Timeless Moments by Michelle Kidd (free books to read txt) 📕

Stunned and weak, he dropped into the crescent-shaped window seat in the foyer. The morning light fell through the stained-glass window, dappling the floor with ethereal shadows. He suddenly remembered the recovered object. Looking down to study the dainty handkerchief still in his hand, he noticed two initials neatly embroidered on the corner: JW. He brought it close to his face, inhaling the sweet fragrance of jasmine. To his surprise, the fabric felt damp. He frowned, not knowing what to think. One thing was for certain, he held proof this was no ghost. The lace hankie was real and so were the tears. 

Jewel dashed up the back steps, rationalizing the need as self-preservation, yet loathing the weakness that made her feel like a naughty child.  She reached her bedroom door and slipped inside.

A cheery warmth welcomed her. The blaze from the fireplace glowed with a yellow-orange hue, its tranquil beauty reflected on the mahogany floor. A log settled, sending a spray of sparks flying to the hearth.  She rested her back against the door, gazing at the exquisitely adorned room. Her eyes avoided the lace-draped canopy, not wanting to remember the incident that had caused her early morning flight. Hadn't she always dreamed of sleeping in such a bed? Dreams were too often quenched in the reality of life, she thought with bitterness.

The once eager to please bride now ached with hopelessness. There was no pleasing her husband.  While her friends giggled and swooned over silly schoolboys, she had been proud to catch the eye of a real man—the irony choked her.

She blinked back tears, pushing the robe off her shoulder to examine her throbbing bruises. Gingerly, she fingered the large, bluish fingerprints that Hunsdon left that morning.  His savage attack had taken her by surprise, and she ran from him to the safety of the garden.  Her stomach contracted in fear when she thought of how she would pay for that moment of weakness.  It was out of character. She couldn’t explain the urge to flee.

Jewel caught her reflection in the mirror. Heavens. Who was this wild woman staring back at her?  Untamed curls snaked around her face. Her arms and chest were a mass of discolorations. She raked her fingers through the tangles, trying to restore a sense of order, before giving up.

Jewel sat before her dressing table, picked up her brush, and worked the bristles through her long chestnut curls. The brush made a soothing sound as she pulled it through her mane, but thoughts of Hunsdon pushed away any sense of peace.

Hunsdon stood tall, thin, and unyielding.  His sharply notched face resembled that of a stamped coin, with eyes so ice blue, Jewel felt sure the temperature dropped a degree when he walked into the room.  Always immaculate in his dress, he presented the air of correctness, right down to his hair—the same hair that took on a life of its own, betraying Hunsdon Wiltshire’s moods when he was about to go on a rampage. One defiant piece, refused to stay with the rest, having the audacity to defy his otherwise flawless appearance.  She dreaded that fallen lock with every fiber of her being.

Her hand paused mid-stroke when she heard the door click behind her. Her eyes remained downcast. Fear kept her gaze bolted to the table. Footsteps landed precise and quiet across the floor and stopped behind her.  Please don’t be loose, she pleaded.  Please don’t be loose.  Despite herself, her eyes were drawn to the mirror.  A sob caught in her throat at the sight of his reflection. His hair sprawled dangerously across his brow. 

Before she had time to cry out, he grabbed her by the throat and slung her to the bed. He snagged the tie-back from the canopy and bound her hands, shoving her face-first into the mattress.  She tried to struggle, but his knee remained wedged in her back. She had no leverage.  Her lungs burned for air.  He seized her hair, jerking her head backwards.

His hot breath hissed in her ears. “Why must you make me punish you?” 

He released her long enough to fumble with his pants. She felt the tearing of her gown, the air cool on her exposed skin.  She tensed as she heard the jingle of his belt and braced herself.  Yet never fully prepared for the burning fire that spread across her back as leather cut into her soft flesh.  She bit hard on her lip to keep from crying out. The acrid taste of blood filled her mouth. She refused to give him that satisfaction. Time after time, his belt rained upon her, until she could no longer distinguish the blows. 

Finally, he rolled off her, panting from his efforts.  He lay there spent, his chest heaving.  Without a word, he rose to return the belt to its proper place. She couldn’t see him from her position, but she’d watched him enough times to know he would be combing the hair off his brow and restoring order to his appearance. He needed to present a controlled façade to the world.

The door closed behind him with a soft thud.  Now she could release the breath she’d been holding.  Now she could let the hot, scalding tears wash away her shame.  Her hands remained bound, yet she instinctively reached for the Bible and drew it to her, cradling it.

Forgive me . . . I know it is wrong to hate—but I do, Father.  I do!  I don’t want to feel this way . . .  Please, help me. As she lay there, another all-too-familiar ache arose: stiffness in her neck punctuated by a shooting pain over one eye. One of her headaches.

*****

Jack stared at the handkerchief in his hand, feeling nauseated. He held tangible proof that he wasn’t losing his mind, but it still didn’t explain how the woman had vanished. He ignored the tingle of sweat beneath his arms despite the icy foyer. The experience had left him shaken.  Get it together, Jack. You don’t have time to be chasing phantoms.  

The economy had delivered his cabinetry business a hearty blow—money was tight.  He couldn’t afford to get distracted. The last thing he needed was to be late or make a bad impression this morning. Once, he had been particular about the jobs he accepted, but now he had to be grateful for what came his way.  He missed the passion that came from restoring the genteel giants of long ago, but those jobs were rare.  Today, he was scheduled to meet a couple in the historic district of Diamond Hill.  With any luck, it would lead to a bigger project. He’d have to do his best to forget the bizarre incident, he thought as he tucked the puzzling item in his pocket and dashed off to take a shower. 

Although pressed for time, Jack couldn’t resist the temptation to admire the stunning work in the newly finished downstairs bathroom. His eyes traveled over the wainscoting trim and blue-gray Venetian plaster, a technique popular during the Victorian period. It worked beautifully in the room. The bathroom featured both a roomy pedestal tub and a more convenient period-style shower. He enjoyed the best of both worlds. But no time for a relaxing soak today, a quick hop in the shower would have to do.

His cell rang as he emerged from the glass stall. He scooped it off the bathroom counter, hoping it wasn’t the client canceling. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” came the soft voice of his mother. 

“Oh, hi, Mom.”  He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. “How are you?”

“We’re fine, Son.  How are you?”

He pictured her tucking the short strands behind her ear, as was her habit when she was nervous. 

“I’m a little worried about you.”

“Me?”  He shifted the phone from one ear to the other as he applied deodorant.  “I’m fine. What’s wrong, Mom–”

“Don’t laugh, Jack, but I had this crazy dream.”  She hesitated. “Honestly, I feel so silly now . . .”

Jack lowered the deodorant and looked at himself in the mirror.  “What is it?”

“I-I can’t explain it—I dreamed you were running through a mist, chasing something. I couldn’t tell.” Her voice cracked. “It isn’t so much what happened. It seemed so . . . so . . . vivid. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

The scene from earlier that morning flashed in his mind.  “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom, but I have to run. I have an appointment with a new client.”

“Oh?  Well, okay, dear.  I’ll say a prayer for you.” 

That was mom.  “Thanks.  Call you later, ‘kay?” 

Jack shaved, dressed, all the while wondering about the timing of her dream.  He checked his watch—fifteen minutes until his appointment.  He would just make it.

Jewel’s lashes fluttered open, vaguely aware of something cool pressed against her back. She tried to move, but gentle hands pushed her back, keeping her from rising.

“Lie still. I’ll get you cleaned up . . . don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay.”

Tears pooled in her eyes brought on by kind words. She lay there feeling as if she was in a dream, the pain in her head so intense she felt nauseated. “Please,” she moaned. “I’m going to be sick.” She struggled to move, aware of the basin held beneath her chin.

“Ah, love, another one of your headaches?”

Before she could answer, her stomach lurched. The muscles repeatedly convulsed as the contents of her stomach emptied into the bowl. When the heaving subsided, she realized, Hunsdon was holding the hair back from her face and pressing the cool cloth to her lips.

“Look at you. What a beautiful mess you are.” His voice broke with emotion.

The pain of a headache made it hard to focus, but she didn’t need to see his face to know the contrite expression. Hunsdon smoothed her hair.

“My beautiful, beautiful Jewel.” He rose and moved to her dresser, rummaging through the various bottles until he found the one he was looking for. He uncorked the flask, poured some into a glass of water, and handed her the reddish-brown liquid.

She shook her head, the action causing the room to swim. “N-no, I can’t.”

“Hush, of course you can.” The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sat beside her. “Here, you must. It will help you rest.” He eased the glass to her mouth and helped her drink.

She shuddered as the bitterness touched the back of her throat, yet she knew she must obey. The liquid spilled down her chin and dribbled onto the sheet. When the last drop was gone, he eased her back and to her side, careful of her injuries. As he looked down at her, his gray eyes clouded with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but he only mouthed the word, “Why?”

Their eyes locked. A lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

“I found