Wanted: One Ghost (16 page)

Was it because he’d been alone for so long? No, it was something deeper he couldn’t put a finger on. Was it sexual? Two hundred thirty-eight years of celibacy prompted him to say ‘yes.’ But if that were the case, he would have taken her up on her offer last night. In his past, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

You’re losing your touch, James Addison.

April shifted and sighed. She flipped over onto her stomach and snuggled into her pillow. Taking a deep breath, James groaned inwardly. Having her in such close proximity made things hard. He glanced down at the lower half of his body. He didn’t need to visualize his state of discomfort to know it was there. It ached and throbbed against the stiff material of the pants.

Think about something else.

Closing his eyes, he tried to envision the characters April described to him. The only young, blonde woman he knew was Catherine. She fit the description. But he still couldn’t figure out what she would have been doing in the cellar. Had she been lured down there by the man who’d killed her? Who was the man? Could it have been one of his field hands looking to attack her? Had chaos ensued at the mill once he was executed?

Where was Daniel during this time? Daniel would have escorted Catherine safely about the manor, like always. He wouldn’t have let danger befall her. Could the young man who’d been bludgeoned been Daniel? God, he hoped not! It was bad enough to imagine Catherine being burned alive, but not Daniel, too. James shuddered at the thought.

Who would have wanted to hurt Catherine? She was a saint. She came to the mill with her maid to purchase her flour and grains directly from him once every other week. In return, she brought her delicious, freshly baked scones, cream, and jams to share. James looked forward to those visits. Catherine’s scones and her sweet, timid disposition reminded him a bit of home and his little sister, Elsbeth. James always made sure Daniel escorted her and her maid safely back home after each visit.

Catherine being Henry’s bride didn’t sit well with James—never had. Henry Samuel was one lucky bastard to have acquired such a sweet girl. Rumors swirled of Henry having won Catherine’s indenture in a card game from a plantation owner along the Chesapeake. Henry was much older than Catherine. His tastes in sexual activities were questionable. Many a night in the taverns, Henry would boast of his pursuits. He spoke of various mistresses on the side. James thought the stories just ramblings of an inebriated sot. But many of James’s women mentioned hearing of the man’s harsh treatment of their friends.

One never questioned another man’s relationship with his wife. Besides, his association with Henry was pure commerce. They rarely conversed outside of business and casual pleasantries.

April gave a startled jolt, bringing him out of his musings. She didn’t wake but flipped over again, tossing her head frantically from side to side as if in the midst of a bad dream. Propping himself up on an elbow, James reached over to soothe her. A chilly spot of air met his hand as he went to touch her, but it dissipated as he caressed her arm.

Her brow arched and relaxed in slumber as her breathing returned to normal. Perhaps she caught a chill from the sudden breeze. Moving the pillow she’d thrown to the side in her tossing, he gave in and wrapped her in his embrace. This was strictly for medicinal purposes—he was keeping her warm with his natural body heat. Good thing Mr. Levi Strauss made a strong material for his trousers. It was going to be a long,
hard
night.

***

James must have dozed off. April shook him awake. She leaned over him, her eyes wide.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

James rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What?”

“The woman crying. It must be the ghost Aunt Vickie told us about.”

“I don’t hear anything. Are you sure?”
Of course she was sure, you imbecile!
She comes from a long line of ghost enchantresses and brought your sorry arse to life.
He strained his hearing to catch on to what she heard but he heard nothing, only the quiet emptiness of the room.

She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the brightness. Throwing her covers off, April scurried quickly around the room until she located her lamb booties and slipped them on her feet.

“Where are you going?” He asked, forcing himself awake.

“I want to see who she is. And see if there is anything my family can do to help her. I’m surprised Aunt Vickie hasn’t tried since she’s lived here.” She threw her robe around her and pulled her long, amber hair out from under the collar. Tilting her head in the direction of the other room, her eyes widened. “She’s sobbing hysterically now.” April studied him with curiosity. “You don’t hear that at all?”

“April, you shouldn’t do this. You should wait for your mother…”

“My mother can’t handle ghosts. I don’t want to stress her out any more than she is. Just being in this house is giving her migraines.”

“What about your grandmother. We can wake her up,” James offered. He really didn’t want April dealing with a possible ghost on her own—not after what had happened to her so far. Could she bring other ghosts back to life if she didn’t know any better, like she’d done with him?

“Fine. Wake Grams up if you feel the need to. I’m going to check on our crying woman.”

James hoped Dottie was a light sleeper. April was getting in way over her head.

The hallway was empty. Goosebumps dotted April’s arms as she neared the bedroom door. Should she knock? What was the protocol for barging in on a ghost?

A sudden creaking of the door on its hinge made April wince. Well, if she wanted to approach the weeping woman with stealth, the plan just went to Hell. Peeking around the door, with one eye closed, she was greeted by the vision of a startled woman. The young woman maneuvered quickly from her sitting position at the large secretary desk in the corner of the room, to stand defiantly in front of it. Was she trying to hide something? The ghostly vision looked directly at her.

April would never forget the woman’s face. Though her hair was modestly styled up in a lady-like fashion of colonial times, her frantic features would haunt her forever. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Anguish and fear were etched even deeper. April was positive this was the same woman from the manor house.

Unbelievable!

Moments passed as they stared at each other. April’s ghostly friend seemed to relax a bit as she slowly made her way a bit farther into the room. Again, the scent of lilac permeated the room. It was the ghost’s scent, her fragrance.

“Who…are you?” April asked, her voice trembling a bit.

The young woman’s gaze darted around the room in anxiousness. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and focused on April again.

“Can you see me?” April asked.

A subtle, unsure nod of the ghost’s head caused April to relax a bit, but then relaxing while viewing a ghost didn’t make sense to her.

An idea came to her mind. If this woman was dressed in colonial period and the house had belonged to Henry Samuel, could this be his wife? James seemed to think the woman she’d witnessed in his cellar had been her. “Are you Catherine Samuel?”

The ghost nodded.

Excited she finally had a few answers to go on, April continued. “What is it you need? I want to help you.”

The ghostly figure’s shoulders slumped with relief. Her hands flew wildly with emphasis as she began to move her lips. As fast as she was talking there would have been no way a lip-reader could keep up. Confused, April tried to get her to slow down.

“I can’t hear you. Why can’t I hear you now when I could hear you crying a few minutes ago? What are you trying to tell me?”

Her ghost stopped and sighed. Turning away in silent defeat she fumbled with her trinkets hanging from her apron and approached the writing desk where she had been.
Those trinkets, she had thrown them at April in the mill site scene.

The shimmery image unlocked a drawer, and secreting something from the drop down desktop, put it in the small drawer underneath. She turned back and a look of pure terror marred her delicate features.

The door flew open, slamming hard against the wall as a fierce breeze blew into the room from the hallway. April watched in fascination as a haze of dust and air formed a solid entity. It was the man from the manor house ruins—the burly man, except this time he was still wearing a formal day suit. A periwig sat haphazardly on his balding head. Even with the wig, the ruddy jowls were all she needed to identify him. Bitter, beady eyes full of dark anger trained on the woman at the desk. Catherine cringed into her small corner as if expecting the worst. But he stopped when he saw April standing in her robe near the door.

The man’s momentary shock was replaced by a sickening sneer of delight. Did he know her? He had seen her in the manor house. Did he remember? Who was this man? His attention diverted back to the woman at the desk, her hands frantically fingering the chains and various lockets tied to her apron front. She stopped playing with the bobbles instantly at his glare. Was she trying to get April to notice them? He looked from one to the other as if trying to guess what kind of game they were playing.

April felt the terrible friction of being entrapped, like earlier. With one menacing step toward her she instantly knew his intent and began backing away toward the door to safety. She never made it.

Trapped between the wall and his body, the situation was exactly like this morning’s incident in her room. Though he wasn’t corporeal, she felt the pressure as if he were a solid man. Fear escalated through her. His beefy hand grabbed her hair, forcing her head backwards. A foul stench of putrid body odor and rotting teeth made her gag.

He sneered as his face drew ever closer to hers. “
You have no clue what you have done
.”

What did she do?
How could she hear him when she couldn’t hear Catherine? What did this all mean? April fought his hold on her, forcing her face away from his fetid stench and thin lips. She screamed, long and shrill. Where were James and her grandmother? They should be here by now.

Bright light flooded the room. She squealed and turned away, covering her eyes from the sudden sensitivity.

“What the hell is going on?” James bellowed, coming into the opened room.

James and Grandma Dottie stood in the doorway. Her grandmother’s features pinched as she stumbled backwards, away from the room as if being bowled over by someone leaving in a hurry. Aunt Vickie and her mother rushed in, wrapping their bathrobes around them. April felt the security of James’s arms around her as she rocked back and forth from the frightful incident. She could still see the man’s face, feel his rank breath on her face, hear his grating voice echoing in her ears. What had she done? Who was he? What did he want from her? Voices of those she loved were whispering around her, but all she could hear was
his
voice.

“Get her out, James,” her mother said, finally stepping forward, surveying the now empty room. April hazarded a glance around as James gathered her up in his arms and pulled her from the scene, and her mother ventured forth, listening to her surroundings.

“What is it, Virginia? What do you hear?” her grandmother asked.

“Nothing now. But I hear echoes of voices; angry, scared…I don’t know.” Her mother shook her head.

Out in the hallway, Aunt Vickie patted James’s shoulder. “We’ll handle it from here, James. You take care of April. She’s going to need your strength. Give us a moment.”

April felt the shift of her body being carried in James’s strong arms. Once placed on her bed, she curled into the fetal position and prayed for God to be merciful and take away her family curse.
At least give me a clue as to what the hell I did wrong!

***

Carrying April back into her suite at her aunt’s instruction, James laid her gently on the bed, wrapping the counterpane around her.

“Where were you? What took you so long to bring Grams?” April asked, her body still shaking.

“I’d just left you. I hadn’t been gone more than a minute or two. By the time we got to the room the door had slammed shut and we couldn’t get in. Didn’t you hear us banging on the door?”

“No.”

Her voice was so small and quiet as she physically retreated, wrapping herself into a ball.

“April?” He touched her gently, brushing back a wayward curl of hair and tucking it behind her ear.

“It seemed like forever. Catherine was sitting there at the desk crying when I peeked in. I startled her. She was trying to tell me something but I couldn’t hear her. Then she was pleading with me. That’s when he came in.”

“Who was he?”

“Evil. He was dressed in gentleman’s clothing and a periwig. Catherine was frightened of him. She had every right to be.” She turned to him, her face pale but blotchy as color seeped back into her skin. “I think it was the man in the cellar. He looked like him in the face and body. Like an old English bulldog, only rabid.”

James’s lip curled in disgust. “Henry Samuel.”

April scurried off of his lap and reached for a book on the table. Flipping through pages she came upon the black and white photos. “It’s him!” She shoved the book at him and paced.

“Why didn’t I make the connection? This is the man I just saw. I should have known. I should’ve remembered seeing him in this book.”

“You weren’t expecting him. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

But James didn’t feel comfortable knowing Henry’s ghost was the culprit in both life and death. He was torturing April. Why? Did the ghost know he was around? What would Henry do if he found out the man he’d executed was alive and well? Maybe he knew and he was trying to get to James through tormenting April? Damn! He wished he could see the ghost like the women of this house did. He would demand satisfaction for the man’s evil actions. But how could he fight something not there?

“I don’t know what to do.” April sat back down on the bed. She wrung her hands frantically in her lap. Looking up at him, her eyes filled with wariness. “He had you executed. He killed Catherine and the other man. What kind of man are we dealing with?”

“I don’t know. I wish I’d known Henry better back in the day—but I didn’t.” James took her hands and rubbed his finger over the back of her knuckles, feeling the slight shaking in her hands. He put his free arm around her, pulling her up onto his lap. She felt good there, snuggled under his chin, her head resting against his heart.

“I will promise you this, April, I’ll do everything in my power, alive or dead, to keep you safe from Henry Samuel. You have to trust me.”

“I…I…do trust you, James. I’m just…scared. Hold me,” April managed to murmur in between stuttering breaths.

“I am holding you, sweet lass,” James whispered against her ear, kissing the dangling end of the strand of hair he’d placed against the delicate pink shell.

“Closer.”

April turned into him, moving her shift so her bare leg could wrap around his hips and thighs. James’s heartbeat struggled to remain steady. She burrowed her head into his chest, literally trying her damndest to crawl into his skin.

“If I were any closer, I dare say we would be inside one another.” James tried for a bit of humor, letting the rumble of his laughter echo in his chest. Her face tilted up. God help him, he was lost to the need he saw reflected in her eyes.

“Would that be a bad thing?” April asked with innocent wonder.

Yes…no…Hell, this was a heck of a bloody time to go noble!
He ached to accommodate her, but he would rather die again than take her while she was so vulnerable.

“You’ve had a fright. I would be a bloody bastard to use your weakness for my own gain.” He did tuck her closer to him and rubbed the chills from her arms, letting her body relax against him even though he was as wound up as his pocket watch.

Aunt Vickie knocked and stepped in to check on them briefly. James jumped, ready to defend April’s honor. But Vickie only nodded, gave him the thumbs up and a sly-wink before closing the door. These modern women were an odd-lot. In his day, he would have been run out of town, tarred and feathered for the intimate position they shared.

April hadn’t moved in quite awhile, but her breathing had relaxed and the tremors had subsided as he continued to methodically stroke her hair, back and shoulders, easing the tension from her body. Assuming she was asleep, he stopped his ministrations to let her rest peacefully.

“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. “Your touch feels good.”

So much for thinking she was asleep. “You’re tired. You’ve been through quite a bit lately. You need to rest.”

April rose up, her knees on either side of his lap, her hands on his shoulders. She glared down at him. “Don’t tell me what I need. I know what I need. I need you,” she fumed. “Why won’t you make love to me? I’m more than willing. What is so different about me than the other women you bedded? Are you afraid because of my gift? Do you see me as a freak?”

She thought he didn’t want to make love to her? Where the hell did she come up with such an imbecilic notion? Did she not understand what kind of torture it was for him to be this close to her and not assuage his physical cravings? He was fighting a damn battle to keep her safe from him. Neither one had any idea how much time they would have together. He couldn’t offer anything to her without knowing if he was alive or just another form of ghostly material she needed to fear.