There wasn't time to jump up and run. Olivia held her breath and drew back slowly into the shadows.
"Olivia?" the voice called softly.
She was afraid to answer. She kept silent and hoped the voice and the footsteps would go away.
"Olivia," the voice said again, gently. "Don't be afraid. I know you're there. I can see you on the steps."
"Jesse? Is that you?"
He was smiling. She could hear it in his voice.
"Only me. What are you doing out here? Why aren't you inside with the others?"
He came into view then, the warm sultry breeze ruffling his hair, the long white sleeves of his shirt.
"I just got home." She felt so tired all of a sudden. Tired and empty and very much alone.
"Home? This long after dark?"
"Yes. Thanks to Skyler."
"He left you." Jesse paused for a long moment. When he spoke again, there was sympathy in his voice. "I'm so sorry."
"Why?" Olivia straightened in surprise. "There's no need for you to apologize."
Jesse's laugh was as soft as his voice. "Apologizing for Skyler is an old habit of mine."
"Then you've known him a long time?"
"A very long time. May I sit with you?"
Olivia hesitated . . . then nodded. He moved close to the stairway and gazed down at her a moment, running one hand back through his soft, thick hair. Olivia scooted over to make room for him on the step.
"And what are you doing out here instead of being with the others?" she asked him. She felt the light pressure of his arm against her shoulder as he eased down beside her, and she stole a look at his face.
There was a long pause before he spoke. Then, "Walking,"
"Walking? After dark?"
The turnaround seemed to amuse him. "I often walk late. The dark doesn't frighten me." Out in the yard shadows blurred slightly, rippling into waves of black. "But you should be inside now. After dark it's not safe out here when you're not familiar with the way things are."
"It doesn't seem to be safe anytime." Olivia sighed, and Jesse glanced at her quickly.
"Why do you say that?"
"Every time I go into the gardens I only seem to get lost." She grimaced slightly, wrapping her arms around herself. "Lost or scared."
"What do you mean?"
Olivia didn't answer right away. She remembered Jesse's interest when she'd alluded to her experience in the ballroom . . . and how silly she'd felt afterward for having said anything at all.
But this was different somehow.
What had happened to her in the cemetery today had left her deeply unsettled. She hadn't been able to outrun it or forget about it since then.
Almost like a premonition of some kind ...
"It wasn't actually the gardens," she said hesitantly. "It was in the cemetery."
"And. . . something happened to you there?" Jesse's tone was guarded. He stared off into the night, and Olivia felt his shoulders tighten ever so slightly.
She felt foolish. She started to shake her head no, to deny everything, when Jesse spoke again, gently encouraging.
"It won't surprise me, you know, whatever it is you think you saw. Or heard. I've . . ."—his voice dropped—"experienced things myself in that place."
Olivia looked up at him in surprise. "Have you? But they couldn't have been as horrible as what I heard today. Or as incredible."
Jesse's eyes settled calmly upon her face. He waited for her to go on.
"At first it sounded like thunder . . . only it wasn't storming." Olivia took a deep breath and waited for him to laugh. Glancing at his expression, she saw that
it hadn't changed, so after another moment she went on.
"But I could hear it storming—thunder and rain and lightning—so—so—ruthlessly. And it all seemed to be inside of me. All the way through. And then ..." Her voice trailed away, the memories flooding back again, full force. "Then. . . voices whispering . . . moaning. Words I couldn't understand. Muffled and out of breath, but very intense. And then someone—someone frightened—crying. Pleading."
Olivia began to rock slowly back and forth, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, her voice flat.
"It sounded like a woman. As if she knew I was outside the door. She screamed—'don't touch me'. I wanted to help her. But I couldn't."
Beside her Jesse sat very, very still.
He sat without moving for such a long time that Olivia began to wonder if he'd heard her at all.
And then, finally, he lowered his head to his chest.
"Oh, God," he murmured. "Oh, God . .."
Beside him, Olivia stared. Something soft and sorrowful stirred inside her, something she didn't understand, and she wanted to touch him, to comfort him because he seemed to be so upset. The feeling was new to her, and somehow frightening. She stopped herself from reaching out and spoke to him instead.
"Then you believe me?"
His head nodded slightly.
"And the sounds—you've heard them, too?"
"Yes," he whispered. "I'm afraid I have."
"Then what are they?" Olivia asked, leaning closer to him. "What do they mean?"
Jesse said nothing. Olivia hugged her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek against them.
"It's what my mama always said," she mumbled.
Jesse's head came up again, slowly. "What?"
"Mama." Olivia shut her eyes. "Never mind. It's nothing."
She could feel Jesse's eyes on her, and she wished she hadn't spoken. She didn't want to think about Mama right now. She didn't want to think about her life before Devereaux House. She could feel Jesse's body against her side, and it made her feel strangely protected.
"Is the cemetery haunted?" she asked him at last. "Did something tragic happen there?"
"There's always great tragedy in cemeteries," he said evasively. "Not everyone dies a peaceful death ... or lives a peaceful life."
"But I felt it," she insisted. "I felt it so strongly. And I believed it. And even though I know how crazy it sounds, I'm positive it happened." She stopped a moment, considering. "And you've felt it, too. Does everyone who comes here feel it?"
Jesse shook his head. Olivia could see his face now, and he looked noticeably disturbed.
"Not many people come to Devereaux House," he said softly.
"Then what do you think it is?" she persisted. "And why did it happen to me?"
"I'm not sure." For a moment he sounded uneasy. Then he drew in a deep breath and turned to her. "Have you told anyone else about what happened?"
"No," Olivia shook her head. "Only you—"
"Then don't," he said. "Please. It would only upset Miss Rose. And frighten Yoly. And Skyler would only use it against you."
"To scare me." Olivia nodded grimly. "Yes, I understand. I think he enjoys scaring me. In fact, I think he delights in it."
"Yes. I'm very sure of that."
Olivia thought a moment, gazing up at Jesse's profile. "You sound so tolerant."
"Do I?"
"Hasn't Skyler ever done anything to hurt you or scare you or make you angry?"
Jesse shook his head slowly and cast her a sidelong glance. "You mustn't think too harshly of Skyler .. . sometimes people can't help the things they do. Sometimes . .. they have reasons far beyond their own control."
Olivia was puzzled. "I don't understand."
"No." He smiled then, sadly, and leaned his head against the banister. "No one could, really."
Far in the distant sky, threads of clouds unraveled, showing a pallid moon. Jesse turned his head slightly so he could look at her. His hand went restlessly to the front of his shirt, and for a brief instant Olivia thought his eyes flickered with pain.
"So tell me... are you happy here?" he asked. He shifted and dropped his hand to his side. "In this house . . . with these people?"
My house, Olivia wanted to say— my grandmother, my house, I belong here, Skyler doesn't, no one else does but my grandmother and me
. . .
She hesitated. "Sometimes I'm frightened," she said truthfully, surprising herself. "Not just because of Skyler."
"Because of what you felt in the cemetery?"
"It's more than that." Olivia heard herself talking, and she didn't want to tell him, didn't want to share her thoughts and her fears with him, but she couldn't
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seem to help herself, and the words just kept coming. "I can't get away from the feeling that something's going on here that I can't see. That something's hidden here—something I don't know about."
"Old houses have many secrets. And the family is . . . unusual."
Olivia almost laughed at that. "Miss Rose seems to be the only person everyone respects. Including Skyler."
"He adores her," Jesse said simply. "We all do."
"But the house ..." Olivia thought a long moment. "And this place . . ."
"It touches you, doesn't it?" Jesse murmured. "In ways you never expected."
His perception startled her. For one panicky instant she had the feeling he could see through her, could see straight into her soul and her motives, and she watched him closely, trying to read some sort of recognition in his calm, dark eyes.
"Sometimes," he said, gazing back at her peacefully, "it's like something's a part of you. As if it's always been a part of you. Even though maybe you've never —physically—been a part of it"
Olivia felt entranced. For an endless moment she seemed to be drowning in the depths of his eyes. Then she gave herself a firm mental shake.
"You understand," she said, puzzled. "How is it that you understand so well?"
Jesse was silent. It was several moments before he spoke.
"It's this house," he murmured finally. "This house
... the family ... the past ... the future . . .
everything strung together in an endless chain. It
connects you ... it makes you feel things that nothing
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else could ever make you feel. It wraps around you. And it never lets you go."
Olivia stared at him a long time.
She felt a slight pressure against her hand and looked down to see Jesse's hand alongside.
"I'm rambling." He sounded embarrassed.
"No, please," Olivia said, and she meant it. "I like to hear you talk. You have such a nice voice."
His glance was almost shy. "I'd rather hear you talk. I can hear myself anytime."
She smiled at that. It surprised her when it came so easily to her lips, that it wasn't forced or phony or painful.
It felt nice. Natural with him.
"What was your family like?" Jesse asked. And if he saw her smile fade, if he noticed the slight stiffening of her body, he gave no indication.
Olivia thought quickly. No need to lie, really, to make up something totally outrageous—Mama was dead now, anyway, and she'd been gone from Devereaux House such a long, long time.
But she couldn't help saying, "I thought you said you already knew a lot about me."
Jesse's smile was ambiguous. "Go on," he prompted.
"Well. .." Olivia began uncomfortably, "my mama was sick a lot."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's all right. She had . . . problems."
"Taken out on you."
She looked up sharply. "How did you know?"
Again that vague smile. "I guessed."
"We didn't get along very well."
"You . . . hated her."
Olivia froze. A thousand emotions coursed through her—a thousand excuses—a thousand denials—
"Yes," she whispered.
She felt his hand again, gently against hers.
"Brothers or sisters?"
"No. Just me."
"That's very hard. Friends at school?"
"I wasn't happy there. All the kids thought Mama was crazy. They called me names and made fun of me. They never came to my house, and I was never asked to go to theirs."
"How lonely for you."
A long pause. Then, "Yes," she whispered again. Why am I telling him this — it's none of his business — why am I being so honest — why can 't I stop talking —
"Not even a make-believe friend or two?"
"No. Mama had plenty of friends. I liked being alone."
Jesse seemed to be thinking. After a while he said tentatively, "And these friends of your mother's—"
Olivia drew into herself. "I hated them, too."
"But. . ." Jesse was quiet a long time, his voice lowering even more. ". . . they didn't hate you?"
Olivia's heart raced frantically. "Why are you saying that to me?" she burst out, angry now. "What do you mean by that?"
"Olivia, wait, I—"
And suddenly—in that moment—she wanted to tell him—wanted so desperately to tell him everything—her past, her pain, her true identity and all her plans—because he seemed like he might be able to understand—understand and sympathize and forgive and love—
"I don't want to talk anymore." She stood up and the moment was gone. "I'm very tired."
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"I didn't mean to upset you. Please believe me—"
"Good night."
Olivia went quickly upstairs, trying to shut out the sound of his voice, the expression in his eyes. Hurt . . . he'd looked and sounded so hurt . . .
She stopped on the gallery and peered back down. She was horrified at what she'd done, the things she'd revealed about herself, the way she'd opened up to him, yet at the same time she wanted to go back, to tell him it was all right, that it wasn't his fault, that she was sorry . . .
He was waiting at the bottom, gazing up at her.
Behind him, near one of the columns along the gallery, a shadow slid out onto the veranda, separating itself from the night.
And even from where she stood, Olivia could see the narrow gleam of Skyler's eyes, watching her in the dark.
staring at her ghostly reflection, the changing lines and angles of her face, the deep troubled chasms of her eyes.
Even me.
She hugged herself tightly and tried not to think about the windows around her, exposing her to the vast, black night beyond. Is someone out there watching? She could still hear Skyler's voice, feel his hold on her—the panic she'd felt at his carefully controlled strength—the sure and sudden knowing that he could have done anything and she couldn't have stopped him.
She'd been mesmerized out there in the gardens with him . . . and she'd been terrified. As though in some strange way, she'd tempted the dark side of fate ... or had somehow escaped a close brush with something utterly deadly.
And then there was Jesse . . .
/ said too much, I stayed too long, why did I confide in him y why why why —
Olivia sank down on the side of the bed. She felt achy and sore from working in the cemetery, and her clothes were filthy. She searched the room to see if Yoly had brought her clean clothes, but found nothing. If only I could take a bath . . .
She knew there was a bathtub downstairs, but she hesitated to go down to use it. She didn't want to have to see Skyler again, or Jesse. She crossed to the washstand and emptied the pitcher into the large porcelain bowl. There wasn't much water, but it would have to do.
She blew out the candle and stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She took off all her clothes and tossed them near the door. Afterward
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she would hang them over the railing outside, and maybe they would air out a little by morning. It was still hot and sticky. She leaned in over the bowl and splashed tepid water over her face.
She wished she had a rag, something to scrub with. The dirt and decay of the cemetery clung to her stubbornly, burrowing into the pores of her skin. She gathered her hair at the back of her neck and ran her fingers through it, trying to coax out the tangles. She cupped her hands into the water and held them to her throat,
letting the warm flow dribble down between her breasts.
She didn't feel any cleaner, but she did feel cooler. Again she dipped water in her hands, rubbing it gently over her breasts, down her stomach, her hips and her legs. She bit her lip and pulled off the bandage on the inside of her thigh, and she wet it carefully, still feeling swollen flesh. She held out her arms to the shadows and spun slowly, round and round, until she reached the bed, and then she collapsed onto her back, legs wide apart, arms extended over her head, welcoming the brief respite from the sweltering heat.
She lay there a long time.
Mama's room . . . this was Mama's room . . . did she lie like this on this same bed . . . did she clean herself from the same washstand . .. did she hurt and hide and wonder what was waiting for her on the veranda downstairs . . . and who was here then when she was here — was there some other Jesse and some other Skyler who made her heart beat fast and her skin catch fire and something ache and yearn deep deep inside, deep enough to make her cry. . . .
Olivia arched her back slowly and rolled over on her side. From here she could see the door and all the
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windows, blank eyes on the endless night beyond. / could lock the door but it won't do any good. I could put a chair underneath the doorknob but there are windows all around and something slick and sly can slip right through the bars . . ,
She brought herself up sharply, her heart quickening in her breast. Was that a noise? Something on the gallery outside? It hadn't been a loud sound, exactly, or even a very definite one—yet Olivia had the uneasy feeling that she wasn't alone.
She listened for what seemed like forever.
Whatever the sound had been, it didn't repeat itself, and slowly her feeling faded away.
Olivia slipped into her nightgown and panties and then between the sheets, but it was too hot to stay covered. In the twilight of sleep, she thought she felt the covers sliding down and away from her . . . warm, wet air settling softly over her body. She slept fitfully, tossing and turning, in and out of nightmares. Several times she dreamed she heard voices, the voices she'd dreamed of before, whispering anxiously, close beside her. She tried to call out, to ask who was there, but one of the voices spoke to her, smooth like silk, telling her it was only a dream, so she grew quiet again and drifted deeper and deeper into sleep. From some faraway realm of subconsciousness, she imagined her nightgown floating up and around her . . . something soft gliding over her thigh . . . and then one tiny, quick sensation against her skin—not unpleasant, but wonderfully warm and soothing—so that she parted her legs and moaned and sank blissfully into the sheets.
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