Finally, on Wednesday, she had some down time. She wished she could leave early and begin placing more orders, but there was still a delivery due to arrive later that afternoon. She sighed.
Walking from room to room, she assessed what still needed to be done—which amounted to quite a bit. She ran her hands over the engraved wood of a baroque mirror waiting to be hung above one of the fireplaces. She jotted some notes about paint color, then moved to the study. “Ah, I love this room.” She straightened one of the many paintings. “It feels like an art gallery in here.” Her eyes fell on the leather journal still resting on top of a boxful of the Somers’ belongings.
Arianna frowned. She remembered what she had read before in the ancient-looking book and desperately wished to read more of this girl’s tortured thoughts. Pushing guilt aside, she picked up the journal. She didn’t care that it was wrong to read a few more pages, since she had nothing else to do while she waited for the deliveryman. This time she began reading toward the end of the book—the last of the modern penned pages. The words on the well-preserved paper unnerved her and compelled her to continue.
We are hostages here—prisoners in our own home. Not only are we held captive, but we are trapped in a foreign land and time. Will we ever be free from the cruel dominion Father has placed us under? I wish to go home.
Ari couldn’t wrap her mind around what she read, so she flipped back a few more pages.
None of us are allowed to leave our home without Father. And when he is with us, he watches our every movement. I am nineteen years of age, yet he treats me as if I am a child. I fear I shall grow old never knowing anything beyond these four walls.
“Can this possibly be real?” Ari asked herself. “Maybe someone was writing a novel—a horror story, even.” That was it; it had to be. Nothing else made sense. It started out as a journal. Someone must have found it and decided to write a story in its remaining pages.
A sharp knock at the door startled Arianna. Self-reproach nagged at her, realizing she might be invading someone’s private thoughts. Her hands shook as she closed the book and shoved it back into the box. The furniture had finally arrived. Disappointment and relief warred with each other. She shouldn’t have been reading that book, anyway, she scolded herself.
She opened the door, excited to welcome the new arrivals, when her heart began thudding in her chest. Christopher greeted her.
“Hello,” she squeaked out, hoping he couldn’t read her thoughts, which were in a severe tangle. She regained her composure. “I was expecting a furniture delivery.”
“Sorry to disappoint. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would see how things are going in the world of design.”
“Uh”—she tilted her head—“in the neighborhood?” She knew she stammered, but her nerves were again getting the best of her.
“Yes, as I think I mentioned before, this area is part of my beat.” His eyebrows drew together as though he worried he’d made a misstep by coming. “But if you’re busy, I can check in on you another time.”
“I’m not—busy, that is. In fact, I’ve been kind of bored waiting for the truck.” Her nerves began to calm. The late afternoon sun set him aglow. He looked striking and a bit intimidating in his uniform. “Please, come in.”
Christopher stepped inside, his eyes appraising the place. The study sat to the right of the foyer. Ari had left the door open when she’d answered his knock, putting the room in full view. His gaze stopped on the box containing the journal. He motioned to it. “What is that?”
“Oh, just some personal items brought over by the Somers.” Guilty heat rose to her cheeks, but he seemed genuinely interested.
“Have you looked through it?”
She bit her lip and twisted her fingers together, trying to think of how to answer. “Uh, I have to admit, I’ve been tempted to go through the entire box. After all, this family is such a mystery to me. But I only got to the book on top.” There, she said it, and she hadn’t lied. She hoped he wouldn’t arrest her for snooping.
She went on, “It reads like a journal—at least in the beginning—probably from a long-ago relative. Then, near the end, it sounds like some kind of scary novel.”
His face drained its color. What in the world? Why would he care about some old book? She glanced at him again. Either he’d recovered, or his reaction had been her imagination. “Do you want to see it?” There was no turning back now. Either he would say no, and probably think less of her for reading it, or he might find it as intriguing as she did.
He glanced at his watch. “I think I have time to do a little light reading.” His laugh sounded forced.
She exhaled, relieved he wasn’t judging her. She sat down and patted the spot next to her, inviting him to join her on the settee—so far, the only seat in the room—to read the mysterious relic.
His musky cologne made it hard for her to concentrate. She exhaled and pointed to the writing. She showed him how it began in a calligraphy-like pen. “Then, about halfway through, it changes to a modern pen.”
He was listening, but mostly he was reading, so she pushed the book toward him. He hesitated for a moment, then took it in both hands.
In the meantime, she decided to explore deeper into the box. There, she found antique knick-knacks, some unfinished embroidery work, and a framed drawing. The picture fascinated her the most—obviously a rendering of the Somers family, but completely off-center, giving it a lop-sided appearance.
“Look at this.” Ari moved back to sit by Christopher. When she glanced at him, she realized how totally engrossed he’d become in the journal, one hand pressed against his forehead. Before responding, he sat for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts. As he moved his hand down across his face, Ari caught a glimpse of his distraught expression. She wondered why he would get emotional over an old journal.
He cleared his throat and examined the drawing, acting as if nothing strange had passed. Again, a tortured look crossed his face. She didn’t know whether to ask him, or just act as if she didn’t notice anything. She opened her mouth to ask when he spoke. “Who are they?”
“It’s the Somers family. They are dressed up in old-fashioned clothing for some reason—probably a photo booth at a fair, or something. But don’t you find it odd that it is so off-center? It’s as if there should be one more person on this end.” She pointed to the side of the picture crowding the frame. “I wonder what happened. Why would they intentionally cut someone out of the picture?”
Without warning, Christopher stood, gave the journal back to her, looked at his watch mumbling something about being late for an appointment, and left.
Arianna stared at the closed door. She touched her face. For some reason, she felt as if she’d been slapped. His behavior had gone from happy warmth to stone cold.
Chapter Eleven
Christopher drove aimlessly around the uninhabited expanse beyond the Somers’—his family’s—home. He knew his abrupt departure would raise questions, but it’d been more than he could take. He felt as if his heart had been wrenched from his chest.
First, to read Sarah’s journal and realize what she and the rest of his family had been subjected to—which turned out to be worse than he’d ever imagined. His father treated them as hostages in their own home, no doubt to keep his device and their nineteenth century origins secret. Then Sarah’s pain-filled words about Father’s abuse toward the three of them. The thought sickened him. “I must help them.” He swallowed down the rising bile in his throat. “I’ve waited four years to help them, only to be invited into a house devoid of family yet haunted with Father’s presence.”
Then, as if to add insult to injury, Arianna had held up the drawing of his family, which had once rested atop the mantel of a long-forgotten home. It was all too much. He’d needed to get out of that house. His hands trembled as his anger flared. He gripped the steering wheel tighter as his frustration mounted.
He wondered what Arianna thought of the boxful of Som
ers’ mementos, and most of all, what she’d thought of his abrupt departure. She had seemed to sense his discomfort, as she couldn’t look directly at him, or he at her, but she couldn’t possibly know what kind of torture he’d experienced by going through that container of memories. He wished so badly he could tell her everything. He nearly had. She seemed different from other people in this age. Something about her put him at ease—as if he wouldn’t be judged if he were to open up to her. But no, his was a burden that had weighed heavily, and for so long now, on his shoulders alone. If I could just explain it to Arianna—to share this burden. He shook his head and let out a breath. What was he thinking? He barely knew the girl. No one with an ounce of intelligence, would believe him. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
The home itself brought back memories of England—the good times, before his father had become a drunk. The Somersets had resided on a modest but lovely estate, where Christopher grew up with kind parents. He’d attended Eton first, then studied law at Cambridge for two years before his life had unraveled. His family evicted and his education cut short, he had been forced to take a job just to keep food on the table. Thankfully, he’d been able to find work as a barrister’s clerk, which at least bore a resemblance to what he’d been training for.
In the twenty-first century he’d chosen law-enforcement as his occupation. He needed to help his family and had believed he could best accomplish his goal by becoming a police officer. He’d worked hard and passed the physical and academic tests with ease, which allowed him to become one of Colorado’s Finest.
Sometimes he had vivid dreams about his seemingly charmed life when he’d idolized his father instead of despised him. A time when his family had loved and supported each other through pleasure and pain—they’d always been there for him, and he for them. After such a dream, Christopher expected to wake up at Cambridge, happily continuing his education. But no matter how much time had passed, reality always lurked in the shadows, waiting to swallow him whole. He refused to dwell in the past. He’d decided four years ago that looking back only caused pain. Moving forward was his only option.
This balancing game he played with Ari was turning out to be more complicated than anticipated. He must have her trust to keep a foot in the door so when his parents began occupying the home, he could have access to it right away. He sensed the answers to his questions—the path to rescuing his family—were in that home. And yet, he’d just made another error by abruptly leaving. One more thing to rectify—if he could.
Chapter Twelve
The quiet solitude of the Somers’ house began driving Arianna crazy. She craved human interaction. The landscapers had been there several times, but they’d kept busy and never bothered her. She hadn’t seen Christopher since his mysterious visit a couple of weeks ago. Mr. Somers—well, he was hardly human. However, he’d emailed her to say he would be bringing his entire family today. Ari felt almost giddy with the anticipation of having someone to talk to.
She flipped through some papers, certain she’d seen the children’s names and ages listed. Oh yes, on the upstairs floorplan. Their bedrooms were labeled. Joshua was sixteen—the same age her brother had been when he died. A lump formed in her throat. She shook it off. It wouldn’t do to be teary when her guests arrived. After Joshua’s name came Sarah’s. Nineteen. Ari’s heart lightened. Surely Sarah would need a friend, being new to the area.
At ten o’clock the Somers arrived in their black Cadillac Escalade. Of course, how fitting. Mr. Somers drives a hearse—or close to it. Through the window, she watched as each family member walked up the drive. Mr. Somers entered first, his beady, black eyes darting from wall to wall like a ping-pong ball. Joshua walked in next, looking like a typical teenager. Except for his coloring, he could be a miniature of his father. Everything just a few shades lighter—his eyes; his hair. Ari wanted to introduce herself, but he sped past her, keeping pace with his dad.
Then came Mrs. Somers. And that’s who the boy got his complexion from. Arianna smiled at her. Mrs. Somers ducked her head and studied the box she carried. Her reaction shouldn’t have surprised Ari, after the way she’d acted during their first meeting. But it had. As Mrs. Somers swished by, Ari thought she had to be old-fashioned to wear skirts when she came to work at the house. Finally, a pretty, raven-haired girl walked in, also carrying a box. Sarah.
“Hi. I’m Arianna.” Ari gave the girl her brightest smile, happy to finally meet another young woman in Pueblo.
Sarah flinched, nearly dropping her box of linens. She righted herself, mumbled something indiscernible and hurried to catch up to the others.
Ari’s heart sank. Any hope she’d had of making a friend today had vanished just like that. Or, perhaps it was Mr. Somers’ presence influencing the rest of the family. She wouldn’t give up yet.
She observed as Sarah wandered from room to room. Her blue jeans and peasant blouse seemed comfortable enough, but those shoes—they looked like slippers. Heavenly. She wondered where she got them—perhaps a boutique. She would have to ask her once they were better acquainted—if they became better acquainted. Sarah’s eyes scanned every box and shelf. “May I help you?” Ari asked when nobody else was within earshot. “You look like you’ve lost something.”
Sarah dropped her gaze, as if she were hesitant to speak.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me. I just thought I could—”
Sarah cut her off with a whisper. “It’s my journal. I believe it ended up in a box that it ought not to have. As I have been unable to locate it, I thought it might be here somewhere. Have you come across anything like that?”
A chill made Ari’s blood run cold. The journal was indeed a journal. Not a novel, but a journal. Sarah’s journal. Passages from the book made her skin prickle all over again. She eyed the girl carefully for signs of abuse.
“Never mind. I’ll keep searching.” Sarah jolted Ari from her inspection and turned to leave.
“Wait. Have you checked the study? I think I saw a box with random items in there.” Arianna tried not to let on that she had not only found a journal but had also read most of it.
Sarah gave her a puzzled look, then recovered, saying, “Oh, the bookroom.” She smiled. “In England we called them bookrooms.”
Arianna let go of a nervous breath. She warmed to Sarah immediately. She had a beautiful smile. It was too bad she rarely showed it. Ari led her to the study and pointed to the box. Sarah snatched up the journal as if it were a lost treasure. Guilt pinched Ari’s conscience. She could only hope Sarah had embellished her dark writing.
“It’s beautiful,” Arianna said, as if she were seeing it for the first time. “I don’t believe I’ve seen such an exquisitely embossed leather journal before. It looks quite antique.”
Sarah beamed at the compliment, then immediately stiffened. Mr. Somers had entered the study, probably after hearing any voice other than his own. He demanded that Sarah leave the room immediately, as he needed to speak to Miss Miller. Sarah wasted no time. Clutching the journal to her chest, she quickly fled.
“You want to speak to me?” Arianna looked Mr. Somers straight in the eye. He didn’t appear to like this direct approach, as his gaze suddenly went everywhere but to her face. For a man who seemed to thrive on his powers of intimidation, he was certainly acting cowardly.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to regain his tone of authority. “I wish to enquire about the draperies.”
Arianna pulled out her notebook, found the tab marked “Window Coverings” and readied herself to answer the many questions she anticipated. He did not disappoint. Mr. Somers marched her from room to room, demanding details about every curtain, valance, shade, shutter and blind. “What color did you order for this room? How soon will they arrive?” It was as if he wanted her to give him an incorrect answer. She silently congratulated herself for not allowing him that type of satisfaction.
He hemmed and hawed over the details, but still found no cr
iticism. Last of all he asked, “Have you been successful in finding high quality products suitable for a home of this caliber?”
She wanted to ask him if anyone would actually be allowed in this home to observe the quality of its furnishings. She didn’t. Instead, she provided the credentials of each company from which she’d ordered furnishings.
Mr. Somers let out a satisfied grunt as he gave a curt nod. He turned and left the room while bellowing to his family, “Finish your dawdling and prepare to leave.”
Arianna closed her eyes and sighed. Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned against a wall as the family exited.
Mr. Somers paused before closing the door. “Miss Miller.” Ari tensed again. “Under no circumstance are you to speak to my daughter.” Arianna turned to fully face him. Sparks of anger burned in her chest. “I was only being courteous.”
“Coming here from England has been a little traumatic for my family. They need time to adjust to their new lives here.” His voice sounded calm, but Arianna could sense a fierceness bubbling beneath his cool veneer. Time to adjust? They’d been here four years. That sure seemed like ample time to adjust.
“I would think their new lives would include friends. That’s all I am trying to be to Sarah.”
“Miss Miller, listen to me carefully.” His coal black eyes locked onto hers and his face hardened into a series of rigid, hard planes. “I hired you to do a job. That is all I expect or desire from you. Please, keep your distance from the rest of my family.” No hint of a friendly admonition rang in his voice. Arianna felt the full impact of a threat.
“Never speak to my daughter again.”
Ari narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
****
Arianna awoke to her phone ringing Saturday morning. Maggie’s picture flashed on the screen.
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