Dreamscape

by Rose Anderson

  Men jumping to assist Lanie annoyed Jason. In his opinion more than one watched Lanie a little too attentively and showed a little too much overt interest, especially the young lad who connected the water pipes to her washing machine. A man would have to be dead not to find her appealing. His thoughts made him chuckle. The dead found her appealing as well.

  Seeing the red begonia planted in her Chase and Sanborn coffee can brought a smile to Ben’s face when he came in that morning. Lanie had it centered on top of a red, yellow, and white doily on the kitchen table as a center piece. After going over the atrium expenses together, she asked, “So your brother Gordon will be able to paint next week?”

  “Yep, he’s splitting the crew as a favor to me and because they don’t need everyone for the job they’re on now. When Zack comes to work on the carriage house, he’s not going to want the rest of us in the way.” Ben’s family of nine brothers, two sisters, their husbands, and their extended family, all worked together on various projects. Zack, the eldest of the lot, had taken over the contracting when their father retired. They all got along, too. The thought of Ben’s big extended family made Lanie a little wistful. Aside from her friend Lexie, who’d married Pete right out of high school, there was no one else in her life. Thirteen years later and Lanie was still alone, a fact that had Lexie regularly setting her up on dates with coworkers and Pete’s friends.

  “Great. How about the colors, do you think he’ll be able to match them?”

  “Gordon sent Lenny here today to peel some chips and do a color chart of the original paintjob by what’s visible under the layers added on through the years.”

  As if conjured out of thin air, Ben’s youngest brother Len knocked on the kitchen door frame. “Did I hear my name?”

  “There he is! I was just telling Lanie you have a good grasp of the original paint colors.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll tell ya, I’m surprised it was so colorful once.” The young man laid out a piece of heavy paper with paint chips scotch-taped on it. “Look at these, these four were on the porch spindles alone.” Pointing to bright yellow, green, a dark shade of rose, and chocolate brown, he said, “When I think Victorian, I think staid mourning colors. Not these.”

  His older brother shook his head. “Oh no, if anything the Victorian age was incredibly flamboyant. That’s why these houses were known as Painted Ladies, like dolled-up street walkers.”

  “Hmm.” Len turned to Lanie. “So, by my estimation, you have about a week’s worth of scraping and another half a week for painting out there. All those windows are gonna take some time. I’m seeing some minor repairs, too. The shutters are falling off most of the windows on the east side. Two are busted. I suppose that happened from vandals throwing their rocks.”

  Lanie nodded. She’d seen that for herself.

  “But we can take two from the back of the house and put them in front so they’ll match. There’s no real reason to have shutters behind the atrium unless you want them there. I’m thinking the atrium was added onto the house later. No one can see them there and those windows were walled over from the inside to make the wall that holds the atrium plumbing.”

  Lanie nodded. “I know the shutters you’re referring to. You’re right, if they’re used in front they’d match the others.”

  “Oh, by the way, Al asked me to tell you the atrium fountain works just fine.”

  Lanie smiled. “Great.” Here for the better part of a month, she had yet to enter the atrium and was really looking forward to it.

  The several species of the exotic plantings she’d lost to the Pennsylvania winters had been replanted, as had a large section of the moss bed. Despite the fact everything had long gone wild, most of the native trees and plantings were going to be just fine. Just as Ben suggested would be the case, enough windows had been broken at the top to allow for adequate rain through the years. It made her so happy to hear it. Just yesterday Ben had flushed the place with growth hormone again, and just like the last time his warning was right on the mark. It did stink. Stinky or not, the first flushing had done just what’s he’d hoped. The old growth responded with new, and his new plantings and creative prunings were already beginning to fill in the gaps. His advice was if she wanted to see it at its best, she should give it another month. There was much yet to do, but she was fine waiting. The three talked atrium and schedules for a while then all went back to work. Lanie knew Ben to be a perfectionist so if he was happy with how things were coming along, it was all good.

  Jason sat near, waiting for the day to end, waiting for his beautiful housemate to undress that he might lie beside her and immerse himself in her warmth.

  * * * *

  Closing her eyes, Lanie settled back in the steaming water, thinking what a shame it was that modern houses didn’t have claw foot tubs. Being able to take a hot soaking bath in a chest-deep tub was a marvelous luxury, especially after a day of bending and lifting.

  “Good god, what a day, I’m exhausted.” Lanie groaned to the empty room.

  Jason sat on the edge of the tub quietly watching Lanie bathe. Such beautiful breasts. The hot water had pinkened her skin. It also softened her nipples and caused her areolas to plump up so delectably. He wanted in the worst way to draw those succulent tips into his mouth and feel the soft pink flesh firm under his tongue. He’d made a decision not to show himself just yet. He had time. It wasn’t as if he were going anywhere. He’d shared the house with Margaret for seventy-four years before he showed himself. Seeing her disbelief as he disappeared from the end of her bed the night of the storm, he had the distinct impression she dismissed what she’d seen. Perhaps she thought him a fragment of a dream or a trick of flashing lightning.

  He wanted her to know he was real and not a figment of her imagination. But you never knew how one might react to the dead haunting a place. She might leave never to return, and he didn’t want that to happen. No, not at all.

  Yawning, she left her bath and lightly toweled off. With the night being too warm to be covered, she lay down on top of the sheets. Within minutes she was sound asleep. As he had for the past three weeks, Jason stretched out beside her, his head propped on his elbow alongside hers on the pillow. He found himself wondering what she dreamed of. Some nights he’d see her delicate brows furrow or the corners of her sweet, rose-tinted lips would turn in a smile. A thought came to him then, and he wondered, If I can influence her unconscious mind when she’s fatigued, could I influence her mind while she sleeps? Could he witness her dream if he tried?

  Resisting the overpowering urge to touch her again, he closed his eyes instead and whispered, “Dream of me, sweetheart. Show me where to go each night.” And, just as he projected himself from room to room, the energy of his spirit plied her synapses…and to his complete and utter surprise, he fell into her dream.

  Chapter 6

  Lanie instantly recognized the stately mansion the moment she stepped from the carriage. It was as beautiful as she’d remembered it as a child. Her father often took her along on his business meetings, but that was before the war and he had time to visit with his friendly investors. He’d taken her here once long ago. She couldn’t have been more than five or six at the time but remembered thinking it so pretty. From that first visit, the house played a large role in her make-believe. Her childish imaginings had her living here while she took care of all of her dolls exactly as she imagined the famous war nurses Clara Barton and Dorothea Dix might. She turned the bell key at the front door twice, and the housekeeper answered, “Can I help you, miss?”

  “Yes, please, I’m here to see Mr. Jason Bowen. I sent a telegram ahead of my arrival. Is Mr. Bowen at home?”

  The housekeeper pulled the Western Union missive from her pocket. “Yes, it arrived an hour ago. But I’m sorry, miss. Dr. Bowen went on his rounds. I’ve yet to give it to him.” Tucking the telegram away, she opened her watch locket. “I expect he’ll be along any time now, as the dinner hour is nearing. He rarely misses dinner unless he’s deli
vering a baby or easing a passing.” She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Would you care to wait inside?”

  “It’s such a lovely day. Might I wait in the gazebo? From what little I see from here, the grounds here are extraordinarily beautiful.” It had been an absolutely grueling day, and she was both tired and hungry. It would be nice to rest in the shade.

  “It is a lovely place to wait. Dr. Bowen is as fond of flowers as his mother was, Lord bless her dear soul. He keeps her gardens cared for.” The fond memory made the housekeeper smile. “When he arrives, I’ll let him know where to find you. How about I bring you a nice lemonade while you wait?”

  That sounded so good, but she didn’t know this town. She had a long way yet to go, and it was better to avoid the privy if she could. The small confines of public outhouses were next to impossible to turn around in with skirts, and she didn’t think it wise to leave her two valises and doctor’s bag unattended on the other side of the door. She forced her thirst down where she’d held it all morning and replied gratefully, “Thank you no. I’m fine.”

  The housekeeper eyed her, “Excuse me for saying it, miss, but you look fairly parched. I’ll tell you what, I’ll bring it anyway and you can decide at your leisure.”

  “Thank you.” Lanie gave her a wide smile then turned and headed to the large formal garden at the side of the house. Needing to see to all manner of legalities, she’d literally been all over town today having completely missed the fact the Fourth of July celebrations were to take place on Saturday and the streets were jam-packed with preparations for the ensuing parade and festivities. Anticipating at least a week’s stay in this town because there was just so much to be seen to, she’d sent a telegram on to her father’s foreman asking him to book a room and enough meals for her stay at a rooming house. He chose the O’Hara Inn because it ‘had the cleanest rooms and best fare in town’. To her great disappointment, it hadn’t been possible to check her bags when she got off the train, and she had to wonder why Mr. Paxton would book her stay at an inn so far from the depot, the mill and everything she needed to attend to. After meeting the man, she had the impression that was exactly the reason he’d chosen it for her.

  Lanie lugged her bags down the cobbled path, her arms aching from toting them here and there. She’d tried to pack light for the week, but they were heavy nonetheless. Her ankles began to throb the moment she sat down, so she set her bags before her and put her feet up. Loosening her hot collar and removing her straw bonnet, she resisted the urge to plunge her feet in the nearby fountain. Lulled into relaxation by the dappled sunlight and mumbling bumblebees, she rested her head on her arm intending to close her eyes for only a minute.

  * * * *

  Afraid to find the doorknob would have no more substance than he, Jason flexed his fingers before touching the front door. That it opened thrilled him beyond belief. He hadn’t been able to leave the house since he found himself attending his own memorial service, as contrived an event as it had been. Standing on the wraparound porch, he took in the sights and sounds of the world in which he had lived. The detail of her dream was simply amazing. He could even smell his mother’s flowers and hear the hummingbirds and bumblebees. A ding-dong-ding caught his attention, and he turned to see the ragman’s cart slowly rolling down the street. The waving man called, “Good afternoon, Doctor Bowen.”

  The name came instantly to his mind. “How are you, Mr. Singer?”

  “That boil you lanced is gone as you said it would be. I can’t thank you enough, Doctor.”

  As if it occurred yesterday, Jason suddenly remembered the nasty, plum-sized abscess he’d lanced and drained a hundred and twenty-three years before. “Glad to hear it.”

  Heading toward the gazebo where Addy suggested he go to see the woman who’d come to call, he found Lanie there exactly where his housekeeper said she be, sitting on the bench asleep and leaning upon her arm. He took the moment to drink in the sight of her, unable to decide if she were prettier in his time or in hers. Her time left nothing to the imagination, her rounded curves, her shapely legs covered by trousers that were so tight they looked to be painted on. In his time she was a mystery, one that beckoned a man to unravel. He wondered about the heavy looking valises sitting at her feet and noticed her scuffed shoes. She’d obviously been out walking today, and he could only imagine where her dream had taken her. He braced his arms upon the rail and leaned close to whisper for her ears alone, “Wake up, lovely lady.”

  “Oh!” she said, startled, her cornflower blue eyes large. “I’m sorry, I must have drifted off.” She hastily buttoned her collar. “Dr. Bowen, I presume?”

  He smiled. “Jason Bowen at your service, ma’am. I’m told I have a visitor and I find you. How may I help you, Miss…?”

  “Elaine O’Keefe. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” She held out her hand, which he took and bowed over.

  “Miss Elaine O’Keefe. Elaine, do friends perhaps call you Lanie? May I as well?”

  How he came to guess her less formal moniker she couldn’t say, but the question left her mind the instant he smiled.

  “Why…yes, yes of course.” He was nicely made, tall and broad-shouldered with beautiful amber-colored eyes and soft-looking dark brown hair. His features were extremely pleasant and startlingly familiar. How incredibly handsome you are.

  His smile widened. “Then you shall call me Jason.”

  The smile lit his eyes and made him more handsome if that were possible. Her cheeks warming, she returned it. “Jason.”

  Jason’s heart tripped. Seeing her smile at people nearly every day was nothing compared to having that loveliness directed at him.

  Taking a seat across from her with his forearms on his knees, he leaned forward with interest. “So how may I be of service, Lanie?”

  “My father has passed away…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. He’s died and left me properties, two businesses, a textile factory, and a small millinery shop. The clothing shop also sells the textiles you see, mostly ribbons and broadcloth—”

  He said suddenly, “Your father was James O’Keefe.” Yes, he could see the resemblance around her eyes. That he suddenly knew her in this past life surprised him. No sooner had the thought appeared in his mind when he remembered as a boy he’d once met a pretty black-haired, blue-eyed girl. James O’Keefe’s daughter, Lanie. It had been a year or so before his father went to war. There were too many coincidences where Lanie was concerned. There had to be a reason she’d walked into his world.

  “Yes. And you are one of his major investors.”

  He couldn’t fathom what significance this unusual turn of events held. His mind raced. “Indeed I am. I inherited all my holdings from my father, also deceased this past March.”

  Lanie could see the grief in his eyes, and for some reason it felt as heavy as her own. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult to lose one’s parent.”

  Her genuine sympathy touched Jason. “Thank you.” He’d been close with both parents. His mother had died in childbirth when he was eleven and his father never remarried, having determined he’d never find a love like that again so why bother searching for it. The man had built this house for his wife, and she’d filled it with love and flowers. Jason thought marrying Cathy would bring him the same. How wrong he’d been.

  “You see, Dr. Bowen, as the…”

  “Jason.”

  She smiled again. “Jason. As the largest share holder, I was hoping you might be interested in…”

  “Jason! Where are you?” An impatient voice called from the courtyard on the other side of the hedges.

  “I’m here, Cathy. We have a guest.” How had this traitorous creature managed to come into Lanie’s dream?

  The pretty blonde rounded the corner and walked toward them. “Hello, and who might you be?” she asked Lanie with obvious suspicion in her tone though she smiled prettily.

  “My dear, this is Miss Elaine O’Keefe. Her father once owned th
e textiles mill I hold shares in. Miss O’Keefe, may I present my wife, Cathy.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bowen.”

  Cathy eyed her up and down. Her gaze lingered at the valise and her brows drew together ever so slightly. “And I’m pleased to meet you, Miss O’Keefe.” Then niceties having been said, she abruptly turned to her husband. “Bertha is coming to dinner, and she’s bringing her brother, Richard. You must hurry to dress.”

  Lanie felt uncomfortable though nothing untoward was said.

  Jason’s jaw tightened at the familiar exchange. He remembered now. This was the first occasion to meet the man who not only helped to murder him but made him a cuckold as well. He played along. “Yes, your dear friend Bertha, how delightful. And Richard…I don’t think we’ve had occasion to meet…”

  She waved him away. “I’ve told you the three of us grew up together…really, Jason, there is no time. They’ll be arriving shortly. Please go and change for dinner.”

  He turned to Lanie. “Please join us for dinner, Miss O’Keefe.”

  “I–I…” Unsure, Lanie looked from one to the other.

  Cathy shot him a glance before her good manners kicked in. “Yes, do,” she insisted sweetly.

  “If you’re sure it will not be a bother, I would like to discuss the properties and have an answer as soon as possible.”

  Far off in the distance, a persistent ringing began. Lanie woke to the morning light and a phone call. “Hello…?” she said sleepily. “Oh, hi, Lexie.” She yawned then answered, “Yes, the work is going fine. I just wore myself out yesterday and slept like the dead. No, it’s okay, I’m awake now. No, really.”