The Possession

by Spikes J. D.

  * * *

  “Daph.” Someone’s hand tapped my cheek then rubbed up and down my arm. My eyes fluttered open. Zach’s face came into view.

  He stroked my skin, pushing my hair back from my face, his hand running over my shoulder, down my arm.

  I shivered. We were stretched out on the pallet. My head rested on what must be the balled up blanket. Zach leaned on one elbow, rising over me. My leg was wrapped around his in way too intimate a position. I tried to move it, but my limbs felt like lead. Panic gripped me.

  My alarm must have shown in my eyes for Zach stroked my cheek again. “Shhh. It’s okay. You blacked out. Nothing happened.”

  My face heated. Whether for the fact nothing happened, or the fact I thought it had, I’m not sure. I tried to move my leg again. Zach’s hand curved around the back of my thigh, down near my knee, and he gently disentangled me.

  His breaths were deep. His eyes were deeper.

  I remembered the voice. Rising onto my elbow, to meet him face-to-face, I asked, “Who is Ro?”

  Zach’s eyebrows drew together. “Dorothea. Sarah’s mom.”

  I digested this. “And Vincent was Sarah’s dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he buried?”

  I don’t think Zach expected that question, but he had a ready answer. “Outside the cemetery.”

  I considered this. “Near them?”

  He shrugged a shoulder.

  “Was Vincent an Indian?”

  Zach frowned, his eyes glancing away. “He was called half-breed, but to hear it from my side that’s not entirely true.”

  “But his eyes are gray.”

  “Mine are blue.”

  I waded into those eyes, fearless, needing the anchor of his strength to come through this storm. What I saw there was that he needed me, too.

  Folding my elbow up beneath my head, I tugged Zach down from his perch, as well. We divvied the blanket-pillow between us. Our fingers meshed. Feet touched.

  “I could look at you all day.”

  I lowered my eyes, embarrassed by his declaration and afraid my joy in it might show on my face and give me away. I peeked up. His eyes were still on me.

  I’ve never felt so pretty in my life as I did in that moment. “I like looking at you, too.”

  His gaze shifted to my lips. I slid closer, my face tilting up. He leaned in, but placed his lips near my ear.

  “I would never touch you knowing you weren’t really here.”

  The warmth of his breath sent icy heat down my neck and along my arms. The truth of his quiet words resonated in my heart. I placed my lips to his ear in return.

  “I know. Zach.”

  Our lips drew along each other’s cheeks and met. We learned each other’s mouths, hands sought hair and shoulders, ran along arms and across backs, but never over the line. We knew what we were ready for, and what we were not.

  Our lips slid away, bussing chins and forehead, and we held each other tight. I snuggled my head beneath his chin. “Tell me what you know.”

  Chapter 9

  Aunt wasn’t happy. I knew that would be the case when I walked up the drive and saw the pickup in its place by the shed. I readied my argument.

  I found her in the study where the windows looked out over the sea and the smell of knowledge permeated every nook.

  “But you never said don’t go out. I’m seventeen! It’s only eleven o’clock. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem, young lady,” Aunt informed me, “is that I came home to an empty house without even a clue as to where you might be. Ordinarily not a problem, you may well want to believe, but considering the crap that’s been happening around here lately, very inconsiderate on your part.”

  I had to hand it to her. When Aunt made a point, she made sure there was no wiggle room.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  I really meant it, and I think that must have shone through because Aunt took the apology without argument. “In future, leave me a note.” She did not reopen the book she had folded closed when I entered. “So what were you and Zach up to?”

  “What makes you think I was with Zach?” I posed.

  “What would make me think you weren’t?” she countered.

  Good point. I thought about the evening and something I hadn’t really registered earlier nipped my memory.

  “Why does Zach think he lost you?”

  “Ooooo.”

  Aunt Dwill put the book aside. “Let’s walk.”

  We went out the back door onto the small patch of lawn that broke up the distance between keep and light. Both of us strolled right to the light without words, entered the connecting building, and began the climb. At the top we passed onto the hurricane deck and circled to the front, overlooking the sea.

  The wind stirred up whitecaps, but it didn’t look treacherous. We placed our arms along the rail and breathed in the salt-tinged wet air. We exhaled and Aunt turned her face directly to me.

  “Do you like it here, Daphne?”

  I looked at her like she was a loon. “Are you kidding? Do you think I keep coming back year after year just to get away from the others? I have other options, you know.” Indignant, I gave her my best ‘get over it’ look.

  Aunt smiled. “The lighthouse gets to you, doesn’t it?”

  I contemplated her words. The sea undulated beneath us. The call crashed over and over again against the rocks. I looked out across the water. Black. Markless. If not for us . . . if not for the light.

  “I love it here. We do good here.”

  Aunt threw her arm around my shoulders and drew me near. “You are a keeper of the light, Daphne. Don’t let anyone tell you no.”

  I turned my gaze to her, studying. Lighthouse work was hard, even now. “What made you agree, Aunt, to take this on? It’s a lot of work. It’s hard.”

  She dropped her arm from me and braced herself against the railing. Her expression shifted, remembering. “It is hard, Daphne. When I first came here, though, I fell in love with the place. The land, the house, the sea. Everything was perfect.”

  She glanced back to the light, reaffirming it worked correctly, then drew me off to the side. We could still see the sea from here, but could also look across the property towards the woods, and the drive.

  “Still, Uncle Jack had been dead nearly a year. I was young, inexperienced in running a property like this. I started to think I would fail.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I got lucky. There was a man . . . a handyman. At the attorney’s request, he had continued to watch over the property when the owner died. His own wife had died about a year earlier.”

  I sucked in my breath. “Uncle Jack and Zach’s mom died at the same time?”

  “Just about.”

  “And you and Mr. Philbrook . . . ?” I couldn’t finish my question. It seemed at once like something I knew and something I could never understand.

  “We clicked, you know? I needed help. He knew the property and what needed to be done. He’d bring his son with him. I needed that. It worked.”

  I thought of Zach. So young. His mom gone. This warm and wonderful woman taking him under her wing.

  “Do you love him?”

  “Zach? Yes. Like he’s my own.”

  “No.” I shook my head, determined to find out the truth even if Aunt got as pissed at me as she could be. “Zach’s dad. Jay.”

  I purposefully used the nickname I’d heard her use. Her eyes were sharp on mine. “You ask an awful lot of difficult questions.”

  “I’m a difficult Wentworth,” I replied, smiling. That seemed to punch her gut, taking the wind out of her sails.

  “I know, Daphne. That’s why I worry.”

  I straightened, ignoring the warning in the air. “Why did you guys split up?”

  “Jay . . . Mr. Philbrook had to put Zach first.”

  “Did everyone in town say it wasn’t real? Because of the legend?”

 
Aunt’s face paled. “What do you know of that?”

  My eyes narrowed, the heat of anger welling in me. “I know that people teased Zach and called him names because of it. Half-breed and Baby Killer. And that none of it mattered to him as long as he had you.”

  My aunt looked like I had struck her, and I immediately regretted my words. She crossed by me, her face turned to the sea. “I think you should go in, Daphne.”

  “I think I shouldn’t,” I shot back, my anger returned. “You abandoned him, Aunt. Just like his mom, except she didn’t have a choice.”

  Tears streamed from her eyes. Aunt’s tears confused me, but my anger fueled me past them. She had sold Zach out. She’d stood in our kitchen, proud that I’d stood up for Zach in town, knowing that she’d buckled to them in her own life.

  That she still buckled to them.

  “How could you, Aunt?” I blurted. “How could you let the idiots from town tell you what to do? Why would you listen to such crap?”

  My aunt turned on me, fire in her eyes that flared brighter as she advanced. The closer she got to me, the more the sorrow that enveloped her touched me, too. The flames faded. Her steps slowed.

  “You’ve got so much to learn, Daph.” Aunt’s words were sad and wise at once. “I’d always followed my heart, without care to the consequence. But I’ve learned to consider others, too.”

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “When you love someone, you honor their wishes. I have to trust that Zach’s dad knows what’s best for him. For them.”

  Her tears renewed themselves, but her voice hardened. “So don’t tell me what I did and did not do, niece. You have no idea.”

  “I won’t give in so fast,” I cried, even as doubt cramped my stomach. “I won’t give in at all.”

  Water filling my own eyes, I thundered down the stairs, raced out to the lawn, and across to the keep.

  * * *

  I took care dressing. They wore so much clothing back then. Under garments and corsets and ribbons in one’s hair. I knew I had it right because Aunt had been meticulous in her research for the upcoming celebration and most of the costume had come from the attic.

  I slipped out the back door. Thank God Rowdy had gone wandering. He would never have let me out of the kitchen.

  Once outside, I picked up my skirts and hurried across the moonlit yard to the path that led to the cemetery. Just inside the tree line, I clicked on my handy little penlight. Good thing that women of the day used . . . reticules, I think they called them. A small bag, with just enough room for the tiny flashlight in addition to my candle and match book.

  To keep my hair up and off my face, I had tied it back with a ribbon, emerald green to match my gown and eyes. I had to admit that the color enhanced my own. Not that that would matter, where I was going.

  The bell sounded as I opened the gate. “For Sarah,” I whispered, “And Ro and Vincent.”

  I made my way to the back fence and the stones that marked their passing. I didn’t know where Vincent rested, but assumed it was near so that would have to do.

  Moonlight spilled through the break in the trees and across the stones, bright enough to ensure I’d found the right ones. I knelt between the plots and removed the purse string from my wrist. I tucked the penlight away, and pulled out the candle and matches.

  Half a foot in front of my knees, I placed the candle then leaned back on my legs. According to the text I’d read earlier tonight, I was supposed to pray for a white light to protect me. I closed my eyes.

  “Keep me safe, Dear Lord, surrounded by your light. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

  I opened my eyes long enough to light the candle, then closed them again. It was eerie, sitting closed-eyed in the dark woods, but I was desperate.

  “Ro? Vincent? I know you’re here, that you try to walk with us. Tell me what you want.”

  I breathed deeply, nervous. Nothing. No sound, no feeling, nothing. The candle burned, the sea whooshed in the distance, but the spirits remained silent.

  “You need to move on. I can help you. Show yourself, and I’ll show you the way. You can’t stay here. The legend isn’t real.”

  The bell rang viciously, all but flying from its hook. The wind whipped up from the ground, catching my skirts, making it difficult for me to stand. The candle blew out and blew over. I grabbed the reticule from the ground before it sailed away.

  The gate crashed open.

  He stalked toward me, his legs visible at the top of his leggings, a flash of thigh and buttock. Muscled arms held hatchet in one hand and knife in the other.

  “How dare you!”

  Who was this guy? Taken aback, I stumbled to my feet. “How dare I what?”

  He halted in front of me. Gray eyes pierced my own.

  “Vincent?”

  His face shifted, anger crumpling to regret.

  In a flash he changed, strong legs clothed in fitted white cloth, highly polished boots hugging well-formed calves. The white shirt, vaguely familiar, peeked out from a tailed coat, the ruffled front gracing a muscled neck. He looked extremely uncomfortable in such a get up.

  “Ro.” If one word held a world of regret, that was it.

  “No. I’m . . .”

  He disappeared, and with him the sanctuary of the cemetery. The ground seemed to undulate, and every creepy feeling rushed up from it.

  I snatched the candle from the ground and ran.

  Chapter 10

  Angry clouds boiled the night sky to charcoal by the time I reached the house. The wind whipped my skirts, tugging at me as though to pull me to the very sea itself. I thanked the Lord our property was bounded by a split rail fence, a last defense, and fought my way back.

  The bright red roof of home signaled safety, a beacon flashed to vision by the power of lens and light working together. A beam of light slashed outward to sea every four seconds, the incoming fog no match for it. The deep booming hum of horn sounded both victory and warning to those at sea.

  My heart pumped, every pounding beat a terror and a thrill. A victory and warning of my own.

  Tonight I had made my destiny. I had taken Vincent to my heart, into my arms, and had kissed him back as fervently as he kissed me. I could no more say to him leave than I could tell my limbs to fall from me or my breath to stop.

  He is a man like no other, and I shall not let them rule us. I love him . . . and I know that he loves me. Is there need for more than that in this harsh place?

  At last I reach the door. Fumbling through my purse, I retrieve my key, but the gift from Vincent, my medicine pouch, falls to the floor and the wind nearly carries it aloft. I snatch it quickly from its flight, but the hesitation has brought attention to my arrival. The door flies open.

  “Maman? Where is my maman?”

  The stranger, a woman with strawberry tresses, stares at me horrified. What has happened here? Where is my family? And why is she garbed in men’s pants?

  * * *

  The wind howled. I rolled over, but something twisted on my legs. I could hear the surf pounding the rocks beyond the light.

  I pushed myself up and rubbed my eyes. My gaze fastened on my alarm clock. It was nearly two in the morning. I fell back onto the pillows.

  Something was wrong. I’d gone to the cemetery tonight. I had waited until I heard Aunt return through the buildings from the lighthouse. Once her bedroom door had clicked closed, I quickly grabbed the little reticule and slipped out. I’d made it to the cemetery in record time.

  Vincent had met me there. I shuddered. Yet why had Vincent’s appearance shocked me? Isn’t that what I wanted? To make contact on my terms?

  The clock struck two. I shoved the covers aside and rose from my bed. The chemise readjusted, clinging softly to my form.

  I stared at my body. Crossing the room, I lit the small desk lamp and stood before my oval mirror.

  I still wore the undergarments from my costume.

  My gaze scanned the room. The green g
own was draped across the rocker arms, the reticule resting on the seat beneath it and my hair ribbon dangling there, too. Matching slippers—those god-awful nothing shoes of old—rested beneath the chair as though tossed there. Crossing quickly to the windows, I threw open the nearest and leaned out.

  The night was clear. Only the roughened surf brought attention to itself, the pounding beat that had awakened me.

  I doused the light, returned to my bed, and climbed in. Gathering the covers about me, I plumped my pillows and rested against the headboard.

  There was no doubt. I seriously needed to get to the library. I would check in town first, during the day, then check our library at night as I could.

  I had to know what had happened. What was going on now.

  What was to be.

  Morning seemed a long way off.

  Time passes quickly when you sleep, though. The sun once again crossed my covers, blaring into my face, and I rose to greet the day. I looked again at my reflection in the oval mirror, the chemise a ghostly cover to my form.

  I understood immediately why stripping down to one spelled trouble. The garment hugged to you. Light reflected perfect shadows of every curve. The light fabric felt . . . sensuous. All these combined could make a woman feel truly beautiful.

  And God help her if her man was nearby.

  With a laugh on my lips, I headed to the bathroom.

  That laugh faded when I entered the kitchen for breakfast. Aunt Dwill was already there and when her eyes lit on me, a definite pall invaded. She motioned toward the stove.

  “There’s an oven omelet, Daphne, and rolls.”

  My mouth closed on my greeting. What was her problem? Her brow furrowed so deeply, I should see bone. “Who died?”

  Yes, my tone was flippant. I didn’t want it to be but couldn’t help myself. You’d think something horrible had happened just because I came in late last night. I thought we’d gotten past that. And she didn’t even know about my second outing.

  I took my place across the table from her and proceeded to eat. My mood had so fouled, I didn’t even look up when she addressed me.