She settled onto the sofa with the books she’d checked out and started reading. Two hours later, she’d decided writing a novel wasn’t an easy chore. Maybe she should start with short stories. She’d come up with an idea for a romantic suspense. Perhaps she could scale it down to the length for a novella.
Closing the book in her hand, she collected her selections and carried them to the desk. It would be dark soon. If she wanted to go for a walk, she’d better get outside now. Not being from around here, and not knowing how quickly darkness fell, she’d be wise to take a flashlight with her.
In her closet, she found a heavy sweater with an attached hood and put it on. On her way out, she stopped in the kitchen to find a flashlight and checked the batteries. Good, they worked. She zipped up the sweater and went out the back door.
Loren was anxious to see the pond up close. She stepped up into the gazebo and trod to the screen door at the back. It groaned when she opened and closed it.
As she stepped outside, a chill hit her and she pulled the hood of her sweater up on her head and tightened the drawstring. It must be colder than she’d realized. For just a moment she considered returning to the house, but ditched the idea and strode toward the small body of water.
Though autumn, the grass still held some green, but the tree leaves were turning gold and brown. It was lovely out here—a great place for family picnics, croquet games, or playing Frisbee with a dog. Of course, she might never have her own family. It was hard to adopt a baby in the US—there weren’t enough for all the couples wanting a child. Many were adopting babies from China. That may be an option for her. That fact boosted her spirits a little, and with a bounce in her walk, she headed for the pond.
She reached the pool and stared at its smooth surface—an ideal place for a toy sailboat. Of course it would have a string so it could be pulled from the water without wading in and getting wet. She’d make her child wear a life jacket while near the pond, even when attended by an adult. Things could happen so fast. Plus, how many kids minded when you said, “Don’t get in the water.”
Her laughter rustled across the water. This was a nice place. She might ask Daddy if she could buy the land and cottage from him and live here permanently. Due to his height, he hated to fly, but would do it to come visit her. She’d probably see him as often as she did living in Houston. His job kept him busy. If he didn’t slow down, the man would have a heart attack.
Loren noticed that the wind had picked up. Little waves rippled across the pond. As she watched, they grew in size. She turned to walk back to the house and suddenly the sky grew dark. From this distance she could barely make out the lights in the kitchen and it looked farther than it had when she’d stood in the gazebo.
The wind buffeted her body as she pushed against its force, trying to reach the house. With each step forward, it seemed she slid back two. Fear inched up her spine making her even colder than she already was. This was creepy. Head bent to the wind, she continued plodding, struggling against the gale, fearing that, at her slow rate of speed, she might not make it.
Just put one foot in front of the other, Loren. No! Don’t look up. Keep the top of your head against the wind. Big drops of water fell with a splat on her body to be quickly whisked away to make room for more. Soon the drops turned to a solid stream soaking her to the bone. Lord, she knew it rained a lot in England, but had no idea it was this bad or struck so suddenly.
She slid on the slick grass, falling to one knee. As she tried to get up, the other knee hit the ground. It was pitch black out now and with the beam of the flashlight, she could barely make out the house. Lights had come on upstairs making it easier to see. That was odd. Maybe Molly came back to make sure she had everything she needed in this storm.
Drenched, teeth chattering from the cold, she reached the gazebo at last. Thank you, God. She pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t give. She tried to shove her way through the screen but hit wood instead. She didn’t remember a wood door inside. Panic stricken, she tugged and yanked trying to get the door open. Finally, she raised the flashlight to peer through the screen. It wasn’t a door. Someone had nailed a large piece of ply board from the inside and the screen door had been secured. Shit! Someone had locked her out of her own garden.
She yelled. “Come let me in this instance. Hey! Hey!” Her voice whipped away in the wind. Whoever was there couldn’t hear her. Shaking, she moved away from the gazebo and felt her way along the fence until she came to one of the wrought iron sections. She searched for a place to get a foothold. Yes, it wouldn’t be easy, but she could get one.
Holding the flashlight in her mouth, she put one sneakered foot on a rung and with her left foot searched for the next one up. She could go up one more tread on the seven foot structure, but decided from this spot she could swing her other leg to the other side and find a toehold. On her first try, her foot slipped and she shrieked in terror. Finally she found a secure position and carefully brought the other leg over and climbed down.
She took the flashlight from her mouth and wiped the rain from her eyes. Yes, she was headed in the right direction. She didn’t know who the heck was inside her cottage but they were in for one hell of a surprise.
Too mad to think straight, she twisted the knob and then for show, kicked the door open. Two children screamed in fright, jumped out of their chairs and ran to the man with a fork halfway to his mouth, his brown eyes round as saucers. An older woman grabbed a rolling pin and pulled the children away from the good-looking man who’d dropped his eating utensil and shoved his chair back.
Seeing the frightened children knocked the wind out of her sails, but dammit, she was wet and freezing. She looked at the chocolate cake on the table. Well, that was the final straw. Her temper regained momentum. “Who the hell are you people and what are you doing in my cottage—sitting here making yourselves at home? And who the hell nailed the gazebo door closed?”
The man’s mouth moved but she couldn’t hear what he said. Her teeth chattered as she dribbled water on the pretty art deco tiled floor. The next thing she knew, her cheek was against the black and white floor, darkness settling over her.
*****
Carlisle, UK, September 1947
“Da, where is Mum?” Mary asked from her chair at the table.
“Yeah, Da . . . she go?” Daniel tried so hard to keep up with his sister’s vocabulary.
In an effort to distract them, Irene had cooked all the children’s favorites for dinner. They’d both answered the same questions over and over again.
“Mum went away for while. I’m not sure when she’ll be back.”
“But—” Mary turned her attention to Irene when she spoke.
“Look what I baked for you two—chocolate cake.” Irene set the beautiful creation in the center of the table. Eyes round, they clapped and yelled, “cake, cake.”
Miles grinned. That never failed to gain their attention. While Irene served the cake, he walked to the door and listened to the wind howl. The rain that had begun just a few minutes before now poured off the roof in sheets. The thought of Miriam lost somewhere out in this weather made him nauseous. He’d promised to love and cherish her always. He’d let his guard down, and now she was gone, maybe suffering and afraid. He prayed she’d found shelter.
In all his years, he didn’t believe he’d ever heard the wind make such a noise. It sounded like a lost soul wailing. “If this keeps up, at this rate we’ll be slogging through the mud for days.”
“Can’t say as I’ve ever heard the like of such a racket before. I bet the temperature has dropped ten degrees in the last thirty minutes. The stove is keeping the kitchen nice and toasty.”
She was right. They’d be snuggled under the blankets to sleep tonight. If they slept, that is.
He returned to his chair and tried to look excited about the piece of cake before him. Cutting a nice size bite, he winked at the kids. “Mmmmm, doesn’t this look yummy?”
Before he could put the
bite in his mouth, the backdoor flew open and a woman stood in the kitchen waving a flashlight. Drenched from head to toe, she wore denim pants and a hooded wool sweater that hung almost to her knees from the weight of the water it had absorbed. Her teeth rattled and her frame shook but she managed to shout. “Who the hell are you people and what are you doing in my cottage—sitting here making yourselves at home? And who the hell nailed the gazebo door shut?”
Before Miles could reply, she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
*****
He carried the woman to the sitting room and laid her on the sofa. By the time the ambulance arrived, Irene had removed the woman’s wet clothes and wrapped her in blankets. Stretched out on the sofa, she continued to shake even though Miles had lit the logs in the fireplace and the room was soon warm. The medical attendants lifted the woman onto a stretcher and carried her out of the room.
Constable Jones sat in the opposite wing chair, his eyes never leaving Miles’ face as he watched the nurses’ progress. Who on earth could she be? Better yet, where’d she come from? He and Irene knew most of the people in the surrounding area and neither had seen her before. With her lovely face, big brown eyes and mahogany colored hair, she’d be hard to forget.
The constable coughed.
Miles shook his head. “I’m sorry, would you repeat the question?”
“What were her exact words again?”
“Constable, I’ve repeated them at least three times as has Irene. I don’t know that we’re repeating them word for word, but what we’ve told you is the gist of her statement.” The man’s questioning was becoming irritating. “And neither Irene nor I have seen the woman before. We’re absolutely positive.”
“Don’t get ruffled, old boy. Just doing my job.”
Elbows on his knees, Miles dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. First Miriam disappearing and now this woman showing up. I wish I could go to sleep, wake up in the morning, and have everything back to normal.”
The constable didn’t comment, just sat there studying him. Right now Miles didn’t care what the man thought. He was tired and wanted to be left alone. If the constable wanted to take him in to the station and lock him up, that would be okay by him. But, he had the children to think of. And too, if he went to jail the mill might fire him.
“Constable Jones, if I knew anything more, I’d tell you.”
Jones got up. “All right then. I’ve posted officers outside and we’ll be combing the area again bright and early. With all this rain I doubt we’ll find out anything useful.” He put his note tablet in his uniform pocket. “We have officers contacting the area sanatoriums to see if a woman fitting your wife’s description has been brought in. I’m sorry to say, Mr. Chapeau, it doesn’t look good. In cases like this, the individual is usually found within twenty-four hours.”
Miles got to his feet and offered the constable his hand. “I appreciate your being frank with me.” Pain drummed in his head. To ease it, he used one hand to massage his temples. He knew, during the day, search parties had been combing the woods and area farms looking for Miriam, but it wasn’t enough. He should have been more careful in administering her medicine.
Constable Jones faced him. “Mr. Chapeau, you need to heed Dr. Forbes’ advice. You did all you could to keep your wife safe these past years. It’s fortunate something like this didn’t happen sooner. No one holds you to blame, and you shouldn’t either.”
“It’s good of you to say so,” said Miles. “But, if she’s not found . . . ” He cleared his throat. “It’s hard to accept.”
Miles walked him to the door. “I’d like to be kept informed on how the woman is doing.”
“Come by the station tomorrow after tea and I’ll let you know if anything has changed.”
*****
She lay on a blanket on the knoll above the pond, her head propped on a pillow, a book open on her chest. Something blocked the sunlight and she looked up. A smile rose from inside her and she dropped the book and sat up, arms open. He was here at last.
He dropped down on his knees in front of her and without speaking, traced her lips with his index finger. Eyes closed, she shivered at the delicious sensation. He leaned close and kissed her. The kiss deepened until her lips opened and he possessed her mouth, igniting that fire deep within her body. Lifting his head, he smiled. She looked up into his brown eyes and thrilled at the expression of love and tenderness she saw there. He watched her face as he caressed her breasts, thumbing them until they formed hard peaks. Moans of pleasure escaped her as she arched into his hand.
This is what she needed, what she longed for in a lover. Tenderness and trust—knowing he’d not hurt her. All women needed such a relationship in their lifetime, to be able to give of her body freely. He lifted her tee shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She unhooked her bra while he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, tossing it to join hers. He pushed her back and his eyes feasted on her as his fingers traced a path from her collarbone, between her breasts and abdomen to the buttons on her jeans. She pushed his hand aside and made fast work of wiggling out of her jeans and panties.
Frantic to feel his skin next to hers, she sat up and helped him shove his slacks off. The legs caught on his shoes and she giggled as he kicked off his lace-up shoes. She ran her hands across his chest, noting its width and the light sprinkling of brown hair. His muscles jerked in response to her caresses. She leaned forward and placed a kiss between his pectoral muscles and nuzzled him with her nose. He smelled so good, like leather, pine and man.
She lay back and held her arms out to him. He settled between her thighs. His body trembled as he slowly entered her, but she grabbed his hips and pulled him forward until he filled her. His eyes flew open and he searched hers. She curled her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. With a low groan, he moved, withdrew and plunged, again and again. She met him thrust for thrust, her muscles shaking, crying out for release.
*****
It was a dream. Loren realized that the moment she woke, but it felt so real and she was so close. She stiffened, squeezed her legs together, and shattered, the spasms rolling up and down her vagina. Her body jerked in response and she turned into her pillow to muffle her moan of pleasure. Eyes closed, she lay still. How embarrassing is that? What if someone had heard her? Talk about a dream lover. Wow!
Noise and activity intruded and her dream was forgotten. Where was she? She opened her eyes to a plain white wall. Looking closer, she saw rails on her bed. She rolled to her back and inspected the room. She was in a hospital room that reminded her of one in a 1940’s movie, stark and with only the bare necessities. She sat up in bed and looked down at the hospital gown she had on. What was she doing in a hospital? Then she remembered the wind and rain. And people in her cottage. A man, a woman, and two children. She needed to find out what the heck was going on.
She swung her feet to the floor, stood up, and swayed like a tree in the wind for just a moment. Before she could take a step, a nurse came through the door.
“Miss, you are not to get up without someone to help you.”
“But, I’m fine and I want to go home.”
“Yes, I saw how fine you were. You almost fell on your face. Here, take my arm and I’ll walk you to the loo.”
Loren studied the petite nurse in her starched white uniform, white hose and shoes. Atop her head she wore a funky cap. Did people still wear nurses’ caps? She’d only seen pictures of them in magazines and old movies. At home, the only nurses she saw wore those bright print uniforms. It was hard to tell the nurses from the aides.
Boy, the bathroom still had the old pull chain toilet, but so did the one at the cottage. There were two faucets—one delivered cold water, the other hot. She glanced at the claw foot tub to see it was also equipped with dual spigots. When she opened the door, the nurse stood guard and shuffled her back to her bed. She waited until Loren was tucked under the covers, and then smiling, patted her leg
. “You are to stay still until the doctor comes by to check you out.”
Settled under the covers, she studied her surroundings. This place was old, not just old-fashioned, yet clean and in good repair. A cough at the door startled her. A short middle-aged man in a uniform stood waiting for her to notice him before he came inside. He removed his hat, tucking it under his arm, to reveal a bald head.
“Miss, I’m Constable Jones. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
“Sure. I also have a few of my own.”
“Good. Let’s start with your name.” He sat in the chair near the bed.
“I’m Loren Fairchild—soon to be Loren Haywood again. My divorce should be final by the end of this month.”
He nodded. “You are American? How long have you been in our country?”
“I arrived a couple of months ago. My father owns a cottage—actually, it belonged to my mother—just outside Carlisle, and I’m vacationing there.”
“You say your mother owned this cottage. What year did she purchase it and what was her name?”
Loren bristled. “Why are you asking me these questions? I want to know why someone was in my home last night when I came back from a walk.”
His expression didn’t change. “We’ll get to that in a moment. Please answer my questions.”
She crossed her arms and sighed deeply. “My mother’s name was Haverty. Her mother and father bought the house in 1955 and it’s been in our family, though vacant at times, since then.”
Constable Jones cleared his throat. “I didn’t hear you clearly, what date did you say your grandparents bought the cottage?”
“It was 1955. My mother was only a few years old.”
Expression thoughtful, he nodded. “Uh huh. Yes, I see.” He wrote something down on the small tablet he’d set on one knee, and then rapidly tapped his pen against it like a drummer against a snare drum. “The man you saw at the cottage last night—had you ever seen him before?”
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