The Possession (8 page)

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.

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 gown 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.

“I never thought I’d ever have to ask you this, young lady, but I am responsible for you while you’re here.”

I barely lifted my gaze, choosing instead to stuff more omelet into my mouth. “What?”

“Are you taking drugs?”

“No.” I snorted it around my eggs.

“Are you pregnant?”

The eggs spewed from my mouth, at least the portion not choking me. “W—” cough, cough, “You aren’t—” cough, cough.

Aunt banged a water glass to the table in front of me then vigorously rubbed my back. The coughing subsided and I sipped the water before snatching my napkin up to swipe my eyes.

I am positively, absolutely certain my face ran through every color of red any crayon company ever thought of in their entire existence.

“How could you, Aunt Dwill!” I demanded. “Don’t you trust me? I can’t believe you asked that!”

Aunt returned to her seat across from me, her angry glare somehow conveying her concern. “It’s not normal, Daphne, for a seventeen year old to be fainting all the time.”

Fainting? She surely didn’t know about last night at that hunter’s shed. “It happened once, Aunt. I was stressed. It’s no big deal.”

Her head tilted, eyes widened under tented brows. They smoothed and she pushed her plate aside. She folded her hands on the tabletop.

“You don’t even know, do you?”

“Kn-know what?” It felt like a setup. A very worrisome setup.

“Where did you go last night, Daphne?”

“I told you—”

“No.” Aunt’s hand came up, a stop sign to my oncoming traffic of words. “After we talked at the lighthouse.”

I lowered my face, keeping my eyes on my plate.

“Don’t make it worse by lying, Daphne. I know you went out.”

“You can’t possibly know. I was so careful.”

Aunt’s arm crossed the space between us, her hand resting on mine. I looked into her face.

“I heard someone on the porch, Daphne, rattling at the door. When I opened the door, I found my niece, done up in her period costume for the anniversary celebration, asking for her
maman
.”

I tried to look away, but she squeezed my hand so hard, I couldn’t.

“You didn’t know me, Daphne. You shoved past me and ran up the stairs to your room. By the time I got there, you had passed out, half hanging off the bed.”

It was difficult to breathe. I searched every nook in my brain and couldn’t bring forth anything, not even a moment, from the time I left the cemetery.

“I think maybe you and Zach should take some time off from each other.”

“No!” I sprang from my chair. “You can’t make me. And you can’t blame Zach for this. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, Aunt!” I grabbed the edge of the table, leaning across, in her face. “Last night . . . I did that on my own. I won’t do it again. I swear.”

Her back stiffened. I actually saw her resolve.

“I’ve got to go. I have to finish the cemetery, so I can move on to the next project.”

To make sure she had no time to argue, I ran from the room.

After a quick brush of my teeth, I slipped out the front door. Coming down off the porch, I spotted Zach sitting on the rail fence near the shed. The wind was off-land today, and lifted his hair from his shoulders, billowing it away from his face.

I tried to keep my pace steady, so he wouldn’t suspect anything was amiss. He jumped lightly to the ground as I reached him.

“Morning.” His smile held a knowing warmth. The certainty our shared confidence had bonded us. Happy that we would get to share the day. A glance past him toward the house revealed Aunt Dwill watching us from the center arch of the porch.

I smiled back, “Morning, Zach,” and gently took his face in my hands. He leaned forward to meet me and I kissed him soundly as his arms encircled me, hands pressing me near. We parted and I pulled my baseball cap from my back pocket. Before I could clamp it on my head, he stopped me.

“Wait.” He pulled something from his shirtfront and I noticed for the first time that he wore two beaded necklaces. The pattern of beads matched, and a small leather pouch hung from the center of each. One pouch had a fringe, the other did not. He lifted the fringed one over his head and held it between us.