Rebecca's Ghost

Chapter One

Virginia 1788

Elizabeth ran; ran as though her life depended on it.

It did.

On unsteady legs she rushed past darkening homes.

Candlelight flickered across a window.

Wide-eyed, she glanced behind her.

Blood pounded in her ears.

Clutching Mozart, her cat, to her taut chest, she ran through shadowed gardens. Towering hollyhocks cast ghostly shadows on the ground. Ominous clouds of slate gray hung heavy in the murky sky. The thick air, like a noose around her neck, made it difficult to breathe.

She ducked into an alleyway between the tavern and the milliner’s shop to catch her breath. The bone stays of her bodice cut into her abdomen as she leaned forward gasping for air.

Crouching beside a water barrel to gather her strength, her temples pounded. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the splitting pain away.

Rocking back and forth on her haunches she tried to make sense of all that had happened.

Why had the villagers turned against her? And her guardian, had they found him? Her nostrils flared. Just thinking about him made her shake more intensely. What had he done to cause their anger? She had seen a few of his patients among the crowd.

A numbing tingle crept its way up her body; ‘Twas a familiar feeling that preceded a vision.

The shimmering vision of her grandmother, long dead, appeared before her eyes. Thou hath the gift of sight. Guard it well for those around thee will not understand.

Oh Grand-mamma, Elizabeth whispered. ‘Twas the best I could have done to keep my secret. Why then do the villagers seek me out? They say my music is that of the devil.

Be wary of ignorant fools. They canst understand us. Her grandmother’s arms seemed to reach around, embracing her in comfort. Share thy gift with no one.

Beneath Elizabeth’s bodice, nestled under her chemise, her mother’s diary lay close to her breast.

Mama is…A tear fell from her eye, slid slowly down her cheek.

Only a week before, her world as she knew it had crumbled. The hand of death had reached into her life, robbed her of her only true friend.

Her soul is at peace. But thee must be wary of one who dwells in the house with the withering tree. Peril lurks --

Mozart meowed, rubbed himself against her arm. The vision disappeared.

Shss, quiet. Elizabeth snatched him off the ground and hugged him tighter against her chest.

Her future looked grim and Mozart’s warmth, a welcome reassurance that she wasn’t alone, quelled a small part of her fear.

What kind of doctor is he? A woman’s high-pitched voice filtered out from the inn’s window above her head.

None that I know of. The man’s a thief. A scandalmonger.

Thinks he can cure what ails you with a flick of his wrist and a few magic words. Does he take us for fools? Why the--

A door slammed.

Elizabeth straightened up onto her knees and peeked into the window. Two women sat at a table.

A heavy, full-jawed woman, with sallow bumpy skin, waved her fan furiously. Can you imagine rolling around in the hay like animals!

Do tell, what else did you hear?

Fan poised at the side of her face, the woman leaned closer. I’ve heard it said he left many a broken heart behind before finally settling down. ‘Tis rumored one poor lass lost the flower of her chastity; and his wife being so sick… Why, I heard, she weren’t even cold in her grave and he was down at the pub with a woman on his arm; and he just as happy as can be.

Elizabeth’s fingernails dug into her palm. Her guardian was a pig.

Now he’s gone, or so it seems. They are searching for him as we speak.

And that strange looking daughter of his did you ever see hair so light on one so young? Why ‘tis nearly silver! The woman’s high-pitched voice rose to a fluted shrill.

Elizabeth cringed.

Her face partially shadowed by her hat brim, the other woman nodded in agreement. Yes, ‘tis most unusual.

Have you seen her eyes? Why she has cat eyes, a peculiar yellowish green. I believe, I may be allowed to say, eyes of such pale color are not normal. Now I’m not saying I believe in witchery, but she’s an evil one. Strange music’s been heard coming from that house. Providence have mercy!

Hang ‘em both. That’s what I say.

Elizabeth’s grip tightened on the ledge.

Dear lord, hang? What deed had she done to cause such wrath? Imbecilic fools.

Her grand-mama spoke the truth. She knew only too well the suspicious nature of people. Ignorance bred fear. That ignorance would get her killed if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t conceal--

A serving wench came to the table.

Elizabeth dropped to the ground, her thoughts reeling, batting her head like a moth to a light.

Rounding the corner, a coach rolled in and rumbled to a stop at the entrance of the inn. Three months ago, her family had arrived on that same coach from Boston. Her guardian had said Virginia’s warmer weather would be good for her mother’s health. They had never stayed in one town for very long. ‘Twas only the day before her guardian had spoken of leaving. She had suspected something was amiss, but hadn’t given it much reflection.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the darkening sky. The coach’s horses, nervous over the impending storm, stamped their hooves in the dirt, sending swirls of dust into the air. Soon night would blanket the town in a shroud of darkness, then she would make her escape.

The sprightly twang of a harpsichord floated toward her on a gust of wind. She wrapped her arms across her chest.

Mozart, listen. Greensleeves. She had played that song with her mother so many times.

Home… We are without a place to call home.

Elizabeth swiped her eye dry. What? She glanced at her cat.

Mozart swished his black tail back and forth, leaving feathery lines in the dirt.

‘Tis dust, nothing more.

Her back molded against the cold stonewall, she hugged her bent knees, pulling them closer to her chest.

What is to become of us?

There was no one. No one left to care for, to be cared by. She shivered.

No warm fire to sit before.

Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes as the twang melody from the harpsichord swept over her conjuring up memories of mother; home and hearth.

A thought struck. Her eyes flashed open. Should I go back for mother’s armonica?

Mozart stared, silent.

‘Twould be impossible to drag a box of thirty-seven glass bowls around with her when she didn’t know where she was going.

An hour passed…

And she didn’t - know where she was going.

…then another.

The rancid odor of decaying food, left by the side door of the tavern, mingled with the spicy aroma of fresh baked gingerbread, which periodically wafted through the air from the bakery.

Her stomach grumbled.

She scooped handfuls of water from the barrel to quench her thirst—to wipe her guardian’s sour, revolting kiss from her lips.

She didn’t dare stand.

If the villagers found her…

Her legs tingled with numbness.

If he found her…

Elizabeth brushed her cheek with her fingers. Her guardian’s slap would leave a mark.

A dog barked.

Mozart’s hair rose.

Footsteps tapped across the creaky wooden front porch.

A spider crawled across her arm. She hurled it to the ground. If only she could have done the same to her guardian when he--

She shook the thought from her head. Hatchet faced blackguard. Her guardian was a pig, and she a fool.

What did she know of men? She’d been avoiding them most of her life.

At seventeen, when most women her age were married, having babies, no calling cards had been left at her door. One glance in the looking glass and she saw what all men saw; her oddity. Her unusually light completion, combined with the silvery whiteness of her hair, turned many a head. Curiosity, not desire, followed her. Her guardian had told her that many a time.

The thought, like a sour lemon upon her tongue, contorted her face. Her lips curled in disgust.

Thunder boomed overhead.

Her shoulders jerked.

The window above her slammed shut.

When the moon slipped behind a threatening rain cloud, when no one was in sight, she slipped from her hiding place —ran into the woods.

A voice called from the distance demanding she stop.

Without glancing back, her heart pounding, she pressed deeper into the heavy thicket, pushing branches away from her face only to have them swing back against her arms.

Horrid memories unrolled like the angry winds swirling around her. Thorns from wild rose bushes tore her skirt, like her guardian’s fingers had torn at her clothing. Like huge opened hands, gnarled roots threatened to grab her feet. She stumbled over a small rotting log and caught herself.

Mozart jumped from her arms. She straightened. A sharp excruciating pain stabbed her side where her guardian’s knee had pinned her to the ground.

An owl hooted.

Her teeth chattered.

The moon slipped away. The forest surrounding her grew darker. Distorted shadows slithered upon the ground leaving a trail of blackness.

A drop of cold rain splashed upon her. Sparse leaves, on twisted skeletal branches, rustled in the angry wind.

She pulled her torn sleeve around her exposed flesh; cast her gaze wildly about her in search of Mozart and fought the terrorizing sickness welling inside her.

Another drop fell. Then another and another, building like the paralyzing panic looming before her.

She was lost.

Blinding terror pushed her forward.

Every twig that snapped beneath her feet gave away her whereabouts; caused her heart to pound in her ears. The damp, pine-needled ground soaked through the soles of her thin shoes. Rocks cut into her feet.

Her vision un-focused, by the driving rain, she plunged further into the darkness.

The deep, throaty croaks of bullfrogs reverberate all around her. She swore tiny yellow eyes stared at her through the darkness.

She prayed for shelter—for the warm glow of a fire caressing her face.

Her wet dress clung to her ankles. She stumbled several times, struggled to her feet, and pushed herself one-step further.

When her legs refused to continue, when it hurt to breathe, she collapsed in a heap to the mossy ground.

Wet, weary, sinking into delirium, she felt Mozart’s coarse tongue on her cheek. A meek twinge of relief fluttered across her heart.

And as the darkness, like a sodden velvet blanket, settled over her body the prayer that she would see the light of a new day—died upon her lips.

Chapter Two

Philip James Ablington woke to a splitting headache and the sickly smell of cheap perfume. The veins in his temples throbbed and it felt as though he’d swallowed a bucket of hay. The last time he had been in such a drunken state was when his wife, Rebecca, had died six years ago.

He placed his hand over his eyes to shield them against the morning's soft light and groaned. Flexing his neck, from side to side, he stretched out the tightness.

He sat up. The sheet draped around his body fell away, exposing his unclad torso.

Mmm, good morning love.

He glanced toward the door. Katherine Wellsworth. Damn.

Quickly he gathered the sheet up around his hips and nodded an acknowledgment.

How in the bloody hell did I wind up in her bed?

Last he remembered, he’d been drowning his sorrows in his fifth, or had it been his ninth gin? He should have stuck with ale perhaps then he wouldn't have gotten so soused.

She sat, beside him, on the bed. You have the most magnificent body, lean and s… o hard. I love the way my hands can barely wrap around these strong, thick arms of yours, she said, her husky voice low, provocative.

She leaned closer. You're so big. She walked her fingers up his arm. You make me want to faint from hunger. And dearest, I'm not just referring to the size of your chest. Her gaze hungrily raked his body.

Philip forced a grin, though her brazen words hammered at his temples.

What had he done?

Memories, broken, fragmented, drifted through his befuddled brain.

He had taken his meal at the tavern. One drink. It had all started with that first cursed glass of gin. One drink and he had broken a promise he’d made to himself.

The heavy fragrance of jasmine perfume assaulted his nostrils. The walls seemed to close in all around him -suffocating walls…

Katherine, dear friend. Ah, bloody hell, why had he gone home with her? He grabbed her hand and kissed it lightly despite the growing displeasure, making the pit of his gut crawl with tight annoyance.

Brassy red hair, as wicked in color as her temper, fell in waves across her shoulders, down her back. Honey brown eyes gazed up at him with a sleepy, soft, seductive look. Eyes a man could get lost in if he didn't know the real woman behind them. A superficial woman who took what she wanted, when she wanted it and only to her benefit, he knew Katherine only too well. He never could understand why his wife kept company with her.

He let go of her hand. Five years his senior, Katherine was still a beauty desired by men.

He wasn’t one of them.

Her warm, voluptuous, hip pressed against his thigh. He shifted his weight away from her touch.

You were magnificent last night. Did I please you? She stroked his chest, twirled her fingers in the curly black patch of hair.

Her question hit him squarely in the gut. He stared. Then ‘twas true, they had-

Philip, willst you not answer me? Her rosy cheeks darkened. Her heavy lips tightened into an angry pout. Whatever do you think?

That I would gladly bear the torments of hell than spend one more moment here. Yes of course I heard you.

Do you recall anything that passed betwixt us?

He was beginning to remember only too well, and wished he hadn't. Of course.

When she came upon him leaving the tavern last night, he’d nearly stumbled into her arms. Can I help you? she’d asked. He’d thought, why not? Maybe she was just what he needed to ease his tormented mind. Maybe he could lose himself in her arms, forget for a moment his life was a living hell; that he felt betrayed by the one woman he thought loved him and only him. A woman he’d loved his entire life.

Why not let Katherine, ease his suffering and push all thoughts of his wife’s betrayal from his mind? That thought seemed reasonable last night through the eyes of a miserable drunkard.

A knife-stabbing pain nipped at his heart.

That’s why he’d gone with Katherine.

Her voice cut into his reverie. Tell me, dearest? Your thoughts seem so far away. She rested her palm on his chest. What troubles you?

He shot her a penetrating gaze.

His hands itched to restrain her. Her irritating touch fueled his growing impatience to rush past her and head for the door.

He yawned, then covered his mouth. ’Tis nothing.

What had they done? His mind spun. What could he have possibly been thinking? Certainly not the consequences of his actions.

I suspect there is, she insisted. Despite that stoic mask you wear so well.

If I'm found here, tongues will wag. I am sure we were noticed leaving together last night.

The mattress shifted as she moved her body closer to him; so close he could see her deep cleavage and heaving breasts.

Disgust. That’s what he felt; not desire.

He cleared his throat, casually leaned back against the pillow.

Disgust with himself.

Such guilt. She sighed deeply, knowing full well her nipples arose precariously close to spilling from her bodice.

I should think, no one will question your motives. Under the circumstances, most would agree ‘tis best you get on with your life. She placed her hand on his upper arm. What better way to do that than with me? She smiled demurely.

Her droning voice beat like a mallet against his temples.

Ever since his wife’s death, she’d been at his doorstep trying to weasel her way into his home. Now he would be honored bound to-

With a dismissive wave and a shake of her head she continued. ‘Tis a wonder you’ve been so faithful to your wife’s memory all these years.

Momentarily speechless, he stared.

What had he said in his drunken stupor? Did she know about his wife’s adulteress rendezvous; that dreadful news he’d only just acquired; news that had sent him reeling to the tavern last night?

It seemed he recalled very little of what had passed between them. A thought that gnawed at his belly the longer he sat beside her.

Besides, no one saw us, she stated confidently. Satisfaction showed in her eyes.

He sat up. ’Tis a bit awkward…, he cleared his dry throat, …but I need to know the truth.

A look of uneasiness crept into her expression. You question me? No one saw us. Do you doubt my words? She glanced away, then back.

He rested his hand upon hers. Nay, for there would be no need. Now he lied.

If the truth be about my dear friend, Rebecca, though she is close to my heart, I feel it my vocation to tell you the rumors are true.

Philip jerked his hand from hers as a swift stab pain shot to his gut.

Alas, it pains me to tell you she told me so herself, Katherine maintained.

The knife-like pain in his gut twisted deeper. ‘Tis not the truth I seek.

Then ask.

His heart raced with old fears and uncertainties.

Did we couple last night?

His manner cool, he hoped, the turmoil he felt didn’t show on his face.

Her lids dropped, then rose quickly. Philip, my dear Philip… She stroked his collarbone with her fingers.

A restless irritation threatened to erupt like a rock launched from a slingshot. It took all the control he could muster not to jump off the bed.

I need to know. His voice sounded clipped and he wondered if she could see his apprehensiveness.

You really do not recollect?

A muscle in his jaw flinched.

She rose from the bed and began to pace. I will try not to be offended, though the thought you recall little of what passed betwixt us unmemorable, grieves me.

Philip swung his legs over the side of the bed, dragging the sheet with him as he stood. He placed his hand on her shoulder. I apologize if my lack of memory has caused you any disrespect. The need to ask distresses me greatly, but you must know this. If we did join there could be--

Now you embarrass me. She stepped away, turning her back to him and crossed her arms at her chest.

The anger he fought so hard to control seeped through his very being. He clenched his hand.

Please forgive my rather crude query.Anger not at her, but at himself.

How could he tell her his fear; the fear that ate away at him day after day? His seed was bad. His son was living proof of this. The child was simple-minded spoke not a word. Madness ran in his family line. Their first child, the babe that had died—he blamed himself, not Rebecca. Now new seed could have been spilt and growing within Katherine.

Nay. He would father no more children.

He grabbed her arm, spun her around. Surprise registered on her face.

I know you would never lie to me. He ran his fingers along her cheek.

Her arms unfurled. Although a frown still etched her lips, she seemed to relax a little as she stared down at the floor.

She desired him; had for a many years now. This would be a perfect way for her to demand he marry her. And he would do right by her without thought.

‘Tis the one constant I count on, my dear friend, His heart raced, but he kept his word’s calm. I believe, as you do, that honesty is the foundation upon which a bond is built. And as you believe, I am sure, once that trust is broken that alliance must come to a close.

Something was amiss. He could see it in her face, in the way she hesitated to look him in the eyes; in the way her body tightened beneath his hold. Perhaps they hadn’t…

He ran his finger along her jaw. I think only to spare your good name.

She glanced up, then away.

As you can see, you have caught me at somewhat of an uncomfortable situation. His fingers still on her jaw, he eased her face back toward him. Since my lack of memory fails me, I must rely on your good graces, your word of honor. Had we coupled last night, I would feel abashed that I did not remember such a glorious joining. He sighed, feigning sadness.

He hated liars. Hated having to deceive her in such a manner, but he had to know the truth.

I do believe the guilt would gnaw away at me for days. He dropped his hand and turned away.

Philip. There is no need to feel such remorse. Her palm rested on his shoulder. I did naught but put you to bed; nothing more. She let out a long, audible sigh.

He turned. Then I did not shame you. Pray tell his relief didn’t show upon his face.

He kissed her hand, then strode to the chair and grabbed his clothes.

She pouted. You depart so quickly.

’Tis time I take my leave. I’ve a tobacco crop to see to.

He drew up his breeches then slipped on his boots.

"When shall I see you again?

I’m sure we will meet again as we have in the past. He bowed his head, kissed her outstretched hand, then let the door close behind him as the word never, bounced across his mind.

***

Loosely gripping the reins of his white stallion, Philip rode down the dirt roadway toward his plantation. The air smelled like blooming flowers and fresh summer rain; just what he needed to clear away the drunken cobwebs of the evening past.

He rounded the bend, where the border of his property lined the road, then veered off to the right, entering the dark spruce forest. He would take the shorter route home. There, Tyler, his steward, would see to his needs with a warm bath and a hot steaming cup of fresh-brewed tea.

Bits and pieces of the previous day filtered across his mind and his thoughts again, for the hundredth time, strayed to the reason for his drunken state. Rebecca. His rock: his foundation.

He kicked his horse's flank with the back of his heel. The animal bolted forward, vaulting over fallen brushwood and gnarled roots that writhed down into the brackish water of the cypress swamp.

Racing through branches laden with the morning's dew he ducked beneath a low-lying branch that nearly whipped him across the face. His legs firm against his mount, he rode hard, enjoying the whipping wind and controlled power. Horse hooves thundered. Dirt flung up from the ground.

As he rounded a grove of pine trees, Philip pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to an even pace.

Was it the liquor in his belly causing such a pain in his gut, or his anger over Rebecca’s betrayal and her deceiving lies? At the moment, both seemed to envelop his very soul with a hold of such intensity, he felt like he would explode from the pressure.

His fingers curled around his reins. The leather cut into his palms.

She’s passed on six years ago. For years he’d pined for her, reminisced about-felt guilt about…

He shook his head, driving the demons from his mind.

Fog lifted from the heated wet ground and floated past him, blanketing his path in a hazy screen of gray.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet smell of damp moss and fermenting wood.

A strange silence hung heavy in the air; the stillness broken by the occasional creaking of a branch as it swayed in the breeze and the soft treading of his horse’s hooves against slick brown pine needles and moss covered ground.

The liquor must have affected his mind. Never before had the forest seemed so calm, serene.

He pushed aside a group of heavy pine branches and his hand brushed against a spider web. He took notice of its silky weave of intricate design.

The sun, barely visible through the dense foliage, splattered rays of brilliant jagged light patterns upon the forest floor and a patch of black caught his attention.

He stared into the space before him.

A woman lay amidst a bed of fallen dogwood petals. Her long tresses, the color of moonlight, surrounded her head like a halo.

He brought his horse to a stop, hesitant to rush to her aid, not at all certain his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Afraid to move, lest she disappear before he could observe her more closely, his gaze remained fixed.

Did breath live within her body or had injury rob her of life? Did trickery play with his mind and sight?

He rubbed his eyes, stared as an overwhelming desire to see the face beneath that glorious hair washed over him.

He slid off his steed.

His stride quick, he stopped before her and knelt by her side.

God’s blood, what a beauty!

Though her dress appeared torn in several places and her hair disheveled, he felt his heart stir. A pink bruise marred her cheek. That a hand could have been the culprit brought a crimp to his mouth.

Was she real or sprite? A magical wood nymph created by his muddled hungover mind?

The air around her seemed charged with enchantment.

Her skin possessed the same translucent color as the white flowers she lay against.

Drawn to her by some magical force he had no control over, he picked, from her hair, a white petal that had fallen from the tree above. His heart thundered foolishly.

He placed his fingers on her slender neck. A faint beat pulsated against his fingertips. Relief settled over him like a warm cloak. Her flesh was moist. Feverishly hot.

A surprising need to protect her enveloped him.

He jerked his hand away.

‘Twas the drink still coursing through his veins, nothing more, he thought as his gaze brushed her body for wounds. Seeing none, but the mark on her face and a few scratches on her ankles, he clasped her shoulders and shook her gently. To no avail did she wake.

Leaning back on his haunches he observed her farther. What name did she go by? How did she come to be here? And why do I care?

He glanced away. I am losing my mind.

Women were nothing but trouble. He should want no part of the chit, yet still…

His gaze found its way back to her.

Her damp dress clung to her slender body. The snug fitting stomacher, emphasized her tiny waist, pushed up her small breasts.

Ah bloody hell. How could a person breathe wearing such a ridiculously tight garment?

He reached over, pulled out the pins, which held the cloth in place, drew out his knife and sliced the front lacing of her corset.

Damn, what was deemed proper!

Relieved to see the faint but steady rise and fall of her chest, he slipped the knife back into its sheath.

Staring at her breasts, straining tautly against her wet chemise, his blood charged through his veins like water freed from a beaver dam and he silently cursed his racing heart.

Her soft pink lips parted slightly.

Lips begging to be kissed

He stared down at them in hesitation an unknown force compelling him to taste them. With a will of its own, his mouth sought hers. She tasted as sweet and fresh as the rain that had kissed her delicate body.

She shivered beneath his mouth and he drew back.

For a brief moment, her eyes fluttered open.

Had he just imagined it, or were her eyes the color