Chapter Three

 Tara was lightly dozing off when she heard the unmistakable padding of slippered feet on the wooden landing as they made their way past her bedroom door. Her bedroom was at the top of the first flight of stairs and centered between the guest quarters and the stairwell that led to the third floor. The creaking of the hardly used door at the base of that stairwell signaled to her that whoever was tip toeing around wasn’t heading to the kitchen for a snack. There hadn’t been enough time passed since she and Mitch were dating for her to forget the sound of his footsteps, which left only one other person; Alana.

Why would she be sneaking upstairs; especially after Tara specifically kept it out of their tour, explaining its disrepair as hazardous? In its days of glory, the third floor of the house was the residence for the servants.  Since her grandmother had neglected to maintain things for so many years, there was structural damage on the top floor where the leaky roof and broken windows left some of the rooms at the mercy of the elements. She’d declared it off limits to everyone, especially her guests. She boarded the windows and repaired the leaky roof almost immediately upon taking possession of the house, but there were still plenty of hazards for someone maneuvering around, particularly at night. Sliding out of bed she jammed her feet into her slippers, donned her well-worn robe, grabbed a flashlight from the drawer of her night stand and left the warmth of her renovated bedroom to brave the mercilessly fierce night air of the rest of the house. Stopping at the bottom of the narrow stairwell, she listened intently before cautiously making her way to the third floor. Fearful of it being a potential fire hazard in its present condition, she’d disconnected the electricity on the top floor; making the flashlight her only source of visibility. Stepping as lightly as she could,

Tara felt as if she was the intruder instead of the other way around.

She wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep her presence a secret. This was her house, after all.

Even so, somehow, she felt like she shouldn’t be there.

She’d ventured onto the third floor three times since moving into the house. She took a tour with her father while awaiting the moving van, and shortly afterward when a repair company estimated the cost to bring it back to its original state of charm and glory. The number set Tara on her heels. She decided that until the main part of the house was finished she’d put the resurrection of the third floor on hold and just make it off limits to everyone for safety’s sake. She ventured up there the third time to instruct the workers she hired to do the necessary repairs to the roof, disconnect the electricity and board the windows.

When she reached the top step, a thin beam of light moved near her.  She ducked down to avoid being seen. The weak beam from Alana’s undersized flashlight continued to comb the dusty great room that must have been the main room for the servants.  Leading from this former great room that still harbored energy of time gone by was a long hallway with doorways that opened to smaller rooms that were humble in comparison to the spacious and grand rooms below.

Tara watched with amazed wonder as Alana rummaged through the enormous steamer trunks that were clustered in the center of the cluttered room. She acted intent on leaving disarray and mayhem behind her without a care of what Tara might think when she finally did venture upstairs. What is she looking for? Tara shifted to a more comfortable position. The scent of old dust swirled through the stale air at the disruption of fabric that hadn’t been touched for possibly a century or more. She held her finger to her nose as she forced back a sneeze that threatened to burst forth.

Oddly enough Tara had no desire to interrupt her house guest. There was something intriguing about skulking about in the middle of the night watching this strange and beautiful woman rummaging through her dusty old unused rooms looking for heaven knows what. Alana’s perfect face glowed in the dim light and cast shadows in multiple directions. It had a surreal mesmerizing effect.

Tara was certain that if her presence was known, Alana would cease her hunt. If she did, would she confess to the purpose of her search? She didn’t know her well enough to have that answer, but she guessed she wouldn’t.  Not only was Mitch’s new bride-to-be exceedingly beautiful, but she proved mysterious as well.

Her houseguest’s search uncovered a group of portraits. From what Tara was able to make out as the weak beam briefly illuminated them, they could be more of the same that were in the stable loft. If so, the artist was kept quite busy. Tara assumed they were portraits of her ancestors and wondered why her grandmother cared for them so poorly. She vowed to return to go through them more closely and perhaps put them in a friendlier environment for safe keeping. If they were in decent condition she would display them in the great room downstairs or along the hall like she saw in many grand ancestral estates.

“Drat!” Alana’s muffled voice mixed with the clanking of metal as a tin type crashed to the ground.

Sensing her secret scavenger was about to abandon her search, Tara took advantage of the commotion and dashed back to her room. As she leaned against her bedroom door she was barely able to hear the padding of Alana’s feet as she hurried back to her room above the crashing of her thunderous heart.

This unexpected event had adrenaline coursing through Tara’s veins and there was no way she could go back to sleep. She stayed motionless against the door while she waited for her heartbeat to slow down and hearing to come back to normal.

Opening her door just far enough to hear better, she listed for sounds of activity. When she was satisfied no one else was up and wandering the house, Tara grabbed her large flashlight and made her way back up the stairwell to the third floor.

Her curiosity was peaked, and she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she investigated what the dusty and cluttered third floor could possibly offer a stranger visiting her home. The brilliancy of the beam from her large flashlight was in stark contrast to the faint eerie lighting that Alana’s minuscule beam provided.

Standing at the top of the stairwell, she gasped as she took in the chaos that woman created. Of course, this floor was abandoned for a length of time that Tara could only guess at. Even so, it had been a neat kind of cluttered abandonment.  What she witnessed now was indescribable chaos. Could it be that Alana thought Tara was so unfamiliar with its condition that she wouldn’t notice it was ransacked? Or, perhaps she simply didn’t care? Did she find what she was searching for?

The richness and glitter of the thick deep blue velvet adorned with tiny crystals that peeked out of an oversized trunk caught her eye. She lifted the trunk’s lid, being careful not to disturb the thick layer of dust to the point where it would fall onto the remarkably well-preserved clothes within. Pulling the heavy gown to its full length, she held it out to admire it. Spotting a full-length mirror in the corner of the room, she wiped its surface with an old curtain that lay on the floor nearby and held the dress against her body.

The nineteenth century ball gown was her size, something she found interesting since she was taller than the average female of that era. Turning slowly from left to right gave her a better visual of how she might look in such a dress. Although the lighting was far more effective than before, she’d left the flashlight propped by the trunk and was now standing in the outer rings of its illumination. As a result, her image had a mysterious, hazy effect.

As she continued to admire the elegant dress of yesteryear, the room’s reflection slowly changed. Her surroundings shifted from a dimly lit, dismal and dusty attic-like room to a brilliant, spotless quarterage. Startled, she dropped the gown and turned around only to find that the room was still dark, dreary and deserted.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and braced herself to face the mirror once again. With her eyes still closed, she picked up the gown and rested it against her body. This time prepared for the vision that would follow, she slowly opened her eyes. Straining to view the room through the mirror’s reflection, Tara marveled over its beauty. Even though this was clearly the residence of the help, it was still a fine room.

Behind her, the carved and gilded beech wood of the nineteenth century winged back armchair glistened from loving care and attention while the silk and its Beauvais tapestry cover sparkled with freshness. She longed to turn around and find such a chair behind her to relish and sit enveloped in its beauty.

Spotting a marble top commode off in the distance, Tara wondered how she missed its existence. Its finely polished, gilded mahogany was exquisite. The abundance of French influenced nineteenth century furniture brought many questions about her ancestors to Tara’s mind. Clearly their Irish heritage didn’t define their taste in décor.

Disappointed when the mirror once again reflected the dimly lit dusty decay of its former splendor, she turned to search for the marble topped commode. Although not all of the furniture she enjoyed in her vision was still in the room, she instinctively knew that if she searched for the commode she’d find it.

Carefully laying the dress over the now faded armchair, she took a moment to lament the chair’s loss of its former splendor before picking up her flashlight and directing it to the part of the room where she remembered the mahogany commode in her vision. She smiled with satisfied delight at the delicate marbled wisps of white and black stone peeking from beneath a pile of precariously stacked boxes.

She pulled at the stack of boxes, hoping the marble wasn’t cracked and the wood was in restorable condition. The windows in this room hadn’t needed boarding so perhaps the ravaging fingers of the elements hadn’t stretched this far into the house.

She was standing back, catching her breath after removing the final box, when she heard a familiar male’s whispered voice, “Lucy.” Startled, she lost her balance and fell against the cool marble and was only able to catch a glimpse of her resident ghost as he faded into nothingness. Propping against the commode to support her shaky legs, she willed her body to relax and headed back to bed. She would return for the marble top commode and tidy up the place in the daylight.

Making a mental note to find a polite way to question Alana about her actions, she crept her way back to her room and immediately fell into bed. She was exhausted.

****

 Alana’s statuesque poise was in stark contrast to the dark circles under her eyes as she silently nibbled dry rye toast and sipped black coffee.  Mitch questioned her apparent mood and was rewarded with a scowl accompanied by a reply of ‘nothing’s wrong’. Seeing his love like this for the first time was unsettling. He questioned his wisdom in introducing her to Tara. Could it be she figured out Tara had been more to him than just the younger sister of his good friend? If so, it might account for her sullen mood.

Mitch smiled to himself. How could his gorgeous fiancé possibly harbor jealousy over another woman? Grant it, Tara was a beauty in her own right and he could see her rivaling Alana for attention in certain circles, but by no means was she Alana’s superior. She was her equal maybe, but not her superior.

Women were an odd lot.

Even though Tara’s return to the house from the stable was through the utility room off the kitchen, the cold air that rushed in behind her managed to find its way into the dining room. Mitch shivered in defense. He moved to the doorway of the kitchen and watched her finish stomping the snow off her knee-high boots and then shake her coat free of the pesky white stuff before hanging it up on the hook above the boot rack.

Mitch marveled over how methodically she removed her boots and placed the boots carefully in their designated space on the rack before slipping on her sheepskin slippers with apparent little thought of her actions. It looked well-rehearsed.

Her rosy cheeks accentuated her rich green eyes as she smiled and made her way to the coffee pot for a hearty mug of the aromatic liquid. Caressing the steaming cup, she nodded to Mitch while she slid past him through the door and made her way to her favorite spot at the dining table. Looking at Tara in the morning light, Mitch could easily understand why his fiancé might harbor jealousy toward the woman. Although he would have liked to hang around to see Dennis, he thought it best they leave as soon as possible.

“I thought we’d head out today,” Mitch stated as he cleared his throat.

“Why?” Alana and Tara responded simultaneously.

Surprised at his fiancé’s reaction, Mitch stuttered, “Well, I noticed that you seemed tired and tense and I thought perhaps we were overdoing things, my love. I’ve been dragging you all over in my exuberance to show you off.”  He turned to Tara, “You have your hands full just surviving the winter without having us underfoot.”

“Nonsense,” Tara countered.  She wasn’t about to let Alana leave without the mystery of her rummaging excursion on the third floor being resolved first. “Besides, Dennis is coming today, and he’ll be disappointed if you’re gone. I know he’s looking forward to meeting Alana.”

Tara eyed Alana warily.  She knew all too well the reason behind the dark circles under the woman’s eyes. She just didn’t know the motive behind them. She thought about just bringing things out in the open and mention Alana’s late-night wanderings, but decided it might be for the best if she didn’t let on to Alana that she was even aware of her midnight ransacking until she found out her reason for it.

Alana watched her fiancé seat himself next to her in silence. After studying him for a brief moment, she reached across the table and caressed his forearm.

“Darling, I’m fine. Really, I am,” she cooed. “I just didn’t sleep well last night. The house is lovely, but it’s old and full of noises that I was acutely aware of. An afternoon nap will correct everything. Please, let’s not leave on my account.” She leaned back and smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. “Besides, I’m eager to meet this Dennis I’ve heard so much about. If he’s anything like his sister, I know I’ll like him.”

Tara eyed Alana with wary surprise, but said nothing.  She had to give the woman credit.  She was good.

Mitch was both relieved and confused by her last remark.

“Well, I guess I’m out voted,” he said. Standing and stretching in a cat-like manner, he turned to Tara. “Since I’m here... ya got any chores for me ma’am?” he asked with an emphasis on his attempt at a southern drawl.

The two women chuckled.

Mitch may have regretted his statement, but he didn’t show it as he listened to Tara’s request for assistance with carrying in enough firewood for several of the fireplaces. Tara assumed he was grateful that she only asked him to carry it and not chop it. Fortunately for all concerned, Brandon chopped a considerable supply of firewood to keep himself occupied while awaiting her recovery from their traumatic ordeal at the hands of Dominic.

Alana took the afternoon to rest up. Dennis was expected for dinner and she wanted to be at her best for their introduction, which meant sleeping away those dark circles.  She wondered who he was really and why he passed himself off as Lucy’s brother.   It was odd that Lucy genuinely didn’t seem to remember her. At first Alana thought she was putting on a show for Mitch, but as time wore on she realized it was true.  Alana was warned that one’s memory could be affected during the transport through time, but it was usually temporary. Is that what happened to Lucy? It didn’t seem possible. She was a strong witch, after all. Her mind shouldn’t have been affected at all. Alana’s certainly wasn’t. But then, Dominic said Lucy suffered memory loss in Shadow Land, so perhaps that played a part in what was going on now.

Tara used this time to pull Mitch into the attic to retrieve the marble topped commode. Not a fan of anything older than a decade, Mitch groaned his distaste while he sneezed his way through the dust filled room. He heaved the ornate commode onto his shoulder and carried it down the stairwell as if it was nothing more than a box of feathers. Tara never ceased to admire the brute strength this man possessed and was never happier than now that he possessed it.

The commode was far lovelier than she imagined.  She couldn’t wait to see it cleaned up and displaying its rich, historic beauty. It fit perfectly beneath the large, antique mirror in the hallway. Standing back with her hands on her hips, she admired it briefly before rushing to the cleaning closet for the necessary supplies in hopes of returning the dry, dusty gilded mahogany to its original rich luster.

Since her inheritance of the estate house, Tara discovered an array of riches in the form of antiques. Much of the furnishings dated back far enough to have been considered an antique when first placed in the house.  Surely, they could have commanded a good price at an antique auction and helped in the maintenance of such an unusually grand estate, but then from the funds left by her grandmother there was no need to sell one stick of furniture. There was also no reason for the dilapidated condition of the house. She often questioned her grandmother’s reasons for neglecting it.

After standing and admiring her handiwork, she suddenly remembered the portraits in the loft above Sugar. They weren’t as safe from the elements as the ones on the third floor. Eager to rescue them, she rushed downstairs and donned her boots and coat, thankful the sun was brilliant enough to make visibility in the loft easy without a flashlight.

The brilliant rays coming through the open door she’d used to jump through during that horrific storm provided better than adequate lighting for a clear view of the portraits. As she slowly poked through the stack of various sized paintings of familiar feeling faces secured in beautiful antique frames resting against the interior wall of the old building’s upper floor, she wondered why her grandmother left their family memories at risk of destruction by the elements. She questioned so much of her grandmother’s actions. She would move them all back into the house and put them where they wouldn’t be at risk by the elements until she could determine what to do with them. It might be fun to investigate the ancestry registries on the internet and discover who was who.

The framing was constructed of mahogany, cherry, or birch. Although making a beautiful outline around the portrait, lifting the larger ones was difficult. She’d need help. She selected the ones she was confident she could manage on her own and set them aside.

She was only a portrait or two away from the end of the stack when she froze in disbelief. There, standing tall behind an attractive woman seated in a beautiful nineteenth century cruelled tapestry winged back chair was her resident ghost. The hairs stood at attention on her neck as she studied the portrait more closely. She recognized the room in the portrait. It was the one she used as her formal sitting room. She was certain the chair was the one she saw in her vision in the mirror the night before.

This was all too eerie.

Taking a closer look at the woman seated in the chair, there was a familiarity about her that reached down into Tara’s bones. Who were these people? Why was he haunting her?

She couldn’t explain why, but she wasn’t ready for others to view this portrait. She needed time to understand what was happening.  If Maggie was alive, she’d ask her about it and would have gotten a logical explanation, but Maggie wasn’t alive, and she was more alone than she cared to be.

A brief thought of Liam passed through her mind before she pushed it away. She hadn’t communicated with him since he gave her Maggie’s message.  He’d spoken of Maggie and said she was well and happy. Knowing that provided some semblance of comfort.

Thinking of Liam brought back memories of everything else that happened. The wounds were still too raw. After all, it happened only a few months ago.  The type of healing she required would take much longer than that.

Although she was grateful to Liam for coming to their rescue, there was still so much she didn’t understand.  Why did a spirit guide have to wait to be called upon before he could help someone who was in perilous need of assistance?  Why did Liam allow Dominic and his demon wolves to rip Maggie to shreds? If Liam was sent to guide and protect her, then why didn’t he just step in and protect the ones she loved?  Surely that was still protecting her because it would have protected her from the horror of the night as well as the heartache. Why? Why? Why?  It was all very confusing and still too painful to think about.

She hadn’t thought of Liam since he stood before her and she asked him if she could enter the shadows in time. He responded in turn that ‘anything is possible if you believe’. Was that true?

Would she find Maggie there?

Her life changed so drastically since she moved into this estate and she wasn’t altogether happy with the changes. She loved and was bonded to her ancestral home and looked forward to the day when it was finally restored to its rightful beauty, but she was lying if she didn’t admit regrets about the loss of innocence moving into it caused. The underworld, other worlds, and the worlds beyond were what she read about in novels or watched on the big screen or DVD. They weren’t supposed to be part of her reality.

Picking up a stray burlap bag from the floor, she shook as much dust free as she could and secured it around the portrait of the old ghost with baling twine. The wood’s density made the portrait extremely weighty and cumbersome as she tucked it away in the far recesses of the loft floor for safe keeping until she could return with help to retrieve it.

The sound of pacing below alerted her to the hour.  She hurriedly gathered what she was able to carry and made her way down the stone stairway that led to the lower level.  Carefully positioning her burden on the bottom step, she headed toward the feed room. She might as well feed and care for Sugar while she was there. Hopefully, by the time she went back to the house, Dennis would have arrived.