The Widow's Walk Page 12
“But that’s . . . impossible . . .” she said softly, her tone a near whisper. “Unless you want to characterize it as a premonition of some kind, I suppose . . . But you must realize that I know nothing of metaphysical things, Garrett, despite that my existence seems to be so entangled in such matters. Even so, this business of your dream may be a clue toward helping us unravel all this.”
Garrett nodded.
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve considered that too. But like you, I haven’t the faintest notion of how to try to start.”
“It is interesting . . .” Constance said quietly.
“What is?” Garrett asked.
“Your dream of me was a premonition about what would happen in the future,” Constance answered. “And two days ago I had a similar experience, but mine was a remembrance of something that had actually happened in my past. It seems that I went back in time to share an afternoon with Adam on his sailboat. But it wasn’t a dream. It was real, I just know it; as real as my time here and now, talking with you.”
Constance went on to describe her flashback to Garrett. She too left nothing out. Because each of their tales had included intimate specifics, it was as if they both already knew that they must be completely honest with each other, if they were to ever solve this labyrinthine riddle.
“What do you think it all means?” Garrett asked.
Constance shook her head.
“I have no idea,” she answered. “But I do believe that if either of us experiences such an occurrence again, we must be certain to tell the other.”
“Yes,” Garrett answered simply. “And you know,” he said, “I would love to hear about Adam. I’m already aware that he was a whaling captain who was lost at sea. But I don’t really know any more than that.”
With the mention of her late husband, Constance felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. After brushing them away, she removed the locket from around her neck, opened it, and handed it to Garrett. Garrett regarded Adam’s portrait with interest before returning it to her.
“He was a handsome man,” Garrett said.
“And the love of my life,” Constance answered.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Constance,” Garrett said. “I can only assume that when you love someone that much, the passage of time doesn’t really change things.”
“Although I have never heard it phrased quite that way, you are correct,” Constance answered. “To understand Adam, you first need to understand a bit of what those times were truly like. Whale oil was king, and whalebone was used to make many things. Adam was a sailor, heart and soul. And he was also an abolitionist—something that he told me before we were married—and I also took up the cause. In truth, I believe he came to hate his seagoing profession. Sometimes the stories he told me about killing and harvesting the whales were enough to make me literally ill. But it was a living, and I suppose his love for the sea helped to ameliorate some of his revulsion. In any event, when I learned of his death I was devastated, and I have been ever since. I fear that in this life I was meant to truly love only one man. And that man has already come and gone.”
Garrett’s heart went out to her. Soon after, he realized something else. Now that he had heard Constance’s story about Adam, he realized just how much Constance must have loved him. Then he saw her gaze become a bit more pensive.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Garrett said.
“To tell you the honest truth,” she answered, “I much preferred 1840 to today.”
“But women have come so far since then,” he said. “Things are very different now, than when you were a woman in 1840.”
“Yes,” Constance answered. “In some ways women have come far, and that is a good thing. But in other ways, they have lost much too.”
“What you mean?”
Before answering, Constance took a deep breath, remembering.
“Back then, Garrett,” she said, “there was an understood gentility about things. I know that this will sound contradictory, but despite our relative lack of rights, men took care of their women. I of course cannot speak for every woman from that time, but in my experience, most women were treated with true respect. Men opened doors for them, bowed to them, and kissed the backs of their hands, and spoke in far more loving and respectful ways than they now do. Forgive me for seeming old-fashioned, but it’s as if all of the rights and privileges that women have fought for and won throughout the years have been paid for with a contradictory increase in crassness and crudity. Sometimes, I must admit, I find myself unsure of whether the trade was a fair one.”
Garrett had to admit that he found her comments interesting. Despite all her accumulated knowledge, he realized that she remained a product of her time, and he would respect that.
“I’m sorry, but I must leave here soon,” he said to her. “I’ve got to get back to my condo and get some sleep. Will you be all right on your own tonight?”
Without answering, Constance left her chair and walked to the rail of the veranda. She stood like that for several minutes, her back to him and her long blond hair flowing lightly in the onshore breeze. The sun had come up, and it shone on her face, highlighting her lovely features. As the sea wind passed her by, it absconded with the scent of her perfume, bringing it to him. At that moment he was sure that he had never seen a more beautiful woman as she simply stood there, serenely looking out over the ocean. Finally she turned and looked at him.
“I’ve been surviving here on my own for one hundred and seventy-some years, Garrett,” she said. “Even so, I would be lying if I said that I won’t miss you, because I will. But I do hope that I will see you again soon, for there remains so much unsaid between us.”
She walked back over to him then she bent down and gave him a light kiss on one cheek. Even with slightest brush of her lips against his skin, he felt his physical desire for her increase massively, and if left unheeded, might soon go beyond his control. As if she had sensed it also, she then backed off a little bit and stood looking at him.
“Until later, then,” she said.
Without further ado Constance walked back into the house, leaving him alone on the veranda. After sitting there for a time and staring out at the ocean, Garrett gathered up his things, got into his Jeep, and drove away.
Chapter 14
Once he got to his condo, Garrett checked his voice mail. One from Jay, with an update about a slight change in materials he wanted for the new roof. The second was from Trent, just to rattle his cage. After deleting them, he went out onto the balcony.
Whenever he sat here these days, he couldn’t help but think how disappointing this view was when compared to that at Seaside. But it didn’t matter, because in about two more weeks he would be staying at the house full-time. What would that be like, he wondered, with Constance also there?
He hoped that he could help Constance, but he harbored no illusions about how impossible that might be. He’d never been particularly religious, nor did he have any interest in what might be called “the metaphysical arts.” Being an architect meant that he was part artist and part scientist, and it seemed to him that whatever happened to Constance so long ago had nothing to do with either of those disciplines. Even so, he now believed that her plight was linked to forces of the universe that might be known to only a chosen few, if anyone. And that, he realized, would only make helping her all the tougher.
Even so, like his father he was at least willing to admit the possibility of esoteric dynamisms in the world. He needed a mystic, or a medium, someone who dabbled in such strange happenings, or who could at least point him in the right direction. This would be a walk into uncharted territory, and he found the prospect daunting.
Last night Constance told him that since her fall from the widow’s walk she had never left the property. Maybe it was time for him to change that. The more he thought about it, the more surprised he became that she hadn’t already raised the issue, for one might have thought her desperate to see how the world had
changed. It then occurred to him that her staying at Seaside might have been due to fear. No matter, he decided. He would ask her anyway, and if she chose not to go then so be it.
One corner of Garrett’s mouth wryly turned up again as he considered the realities of such a bizarre situation. If Constance did say anything to him in public, he would have to resist the inclination to turn and look at her. Or, God forbid, he might slip up and actually answer her back! He shook his head with skepticism. Clearly, taking Constance out into the world would be risky.
He yawned sleepily. Because he had gotten no rest last night, the need to sleep became overpowering. He shuffled into his bedroom, where he pulled the shades and turned off his phone. After removing his clothes, he settled into bed.
But just as sleep overtook him, Garrett’s vision seemed to explode into countless shards of blinding white light. The moment the shards disappeared, he realized that he was no longer in his condo. He had inexplicably traveled to another place, and he was making love to a woman.
When next he opened his eyes and looked down, to both his horror and delight the woman in his arms was Constance.
She lay beneath him as he held her, galloping with him, begging him for more. Stunned beyond belief, he looked into her beautiful blue eyes and found himself entranced. The same exquisite sense of sexual longing that he had felt when they first touched hands several days ago was upon him yet again, and strengthening past any hope of control. All he could think about was taking her, just as she relentlessly begged to be taken.
To his great shock, he saw that they were in the master bedroom at Seaside. The room was furnished with antebellum furniture and illuminated with whale oil lanterns, telling him that he had somehow gone back into the past. No detail had been overlooked, and a fire burned brightly in the master bedroom fireplace, its flames casting ghostly shadows across the walls and ceiling. He and Constance were in a huge four-poster bed, and as she ran her fingers through his hair and begged him for more, he at last looked back down onto her face and took her. When he did, it was far and away the most intense experience of his life. When he was at last spent, he rolled over onto the magnificent bed unconscious.
HOURS LATER, Garrett woke up to find that he was back in his condo. After waiting another ten minutes for his mind to clear, he threw on his trousers and shirt, and left the bedroom. Grabbing up his bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a clean cocktail glass, he shuffled out onto the patio and sat down. The sun was beginning to set, and stars were gradually taking its place. To his further astonishment, he had slept the entire day away.
After pouring three fingers of whiskey with shaking hands, he drank it all at once, and then immediately poured some more. His nerves were beyond the point of being frayed. He wasn’t sure whether he had experienced a hallucination, and the very idea of such a thing frightened him right down to his core. His mind awash with questions, feelings, and fears, he tried to calm his breathing and make some sense of it all.
What he had just experienced with Constance had been so genuine that had anyone asked him, he would have sworn it was real. He had been there and made love to Constance, he just knew it. But at the same time, how could that be? The more he tried to understand, the more confused he became. Perhaps of even greater consequence was that he seemed to have somehow actually gone back in time, only to return to the here and now.
Should he tell Constance about it? he wondered. And if he did, what would be her reaction? Did he really want her knowing that he was falling in love with her, and that this dream—if indeed it really was a dream—was something that he had relished? Would she accept his explanation? Or, God forbid, would she instead feel violated by it?
He quickly gulped down some more whiskey, but even now the alcohol was having no effect on his nerves. He desperately wanted to feel numb, but as if it were being denied by some higher power, that sensation still eluded him. His body trembling noticeably now, he suddenly felt more lost and alone than at any other time in his life.
He then put down his glass, placed his head in his hands, and wept.
Chapter 15
While Garrett desperately tried to calm himself, several miles away Constance was enjoying the veranda at Seaside. The onshore breeze was strong tonight, causing the waves of the Atlantic to bear whitecaps as they rushed the coast.
She would be lying if she said she did not miss him, for he had already become a huge presence in her life. She also knew that he would do his best to help her escape this terrible existence. But like Garrett, she had absolutely no idea about how to do so, and that realization was depressing.
She liked Garrett very much, and she had to admit that her feelings for him were growing. But Adam remained the love of her life, and even now Constance could not bring herself to love another. Then again, during her purgatory here at Seaside there had been no real chance for any such affairs of the heart. What will it be like, to live here with Garrett? she wondered. Just how attracted to him would she eventually become? Was that something that she unconsciously wanted?
Only time can provide the answers to such things, she thought. And even then, I may not wish to know them.
Suddenly her head began to swim. As the feeling intensified, she soon realized that she was experiencing the same sort of disorientation that had overcome her, just before being taken back in time to Adam.
Suspecting that another such flashback was imminent, Constance stood from her chair and hurried on shaky legs into the dining room. When she reached there she fell to her knees, her mind once again totally consumed by the same strange and overpowering phenomenon as before. Moments later she curled up onto Garrett’s sleeping bag, unconscious.
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, can we get on with it, Canfield?” the man in the black waistcoat shouted angrily at Adam. “Or were you planning on hiding behind your woman and your house servants all day? I always said that you are a coward, and you’re starting to prove me right!”
Stunned by what she was seeing, Constance was doing her best to fight back tears. She was dressed in a light blue hoop skirt, silk slippers and a high hat, its satin ribbons tied into a large bow beneath her chin. She was standing on the long, narrow patch of ground that lay between Seaside’s veranda and the rocky Atlantic shoreline. It was an early fall day, the tree leaves just starting to turn. Also dressed rather formally, Adam stood beside her. Eli, James, and Emily Jackson were also here, their dark faces bearing stark expressions of concern.
Some distance away stood two other men, both of whom Constance knew. One was Jack Rackham, an infamous New Bedford tavern and brothel owner. Rackham was a large and very vain man, with piercing dark eyes and a balding head over which he always combed loose strands of dark hair. But today the sea wind had dislodged those carefully arranged tresses, causing them to fly about and make him look faintly ridiculous. From time to time Rackham regarded Constance with a hugely libidinous glare, as if at any moment he might dare scoop her up and carry her off.
Rackham was not a fellow with whom to trifle. Rumor had it that he had by now killed five men; three of them by formal duel, and two more whom he had beaten to death following verbal altercations in his infamous tavern. Be it fisticuffs or firearms, he was clearly adept with each.
The other man was named Yancy Kilgoyle and was well known for doing most of Rackham’s dirty work; he had reputedly killed even more men than his vicious employer. He was a short, greasy-looking creature who also wore a waistcoat suit, plus a top hat. His eyes were close set, and his longish, dark hair protruded haphazardly out from under his hatband.
But Rackham’s lecherous glances were not what bothered Constance the most. Soon her hands began shaking so badly that she could no longer hold her parasol, so she placed it gently on the ground. Trying to fight back tears, she did her best to calm herself. However it was to no avail, because there was nothing she could do to stop what was about to happen.
Very soon now, either Jack Rackham or her beloved husband, Adam, would be dead.
Upon arriving home, one of the first things Adam did was go to Rackham’s tavern and confront him about the Fahey boy. Rackham had smiled nastily and told Adam that not only was he free to make money any way he chose, but that if Adam knew what was good for him, he would hightail it straight back out the door for the coward that he was.
The argument escalated until Rackham slapped Adam across the face, whereupon Adam immediately demanded the satisfaction of a duel. Rackham quickly accepted, and the time and place were set right there and then. The weapons of choice would be pistols. Yancy Kilgoyle would serve as Rackham’s second, while Eli Jackson would serve as second to Adam.
Overcome with fear, Constance turned and looked at the table that had been set up on the grass. Each man had brought with him four loaded pistols, all of which lay atop the table. By mutual agreement, this would be a duel to the death. If each man missed the other, they would take up fresh pistols and try again. If one or both of them was wounded but the injuries were not serious, they would try again. Until one of them laid dead, or one or both of them had sustained a wound that was considered mortal, the process would continue to its bizarre conclusion. Eli and Yancy would also be responsible for reloading the respective weapons, if need be.
My God, Constance thought. This is insane! There are even rules for this madness! Why must men be so honor bound?