Wishes & Tears (24 page)
Ian pulled himself up on his elbows, looking down at her through glistening eyes. There was something special about the evening, the night their bonding and destiny became complete.
The Foundation for San Francisco’s Architectural Heritage was proud to show off its newest gem. The Queen Ann Victorian at 92 Sacramento Street, donated by a generous benefactor, made its debut at a private benefit party. Proceeds of the cocktail party and home tour were earmarked for special projects at public schools in the low-income Tenderloin district. The Forrester Home, as it was dedicated, was illuminated with gas fixtures and candlelight befitting the early 1900s. Damask tablecloths protected period pieces set with silver trays of scrumptious hors d’oeuvres and delicacies. Baked Brie, dips and crackers, fresh vegetable wedges, smoked salmon, and chilled shrimp provided nourishment for the hundred or so guests meandering throughout the elegantly restored home. White-gloved waiters served champagne on silver trays while a bar offered Chardonnay and Merlot to those so inclined. The mingled scent of food and expensive perfume wafted among the chattering guests.
Clarice stood among the throng, steadying her wine glass in her trembling hand. Being inside Faith’s home was like being in a haunted mansion. Without Faith present, the home lacked all of its luster and life. All Clarice had were memories and they were making her nauseous. She wanted to leave and go home to her husband and children. She couldn’t, not yet. Her school was a major recipient of the generosity of the foundation and the guests. She had to stand around at the ready to discuss her school and the special projects the money would aid. Discussing literacy and history field trips with society mavens, though, took her mind off Faith and her mysterious disappearance. When she stood alone, the questions would flood her mind.
Feeling a headache coming on, she sought out a restroom where she could take her aspirin in private. A rather long line formed at the downstairs rest room. Dodging guests, she stepped into the foyer and climbed the mahogany staircase. She knew that there was another restroom off the upstairs hall.
Once upstairs, she noticed that there were few guests. She shook her head. It was typical of a party. Guests tended to gravitate toward the food and the alcohol. She welcomed the quiet respite. Walking down the hall, she passed the guestroom that Faith had treasured. Wasn’t it the place where Faith said she had awakened transported back in time? With a quick peek inside, she continued toward the restroom. She abruptly stopped. It felt as if a magnet were drawing her back toward the guestroom. She couldn’t shake the urge to turn around and go back to the room. The feeling was so strong that she walked back to the room and stepped inside.
An eerie shiver created goose bumps on her arms and she briskly rubbed them. Light from the streetlamp streamed through the intricate stained glass window giving it a soft glow. The light from a dim glass lamp lent the rosewood wardrobe, dresser and chiffonier warmth. A commode was set with a porcelain toilet set and linen towels as if ready for a guest. Clarice jumped back upon seeing her reflection in the gilt mirror above the carved mantel, a fire flickering in the hearth.
“What is my problem?” she mumbled to herself.
As she approached the white baked-on enamel iron bed, the scent of lavender and lemon verbena prevailed. She reached down to touch the down quilt. As she squeezed the fabric, tears swelled in her eyes.
“Oh, Faith, I miss you so much. You were my soul sister and I love you.”
She stood, trying to compose herself. Wiping tears from her cheeks she turned to leave the room. She had to get out of the room and out of the house before she’d lose it.
“Clarice,” a voice beckoned.
Hesitating, Clarice pivoted toward the sound of the hauntingly familiar voice. She gasped, eyes transfixed on the bed, she blinked and blinked again thinking that her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Faith lay beneath the goose down comforter propped up by pillows beneath her back and head. Her brown hair streamed over the pillows and over her narrow shoulders. The lace of a flannel nightgown fit snug at her neck. She smiled and her eyes glistened in vibrant aquamarine.
Clarice swore that the figure on the bed glowed.
“Faith?” Clarice asked, while questioning her sanity at seeing such an apparition.
“I knew you would come. I just knew it,” Faith said in an exuberant voice. “I can only stay for a short visit. I just wanted you to know that I’m well and very happy.”
“Where are you?” Clarice tried to control her knees from wobbling.
“I succeeded. I made it back to San Francisco in 1906. I’m living in this house. It looks much the same as you see it. I did a rather accurate restoration. I’m proud that others are enjoying it and that your school is benefiting, rather our school.” She scanned the room and nodded.
“You … you’re back in time?” Clarice sunk in the nearby wicker chair.
“I told you I was going back. I’ve married the doctor.”
“The doctor?” Clarice’s head was spinning.
“Yes, Doctor Forrester.”
“The man in the photograph, the obituary, the cemetery?”
“One and the same. And, we’re expecting our child. You know, the little girl you saw in the photograph?” Faith patted her distended abdomen. “Ian has ordered me to bed rest while we await her arrival. I’m naming her Clarice.”
“I … I don’t believe this.”
“Don’t you see? It’s all working according to plan, according to my destiny.”
“Destiny? How did you come back, here and now?” If she had indeed come back and this wasn’t some figment of an overworked imagination.
“I saw you in a dream and I heard you call for me. You were so upset that I willed myself here. I have no explanation. I just think that if you want something bad enough you can will it to happen.”
Clarice heard footsteps and looked toward the open door.
“Don’t worry,” Faith assured. “Only you can see me. I’m invisible to everyone else.”
“A ghost?”
“Not exactly. I’m just a time traveler on a very short visit. Tell me, how are you, my friend?”
Clarice shook her head. “I’m not sure right now.”
Faith extended her hand and grasped Clarice’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Clarice gasped at the warmth and energy of the touch.
Faith released her hand. “I brought something back for you.”
Clarice met her glassy gaze.
Faith reached under the comforter and withdrew a silver frame. Inside was a sepia-toned photograph of a dapper man and elegant woman on their wedding day. She handed it to Clarice.
Clarice steadied the framed photograph in her trembling hands as she stared at it. There was no mistaking the pair. Doctor Ian Forrester stood intimately close with his arm around Faith’s waist.
“It’s one of our wedding pictures. I really wish that you could have been there. I missed you so,” Faith sighed.
Clarice looked at the photograph and at her friend in disbelief. The framed photograph was too real to put off as imaginary.
“I’m happy, really happy. I want you to know that, Clarice. I don’t want you shedding tears for me. I’m where I was meant to be.”
“Oh Faith, Faith, I miss you.”
Their eyes locked.
“I love you, Clarice. I’ll always love you. I’ll always miss you.”
Clarice reached out to touch Faith but she was gone. The comforter lay smooth and unruffled on the bed, the pillows positioned in their rightful places at the head of the bed. The scent of lavender and lemon verbena had drifted away.
“Faith?” Clarice stood and reached out over the bed, running her hand on top. The surface was cool and untouched like a bed-and-bath store display. There was no evidence that a person had lain on it.
She looked down realizing that she still held the framed photograph in her other hand. She looked at the smiling couple in the old picture. Doctor and Mrs. Ian Forrester. Faith Forrester. Faith. The photograph was the only evidence that something unexplainable had taken place.
Purveyor of the written word, Nancy Loyan Schuemann has been writing ever since she began composing picture books for fellow students in elementary school.
After graduating with a BSBA degree in marketing from John Carroll University, she pursued a career in sales, marketing and public relations. During the past ten years, she has incorporated those skills into a professional writing career. She is a freelance writer specializing in construction, design, architecture, histories, profiles, antique safes, dance, travel and special interest in local and national publications. She has taught writing at the prestigious Chautauqua Institution in New York State.
Nancy is a Cleveland, Ohio native who shares her knowledge of the city as author of
Cleveland, Ohio: A Photographic Portrait
and
On the Threshold of a New Century: The City of South Euclid, 1967-1999
. Her love, however, is writing women’s fiction and her first novel,
Paradise Found
is a multi-cultural women’s fiction novel set in the exotic Seychelles Islands (where Prince William honeymooned). She is a debut author at Crimson Romance, an imprint of Adam’s Media with her novel,
Lab Test
, a humorous paranormal romance. She has also written
Hearts of Steel
for Crimson.
Travel has taken her around the world, including trips to Egypt, Europe, South America and the exotic Seychelles Islands. When she’s not writing, Nancy teaches and performs Middle Eastern dance as “Nailah.” Dance is incorporated in her writing at
www.Examiner.com
where she is the Cleveland and National “Belly Dance Examiner.” She shares her life with her husband, Bill, and her Pointer/Labs, Amber and Topaz. Her website is
www.NLSScribe.com
.
In the mood for more Crimson Romance?
Check out
Defiant Surrender
by Tamara Gill
at
CrimsonRomance.com
.