Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series

by Lynette Sowell

  Kelly laid her laptop case on the bed and let her suitcase down at the corner of the four-poster bed draped with a frilly canopy. Rain drummed on the windows full force now. Kelly flung the shutters open to let pale gray light into the shadowed room.

  She moved on to the next bedroom, this one smaller and decorated for a little boy. A few turn-of-the-twentieth-century toys were arranged at the corner of a dark-patterned rug. It was as if the family had left for the weekend and were due back any moment. Kelly moved to the closet and opened the door. Little boys’ clothing hung from the rack and a faint whiff of something struck her nostrils. Not on the clothes. She leaned closer . . . smoke? But old, very old.

  Her nosy meter shot into overdrive. She’d definitely ask Mrs. Acres more about the house once she got settled in. Kelly left the room through a door that connected it to the next room.

  This was a lady’s room, elegant and dramatic in shades of crimson and gold. Captain Gray’s wife’s room, perhaps? The maple wood bed rested almost on a dais-like platform with steps. Kelly shook her head. The front room would be more for her.

  She entered the hallway again and shivered. Maybe she should see where the thermostat was. Or did the house have more than one? Not in the main hallway.

  Kelly stepped across to the other side of the hall to find a study and a seamstress’s room. The sewing room made her smile. Maybe she’d make this her sewing room as well, if the light were right.

  At the back corner of the house, opposite the captain’s room, she found a narrow staircase that led in two directions, one to the kitchen below and the other to the third floor. Her curiosity piqued, she took the creaky steps.

  Servants’ quarters, simple yet neat. Sparsely decorated with a modest fireplace at each end. An even narrower staircase led the way to the tiptop of the house, the lookout room. Kelly placed her toes on each step, barely meeting the middle of her arch. Yes, people had tinier feet one hundred fifty years ago.

  One more turn of the stairs and she emerged into a square room, no larger than four-by-four feet, framed with windows and a low bench that ran the perimeter of the space. Kelly squinted into the pouring rain outside and caught a glimpse of the harbor, blocks away and downhill from County Street.

  She could well imagine the captain’s wife climbing these stairs every day, watching to see when her husband would return. Kelly looked up at the wooden roof and at the corner trim. A few droplets of water were leaking through the roof and running along a wooden ridge. She ought to tell someone, for the sake of the building.

  She placed one knee on the bench and reached up to touch the dampness. As she did so, the bench seat wobbled. This was probably the last place in the house anyone looked at to maintain. Kelly reached for the bench seat and it slid away from the wall.

  A metal box lay lengthwise in the recessed seat. Old, very old. Kelly sucked in a deep breath as she pulled out the box, her wrist straining with the unexpected weight. She hefted it onto the edge of the bench and opened the box.

  An old leather-bound book lay inside. Someone had taken care to put this away for safekeeping. Kelly opened up the cover. Inside, the faded pages were covered with a flowing script. She needed gloves to look at this further.

  She allowed herself to sneak a read of the opening lines.

  February 1850

  Surely the Lord Himself has smiled upon me, Mary Smith Gray, that He bestows upon me such a situation! Indeed, I am exclaiming for joy. Hiram Gray is my wedded husband. A serious and devout man, but I see a spark within his silvery eyes. A woman ought not to think of nor write of such things. But here on these pages, meant for no other mortal’s eyes, I can freely share.

  Kelly closed the cover, glancing around although she was alone. Mary Gray’s diary. She returned it to the metal box. This book was important to the house. How long it had been here, she didn’t know.

  The rain cascaded down the windows in little rivers that blurred the world outside. Kelly shivered again. She needed to take the book downstairs, out of this place and into a more controlled environment.

  A flash of color at the door of the greenhouse in the back corner of the immense yard caught her eye. Tom Pereira, wearing a red shirt under a dark jacket. Hopefully, this time Mrs. Acres had told him of her arrival, and her occupation of the house.

  Kelly tucked the box under her left arm, holding the priceless cargo close to her side. Heading down was far worse than climbing up stairs meant for someone the size of a child. She managed to negotiate the stairs and soon had the box resting on her bed in the front room.

  “Hello?” a male voice called out from below. “Ms. Frost?”

  She touched her hair then descended the main staircase. “I’m here . . .” She rounded the corner of the lowest banister just as Tom entered the hallway.

  “I moved my motorcycle,” he said, water droplets falling from his hair, now starting to curl with the humidity. “If you give me your keys, I can get your car back on the parking spot and off the grass.”

  “Oh, that would be great. I didn’t want to block you in, and then it started raining.” She pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and handed them to Tom. “I assume Mrs. Acres told you I was coming.”

  He nodded. “Congratulations, I think? You’re moving into this mausoleum, then?”

  “For now.” She didn’t want to explain to him, but then, she didn’t need to. His opinion of her situation didn’t matter. He knew nothing about her.

  “I’ll make sure the first floor of the carriage house has a place for you to park, if you want.” He half smiled and for half a second didn’t look as if the world’s worries had weighed him down.

  “Don’t go to any extra trouble for me.”

  “No trouble, not at all.” He spun the keys around on one finger and left in the direction of the kitchen.

  When he wasn’t grouchy, suspecting her of being an intruder, he was pretty good-looking. Kelly followed the path he’d taken. She might as well take stock of what groceries she needed. Once she got in her work zone, she didn’t pay much attention to cooking or food. Which reminded her, she needed to gather a collection of takeout menus.

  Kelly entered the kitchen and began opening cabinets. Most were empty, save a solitary cabinet that held like-new dishes, enough for four. So her new employer had thought of that much. The vintage refrigerator wasn’t even plugged in, she discovered.

  Outside, the rain still pounded. Amidst the downpour, Kelly heard the valiant effort of her car’s engine to turn over. Car repairs weren’t in her budget. She had half her stipend now, plus the money up front for supplies.

  Kelly went to the kitchen window closest to where the drive lay outside. Tom exited her car, and as he did so, he glared at it. She didn’t blame him one bit. She moved to the back door and opened it.

  “I’m not sure what’s wrong with it. I’m just glad it made it all the way from Haverhill,” she said.

  Tom pulled one of her plastic-covered tote boxes from the backseat. “We’ll wait till the rain stops.”

  She scurried out to meet him. “You don’t have to unload my car.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t have anything else to do at the moment.” He extended the tote in her direction, and she took it from him. He held onto it, making sure she had a good grip, his fingertips brushing hers.

  A man would have to be half-dead not to have felt that electricity. Standing here in the rain, it could have been deadly. Tom tore his focus away from Kelly’s eyes and his mind from the sensation of her fingertips. A man would have to be half-blind not to notice her. Not that she stood out from a crowd, but when you let yourself take a second look . . .

  “You carry this inside,” he told Kelly. “I’ll bring the rest of the stuff in. You have more in the trunk, I assume?”

  She nodded and turned back toward the open kitchen door, leaving him to wrestle with his thoughts. Not much wrestling took place, actually. He wasn’t looking to meet someone, not really. Right now things weren’t the best
for him. It was all he could do to keep positive, and nobody wanted to be around a guy who slipped into Eeyore mode.

  He focused on the mission at hand, getting Kelly’s car emptied and her stuff unloaded in the house. As far as what was wrong with it, he’d save that for later. She didn’t look like she was in a hurry to go anywhere anytime soon. She had three bags of shoes, plus another uncovered tote with what looked like art supplies. Then a container of books. By the time Tom emptied the trunk, the rain had slowed to a patter.

  Once Tom entered the kitchen with the last load, he’d made quite a puddle on the tile floor. The water and mud stood out on the black and white. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Kelly’s gaze traveled the room. “I assume there must be cleaning supplies somewhere.”

  “They didn’t tell you anything?”

  She shook her head. “Just that I had to keep the quilt on- site and that I was welcome to stay in the house for nothing. Other than that, no.”

  “So you could drop everything and come here.”

  “This was really my only option right now . . . times have been tough. And this seemed like the answer to my prayers.” Kelly shrugged out of her jacket, not quite as soggy as his. “Anyway, I’m here now.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  “Is that a little sarcasm I hear?”

  “No, not at all. It’s a brave move. Do you have family around here?” he asked.

  Kelly shook her head. “No. No family.” She appeared to study the mud on the floor. “Guess I should get that mud cleaned up.”

  He nodded. “I should get back to the greenhouse. Our boss has more confidence in my gardening abilities than I do.”

  “What do they grow here and why, if no one visits or lives here?”

  “Rosebushes, for one thing. Over one hundred years old. And, I recently was notified they’re going to be not just maintaining the lawn, but giving it a facelift.” Tom heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He glanced at Kelly. “Someone’s here.”

  He stepped outside, with Kelly following. He held back a whistle at the sight of the black, high-end SUV now with mud on the tires. The driver killed the engine.

  A man emerged from the driver’s side of the vehicle. “Ah, so you two have met. I’m William Chandler. You must be Tom Pereira. We’ve chatted several times over the past few months. And you must be Kelly Frost, just arrived from Haverhill.”

  Kelly stepped around Tom, extending her hand. “Yes, I’m Kelly Frost. Tom was helping me unload my car.”

  Chandler nodded. “I apologize for the rather bleak reception. My—the house has been closed up for decades. No one’s lived here since the current owner was a young man, at least seventy years ago.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to staying here.”

  Chandler reached inside his jacket pocket. “Here’s a prepaid credit card for any miscellaneous items you may need during your stay.”

  “Wow, thank you.” She studied. “This will come in handy.”

  “Please, let either me or even Mr. Pereira know if there’s anything that needs work in the house.” At this, Tom snapped to attention. Indoor work now? He’d better get some kind of a raise for these extra jobs that popped up.

  “The rain doesn’t help much with the atmosphere, but it’s a beautiful house inside. It just needs a little attention and TLC, like the quilt.” Kelly smiled at Chandler, who reminded Tom of a sly fox. Matter of fact, the guy was a lawyer or something for the owner. It figured. Tom ripped his focus away from Kelly’s smile. He didn’t picture her as the kind who’d go gaga over a suit. But hey, it happened.

  “I hope you’ll find the situation here conducive to work,” said Chandler. “I tried explaining to my employer that it would probably be better to ship the quilt to your studio, but what can I say? The man’s eccentric and wouldn’t hear of it leaving the house. He has some idea of restoring the house to its glory days of his childhood.”

  “I understand. After all, he’s the one who asked for bids.” Kelly rubbed her bare arms, then shivered. “I’m going to step inside if you don’t mind. My jacket’s in there.”

  “Not at all,” said Chandler. “I need to speak to Mr. Pereira here privately for a moment.”

  “All right.” Kelly shot Tom a questioning look before taking the steps and heading inside. Tom shrugged. He’d only met Chandler once. No, twice, during his six months at Gray House.

  “Mr. Pereira, I want you to know how much Firstborn Holdings appreciates your work. My employer is giving you this.” He handed him an envelope. “Just a token of thanks. Another thing.” Chandler glanced at the door leading to the kitchen.

  “Yes?”

  “Watch Ms. Frost. Her company has a good reputation. We’ve seen samples of her work and she comes highly recommended from one of the best museums in New England. However, there were a few issues of character that gave our CEO pause.” Chandler took his own pause, just like a lawyer, for effect.

  “Issues, huh?” Tom had enough of his own . . . but “character” issues?

  “Enough said.” Chandler clapped him on the back. “Please, keep an eye on her. We’ll keep in touch.”

  5

  By nightfall, Kelly had settled into the front bedroom. A small table for two that sat in front of the pair of windows made an ideal station for her laptop. She’d never stayed in a room this nice, stale air and all. She managed to open one of the windows a crack, but air that entered was humid, so she thought better of that idea and closed the window.

  After stumbling along and finding an art deco shower in the bathroom between the master bedroom and the study, Kelly felt half-human and completely warm again in her pajamas. The rain had given her shivers for most of the afternoon. She’d checked her phone and found a Thai place that delivered, not six blocks away.

  Thankfully, Mr. Chandler had shown up with the prepaid card. She honestly hadn’t been sure about supper or anything until then. This allowed her to at least order some takeout for supper, after Tom had gone along his way.

  Weird, that his demeanor had smoothed over until he was as impassive as a brick. He’d almost seemed . . . talkative . . . until Mr. Chandler’s arrival.

  She sat down at the little table and looked out at the dark night. Lights twinkled on the waterfront, and a few stars crept out now that the clouds had blown away. The pad Thai was spicy and awakened her taste buds. She chased the noodles down with sips of diet soda. Note to self—find a place to walk or jog, or her rear end would expand with all the sitting she was going to do this summer.

  Tonight was the perfect time to discover that there was no Internet access at all, save a few unsecured connections, and she didn’t feel right accessing those.

  In the morning, after she started her preliminary work on the quilt, she’d see if her car would cooperate and head to the store to buy a wireless connection. She’d need it, both to order supplies and contact any of her colleagues who would be willing to answer her questions.

  The pad Thai had filled her up, but she didn’t feel tired just yet. The house was eerie enough by day. By night? Kelly didn’t think she could make it down to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea, were she fortunate enough to find a teapot.

  She padded on bare feet over to the metal box on the antique vanity and opened it. Before she pulled it out of the box, she donned a pair of white gloves. Then she allowed herself to carry it over to the window table. Imagine, Mary Gray’s journal had lain up there so long, forgotten, like many things had been in this old house.

  Kelly sat down, then opened up to the page where she’d been reading.

  But here on these pages, meant for no other mortal’s eyes, I can freely share.

  There were a few lines of unintelligible writing, something about having a terrible headache and calling the doctor.

  March 1850

  We are hosting a ball. I can scarcely believe that my Hiram has allowed it. He has been in such an
ill temper that he sounds almost like my father did. Men can be such foul-tempered beasts, no matter how often they go to their knees in prayer. I said as much once to Hiram, and he left a mark on my cheek. No one asked where it came from. I suppose I deserved it for speaking so. He struck me only once this week. I should be grateful and work at holding my tongue.

  Kelly shuddered and closed the journal. Poor lady, starting her journal with high hopes. A marriage to a good, upstanding man. Yet Kelly understood far too well that not all men were as they appeared. A man could claim one thing and still have another layer of truth below the one he paraded before others.

  No wonder Mr. Chandler gave her the creeps. He might as well have been Peyton Greaves, with all his luster and polish. Peyton, whose betrayal even now stung and whose kisses and lies had cost her a price she was even now paying. No sirree, Mr. Chandler. His polish didn’t fool her, not to the tips of his fancy leather shoes getting wet in the rain this afternoon.

  Kelly stood and took Mary Gray’s diary back to the metal case. Great. Now she’d probably be awake half the night, and a full day awaited her tomorrow. It was too late to call Lottie. The comfort of her voice would have helped soothe away the jumbled nerves. It would be nice to be able to call her again. Lottie didn’t know about Peyton, and Kelly planned to keep it that way. She sat back down at the window and sipped the rest of her soda.

  So Mary Gray’s husband had hit her, and Mary acted as if that were normal. He likely pretended it didn’t happen. But that was in the days long before abuse was talked about.

  Peyton had never struck her. Jenks, though, had taught her that men could have that moodiness Mary described in her diary. One minute smiling, the next making her and the other children pay for someone else’s transgression.

  No wonder she’d fallen hard for Peyton once he’d worn her guard down. Kelly sighed. Every day she prayed that the past would stay firmly in its place. People at her old church spouted the verse about all things being made new for those who are “in Christ.” It was easy enough to say things like that if you’d never had anything bad happen and if your worst disappointment was the restaurant being out of blue cheese dressing.