Chapter Two

The storm ceased sometime during the early hours just before sunrise, leaving behind it mini mountains of icy snow to be removed before her home could run at its normal pace.

Tara sighed. Winters in Manhattan were so much easier. She couldn’t have imagined such burdensome weather and was therefore not totally prepared for it. She was grateful for the good sense she exercised in following Maggie’s suggestion to purchase the small tractor with a snow plow attachment. A cold reminder of her friend, the valuable piece of equipment was left dormant since the day it was delivered.

 Today it would make its debut.

She’d programmed her coffee maker prior to going to bed and wafts of the dark liquid’s rich aroma lured her out from beneath the warm security of her goose down comforter. She hated the cold and often wondered why her crazy ancestors settled in the north.  Even if they had come from a cold climate, surely, they could have acclimated to the warmth of the south had they given it a chance. She dreaded the air that awaited her outside her covers. She’d have stayed in it all day if she hadn’t had duties and responsibilities. They forced her to brave the brisk air of the large, poorly insulated rooms of the great house.

She’d just reveled in her first sip of coffee when the telephone rang.

She rushed to answer it, hoping it was Dennis calling to tell her he was on his way.  He’d urged her to join him on his vacation down south, but she neither felt the inclination to go, nor was she as free as she was when she boarded Sugar elsewhere. Now, if she wanted to go somewhere for any length of time she had to hire someone to look after her mare, her kittens, and her house. She wasn’t up to entrusting people she didn’t know with her most precious possessions. After her nightmare with Dominic, her trust level was exceedingly low.

Looking at the after effects of the horrendous storm, she wondered if leaving Manhattan was the wisest thing. She wasn’t a farm girl and didn’t profess to have any skill with something as formidable as a tractor and snow plow. The thought of having to sit on the mini-monster and maneuver it through the thick blanket of heavy, crystallized precipitation that went on for as far as the eye could see was horrifically intimidating. She fervently hoped that it was Dennis calling to tell her he’d returned early from his trip.

“So, how goes it out there in no man’s land?” Mitch’s sarcastic tone of voice that accompanied the equally sarcastic remark grated on her already frazzled nerves. “I understand you had a whopper of a storm last night. I just called to see how you survived it.”

“I hoped you were Dennis,” Tara grumbled.

“I see you’re your usual sunny self in the morning. No coffee yet?” he sighed.

Having her rudeness so clearly pointed out startled Tara into realizing just how much she’d changed since she moved into her beautiful country estate.

As if reading her mind, Mitch continued, “You know, the Tara O’Shea that I knew and loved would have never been so curt and thoughtless, no matter how she felt inside. She was always the epitome of social etiquette. I’m not sure how I feel about the Tara you’ve become since you moved to the country.  I think the hustle and bustle of Manhattan produced a much more amiable female.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling all that great today,” she said earnestly.  After a moment’s silence she added, “I hear you’re in love.  Congrats.”

“I am and thanks. I want you to meet her. I think you two will get along great. She has a lot of qualities you’d like. It’s like you two could be sisters or something,” Mitch said and then quickly added, “That’s not why I’m with her.  I love her for who she is.  In fact, I asked her to marry me.”

“I...” she started before he continued and interrupted her.

“I thought we’d pop out to your place this weekend,” he said brightly. “Dennis should be back by then, right?”

Tara groaned inwardly. The last thing she wanted to do was entertain her former love and his new love, but things had smoothed out between them enough to make being around him tolerable and she didn’t want them to revert back to the tenseness that dominated their interaction after they broke up. She regretted the fact that Dennis was good friends with him. She saw no way out of playing hostess to the new lovers.

“You’re more than welcome,” she lied.

Although the sun lit up the thick white blanket of endless crystallized sea, the air was still brutal.  Mitch’s voice faded into the background as she focused on the cold that consumed her room. There were some portions of the house that she hadn’t yet managed to protect against the elements, but this particular room was one of the very first to be renovated. She watched the first flakes of snow fall with the illusion that she’d be warm and snug in this room at least.

The bitter cold she experienced now was disheartening. What could she have missed? What didn’t get patched, insulated, caulked or weather-stripped? The tickling of the back of her neck as her hair stood at attention alerted her that she wasn’t alone in the room. These feelings only happened when something not human appeared. It was an explanation for the cold, at least. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or unhappy about it.

Not up to facing whatever it was, she closed her eyes and prayed it would go away while Mitch continued with his recapitulation of the events leading up to his meeting and falling in love with Alana. He rambled on, completely unaware that his audience was only half listening. She finally let her eyes comb the room for the intruder. It was only a matter of seconds before she spotted him.

The old ghost was back.

She wasn’t sure if ghosts were telepathic, but she sent him a message to leave anyway. Whether he heard her thoughts or simply felt it was time to go, she wasn’t certain. Whatever the case, she gave a sigh of relief as she watched him fade away.

Just as his shape reached the point of being barely visible, she heard a faint “Lucy” in the same thick brogue that was spoken the night before. She had no idea why this ghost would be

calling her Lucy and for the present she had no desire to find it out.

“Does that work for you?” Mitch’s question brought her back to reality.

“Does what work for me?” she asked.

“I said,” Mitch’s impatience was clearly noted in his tone, “we can be there about five o’clock on Saturday.”

“I’ll make a pot roast,” she said as she tried to reign in her focus.

“Sounds good,” he replied.

Without seeing if Mitch had more to add to the conversation or even politely saying ‘goodbye’, Tara returned the receiver to its cradle and sat down to drink her coffee. Who was this ghost and why did he keep coming around? She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit!

She missed Maggie.

Tara had only just started allowing herself brief glimpses into her memories of her time with Maggie.  Little by little the shock of Maggie’s brutal death at the hands of Dominic and his evil beasts was ebbing away and she was able to feel again. She could finally grieve properly. Now seemed like a good time to cry, so she did it with gusto. Since there was no one in the house with her except her rapidly growing kittens, there was no one to stop her; no one to comfort her; no one to care. Even though she knew this, she still imagined Maggie walking in her usual unannounced way through the door to linger in the recesses of her mind.

****

Tara fidgeted with her long firelight curls as she watched the tall, slender form of the future Mrs. Mitchell Longworth -better known as Alana- slide gracefully out of the late model Jaguar he’d miraculously maneuvered down the long, tree lined driveway she’d made a pathetic attempt to plow. The enormous fur hood hugging Alana’s face and neck made it impossible to tell if she was a blonde, brunette, or redhead, but Tara lay dibs that Mitch’s goddess was a blonde. Her breath caught in her throat as the woman looked in her direction. Mitch hadn’t done his future wife justice. He’d declared her beauty over and over, but it always seemed that perhaps his vision was clouded by love. She could see now that it wasn’t.  Alana had to be the most beautiful woman Tara had ever laid eyes on.

Doing her best to arrange a few stray strands of hair with her suddenly clumsy fingers and wishing she’d chosen an outfit other than jeans and oversized hand knitted cotton sweater that hung loosely over her slender hips, she ran to the doorway to welcome her guests.

“Damn, it’s cold!” Mitch said as he stomped the snow from his boots.  He kissed Tara on the cheek and pulled his fiancé forward for a proper introduction. “I want you to meet Alana. Alana, this is Tara.”

Alana was surprised when Tara showed no signs of recognition. Dominic had spoken truth. Alana could always tell when Lucy was lying. She’d clearly lost so much of her memory she actually thought herself to be Tara O’Shea.  Well, at least she remembered the O’Shea.

“Welcome,” Tara said with a little too much exuberance.

She hoped her words came across sincerer than she felt as she hustled her guests into the house and out of the bitter cold.

Mitch wasted no time in shedding his coat and scarf.

“I can’t believe how fast this weather came upon us,” he said.  “One day I was enjoying a balmy fall day and then I woke up and there was snow everywhere!”

Tara furrowed her brows as she listened to Mitch ramble on. He seemed nervous. Was he worried she hadn’t approved of his fiancé? What did her opinion matter anyway? Was there

something about her that would make her not approve?  She looked from Mitch to Alana for a clue.

“Your home is lovely,” Alana said. 

The words glided off Alana’s tongue and past her perfectly aligned, pearly teeth just as gracefully as she’d glided out of the car. Tara was duly intimidated.

 “It’s a diamond in the rough,” Tara managed to say, “but I’m excited about the end result. I have a vision in my mind of how it should be. I want to restore it as much as I can to its original condition.”

“Really,” Alana mused as she walked to the banister and caressed it admiringly. “I suppose that would be nice. Some people would take a fine structure like this and bring it up to date; modernize it.  I think the old fashion is still beautiful.” Alana flashed a smile that would melt a snowman in seconds, “Very beautiful.”

Tara held her arms out to receive Alana’s coat and hung it on the antique coat tree that came with the house. She only recently got it back from the furniture restorer she discovered while looking for a handyman. His work was excellent, and his rates were surprisingly reasonable.

“I agree,” Tara said awkwardly. “I put in a few new windows and an intercom system, but otherwise I’m doing my best to keep it as real as I can.  Can I get you something hot to drink… coffee… tea… hot chocolate?”

“Brandy?” Mitch said with amusement.

“Can she drink?” Alana whispered to Mitch.

“Brandy it is,” Tara replied, choosing to ignore Alana’s question.

Tara suddenly regretted telling Dennis he didn’t have to rush over. He’d sounded so exhausted from his fun in the sun that she insisted he relax and not rush coming to her house, but she really didn’t want to be left entertaining his good friend -who was also her ex-boyfriend- and his gorgeous catty fiancé on her own. She was extremely uncomfortable.

At one time, Maggie would have been here with her; her bubbly personality dominating the room. The wave of sadness that consumed Tara didn’t go unnoticed by her guests. Mitch and Alana exchanged looks with raised brows.

“Is everything okay? Are you okay? You seem sad,” Mitch said with gentle concern; a factor that didn’t pass by Alana.

He touched Tara’s elbow lightly, adding to her sadness as it brought back memories of the good old days.

A dark cloud swept over Alana’s brilliant blue eyes while she contemplated the exchange of emotional familiarity between Mitch and Tara. Their touch was too familiar for her not to question if there was more between these two than the good friends Mitch claimed they were.

Alana was gorgeous, and she knew it, but Lucy was a beauty in her own right and could potentially pose a threat to her position with Mitch and her plans. Familiar feelings of rivalry surfaced. She wouldn’t let Lucy beat her, memory loss or not. She needed to act quickly.  Inching closer to Mitch, she touched his forearm seductively.

“Mitch, honey,” she purred.  “Perhaps our hostess is just tired. I mean... look at her, she looks worn out and it’s no wonder. If what you tell me is true, she cares for this big place all by herself.”

Mitch didn’t catch Alana’s undertone, but Tara certainly did. She would have been offended if Alana hadn’t been so right. She was exhausted, but not from maintaining the place.  She was tired from life. She felt like a bedraggled mop after what she went through. She probably did look as bad as she felt, but for a perfect stranger to say such a thing to her host was both appalling and insulting.

Tara locked eyes with Alana. Each woman did her best to relay her position with expression. Tara wanted Alana to know that she was on to her phoniness and Alana wanted it to be clear that Tara wouldn’t beat her on anything.

Tara sighed.  Leave it to Mitch to bring a viper into her home. Hadn’t she been through enough?

Their silent exchange passed right past Mitch without notice.

“Well, hell Tara! Why don’t you get some help out here?” Mitch asked as he twisted his head to look through the doorway of the parlor. “Where’s that old woman who’s always here? Dennis told me she’s been good company for you. What’s her name again?”

“Maggie,” Tara said softly. Tears surprised everyone as they slid down Tara’s cheeks while she choked out the words, “She’s dead.”

Mitch was horrified.

“Tara. I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “Dennis never said…  I didn’t know... Dead? When? How?”

“A few months ago,” Tara said as she sniffed back the tears.  She wiped at her moist cheeks with her sleeve, not caring about the impression such an unsophisticated action made on Alana and added, “I’m really not up to talking about it.”

“Sure,” Mitch replied. He put his arms around his former love and held her close; ignoring the jealous snorts emitted by his future wife, who remained close at his side. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Tara assured him. 

Her voice was muffled as she buried her face deep into Mitch’s chest. It was some time since she felt the strong support of a human hug and she wasn’t anxious to give it up. Knowing that his catty bitchy fiancé was standing nearby and wasn’t happy with what she witnessed, Tara kept her eyes closed to avoid having to face the consequences of her actions for just a little longer.

Alana snarled inwardly. Mitch’s display of concern for Lucy made her stomach turn.  She smiled inwardly about the fact that she’d deliberately destroyed Dennis’s letter telling Mitch what happened to Maggie.  He told the whole sordid story of how Dominic tried to marry his sister in order to get possession of the house and find something.  Fortunately, they never found out what that something was, and poor, poor Lucy was far too traumatized to use her brain and think to look for it.  She didn’t doubt the whiny thing would tell the story to Mitch during their visit, but she planned on finding the crystal key and getting out of there before Lucy knew what happened. 

Mitch interpreted Alana’s thoughtful scowl as disapproval of his attempt to comfort Tara. He knew that in spite of her almost overwhelming beauty, Alana was a jealous female. Tara’s beauty could easily rival Alana’s. Hugging her was asking for trouble. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a look of chagrin, hoping to lighten the situation as much as he could as he gently pushed Tara away.

To his surprise and relief, it worked, and Alana’s scowl gradually transformed into a broad smile. Tara pulled herself together.

“Let me show you to your room so you can get comfortable,” she said as she directed her attention to Alana. “Are you hungry? I made pot roast.”

Alana sniffed the air and said in a sickly-sweet tone, “It smells wonderful.”

Tara flashed one of the warmest smiles she could muster in Alana’s direction, hoping to smooth over the tension. She had no idea why such a gorgeous woman would be jealous of her, but it was written all over her face; if only for a moment. As she guided them to their room, she was grateful her home was so large.  She’d decided to put them in a room at the far end of the house that had only recently been furnished and prepared for guests rather than her normal guest rooms, which were closer to her own. She wanted to have Alana’s negative jealousy as far away from her as possible while she was in the vulnerable state of sleep.

While passing the full-length mahogany trimmed mirror that was centered along the wide, elaborate landing that attached her quarters to the guest quarters, she caught a glimpse of herself.

Alana was right. She looked worn out. There was nothing for her beautiful guest to be jealous about in this house, nothing at all.

Suddenly Tara regretted the bad start they’d had gotten off to. After all, it wasn’t as if she wanted Mitch for herself. As for the woman’s phoniness... well, it was probably standard in beautiful women. Beauty could be a powerful tool when dealing with men such as Mitch. Tara could hardly hold Alana’s use of what nature bestowed against her.

Alana walked up behind Tara and stood looking at their reflection. Tara gasped as she realized how closely they resembled each other. Mitch was right. They could be sisters; with Alana being the prettier one. She watched as Alana adjusted a few stray hairs with the grace of a debutante and sighed. Tara craved female companionship and she wanted to get to know the future wife of her former love. Well, it wasn’t too late. Perhaps, after everyone rested and dined she’d try to mend the fence between them before it got even worse.

****

Dinner went smoother than Tara imagined. After a hot shower and short nap, Alana’s mood was more amiable.

She expressed a deep appreciation for the old house. Thrilled to have someone share her passion for everything vintage, Tara happily accommodated her with a tour. The two used their time alone to break through the icy chill that started their relationship and get to know each other a little better. Tara showed Alana every nook and cranny of her grand abode. Alana took in everything like she was burning it to memory.

Mitch, never an admirer of anything old, opted to relax in the den by the fireplace with a good scotch whiskey in his hand.

Tara found the amount she had in common with Alana remarkable. They not only looked similar, but had similar tastes in just about everything, including men.

The hours passed quickly and before she knew it, it was time to say good-night. Mitch and Alana’s trip over snowy and sometimes icy roads in a sports car was tedious and tense. The exhaustion from the trip combined with full bellies, alcohol, and a blazing fireplace, had practically put them to sleep in their chairs. Tara felt a little guilty for not considering their situation earlier and waiting until they could no longer disguise their yawns and droopy eyelids before suggesting they call it a night. Since she’d already shown them to their room and Alana now knew her way around the house almost as well as she did, Tara opted to remain downstairs to tidy up before retiring.

Feeling wonderfully cozy and satisfied with the way the evening went, she kissed the couple on their cheeks and bid them good-night. It was good to have life in the house again. She’d missed the companionship more than she realized.

Humming a non-descript tune, she picked up their glasses and the Mikasa snack dish that at one time sported an array of gourmet crackers and cheeses, but now, thanks to Mitch, had barely a crumb left and headed for the kitchen sink. She would wash them in the morning.

The cold chill down her back practically took her breath away. She didn’t need to look around to know what was going on.

He was back.

Her exhaustion combined with the frustration over the appearing and disappearing of the resident ghost -mixed with the generous amount of brandy she’d consumed during the evening- gave her an abnormal sense of bravery. 

“Who are you and what do you want!” she demanded while she continued to pick up the dishes. When she received no response, she continued, “If you aren’t going to tell me, then just go away. I’m tired of your tedious visits. Speak or get out.”

“Lucy,” the ghost whispered.

“Who’s Lucy?” she asked impatiently.

Tara set the glass she just rinsed off on the drain of the sink and turned to face the semi-transparent old man. As she did so, he faded away, but not before he issued a warning.

“Come home… danger,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

Tara stood, motionless, as she stared at the spot where the old ghost had appeared. She had no clue what he could possibly be saying. She tried to remember the other times he’d shown up.

What was occurring in her life when he’d appeared before?

The first time she saw him was after she fell into the well. Then, it was around the time she read from Maggie’s book. These were all very different times, but they all revolved around danger. She wished Maggie was there to could confer with her. Maggie would have an explanation; she was certain of that.

She wondered if she should speak to Mitch about it. What would he say if she told him? Would he think she was crazy? She was sure he would.  It would be better to hold off and talk to Dennis when they were alone. 

She rubbed the chill from her arms. The wind had picked up outside and the house was cooling down. It was time to head upstairs to snuggle under her thick goose down comforter. She would get a good night’s sleep and then decide if she would confide in Mitch or not in the morning.

As she flipped off the light switch it dawned on her that the first time she saw the ghost wasn’t in her bedroom after the accident. It was while speaking with Mitch on the telephone. In fact, every time the ghost appeared, Mitch had either telephoned, was visiting, or was on his way to visit.