Passions in the North Country (Siren Publishing Classic) (12 page)

Jenny crawled into bed and read well into the night, but even after turning off the light she had a hard time getting to sleep. It was incredibly quiet and she felt like a stranger, almost as if the room was not used to her and was not sure if it wanted her there. When she did doze off, for minutes at a time, she dreamed of Devon. He was locking the hotel and going away forever, or he had his back turned as Ivan grabbed her and dragged her down. Then she would wake, only to drift off one more time into a light, restless, and dream-filled sleep. Her eyes were already open when the sun came up.

As the first rays of light illuminated her room, entering through gaps in the carelessly drawn curtains, she suddenly felt a tremendous sense of peace. It was as if all her fears and anxieties had been washed away, as if the room had decided to accept her, and, with that, Jenny supposed, the spirit of Maria. She was happy to be there. Life was good. But she was still tired from the restless night and fell back into a deep sleep, awakening only an hour before noon.

When she got up, Jenny went to the bathroom and gathered a pitcher of warm water, soap, a face cloth, and towel. She returned to her room and locked the door, then she disrobed and slowly washed her entire body. It felt pleasantly intimate to use a face cloth and soap in a basin. The shower was efficient but anonymous somehow. Using the basin made her deliciously conscious of her nude body, which she looked at in the big mirror. In the past, she would stare at herself only in a critical way, searching for flaws. But now she saw herself in a sensual way, her body a flowering vessel for carnal pleasures. This heightened sense of her sexual self seemed to be rising of its own accord and she was mightily turned on by it. A new location, a new outlook on life, or maybe just a sense of deliverance from her last boyfriend—whatever it was, the modest Jenny Ashbury was transforming into a vixen.

And she liked the feeling.

To her surprise, someone suddenly opened the Captain’s door on the first level and then walked up the stairs. There was a pause and then the Captain’s door opened. Jenny quickly put on a white sundress, nothing underneath it.

“Is that you, Devon?” she asked.

“I thought you would be up and gone by now,” came his familiar voice from behind the door that separated their two rooms.

“I was tired. I slept in.”

“How was your first night in Maria’s room?”

“I liked it,” she said, exquisitely conscious of his presence only steps away.

“That’s good,” he said. “I was working here the other day with my drill and now I can’t find one of my bits. I was thinking maybe I dropped it in this room.”

“Mr. North?”

“Yes?” he asked, suddenly stopping his search and listening for her question.

Jenny hesitated.

“Did you want to ask me something?” Devon said.

“Yes,” she stammered, her curiosity overcoming her reserve. “How long did the Captain and Maria live here?”

“A long time,” he replied.

“How long?” she persisted.

“Thirty years.”

“Thirty years!” Jenny exclaimed. “That long?”

“That long.”

A pause followed.

“Do you think they had a relationship?” Jenny asked softly.

He hesitated to answer and she wondered if he heard the question.

“Do you?” she said more loudly.

“It would be impossible not to, wouldn’t it?”

Jenny smirked. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean. What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “Do you think they loved each other, silly?”

Devon was struck when she called him “silly.” In his whole life no one had ever called him that, and until now he thought he would be offended to be called silly, but coming from Jenny, in her playful way, it was extremely endearing to him, something she hardly noticed, but something powerful and poignant to him.

“Well?” she persisted. “Ground control to Major Tom. Anybody home?”

“I can’t imagine them living that close for that long if they hated each other.”

“Hello!” she said, relentless in her need to know. “I didn’t ask you that. I asked you if they loved each other. Do you know? Give me your word you’ll tell the truth.”

“Even if they did love each other, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Devon said, “because she was a nun and he was married.”

“What!” Jenny cried. “The Captain was married?”

“Married.”

A short silence followed.

“Here it is!” Devon exclaimed. “I found the bit. I’ll leave you to your privacy now.”

“Hold on, big guy,” she said with a hint of demand. “You’re not leaving me guessing. The Captain was married? What did his wife think about him living next to a beautiful woman all those years?”

“She didn’t care. They never saw each other in the last thirty years of his life.”

“You mean they were divorced?”

“Not divorced,” Devon said. “There were too many legal and religious complications. No, they remained married, but he moved from Gloucester, Massachusetts to Nova Scotia and lived out his life a married bachelor. She shacked up with three or four different men over the years, but the Captain stayed at Maria’s side. Unfortunately for our dear Captain, when he left his wife, she kept all his worldly things and all monies from the businesses he founded. All the Captain had to his name was what money he brought to Canada. That was enough to start building the Riverview Hotel, which he did. The rest is history. He worked hard, saved his money, expanded the hotel, and built this little house we’re in for himself and, as it turns out, for Maria.” He paused. “Danny and his friends are doing a good job of the painting.”

“Yes, they are. Did the Captain and Maria love each other? Tell me if you know!”

“You tell me something first,” Devon responded immediately.

“All right,” she agreed.

“Are you running from something?”

Jenny’s heart stopped for a moment. “What?” she stammered.

“The Captain was running from his wife and ended up at the Riverview Hotel, living in the very room where I’m standing right now. Maria was running from something and ended up in the room you’re in. Maybe I’m running from something, too.” He paused. “And I was just wondering if you ended up at the Riverview Hotel under the same conditions. Are you running from an abusive husband, Jenny?”

“No,” she said shortly.

“No what?” Devon persisted. “Not running, or not running from an abusive husband?”

“Not running
and
no husband.” She hesitated. “What about you? Do you have a wife like the Captain did?”

“Never been married,” he assured her.

“Why would you think I’m running?” Jenny suddenly asked.

“There’s something not right about you,” Devon said, his voice slightly muted behind the door. “I could sense it the first night we met. You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not running,” Jenny assured him.

He was silent for several seconds, then said, “I have some work to do. I’m glad you like the room.”

She did not reply, miffed that he had not answered her questions about the Captain and Maria. There was more, a lot more, and he knew it. And what’s more, he knew Jenny was on to him and was intent on learning those secrets.

Devon left, closing and locking all the doors. Again Jenny was alone with her thoughts. He was suspicious of her, that was for sure, but at least he was acting in a friendlier way. Yet what if he knew she was running from a madman who wanted to kill her? How would he feel then? She had lied, possibly bringing danger to his beloved Riverview…

Jenny decided to visit Miriam late in the afternoon, but until then she felt the need to get away by herself. She donned her blue shorts, a pale yellow blouse, and yellow sneakers, no socks. Ivan had not liked that outfit and forbade her from wearing it because it accentuated her sexy legs and clung to her tight, perfectly round ass. She felt pretty and the outfit was comfortable, but to him she was dressing like a slut and trying to entice men. To him, her choice of clothes could literally be an act of cheating, a betrayal of his ownership rights. But now he was gone, hopefully forever, and her sensual essence was again exerting itself. Yet she still put on her bandana and sunglasses.

The young painters were outside and Jenny walked up to them. Feeling more comfortable, and showing the exaggerated respect men display for exceptionally attractive women, they spoke to her politely and with warm smiles. Danny inquired after Miriam’s health. Jenny was impressed and she was so sweet that every one of them wanted to work harder just for her. They all liked her. She earned even more points when she warmly complimented them on the work they had done that morning, including their initial work of painting the front of the hotel. Accentuated by the dark trim, it stood out and caught the eye.

“Mr. North was smart by insisting on hiring you guys,” she said, her smile radiating like sunshine. “What a beautiful job you’re doing. It’s fantastic! Really!”

“Thanks,” Danny said shyly, glancing at his friends.

“Hopefully no one will spray paint it once you’ve finished,” Jenny said.

“If anyone does,” said one of Danny’s friends, a big, burly guy with a scar above his eye, “I’ll kick his ass.”

Jenny laughed.

“No joke,” Danny said, gesturing toward his friend. “Big Jake put out the word that no one is to lay a finger on this place.” He nodded meaningfully. “You’ll have no problems, Ms. Lamb. Guaranteed.”

Jenny smiled and clapped her hands. “As I said, I knew Mr. North was smart by insisting on hiring y’all. I’ll let you get back to work now. Have a nice day, guys.”

Danny nodded and even Big Jake, a man with no refinement, a legend in parking lot brawls up and down the South Shore, even Big Jake tipped his hat like a proper English gentleman. Jenny waved and walked down the driveway, her lithe form reminiscent of a butterfly, her pretty ass jiggling in the thin cotton shorts. The men all snuck a look but didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. Some things go beyond words.

Jenny drove to the tourist bureau and found a map showing the route to White Sands Beach. During the trip, she passed few cars, but when she got to the beach, she noticed a number of vehicles parked by the sand dunes. She strolled up the boardwalk, when, suddenly, there before her, was a beach like none she had never seen. Yet it appeared strikingly familiar, as if she were intimately acquainted with every square inch of it. The sand was brilliantly white and pure, and the mighty ocean, churned by waves of white-crested foam, was the richest combination of blue and green that she could ever have imagined.

Jenny had seen only beaches with hundreds of people on them, beaches that were manicured and overseen by numerous authorities. This beach was totally different. It was wild, free. In some ways it was more majestic, more dramatic than any beach she had ever seen. The salt water, stretching as far as the eye could see, was incredibly clear, but was spotted with seaweed and huge pieces of kelp. The air was filled with a pungent, salty aroma. The beach itself ran for well over a mile and was flanked on either end by high cliffs of red clay. It occurred to her that she absolutely must have seen a movie somewhere with this beach in it. Or perhaps a picture in a magazine. It was that familiar.

Feeling as free as a bird, Jenny took off her sneakers and walked barefoot along the warm sand. At the end of the beach, high atop the clay-red hill, was a beautiful old gothic house. It was a two-story structure of unique and fine architecture. Inexplicably, in an eerie flash, she saw the same house, the beach, and the ocean in the mist of a hazy memory. She had never been here before—she was sure of that—but it seemed she had lived here, and in that house.

I think I’m losing my mind, she thought.

“Good morning, love,” a female voice called to her in a heavy Scottish accent.

Jenny turned to see a middle-aged woman walking with a man. “Good morning,” she greeted.

“Come to see the whales, have you?”

“Whales?”

“You didn’t know about them?” the man asked.

“No.”

“My heavens,” the woman answered. “They feed here. We’re heading to the overlook right now. Join us if you have a fancy.”

“I’d love to.”

They walked up a high hill and then moved along a trail. The stroll was exhilarating and Jenny felt a tremendous sense of freedom, as if she had been imprisoned, then suddenly and unexpectedly released. The air, the sun, the wind, the water—absolutely everything was amplified and assumed new meaning. It really was as if she had been a caterpillar and now was emerging a beautiful butterfly, a creature free to fly away into mystical lands. It felt good to walk and feel her lungs fill with the pure, ocean air.

“This is so refreshing,” Jenny said, unable to contain her enthusiasm any longer.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” replied the woman.

“Wait!” added the man, looking back with a glint in his eyes. He stopped at the top of the hill and smiled at Jenny. “Check this out.”

Jenny stopped beside him and his wife on the lofty vantage point. “Wow!” she exclaimed.

Stretching in front of her was a spectacular view of the ocean and the shoreline. In the distance, almost out of view, was a group of rocky islands with thousands of birds circling. More birds could be seen swimming in sheltered inlets and, popping their heads out of the water every so often, were the black snouts of seals. Jenny could also see an otter skirting over the slippery rocks, stopping occasionally to lay on his back and wiggle around while scratching his belly. He would then jump up, lurch forward, and search out every nook and cranny.

“What do you think?” the lady asked.

“It’s stunning!” Jenny declared, flabbergasted. “I love nature and I once belonged to a bird watching club, but I’ve never seen anything like this. There must be ten thousand birds out there.”

“They’ve estimated almost one hundred thousand at the peak of the season,” the man said. “It’s a pity more people don’t come here.”

Jenny shook her head. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“That’s right, they don’t know about this place,” the man noted. “It’s never been advertised and it’s off the beaten trail. Some that do come say it’s too far away to see the birds and the sea life.”