Wild Embrace

Frannie hurried to Elizabeth’s side. They ascended to the second floor, and walked slowly from room to room until they found one that was less dismal than the rest.

Yet even in this room the plaster had crumbled off the walls, showing the white laths behind it. The only furniture was an iron bedstead painted white, a nightstand on one side, and a washstand with a chipped China basin on the other. A cracked chamber pot peeked out from beneath the bed.

Frowning with distaste, Elizabeth went to the only window in the room. It was curtainless, small, and barred, and spotted on the outside with bird droppings. It looked out onto a gray gulley in the roof. Yet beyond, Elizabeth could see the estate grounds.

As she peered from the window, a movement from below, beneath a tree, drew her attention. She removed a handkerchief from her dress pocket and rubbed it over the pane of glass, removing enough of the filmy dust to enable her to see better.

Leaning closer, she peered intently toward the spot where she had seen the movement, thinking that perhaps it had been one of the servants exploring.

Again she saw movement beneath the trees, and with the aid of the bright moonlight, she was able to see that it was no one she knew. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that she was staring down at an elderly Indian clutching a tall staff in his right hand.

“An Indian!” she gasped quietly, placing her hand to her throat, recalling the tales of the Indians’ hatred for the house. She had hoped that those troubles would remain in the past.

Yet, it seemed not. Elizabeth watched, stunned at how quickly the Indian disappeared from sight.

“Who?” Frannie asked, edging close to Elizabeth, trying to also see from the window. “Who might you be seein’, honey?”

“An Indian,” Elizabeth stammered. “An old Indian. And he was carrying a staff.”

Frannie gasped and placed her hands to her cheeks, her dark eyes wide with fear. “An Indian?” she cried. “Lord have mercy, Elizabeth. Has he come to take our scalps?”

“I don’t know why he’s here,” Elizabeth murmured.

When she realized how frightened Frannie was, she turned to her and drew her into her arms. “It’s best not to tell anyone about this,” she softly warned. “I don’t need a whole household of servants too frightened to sleep at night.”

“You’d best tell your father,” Frannie said, pulling away from Elizabeth. “He’d do away with that Indian real quick like.”

“No, I’m not going to tell Father,” Elizabeth said, turning to the window again. Her eyes scanned the land for signs of the Indian, yet didn’t find any. “No. Don’t tell Father. He’s got enough on his mind. Let me take care of this.”

“But how?” Frannie cried. “It’s too dangerous! What if the Indian sets fire to the house?”

Elizabeth turned back to Frannie and took her hands. “Frannie, if this Indian had wanted to burn the house down, he’d surely have done it long before we arrived,” she said, her voice much calmer than her insides. She could not deny that she was afraid, yet she was also intrigued. Perhaps a little bit of excitement was what she needed to fill her days. She would try to find the mysterious Indian and discover why he was there.

Chapter 3

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desired, and got,

’twas but a dream of thee.

—DONNE

The next day Elizabeth slipped into her dress of pale green cotton organdy with its embroidered designs of white lilies on the skirt. Her lovely breasts swelled above the low, round neckline.

Standing before a full-length mirror, she began pulling a hairbrush through her long red hair. She yawned. She had spent a restless night hearing creaking sounds in this strange house, and listening to the surf pounding against the walls of the bluff below her window.

Wondering again about the mysterious Indian, she turned and walked to the window. Raking her gaze across the land below her, searching again for any possible signs of the elderly Indian, she lowered her hairbrush to her side. She knew that she should be more afraid of the Indian’s presence than she was, but for some reason she was more curious than frightened.

And he had seemed harmless enough. He was an elderly man, surely only wandering aimlessly about because he had nothing else to do.

Through the filmy haze on the window, Elizabeth peered into the distance, thinking that anything as beautiful as this land could mean nothing but a peaceful existence for its new inhabitants. She admired the forests of white pines and hardwood sweeping down the flanks of the mountains, and saw by the water, the dark green leaves of white birches trembling in the morning breeze.

She stretched onto her toes to look at the brilliant sunlight flickering on the waters of the Sound.

“My, oh, my, Elizabeth, I thought you were going to sleep the mornin?

? away,” Frannie said, as she came into the bedroom. She puffed and fluttered around the bed, fussing over the blankets. “Honey, you’d best get yo’self downstairs and get a warm breakfast. This mausoleum of a house makes one’s bones ache somethin’ fierce.”