Behind the Mask

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “If you ever hurt my husband again, I’ll stop speaking to you. I won’t even acknowledge you when I see you. I’ll pretend you’re not here.” There was a short pause. Aunt Nell’s turn, he supposed. “Don’t look at me that way; you know you were wrong. Promise me you won’t hurt him again.” She waited for an answer, then said again, “Promise!”

  John smiled as he sat up and leaned against the pillow at the headboard. His head ached, other regions ached... But his wife was willing to do battle with a ghost for him. Not bad.

  Tessa returned like a whirlwind, chemise loose and thin, dark hair wild and streaming. She was so beautiful, and caring, and she moved so quickly she made him a little dizzy.

  “I have more pillows,” she said, “and that one sheet.” She piled them all on the bed, smiled at him, sniffled again, and left the room.

  “I don’t want to see you again tonight, do you hear me?” she said, as she walked across the hall. “I’ve had just about enough of your meddling.”

  John smiled. The night wasn’t over yet, after all.

  Tessa came back into the room carrying the second lamp, slammed the door behind her, and set the lamp on the dresser, before turning to him and sniffling again. “I can’t believe she hurt you.”

  He lifted his hand, and she came to him, sitting on the edge of the bed cautiously, as if she were afraid the jostling of the bed might cause him pain.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, lifting a hand to brush away a tear from her cheek.

  “Okay.” She pursed her lips and held her breath for a moment.

  “Don’t hurt yourself not crying.”

  She let out her breath with a sob, and more tears dribbled down her perfect cheeks. “For just a second, I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m not even close to death. I just have a lump and a headache.” He lifted his hand to examine the tender bump on the back of his head, wincing when the fingers found their mark.

  Tessa leaned into him, her hand circling his head to find the evidence of Aunt Nell’s attack. John dropped his own hand so she could examine as she saw fit, barely wincing when her fingers brushed over the swelling. She leaned in so close her breasts, mostly covered by the loose chemise, were almost in his face. Such a sight did wonders for taking away the pain.

  “I want to take care of you,” Tessa whispered.

  “I’m fine.”

  “But it’s a wife’s job to care for her husband when he’s injured,” she protested.

  If this was Tessa’s idea of care—touching him with those tender hands, leaning into him, fawning over him—he hoped he got hurt more often. “Then, take care of me.”

  He lifted a hand to snag her wrist, but she slipped off the bed quickly. “Mother packed a small box filled with medical supplies,” she said, heading for the dresser. “I don’t know what’s in it, but she’s usually prepared for any emergency.”

  Tessa opened the top drawer, placed a small wooden box on the dresser top, and opened it. She drew out several bottles of medicines, examining the label of each one carefully. Bandages followed, along with a few smaller bottles of what looked to be dried herbs.

  Tessa turned with a brown bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. “This is supposed to be wonderful for a headache,” she said, smiling sweetly as she walked toward him.

  If it made her smile, he would take just about anything. Besides, the ache in his head was not getting any better, and he wanted to be clear-headed when he took that chemise off of Tessa.

  She sat on the side of the bed, opened the bottle, and poured a small amount into the spoon, being careful not to spill a drop. He opened his mouth when she offered it to him and swallowed the awful stuff without so much as making a face.

  “There now.” Tessa returned the bottle and spoon to the dresser, then came back to the bed to sit beside him. Heavens, she moved like a hummingbird. “I don’t think a bandage would do any good, since there’s no bleeding. But maybe you should lie flat,” she said, assisting him in the maneuver, fluffing the pillow behind his head, straightening the quilt, patting his cheek again.

  “Lie with me,” John instructed, and without another word, Tessa did just that. She reclined alongside his stretched-out body, burrowing in, resting her head on his bare chest, sniffling again.

  He placed his hand on her head and held her there. We’re going to have to get rid of Aunt Nell, somehow.”

  “Yes,” Tessa said softly.

  “I had hoped we could reason with her, but...” He stopped, then laughed lightly.

  Tessa lifted her head. “What?”

  “A few days ago, I didn’t believe in ghosts. Now I’m talking about reasoning with one.” He gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring.

  She returned that smile. “It has been an interesting honeymoon,” she acknowledged. “Exactly how do we go about getting rid of a ghost that doesn’t want to leave?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to summon a medium who specializes in this sort of thing,” he suggested. “I read an article in the Birmingham newspaper about some kind of a fortune-teller who travels around the country and rids houses of unwanted spirits. His name is Thorpe or Thorne or something like that.”

  “It might take a while to find and hire him,” she said skeptically.

  “Well, we’re not having much luck handling Nell ourselves,” he pointed out.

  “Tomorrow’s Halloween,” Tessa said, cocking her head to one side, fluttering her fingers over the lump on his head before returning her head to his chest, where it rested warm and cozy. “And this is the perfect opportunity. Tomorrow night is the one night of the year when the walls between the dead and the living grow thin. If ever we can communicate with her, reason with her, that’s the night.”

  He was taken aback, a little. “How do you know such things?”

  “My Grandmother Kathleen. Aunt Nell’s older sister. She’s Irish, and very superstitious. When Cecily and I were children, every Halloween she would tell us incredible tall tales about ghosts and demons. She used to tell us about Aunt Nell haunting this house, but I didn’t believe her.” She sighed. “If Grandmother Kathleen was in better health I’d send for her, in hopes that she could talk some sense into her sister. Her health isn’t good at all, and she hasn’t been able to travel for years.”

  Tessa draped her arm around his waist and held on as if that embrace would keep the demons away. “Maybe I can reason with Aunt Nell myself tomorrow. After all, she has been quite willing to attempt communication with me. Tomorrow, being Halloween and all, it should be even easier to see and speak to her.”

  His headache was gone. He didn’t know if it was the medicine or Tessa herself that chased away the pain, but in truth, he didn’t care. “I don’t want to talk about Aunt Nell any more tonight.” He raked his hand down Tessa’s back.

  “Neither do I,” she whispered.

  This was a far cry from the way she had reacted to his touch on their wedding night. Tonight she cuddled against him, and her body wasn’t rigid and cool; it was soft, yielding, and very, very warm.

  “Is she here now?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  His fingers swept across the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, holding her close. She sighed, and her entire body relaxed.

  “I want this,” she whispered. “More than I’d thought possible.”

  It was more than he had hoped for, a beautiful wife who wanted him, who cared for him, who would fight ghosts for him. He was the luckiest man alive. Except...

  “Tessa?” John whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t lift my head.”

  Her head popped up. “What?” She was no longer relaxed. “Oh, this is worse than I thought.” Her shaking fingers examined the lump.

  “What kind of medicine did you give me?” he asked.

  Her fingers stilled. “Laudanum,” she whispered.

  No wonder his head no longer ached. “I see.”

  “M
other says it works miracles,” Tessa said softly.

  “You’ve never taken it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t get headaches.”

  John drew Tessa back down to his side, while he still could. “I took it once, years ago. It works very well. It also puts me to sleep. Judging by the way I feel right now, I figure I have about two minutes before I’m out for the next twelve hours or so.”

  Tessa sighed and settled against him. At least she seemed to be disappointed. “Sorry,” she whispered, her breath soft and warm against his side.

  “Tomorrow morning, I want you to...” Suddenly his tongue was like lead; the entire length of his body was unnaturally heavy.

  “What, Johnny?” Tessa asked. “What do you want me to do tomorrow morning?”

  “Throw that damned stuff out,” he said before closing his eyes. His last conscious thought was of Tessa snuggling ever closer.

  8

  Halloween. All Hallow’s Eve.

  The Eve of All Saints’ Day.

  * * *

  It was almost noon, and John continued to sleep, but since his breathing was deep and even and his color remained good, Tessa tried not to be too terribly concerned. She did feel compelled to run up the stairs every so often to check on him, to touch his face to reassure herself that he was warm but not hot, and very lightly run her fingers over the lump on his head to make sure the swelling had truly gone down. A couple of times she’d perched there on the side of the bed, just watching him sleep. Once, she had whispered that she loved him.

  There were two possible solutions to their dilemma, the way she saw it. They could investigate the reason why Aunt Nell haunted the house and resolve her problem, if that was possible. Surely a resolution would allow Aunt Nell to finally rest in peace. But how could she manage such a task? Nell didn’t speak, and her gesturing way of communication, while somewhat effective, was unlikely to provide all the information necessary for such a complicated endeavor.

  There was another possibility, of course, one John could know nothing about. If Tessa understood correctly, Nell insisted on love first. Since the spirit knew that Tessa loved John, and that had not been enough to make her leave them in peace last night, then obviously a one-sided love was not enough.

  Nell didn’t want them to become man and wife in every way until they loved each other. It made sense, when you realized that Aunt Nell had died from a broken heart.

  Tessa loved her husband; of that she had no doubt. She knew her heart. Apparently, that was not enough for Aunt Nell. She certainly couldn’t out and out tell John what the obstacle was. If that happened, he would tell her he loved her and call it done, and she would never know if he truly loved her or if he said the words only to appease Aunt Nell.

  Tessa knew that somehow she had to make John fall madly in love with her. Preferably today.

  An apple pie cooled on the windowsill in the kitchen. It was a start, she figured. Her mother had said, more than once, that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She had insisted that her daughters learn to cook, and cook well. An apple pie couldn’t hurt matters any.

  She had chosen a particularly flattering day gown to wear when she’d dressed this morning. Her mother said this shade of violet suited her complexion, and even she could tell that the cut of the waist emphasized her figure. She didn’t think John would be shallow enough to fall in love with her because she wore a flattering dress, but again, it couldn’t hurt to look her best.

  Tonight they would dine not in the kitchen, but at the dining-room table. She had spent the morning, once she had finished with the pie, cleaning this room they had not yet done more than pass through. The table was in decent shape, once you got beyond the dust. It had polished up quite nicely. Four of the chairs were useable, and while they only needed two, it did look nice to have the chairs arranged neatly around the table. Once she gathered an autumn bouquet for the table, lit a few candles, and prepared a nice meal, she would be set for a romantic dinner for two.

  What else could she do? Smile often. John seemed to like that. She practiced while she swept out a particularly nasty corner of the dining room, smiling widely, then not so widely. She had never been one for batting her lashes, but perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Girls always looked so witless when they fluttered their lashes at a man. But some men did seem to enjoy the silly gesture, she conceded. She practiced batting, too, but the exercise turned ugly when she got a piece of dust in her eye and could not dislodge it.

  Tessa finally had to set her broom aside and give the eye her full attention. It watered, her nose ran, and she turned this way and that as she tried to dislodge the dust. She pulled down one corner of her eye and tried to dab her finger at the dust. Dust! It was surely a clod of dirt, something larger and more menacing than a mere speck of dust.

  She twirled around, the world a blur, and ran smack dab into something tall and solid. Something tall and solid and wearing a nice blue shirt and twill pants. With a disgusted sigh, she dropped her hand and blinked twice. “Good morning, Johnny.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She tilted her head back, keeping that one eye closed. “I have something in my eye.”

  He placed a warm hand on her face. “Let me see,” he said gently.

  She held her eyes open wide, while John inspected the one that watered. Heavens, it was surely red and swollen and horribly ugly. This was not exactly a romantic way to start the day.

  “Ah,” he said. “There it is. Don’t move.” His finger flicked in and out of her eye, and then he offered the tip of his little finger for her inspection. “Eyelash.”

  “Oh.” So much for batting her lashes at him. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a quick kiss she had not expected and headed for the kitchen. She followed. “How do you feel? Better? I made a pie.”

  John glanced over his shoulder as he pushed into the kitchen. “Ever drink too much whiskey and then wake up the next morning with a splitting headache?”

  “Of course not,” she said, only slightly indignant.

  He grinned at her. Good. Maybe he wasn’t too terribly hurt. “If you had, you’d know how I feel.”

  “What can I do to make you feel better?”

  He sat at the kitchen table, easing himself into the chair. “No more medicine,” he insisted.

  “Never,” Tessa said with a shake of her head.

  “Coffee,” he said. “Then maybe a piece of pie.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “I’ve been injured,” he said with a half smile. “Humor me.” He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I hope it’s apple.”

  Tessa smiled.

  John had been up an hour, and as far as Tessa could tell, he still hadn’t fallen madly in love with her. It was hard to tell, of course, because he still had such a headache.

  He sat in a chair by the door, sipping at a cup of coffee. She wanted to sit in his lap and hold that poor aching head to her breast until the pain went away. It was a part of loving him, she supposed, this need to take away his pain.

  “I haven’t seen the ballroom,” he said, as she wiped down the kitchen table where he had eaten his breakfast of pie and coffee.

  “I peeked in, once,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s pretty awful.”

  “Come on,” he said, standing slowly and offering her his hand. “Let’s have a good look. How bad can it be?”

  She gave him a wan smile.

  “That bad, huh?” he teased as he took her hand and led her to the kitchen door.

  At the back of the house, they stood at the foot of the double winding stairs and looked up. Like the rest of the house, this area had been badly neglected. The paint on the stairway was faded and peeling, and the banister was broken in a couple of places.

  “If you squint,” Tessa said, trying the method out, “the image is fuzzy, and you can imagine how it might be when everything’s been repaired.”

  “People will arrive by thi
s circular drive,” John said, turning around to look at the overgrown path. “Climb the stairs, and...”

  “And be frightened away by squirrels and ghosts,” Tessa finished.

  John took her hand again and guided her up the stairway, his gaze on the doors above. “We will invite only the bravest of souls to our extravagant parties.”

  It was possible there would never be any extravagant parties. Their future here was uncertain, and there was so much work to be done.

  And Tessa didn’t care. “We could have parties just for the two of us,” she suggested as they reached the gallery that ran along three sides of the ballroom. “Well, the three of us. You and me and Aunt Nell, to chaperone,” she teased.

  John looked down at her and growled as he let go of her hand and threw open the double doors.

  They both started coughing as dust rose and met them full in the face. But when the dust settled and the coughing stopped, they stepped inside.

  The ballroom had been built over the dining room and the kitchen. Long and wide, it didn’t really take much imagination to see it as it had been in better days, brightly lit and filled with extravagantly dressed women and finely dressed men.

  Tessa turned to John and tilted her head back so she could look him in the eye. Sun streamed through the open doors, lighting the dance floor. There were shadows beyond the sunlight, lots of dark, deep shadows, but at the moment she didn’t care.

  She offered her arms. “Dance with me?”

  John smiled as he took her in his arms and twirled her around. Once, twice, and again. They never danced far out of the sunbeams that streamed across the floor.

  Her husband was a fine dancer, even when there was no music. Was there anything he didn’t do well? Not that she had seen thus far. Oh, hoping for him to fall in love with her in one day was an impossible dream! He might like her, he might even want her... but love? She was asking for so much.

  But not too much.