A Fall From Grace. Mail Order Bride Western

by Brittany Dreams

  Chapter 2

  Finally through the ocean of grass, Esmaralda climbed the creaking stairs and stood on the porch. Steeling her nerve she stepped forward and grabbed the strange iron door handle and gave a mighty push. The door creaked open with a squeal of rusty hinges and a shuddering groan. She figured it hadn’t been long since someone was here last or she wouldn’t have got the stiff door to open at all.

  Despite the eerie look of the house from outside, it was almost welcoming inside. Esmaralda felt a familiar sensation rush through her blood, as if she had been here before. That was impossible. The house just reminded her of some of the old, historic buildings she had walked through over the years. New Orleans had no shortage of them.

  Esmaralda spent the better part of the afternoon exploring the rooms in the house. She counted five bedrooms then she gave up on trying to number the amount of rooms. The house was massive, likely over four or five thousand square feet. Someone had come and swept away all the debris that must have been in the house at one time and for the most part it was fairly clean. There were a number of items of old furniture covered in sheets. Esmaralda peeked at a couple, delighted with the condition they were in. She loved antiques and the house had a few great pieces.

  Aside from a never ending number of bedrooms, there was an attic loft area, a kitchen, a great ball room, a study, what looked to have been a library, and a huge front parlour. The ballroom, to Esmaralda’s delight, still contained a beautiful upright piano. It was lined with dust and the ivory keys were yellowed and cracked, but that did nothing to detract from the beauty of the woodwork.

  Pianos had always fascinated Esmaralda. She didn’t know how to play. In fact, she couldn’t play a single instrument, but she had always found herself drawn to the beauty and majesty of the instrument. She could sit for hours and listen to someone play. She had a million piano songs on her phone and on CD’s she played in the shop. She couldn’t say why, but listening to those beautiful pieces had always brought her a sense of peace.

  There were no beds in the house. Esmaralda wondered where she would sleep. That was a foolish notion, she realized. She likely wasn’t going to be able to sleep at all. The house might be warm and welcoming during the daylight but it was still abandoned and night would likely only bring out the creepiness of the place. Esmeralda had brought a flashlight, which was a good thing. The house didn’t look to be hooked up to electricity and, nor, she was dismayed to find, plumbing. There was no washroom to speak of. She had looked into the backyard and any outhouse which may have existed had long ago fallen in or was removed. She would just have to go in bushes to the side of the house.

  The house had once been beautiful. A real marvel, Esmaralda could tell. All of the rooms had crown moulding, half had wainscoting. Dusty chandeliers hung in four rooms, including a massive one in the ballroom. The kitchen was complete with an iron stove and a massive stone fireplace. The best feature of the house was the ornate marble staircase. It curved gently from the main floor up to the landing at the top. The wrought iron railing was grimy and full of cobwebs. It was discoloured in spots, but still incredibly beautiful.

  The prospect of spending the night grew more and more daunting as the day gave way to evening. Esmaralda sat on the porch, her feet dangling through a section where the railing had long ago collapsed, and watched the sunset. It painted the sky a brilliant pink, purple and orange. She dug in her purse for her phone and found it dead. Great. She had brought a charger but not one for the car. She should have figured the house wouldn’t have electricity hooked up.

  Esmaralda began to grow hungry. She had packed a bag with granola bars, chips and fruit but nothing more than that. Bugs were beginning to bite and in the distance, some animal made a howling noise. The hair on the back of Esmeralda’s arms rose, her skin prickling with dread.

  Hurrying back inside, she dug an apple out of her bag. She sat in the middle of the hardwood floor in the parlour, or whatever it was called, and ate it slowly, trying to focus on the bites, not on what was going to happen to her when night fell.

  More to distract herself than anything, Esmaralda chose a corner of the room and spread out her sleeping bag and pillow. Her skin crawled as she sat on it and watched the house darken around her. She cursed herself for not having brought any candles. She hoped that this wasn’t some kind of hidden camera prank where someone was going to come in and scare the crap out of her. Or worse, that someone had staged some kind of haunting. She could just see it happening.

  Finally after another hour of racing thoughts, Esmaralda switched off her flashlight and climbed into her sleeping bag. She needed to try and sleep. Her mind was spinning and playing tricks on her. She was only scaring herself.

  She lay staring into the darkness, listening to the creaking and cracking and shifting of the house in the wind. Trees swayed and leaves rustled nearby. Insects sang and whatever animal was out there continued to howl in the distance, the calls lonely and melodic. Despite herself, Esmaralda let the sounds lull her to sleep.

  Esmaralda dreamed of the most incredible music. It was a piano concerto, the most beautiful one she had ever heard. She sat bolt upright, her sleeping bag rustling and falling away. She started when she realized that she hadn’t dreamt the music at all. The strains of the beautiful, haunting melody floated down the hallway, filling her senses with a beautiful headiness. She felt oddly safe, despite the fact she now knew someone was in the house with her. Instead of fear, Esmaralda felt only a strange calm. The music encompassed her, compelled her, and strangely, brought an erotic thrill creeping through her body. Her nipples hardened, standing on end. A heady wave of pleasure washed through her body.

  Climbing from her makeshift bed, Esmaralda crept quietly down the hall, into the ballroom where she had seen the piano. The minute her foot entered the marble floor of the room, the music stopped. The man at the piano spun around. Esmaralda’s heart stopped beating. He had the most beautiful eyes. Grey, and otherworldly. His hair was gold, like ripened wheat in the fall. His beard, which was full and reached down past the neck of his shirt, was the same gold hue. He sat rigid, watching her, as beautiful as a stone statue.

  The man’s shoulders were broad and had the muscular look only hard physical labour could give. Though he was sitting down, Esmaralda could tell he was tall. And well built. His clothing was old fashioned, a simple white shirt with brown trousers and suspenders which only accentuated his broad, muscular chest.

  Esmaralda’s breath caught. She knew. She could sense, just by looking into those otherworldly grey eyes, he was not from her time. Yet he was real, his form solid and corporal.

  “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” The man had a soft, deep, melodic voice. As he spoke the entire room lit up, a radiance extending from his being that seemed to fill up the entire space.

  Chapter 3

  Esmaralda took a step forward, intrigued and amazed and driven by the pull of the man’s beauty. She stopped at the edge of the piano. The man turned and she glanced down at his hands, perched over the keys. Slowly she extended a finger. Her heart beat faster and faster until her hand touched his. Nothing happened. His skin was cold, ice cold. Esmaralda drew back her hand. The man smiled and glanced at her with that unnerving grey gaze.

  “Name’s Jack.” He held out his hand. She took it reluctantly, shocked again at the coldness of his touch.

  “Are you…. are you alive?” Esmaralda stammered. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she was suddenly terrified, as if whatever spell she had been under wore off.

  “You could say that… at one time or another I was.”

  Esmaralda backed away slowly. She had to get out of this house. Had to get away from this… person… or whatever he was. She knew it was someone playing a joke. It had to be. Yet when the man stood from the piano bench there was no mark in the thick layer of dust covering it. She stared at the piano, which shouldn’t have been in tune. It was old and hadn’t been used in decades.

  �
�Esmaralda, come here,” the man, Jack, said, his voice shivery, full of desire and sadness. Esmaralda felt a familiarity she shouldn’t have known, a strange desire to hold him and be held.

  All of a sudden the chandelier overhead illuminated. The sconces along the wall flickered to life. Esmeralda gasped and took another hasty step backwards. The man’s eyes turned stormy, as if he were afraid of her leaving.

  “Please Esmaralda, don’t be afraid. I’ve been waiting for you for so very long. And I know you’ve been waiting for me as well.”

  The blood in Esmaralda’s veins ran cold. What did he mean by that? How did he know her name? She hadn’t told him. Jack saw her look of panic and stepped towards her, hand outstretched.

  “Please, you have to trust me Esmaralda.”

  “Trust you! How can I trust you! I don’t even know you!”

  Jack took another step closer. His grey eyes held only peace, gentleness. Esmeralda took another step back, then another and another, until finally her back came into contact with the hard wall. Jack came closer still and Esmeralda flinched.

  “Please don’t!” She shuddered, heart pounding.

  “Don’t what?” Jack asked, voice soft and smouldering at the same time.

  “Don’t come closer to me,” Esmeralda said breathlessly. She was afraid but at the same time she was dismayed to realize a heady rush of desire ran through her body. It was Jack’s voice- so soft and sensual, and strangely familiar.

  Jack was a little more than a foot and a half from her. She could see his chest rising and falling. He was breathing. He couldn’t really be dead, a ghost, if he was breathing. He reached out and Esmeralda shrunk away, to no avail. Jack gently brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. Esmaralda looked into his eyes and they were filled with so much sorrow it hurt her to see them.

  “Please,” Jack whispered. It was Esmaralda’s undoing- his gentle plea. She reached out and took his hand, wondering at the heat that gradually spread from her own palm into his.

  “Okay,” Esmaralda whispered. “I’ll trust you.” She didn’t know why she said it but suddenly it was true. She felt strangely safe, as if Jack’s touch could keep everything in the world at bay. His hand felt so right in her own, his skin now warm, solid, calloused from hard work. It didn’t make any sense, this feeling of belonging; she had when her hand was in his own. It was as if she had been made for him, like she was suddenly complete in his presence.

  Jack gathered Esmaralda into his arms. He crushed her against his broad chest. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  She did. She shut them tightly, felt the room begin to spin. Jack’s hand was on her head, pressing her into him. She found it difficult to breathe she was becoming so dizzy. She felt, all of a sudden, like she was falling and flying all at once. Esmaralda cried out but Jack held her fast. When he finally loosened his grasp and let her step away, Esmaralda blinked. She had a hard time focusing on the room. When her vision cleared, she stared, astounded at the room around them. It had been completely transformed.

  The chandelier overhead sparkled, the piano gleamed. The floor looked to be freshly polished. The wallpaper and wainscoting and crown moulding, all of it was fresh and gleaming.

  “What… what happened?” Esmaralda asked, stunned.

  “I wanted to show you something,” Jack whispered, his voice husky. “I wanted to show you what was.”

  “What… what do you mean?” Esmaralda looked around her again, then stared down at herself in shock. She looked to be in full costume, was wearing clothing from another time. She realized she had on a corset, that it was difficult to draw a full breath. A beautiful gown of shimmering gold glimmered in the candlelight. It was the most beautiful silk she had ever seen. She touched the fabric and looked at Jack in disbelief.

  “I wanted you to have everything you could imagine. Wanted you to be splendid for this last night. You look like a queen Esmaralda.”

  “How… what have you done? Why am I dressed like this?”

  Jack smiled a huge smile that extended over his full lips and beautiful mouth. He was still wearing the same clothing as he had been before. Tight brown breaches, white cotton shirt undone at the neck. The fabric strained over his massive chest, outlined the hard muscle that lay below.

  Esmaralda closed her eyes. Strangely she saw a flash of a memory where Jack was naked, his muscular body covering hers, making love to her. She saw him that first time, so shy and eager and full of delight for the prize that was at last his. She saw him climax, heard him call out her name. Except it wasn’t her name at all.

  “Who is Sadie?” She had her answer as soon as she asked. She saw the tenderness that welled up on Jack’s face, saw the fierce love and desire steel over his features. “She was your wife, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes. Esmaralda. What else? What did she look like?”

  Esmaralda closed her eyes again. Jack stepped forward and gently touched her jaw. He was strangely warm here, as he should have been. Her insides quivered at the sensation, smouldered with a latent desire, and something more… Her eyes popped open. “Oh my god Jack. Sadie… she looked just like me.”

  Chapter 4

  “That’s right Esmaralda. I built this house for her, my beautiful Sadie. I knew her my whole life. From the time I was a child. I knew her and I grew to love her. My family wasn’t well off, but I’d see her around town with her folks. Rich as sin they were. It was the classic love story. She noticed me. I can’t say why, but she noticed me and she fell in love with me just as I had loved her. She told me something that made my head spin. Told me she had loved me for years. We were made for each other, Sadie and I.”

  “What happened?” Esmaralda whispered. She felt like she should know the answer, felt her mind opening strangely, as if she were stepping through a door into the memories of someone else.

  “I asked her father’s permission to marry her. He wasn’t going to let his angel marry a poor farmer and live in a hovel. He said no, of course. What he didn’t plan on was Sadie refusing to marry anyone else.”

  “It took you six years Jack,” Esmaralda whispered. “Six years. You went to California. You got rich in the gold rush. You came back home and I waited for you to build this house for me. My father finally relented, seeing that you could indeed provide me the life he thought I deserved. The day I married you was the happiest in my life.”

  “Oh Sadie, yes. Yes. It was a perfect day. You were the most beautiful bride.”

  “We were both so shy.” Esmaralda laughed then caught herself, realizing what she was saying. “Jack,” she stammered, fear thrumming through her veins. “Why do I remember that? Why do I feel like… like I’m living someone else’s life?”

  “Because you have, Esmaralda. And you remember now. When you died… you told me that you would find me again. It was a promise. I knew that I would wait for you my entire life, and I did. I’ve been waiting, all this time. You’re finally here.”

  Jack’s eyes shone with unshed tears. Esmaralda felt the wetness on her own cheeks. She reached up and brushed it away. None of this made sense. None of it. Yet, she couldn’t deny that she did remember. She could see Sadie’s life like it was a video playing out before her eyes. She could see those memories like they were her own.

  Esmaralda didn’t believe in past lives. She didn’t believe in sectors or hauntings or time travel. Yet, here she was. She knew she was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have lived another life, with this man. He couldn’t possibly have waited, caught between life and death, in this house, for her to return, as she had promised him.

  As the memories of Sadie came crashing over Esmaralda, so too did the woman’s emotions. Esmaralda stared at Jack, a strange love for him coursing through her veins. Her heart hammered, her body ached for his. Grief and love and hard, hot desire warred in her veins. Her Jack. He was hers. She was here at last, after a century and a half and this beautiful, sensual, golden haired man belonged to her.

  “Jack,” Esm
aralda whispered. “I want you. I want you so much. I… I love you. I’ve missed you so dreadfully. I’m sorry it took me so long…”

  “Shhh…” Jack took Esmaralda into his arms. He stroked her back lovingly, pressed her into the safety of his chest. The proximity stirred a fire inside Esmaralda’s belly. She wanted this man to take her. She ached with a terrible, unsated need. She desired his body, desired him most of all. His love had spanned two hundred years. The thought of his loneliness, his terrible grief, his awe inspiring depth of love, wreaked havoc on Esmaralda. She pulled away and peered up, her dark eyes staring into his fiery grey orbs.

  “Jack… I want you to take me. Please. Take me and teach me. I remember, I remember our first night together. Teach me what it was like Jack. Me, Esmaralda. I’m… I’m a virgin Jack.”

  “Yes, Esmaralda. Yes. Come.” He took her hand and pulled her through the house. She stared in awe at it, stunned at the grandeur and majesty of it. It had once been beautiful. Utterly breathtaking. This man, he had built this house for her as proof of his love.

  She was shocked when Jack led her out the back door, out into the yard. It was fragrant with rosebushes and flowers from two large gardens. There was a bench to sit and gaze at it. The whole thing was manicured to perfection.