by Diana Ballew
But the sweet intoxicating scent of my beloved wife was not there.
And it never had been.
I rose up with balled fists and beat the bed, barely missing Jessamine’s face.
“Why?” I shouted. “Why did you do this to me? How in God’s name can you appear beneath my loins as my dead wife?” I rolled away and covered my face in my hands. “What are you — some evil God-damned witch?”
Glaring at me, Jessamine bolted from the bed, her feet hitting the floor with a mighty thud. “Ha! You’re angry with me?” She picked up a hairbrush and waved it at me. “It is you that beckoned her from within me.”
Had I lost my mind, gone stark raving mad like a lunatic straight from the depths of hell?
I shot up from the bed and paced the room, darting wildly, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Was it the drink? Had I imagined it? Was it possible I had just made love to Ersule?
Jessamine stuck her bottom lip out and sank into the bed. I marched straight toward her and grabbed her shoulders. “Woman, you must give me answers. I will not leave here until you do so.”
Her face twisted. “What the hell do you expect of me?”
I tried to keep the rising anger from my voice, for Jessamine appeared as bewildered as I. “I will ask you this only once again before I grow irate. What. Are. You?”
She signed. “You men. You want your cake and to eat it, too.” She swatted my hand. “I’m a Mestaclocan.”
“What? What the hell is that?”
“A Mestaclocan? I’m a Changeling. Lord, don’t you know anything?”
She tugged at her skirts, smoothing out the thin fabric, clearly irritated by my interrogation.
“I’m like you, but I alter into whatever a person most desires. I thought I was helping by giving you what you desired more than anything in the world.”
The ache inside my chest swelled. I raked my hands through my damp hair and sighed heavily. “What the hell have I done?”
Pity softened Jessamine’s dark eyes. “Look. You’ve done nothing wrong. I saw you moping at the table, looking downright miserable, if you ask me. I thought we were doing each other a favor.”
I closed my eyes so tight they throbbed as I tried to recapture the sight of Ersule lying beneath me.
God. It had been her. I know it!
I could barely form the question. “Jessamine, is it possible that part of her was here — really here?”
She sighed and patted my arm. “If that’s what you wanted, then yes, it’s possible.”
My stomach twisted in knots so taut I thought I would vomit.
“Don’t pity yourself,” Jessamine said in a wistful tone. “Imagine what it’s like for me. Only once in my life was I the woman a man most desired in his heart during the heat of passion. Only once, and it was very long ago.”
I listened to Jessamine’s words, but I barely heard what she said. I dressed and opened the door. Upon hearing voices, I pressed against the door. A young couple approached, laughing, slipping into a nearby room and shutting the door behind them.
Thankfully, they had not detected my presence. Inebriated and coarse-natured, I had no desire to speak to anyone, nor did I wish to return to the boisterous crowd downstairs. I shook my head, trying to discern whether I were utterly drunk, fiercely ill, or completely insane. All I knew was I felt empty.
I exited the building, retrieved my horse and buggy, and headed toward the hotel. Listening to the steady beat of clomping hooves echoing through the quiet street, I took solace in the calm of darkness.
Following my senses, made keener by the cocktail, I lifted my chin and inhaled deeply. Ersule’s sweet scent filled the cool air, strong as ever. Her words to me at the park reverberated inside my skull. “I see you in my dreams. … I see you in my dreams. … I see you in my dreams.”
Such torturous words from a child!
I smacked the buggy whip, urging the horse to a faster clip. I slapped again and again. I tilted my nose higher, allowing her heady fragrance to blast into my nostrils. Before I knew it, I had seized the leather reins, turned hard, and nearly flipped the buggy in my haste to make the unexpected detour.
Dizzying determination flooded my mind. Even if I were courting my own disaster, I would not be derailed from what beckoned me.
I approached the block where I knew the little girl known as Erin resided. I tethered my horse, lowered the brim of my hat, and walked quickly around the corner. I closed my eyes, letting the aroma stream into my head, begging for the answer I desperately craved. I inhaled again, still haunted by her words to me at the park.
Her scent led me to a simple, brick row home. A white rocking chair next to a potted bush adorned the small covered porch. I slowly stepped up to the darkened entrance and sat on the brick steps. I bent over and planted my face in my hands.
God help me.
What had I unleashed? All this time, I had resisted the temptation to seek Erin. But with the awakening of Ersule tonight, even if only fabricated within my tormented, drunken mind, her scent drew me in like sweet honey to a bee. I couldn’t turn back even if I wanted to.
I’m here. Now what?
I rubbed my whiskered chin and swore under my breath. Lord. I knew exactly where she laid sleeping. Only a small barrier of mortared brick separated us.
I stood, and the moment I touched my fingers to the brick wall, my hand quivered. I could feel her sleeping only feet away; hear her serene, slumbering breaths resonating like the harp of an angel. I stepped back and slammed balled fists to my ears to silence the sweet sounds, threatening my sanity.
But it was within my own head the haunting noises originated.
I marched to the side window, only feet away. Peering in, my warm breath instantly fogged the pane. I wiped the vapor with my sleeve and gazed through the glass. My chest tightened. Before me, Erin lay sleeping, tucked in her bedding surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight.
Gripping knots of guilt seized my belly. I leaned over, struggling for breath. I needed to know that my long years of waiting had meaning — had purpose. If only I had a sign. One small signal and I could wait forever. But slipping inside the bedroom of a sleeping child? Lunacy!
Facing heavenward, I closed my eyes, begging that her window would be locked tight, sealed away from my madness.
It was not.
Ever so gently, I inched the window open. I slipped one leg inside, then my head and torso, followed by the other leg. Lest she wake from the chill, I quietly closed the window.
The pale walls topped with a paisley border narrowed the moment I intruded. She was lying in a small bed among lightly-colored quilts and pastel pillows. On her night table sat a pitcher and an empty glass, along with two books, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Kinder- und Hausmärchen, authored by the Brothers Grimm.
Dear Lord, did she read German?
I sat in the corner chair staring at her beautiful sleeping form, inhaling her sweet scent. I watched as her small fingers twitched in her sleep, as her eyes moved slowly beneath soft lids framed by lashes of black lace. I stared, mesmerized by the sound of her rhythmical breathing, watching the gentle movement of her small chest rising and falling in peaceful slumber. She licked her rosy lips and rolled to her side, toward me.
My breath seized in my chest. Get out now!
I placed my hands upon the chair arm to rise — to slip out silently — when she mumbled. I froze in place, my body perched in the chair like a giant gargoyle.
“I knew it,” she murmured.
What does she know?
“I knew it,” she repeated, dreamily.
My heart hammered against my chest, and the tall ceiling closed in above my head, threatening to squeeze the life out of me. Slowly, cautiously, I rose up, tiptoed back to the window, and inched the frame open.
Light suddenly filled the small space below her shut door, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.
Christ!
I scrambled so
quickly my shoe hit the windowsill. I hurled the rest of my body through the open window and landed with a heavy thud below. I shot up to my feet and pressed my fingers to the glass to lower the window. That’s when I heard her sweet voice say, “Come back to me. Come back to me, Derek.”
Chapter Twelve
Everett, Washington
Erin entered the darkened house. The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed across the hardwood floors, making her head throb all the more. She removed her shoes and left them on the braided entry rug.
Moonlight slanted through the stained-glass window, lighting her way toward the staircase. She tiptoed up the steps. The stairway suddenly creaked, and light flooded the crack at the bottom of Maggie’s bedroom door.
Erin hurried the last steps, her stocking feet moving so fast along the polished flooring, she slid past her bedroom door. She groped for the doorknob threatening to pass her reach, darted into her room, and shut the door.
“Miss Erin?” Maggie called.
She couldn’t feign sleep. Maggie knew better. “Um, yes?”
“May I come in a moment?”
“Just a second.” Before opening the door, Erin licked the tip of her finger and tucked loose tendrils back into her tousled chignon.
“Maggie,” Erin said, holding the door open, silently cursing the heat racing to her cheeks.
The servant cocked her head, her observant eyes narrowing. “I wanted to speak with you before your father did,” she said, sidestepping Erin and entering the bedroom.
Erin shut the door and turned around to face her. “What about?”
“Mr. Frederick Dimsdale. He came here tonight looking for you, and he and your father got to talking.”
“What were they talking about this time?” She folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to subdue Maggie’s cool, measured gaze.
“I try not to meddle in your life, you know that, yes?”
Erin frowned. “Yes, but what’s the urgency —”
“What I’m trying to say is, normally I’m not one to interfere in your life.”
The back of Erin’s head pounded, and the thought of coming up with a plausible story for her father by morning, explaining her late return, made her feel like retching. “Maggie, I’m tired. I need to go to bed. Perhaps we can discuss this in the morning?”
“Dear, sit down. Mr. Dimsdale came here in a mighty huff tonight. He was abrupt with me, which isn’t like him, so I stood in the hallway and listened to his conversation with your father.”
Erin sat on the bed. “So you eavesdropped?”
Maggie pursed her lips. “Well, yes, I did. Mr. Dimsdale reeked of whiskey and Lord knows what else, and I didn’t know what to expect.”
Erin rolled her eyes. “Go on.”
“Wobbling and swaying, Mr. Dimsdale entered the house insisting I fetch your father, which I did. I heard him tell Mr. Richland that he had seen you leave in a carriage with a man. I couldn’t make out every word, but I think he knew the man’s name. I tried to hear more of the heated conversation, but your father shut the door to his study. After that, I only got bits and pieces. The last thing I heard your father say as he bid him goodbye at the door was that Mr. Dimsdale needed to ‘sleep it off,’ and your father reassured him he would indeed speak with you in the morning. I thought it fair I gave you some warning.”
Lord. Erin’s mind raced. She could handle Father’s displeasure. She’d grown accustomed to that, but Frederick’s spying on her was another matter.
“It’s not my place, Miss. I know that. I’m not your mother, God rest her lovely soul, but I do hope you know what you’re doing. Mr. Dimsdale has nothing but the best intentions —”
Erin snorted louder than she’d expected. “Best intentions? You must be joking. A man spying on a woman he claims to be fond of is not well intentioned.”
Had Erin been home when Frederick came to the house stinking drunk, demanding to speak to her father about her, she would have slapped his face beet-red. Both her father and Frederick constantly injected their old-fashioned rules into her contemporary beliefs, never once asking what she wanted in life. The ridiculous bullying was going to stop. It was time they respected her wishes, her dreams, her aspirations.
Erin’s head pounded with throbbing pain. “I appreciate your concern, Maggie. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Thank you for the warning.”
Maggie patted Erin’s arm. “I have faith in you, child.”
“I’m glad someone around here does.”
* * * *
ERIN yawned and stretched her arms over her head, welcoming the morning sun flooding the bedroom window. The cotton nightgown scraped across her nipples, still tender from the ravishing the night before.
Lord. She rubbed the throbbing bump on the back of her head, recalling the bizarre evening with Derek in more detail. The disturbing vision she had seen while in the bathtub with him had seemed so real. After the unsettling images faded minutes later, there was no way she could have brushed them aside and made love. Her clumsy fall knocking her out cold only made matters worse.
Waking in Derek’s bed with those soulful eyes of his framed with lines of concern, only confused her more, and she didn’t have the heart to press him about the name he had called out just before she hit the floor. Ersule. Somehow, she already knew the lovely name belonged to his deceased wife.
Everything about Derek intrigued her. He was different from other men — fashionable, contemporary, but wise and old-fashioned, too. A sense of fluency and ease filled the air when she was near him, a comforting familiarity that carried far beyond their physical attraction. The heated, peculiar night with him at the costume party, the sexual play in the bathtub just last night — Derek knew exactly how to please her.
Erin thought back to her intimate awakening while away at college. She had assumed her English Literature professor’s modest style of lovemaking was likely as good as it got for any woman. It wasn’t until she had made passionate love with Derek that she realized what she had been missing all along. Had the professor not disappeared from the face of the Earth, perhaps she would still be pining away for his affections, unaware that the rat was actually married with three children.
The image of Derek, stark naked, smiling, standing above her next to the bathtub, flashed through her mind. She sighed. Too bad the disturbing visions intervened when they did.
Determined to keep focused, Erin shook the image from her head and rose from bed. Voting day. So many women had worked tirelessly in the last months, gaining support from male family members and friends. Hopefully, all the effort would pay off. While dressing, she heard Frederick talking with her father downstairs.
Her stomach dropped to her toes. She rushed to the door and pinned her ear against the wood.
“Well, my boy, I do wish you luck,” her father said. “Between the two of us, we’ll put an end to this.”
“And you certainly know how much I care for her,” Frederick replied.
“I do, my boy. I’ll send Maggie upstairs to get her. I believe she’s up. I heard footsteps in her room.”
Erin quickly brushed her hair and twisted the mass into a tidy chignon. She raised her chin, pinned her mother’s cameo on her blouse, and smoothed the sleeves.
“Miss Erin?” called Maggie. “Your father and Mr. Dimsdale are downstairs. They wish to speak with you.”
“All right. Inform them I’ll be down in a moment.”
Erin brushed loose powder along her nose and cheeks, erasing the rosy hue produced by her intimate thoughts of Derek moments earlier. She smoothed her skirts and inhaled a deep cleansing breath. There was no way around it; she had just been summoned to the lion’s den.
She took slow, measured steps down the staircase and entered the bright dining room. Maggie had set out a plate of biscuits, jam, and eggs. Rather than greet the two men in the parlor, whose eyes followed her every move, she took a seat in her dining chair. If she didn’t get some food in her stomach, she’d get si
ck.
Her father marched into the dining room with Frederick on his heels. “Ah, there you are. Frederick’s here to see you.”
Frederick cleared his throat. “Good morning, Erin. I was hoping —”
“Would you men like some coffee?” Maggie asked.
“Uh, yes, thank you,” said Frederick, promptly taking a seat
in the dining chair next to Erin. Edward sat at the head of the table.
Maggie quickly returned with the coffee pot. Erin noticed the older woman’s hands trembled as she poured the steamy liquid into cups.
Erin smoothed the jam on her biscuit and took a healthy bite, followed by a sip of coffee.
“So, Erin.” Frederick scooted closer and lowered his voice. “I was thinking perhaps you and I could get away today.”
Erin frowned. “That’s impossible. I have work to do. You know it’s an important day.”
“Oh, yes, the vote. Well, your father has seen fit —”
Edward leaned forward. “What Frederick is trying to say is I have given you the day off. I think — we think — perhaps you should take some time away and go enjoy yourself for a change. You’ve been terribly busy these last days.”
There they go again. The two of them planning her day the same way they plotted her entire life. The wedge of biscuit she’d just swallowed felt heavy as a brick inside her stomach. She took a long drink of coffee, tossed the linen napkin on the table, and glared at both of them. “What do you want me to say? I’ve already told you what I’m doing today.”
“There’s no need to be sour, Erin. I took that into account. I have David monitoring the polling. I thought perhaps you could write an article, if the women get the vote, that is.”
If the women get the vote. He and Frederick would prefer women never got the right to vote. Heathens — both of them.
“You’re my employer, Father. Is that what you want — a story if women get the vote?”
Edward’s round cheeks burned red. “Well, yes, that’s what I had planned.” He waved his fingers. “But a story either way is fine.”
Frederick slid his hand over hers. “Dear, I was hoping to take you out today for a ride in my new buggy. Perhaps have a lovely dinner —”