moon was nearly full.
Surely one of these circumstances would help?
Her wish was granted. The shadows gathered in her room and light began to glow behind the mirror until the scene through the glass was completely illuminated. On the other side she could see the back of a clock with a winding key and a pair of candlesticks. She pinched her arm. She was definitely awake. This wasn’t a dream.
As she watched, a door opened a maid scurried in and ducked below the mirror.
Elaine assumed she was sweeping the hearth. Then the girl stretched up beside the mirror and the light increased. Extra gas fixtures had to be on either side of the glass.
Elaine stared, fascinated, scarcely daring to breathe as the first girl left and another maid, dressed in a crisp uniform, returned to set a tray of cups and an ornate teapot on a table. Barely a minute later, the family arrived. They entered the room together, talking softly, and sat for a while, chatting and listening while a young woman, presumably the daughter, took her place at the piano and began to play. The same faint melody that Elaine had thought came from the ice cream truck tinkled into the silence.
Had she heard the afternoon practice session?
The mother sewed, and the younger boy sprawled on the rug with a toy. The man smoked a cigar and read a newspaper, occasionally lifting his head to make a comment.
It was clear that the family she saw through the glass was the same one as in the old photograph. The children were younger in the mirror and the woman had no gray in her hair. The man had to undo the buttons of his waistcoat over a small, round belly, but they were the same people. Were they Mastertons? Who could give her information about the family and their lovely house that was gone, replaced by a shopping mall?
It was like watching an episode of Upstairs, Downstairs, but without the sound. Try as she might, Elaine could not make out the words or the clear notes of the music. A low 11
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murmur was her only clue when someone spoke, and a faint, harmonious tinkle accompanied the pianist.
She no longer felt amazement and awe at the fact that she could see through the mirror to this dream world. From being content to observe, to absorb the details the mirror allowed her to see, she now longed to speak to them, to ask them more about their lives.
As the daughter finished a piece of music the father stood, letting his newspaper drop in a heap beside him. He pulled out a watch and glanced at the clock on the mantel.
“Where the dickens is he tonight?” he barked. For the first time, the words were clear and Elaine started at the sound.
The woman gave an audible sigh and laid her sewing in her lap. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon, dear.”
The fair-haired boy sprang to his feet. “I can hear him. Here comes Uncle Quinn now.” He danced over to the door, arriving just as it flew open and a younger man appeared. He was tall and slim and most elegantly dressed. Even Elaine could see the difference in the quality of his clothes compared to those of the man of the house.
He caught the boy in mid-run and swung him off his feet. “Hallo there, young Edward,” he said. “Just off to bed are you?”
He tickled the child under the ribs and the boy squealed in delight. “No, no, just one story,” he pleaded. Quinn tucked Edward under one arm and turned to the adults.
“Evening, Margaret, Walter.”
The man cleared his throat and stuck his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels.
Quinn deposited Edward back on the rug and took a seat next to the woman.
“You’ll be pleased to know,” he said, “that I have had serious talks with some very interesting business acquaintances at the Cariboo Gold Company. I’ll have good news in a few days.” His voice carried the clipped consonants and long vowels of the British upper classes, softened by a pleasant burr.
“Quinn,” the woman said, a troubled frown on her face, “are you sure, dear? Will the money be safe? It’s all you have.”
“Safe as houses, don’t you fret.” He patted her hand and leaned back, stretching out splendid legs in well-cut boots, and accepted a cup of tea. “But first, this young man demanded a story. What shall it be today, young master Edward?”
The boy sat cross-legged on the rug and considered. “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,” he announced.
“Ah, an excellent choice. One of my favorites from Mister Verne.” He took a book from a shelf, sat forward and began to tell the story, never glancing at the pages open on his lap.
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Heart’s Delight
The group listened with rapt attention. Even Walter sat down again and left his newspaper where it lay. The storyteller held the stage, standing occasionally to emphasize a point, letting Elaine feast her eyes on wide shoulders and slim hips.
What was his relationship to this family? The boy had called him “uncle” and the woman had laid her hand affectionately on his arm. How wonderful it would be to have someone like that by her side once more, Elaine thought. Someone who was bright and cheerful and made her laugh in the long, dull evenings she faced alone.
Suddenly, Quinn had stopped talking and Edward was pleading for more.
“No more tonight, you young scallywag,” Quinn said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Go to your mother and let her put you to bed.”
“Promise some more tomorrow?”
“I promise.”
The woman left with the child and the others rose to bid each other good night.
Walter lowered the gaslights and came to the mirror to take a candlestick from the mantel, passing it to the young man. Quinn moved closer to the mirror as he took the light, and Elaine caught her breath. His hair was a golden brown and fell in a wave over his forehead. His jacket was of a very fine dark blue cloth, and he wore a shining white collar. A diamond pin sparkled at his neck.
He raised his head and looked straight into Elaine’s eyes through the mirror. His eyes were wide-set, fringed with thick lashes and almost as dark a blue as his jacket. His firm jaw was clean-shaven and high cheekbones gave him a lean, aesthetic look. She shrank back, convinced he could see her as well as she could him. But he gave no sign of noticing anything but his own reflection. He dusted a fleck from the lapel of his jacket and turned to follow the family from the room.
After they left, Elaine continued to gaze into the depths of the mirror. She stood on the same spot where she had sto
pped minutes before, transfixed by the strange vision.
Her heartbeat gradually slowed and she drew in a deep breath, relaxing muscles that had tensed involuntarily.
As the firelight in the fantasy room faded to a glimmer, she took a step closer to the glass. One candlestick still stood on the mantel on the other side of reality. She stretched out a hand to trace its outline on the mirror. She felt, briefly, the cool resistance of the glass and then her fingers sank through as though through mist. She touched the hard metal of the candle holder, felt its ridges and angles. As if it were fiery hot, she snatched back her hand and stared in disbelief. Not only could she see through the old mirror, but it was no longer a solid barrier between the two worlds.
For the second time that evening she squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them again, the room was gone. Her own living space was reflected in the mirror. She touched the glass. It was solid and cold under her fingertips.
But the touch of the candlestick, imaginary or not, had been freaky. It was one thing to enjoy a kind of supernatural show from a distance, telling herself it was all some 13
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quirky fault in the glass combined with a vivid imagination, but quite another to become part of it, to actually feel something from the other world.
Her head spun and she pinched her arm. “I’m awake,” she whispered.
“Lightheaded,” she scolded herself. “Daydreaming about goblins and elves. Time for something to eat.”
Although she wasn’t hungry she quickly made a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich, but all the time she sliced and buttered the bread she kept wondering if the family had reappeared, if Quinn was there, lounging elegantly, entertaining with his deep voice and dramatic gestures. What a man. She’d never seen anything quite like him, except on the stage or the screen. Her mind lingered on the curve of his leg in the slim trousers, the ripple of the muscle in his thigh as he sat and crossed one leg to rest on the other…
She flung the remaining cheese and tomatoes unwrapped onto the shelf of the refrigerator and hurried back to the couch with her bedraggled sandwich.
She stared into the mirror as if waiting for a movie to start. In a few bites, she’d finished the sandwich, but still she sat, half dreaming. She knew in her heart Quinn was real. He’d come close to the mirror. If she’d known she could touch him, would she have reached out a hand, caressed his cheek, run her fingers through his hair? Would he have traced the outline of her mouth with his fingertips, kissed her? A shiver ran through her at the imagined brush of his lips on hers, the musky scent of his clothes.
She shook her head at her reflection. “Get a grip,” she said aloud. She had plenty to do without gazing into a magical mirror on her wall and indulging in sexual fantasies.
Maggie’s talk had planted ideas in her head, combined with her emotional memories of Gramps and her own overactive imagination.
But the brief interlude with the imaginary family had only served to underline her isolation. The stillness reminded her she had no one to talk to, to share the worries, to help her plan. No matter how she might fantasize about a dream man, there was no one to share her bed. No one to touch her, caress her, kiss her, make her forget the world in a frenzy of passion.
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Chapter Two
Elaine made a final tour of the barn before she locked up. The night was clear and still warm. The late afternoon breeze had blown away the few clouds hanging over the lake. The moon was full now, and brighter than she’d seen it for a long time. It was so lovely she stood looking at it, watching the shadows on its surface, bathing in its silvery light. The temperature had dropped as the sky cleared and the sun set. She shivered in her jeans and light sweater and hurried inside.
She locked the door and picked up Maggie’s gifts from where they still lay on the kitchen table. She would drop them in the top drawer of the chest in the spare bedroom.
But upstairs her hand lingered over the toys in the open drawer. Maggie insisted they would make her feel “s-o-o much better”. She smiled as she heard her friend’s voice in her head.
Last Christmas Maggie had given her a vibrator in the shape of a penis, complete with a tiny slit and a ring at the tip. It was still in its box. She picked it up and took it out, feeling the heft and the smoothness of it in her palm. She flicked the tiny switch with her thumb and jumped, almost dropping it, as the thing came to life. She silenced it quickly and stroked the length of it with her fingertips. It even felt like skin, warm and soft.
The sight of Quinn in the mirror, even if he’d been conjured up by her own imagination, had been amazingly erotic. Did that mean she was ready to try Maggie’s remedy? Maybe, maybe not.
She closed the drawer of the chest and switched off the light, but she kept the vibrator in her hand as she went to her own room.
She lay in bed, determined to sleep, but whenever she shut her eyes columns of figures floated in the black space, whirling and spinning like leaves. When she opened them in the dark she saw the young man from the mirror. He smiled at her, his lock of hair falling across his brow, his dark blue eyes fixed on her in the bed. The room was suddenly too hot. She pushed her hair back from her damp brow and turned restlessly.
Her body felt heavy and feverish, her breasts swollen and sensitive, the nerves set on fire by the touch of her nightshirt. The sheet tangled around her and she kicked it away from her legs. She felt the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened, and a dull yearning formed low in her abdomen.
No! She sat up in bed and clicked on the light to banish the man’s seductive image.
She hugged her knees and drew a deep breath. It was very clear. She was as horny as all get-out. Aroused in a way she’d never been since Jordan died. Since his death she’d trained herself to do without sex, filling her head with her work and rolling dead tired 15
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into bed every night. But her body wasn’t buying the years of suppression any more.
The sight of Quinn had unleashed a torrent of feelings.
But why not? What was wrong with that? Jordan had been gone too long. She could hardly remember the sound of his voice anymore.
She slid back down in the disheveled bed and rolled onto her side. As if with a will of their own her hands began to move. She cupped one breast and fondled the nipple until it stood stiff and hard. Her other hand wandered down her hip and moved in toward her clenched thighs. Gently she thrust her fingers between her legs until they found the soft nub of her clit. She was already wet. The persistent circular motion eased the ache deep inside her, at the same time bringing waves of pleasure. Her legs relaxed and opened. Her fingers spread the lips of her pussy so her clit stood free.
As if an unseen hand guided her arm, she reached out for the vibrator on the night table and flicked the switch. It hummed gently in her hand as she stared at it for a long moment. The moment of decision. Wasn’t her birthday the time she expected something new to happen to her? Here goes nothing!
Sprawling back on the bed, she lifted her knees, spread her legs wide, and made a gentle, tentative pass across her exposed clit with the vibrating tip. She jumped and let out a gasp and her body begged for more, letting out creamy moisture, ready for whatever might come.
Her lips curved in a smile and she closed her eyes as she inserted the tip of the pulsating dildo. It slid deeper, warm and quivering as if it had a life of its own. It felt wonderful. Her cunt had grown tighter, narrower and the toy stretched her deliciously.
She felt the tremor as it eased into her, reaching for the special spot deep inside. When it was fully inserted she paused for a moment, enjoying the fullness, the movement, the spread of the wet lips of her pussy.
Growing bolder, she slid it in and out of her, relishing the pleasure of being filled so completely by something warm and practically alive. Pulling it out a little more, she let it brush her clit in passing, shivering with each feather touch. One hand
was now free to wander again and she fingered the swollen bud of her clit, feeling her need grow, teasing her own body, savoring every throbbing pass of the toy that seemed to find an echoing tremor in every bone. Too soon and yet not soon enough, the surging power of her orgasm took her by surprise, rending her in two with a slamming throb of clenching muscles and clamoring nerve endings.
With the last remnant of her conscious brain she switched her toy to a bare quiver and rode her storm to the very last tremor—until she lay spent and gasping.
She propped herself on her elbows and raised her groggy head, legs still spread.
The pink pleasure machine lay embedded between her thighs. Sitting up, she flicked the switch and it fell still, but continued to fill her while her own nerves and muscles trembled with aftershocks of the earthquake that had thrashed into her.
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Heart’s Delight
Something woke her out of a deep sleep. For a moment she had no idea where she was. She lay motionless, her heart beating wildly. She had left her curtains open and the moonlight was bright in the room, outlining all the shapes in a pearly light, reflecting like a beacon from the dressing table mirror. All her furniture was old, lovingly scraped and cleaned and waxed to a soft gleam. The familiar lines gradually reassured her and she pulled herself up and rested her forehead on her tented knees.
A glance at her bedside clock told her it was almost one. She’d been asleep barely an hour, but now she was wide awake.
What had she heard or dreamed that had woken her so abruptly? She listened intently, but there were no sounds now that could give her cause for alarm. Still, she knew she should check on the horses. Sometimes a raccoon managed to open a latch with its nimble fingers and slipped into the stalls, looking for food. Star was easily spooked and might need soothing.
She slid out of bed and reached for her old robe, frowning as she remembered the mirror and the man who had put such wild ideas into her head and her body. She could still feel the moisture from her arousal and the tug of reawakening desire. Surely it wasn’t something in the mirror that called her from sleep?
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