The Choice (14 page)

She repacked the box and moved on to the next carton. Clearing space as she re-stacked boxes she’d rummaged against the wall behind her. By the time Marcie rifled through a dozen boxes filled with junk and trinkets, she was bored and considered packing it in. She pushed a heavy box she thought was up against the wall, but soon discovered it hid an old wooden chest. “Now how did I miss you?”

Something about the chest drove up the beat of her heart. Without warning, something rustled. Her stomach bottomed out, and she instantly flattened her hand over her chest. “Probably a damn rodent, just breathe.” Marcie trembled while looking around in the shadows, willing the noise to happen again, at the same time fearing it would.

Marcie tried to lift the lid, but it was stuck. She had to get down on her knees and lean in. It creaked when it finally gave. Small boxes and paper bags and tons of old photos filled this deep chest. But it was no fun looking at a stranger’s photos. So she continued digging until she touched a bulky tissue wrapped package. Marcie carefully pulled back the crisp tissue to find an old creamy lace wedding gown. Under the dress were cream-colored leather boots with a slight heel, hook and eye closure, nice but had to be uncomfortable.

She reached to the bottom and touched a rectangle shaped parcel. Lifting the package, Marcie was mesmerized by the curved handwriting on the old brown paper, until she saw the name.
Mrs. Jerome Standford
. “Holy shit.”

“Who’s there?” She jumped as a warm tingle shot so hard and fast and, for a moment, she thought it’d blow off the top of her head. Beads of sweat popped out above her brow. The air chilled and for some inexplicable reason she’d swear time appeared to shift and merge. There was no here, now and yesterday. A broad sense of something else or some deep presence pressed up her spine. Her first instinct prompted her to hide, which spurred this unknown terror. She swallowed hard and then peeked around the stack of boxes where she hid. “Hello, anyone there?” Nothing moved. “Well did you expect a ghost to answer? Forget that thought.” She waved her hand in the air to swoosh those words away.

Truth was, she was damn scared. And in order to ease the fear she crouched down, squeezing in between the box and chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. She started to examine the paper wrapped bundle, turning it over and then removing the knotted string.
Breathe in, blow out.
She tried to still the shake in her hands. “So my dream’s real, and Jerome’s dead, and he’s in my dreams—this is crazy.” She turned over the package. “This is something addressed to Jerome’s wife. How can this be possible?”

She wanted to analyze and reason but stopped herself. “Don’t try and figure it out. Jerome, is there some hidden message here for me?” She looked up as if waiting for his golden image to appear. But grateful he didn’t. She opened the paper package; several letters fell into her lap tied together with a delicate pink satin ribbon, faded and worn from time. Each letter addressed to Mrs. Jerome Standford, Grand Isle. She sighed before carefully opening the first letter.

October 12, 18
1
4

My Darling Isabel,

I love you and can’t wait to be home with you. I am so happy about the babe and promise to be home long before he’s born. I cannot tell you where we are, but Master Jean gathered many fine staples for our friends and those in need. They will not eliminate the hardship, but enough to see us through.

We were greeted by his old friend, the colonel. Master Jean has warned me to watch him and his crew when they come about, although friends he calls them; he also does not trust them.

The colonel has mentioned many a time that he would sell his mother’s soul for a plantation like Jean’s. He’s in it for the money, not helping others. He continues to feed Jean information on where enemy cargo ships are expected to be. It seems almost too good to be true. The man makes me uneasy. But I promise love, this will be the last time. This run will set our future, and today, I’ll tell Master Jean. I promise to be with you when you have the babe. I miss you and dream of you each night.

Your loving husband, Jerome

Marcie read it again and studied his words. Where he was, another lifetime, but why this name? She lifted up the paper package, when a folded picture slipped out from behind. The bold inscription on the back read
Jerome and Isabel, our blessed day.

Marcie studied the man and the woman in the timeless, austere pose. The resemblance to the golden haired man in her dream that night under the glowing light was astounding. As she looked closer, so was the resemblance to Sam. Jerome’s hair was long and tied back in this photo, but the features of his face, jaw, broad forehead; it was unmistakable. He was dressed as a gentleman in a tuxedo jacket, riding breaches and hessians. Isabel’s face in the photo was faded, as if gripped between someone’s fingers, repeatedly. She wore an antique lace wedding gown. Jerome’s hand rested upon her shoulder. A familiar pose for that period of time.

“How’d you get buried way back there?” Her stomach dropped, when his growl rushed her headfirst back to the present. Marcie placed her hand over her chest to calm the wild beating.

“Jeez Sam, you scared me. Didn’t your Mama ever teach you not to sneak up on a lady?” The way he smiled made it seem as if he’d figured things out.

“But you forget, in cop school that’s exactly what they teach us. So how’d you get in there sugar?”

“I just kept moving boxes, until I was here. Sam, wait until you see what I found. Come here.”

Sam shuffled boxes and crouched to where she sat cross-legged on the floor. Marcie handed him the picture.

“Turn it over. See the name.”

Sam frowned. “It’s an old picture, where’d you find it? Cool.” He handed it back with absolutely no interest.

“Sam read this” She held up the packet of letters. Sam took all the letters, including the one she read.

His lips moved as he whispered over each word.

“Wow interesting history.” Sam handed the letter back.

“Who do these letters belong to?”

Sam walked toward the stairs. “I don’t know for sure, probably some distant relative. I didn’t know my granddaddy, so all this is a mystery. But as a former detective, don’t people usually stash all their old family photos and trinkets in the attic.”

“Good investigating, Sam. Do you mind if I keep these letters to read?”

“No, go ahead. I bought you some clothes and picked up lunch. I’m hungry, so let’s eat.”

Sam extended his hand and helped Marcie up. “So did you discover any treasures in all your digging up here?”

Marcie appreciated his broad shoulders, all of him really, while he moved ahead of her down the stairs. She clutched the packet of letters, as if a window from another time had burst open, and handed them to her. “Sometimes treasures come in a way we least expect.”

After lunch while Sam spoke on the phone, first with Jesse and then Diane, Marcie hefted out the letters and curled up in an old, easy chair in the sitting room, a tiny alcove off the kitchen. She opened the next letter, wondering why Jerome wanted her to see these. What was he trying to tell her?

December 5, 18
1
4

My Darling,

Navigating the waters of Barataria Bay, we expected to be home some time ago. Please don’t lose faith. We ran into some trouble. There was a supply ship waiting where we were told, but they were prepared for us, and out of nowhere, the Spanish fleet joined them, coming down hard upon us. It was a bloody fight. We were betrayed. There’s a traitor among us. Master Jean has assembled a small team to discover who it is. He’ll be dealt with harshly. We lost many good men in the fight, and the ship sustained some damage, and we narrowly escaped. We have to lay low for a while and have stashed ourselves in Master Jean’s stronghold. I expect this letter to find you safe. I do not know when it will reach you but have given it to a kind captain of a local supply ship. I pray every day I will be home with you, my loving wife, before the babe comes. Keep safe, be strong and keep loving thoughts of me, as I dream of holding you once again in my arms.

Your loving husband, Jerome

Marcie’s heart felt heavy with Jerome’s despair, and his desire to be with the woman he loved. She glanced at Sam while he paced through the kitchen and bedroom, talking on his cell phone. Marcie sighed. She opened the next letter, dated several months later.

February 27, 18
1
5

My dearest love, please do not forget me. I dream about you every night and long to hold you in my arms. The pain and emptiness I feel at this moment tears my heart out to write this. I’m in the brig and have been wrongly convicted of treason. Evidence was planted in my bunk. Letters to the Spanish describing in detail our holds and the location of Jean’s stronghold. My dear friend has turned his back on me, and his look of contempt for me is damming for this perceived betrayal. I swear to you, my love; I did not do this. I’m trying not to lose faith, but I fear that by day’s end, I’ll be dead. There’s still a traitor on board. I don’t know who it is. Somehow, I suspect the colonel’s connected. My love tell our babe every day how his papa loved him. I do not know if it’s a boy or girl. My greatest fear is never holding my child. Keep safe my love and know my last thoughts were always of you.

I will love you always, Jerome

The words blurred. Marcie’s chest burned from the unspeakable torment, of having his life and love wrenched away.

A soft touch on her shoulder nearly sent her through the roof. She allowed Sam to pull her into his arms.

“What happened, I heard you crying?”

Marcie shook her head. Emptiness of a lost love embedded like a solid rock deep inside. “They killed him. He was set up.”

“Who killed him? What are you talking about? Who was killed?” He sat her down and knelt beside her. Marcie sniffled while he held her hands.

“There, in the letter.” She pulled her hand from his and picked the letter up from the rickety paint splattered side table.

Sam took it from her, his face a mirage of questions “Oh … okay.” He put down the letter and wandered away with only a vague flicker of interest. “What happened in that letter was over 150 years ago, a tragedy sure. But nothing I can fix or do anything about. Besides, we need to go.”

He tossed her a plastic bag.

“What’s this?”

“Your new clothes; we leave in fifteen minutes.”

Sam whistled as he strode into the kitchen. So much was going on inside of her. She couldn’t separate one feeling from another. Feelings refusing to allow her to be happy. Doubts, anxiety, pity and losing control of who she was, all mixed up with fear; she was falling for him big time. All because he dictated, took charge, looked after things for her and protected her. She felt inadequate, which made her furious because out of all of this, somehow he’d stolen her heart. Marcie stomped into the bedroom, afraid of the lighthearted giddy fluttering flowing through her heart. She viewed this unknown with such distrust that some familiar misery leaked out from some secret compartment, locked deep inside.

Sam choked on his coffee when he heard the door slam. He knew she was mad but couldn’t help the devil in him who enjoyed getting a rise out of her. He couldn’t figure out why he was drawn to her. He barely knew her but couldn’t keep his hands off her. She was trouble, in an honest sort of way—a way he couldn’t explain. And he told himself if he was smart, he’d have walked away. But some feeling he couldn’t shake had him believing, like his own circumstance, she too may be a pawn for someone’s gain. He knew the criminal element darkened some people, and no part of that greed or manipulation filled her. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he already lived with that. Deep down he always suspected Elise had her hand in some pot, skimming off the top. Except he loved her so much; he thought he could change her. The icing on the cake, Marcie had more fire and passion knotting him up than any woman he ever met, even Elise. An inner war waging inside had him bouncing back and forth between anger, honest to goodness chivalry, needing Marcie and just plain lust.

Then guilt washed over him. He closed his eyes to block out her face when Elise crept into his thoughts again. He refused to be sucked into that despair. He had to let her go.

Marcie was different. She peaked his interest, and he craved being with her in a way he had never experienced before. Right now it threw him a curve ball he wasn’t sure he wanted. He shook off this craziness. Still, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he had this burning need to keep her with him. She was now his lover, friend, and he knew what about her past? Nothing but his gut and heart urged him not to walk away.

Marcie erupted from the bathroom five minutes later. She shimmered in the red cotton sundress, with her miles of hair hanging past her shoulders, and it punched up his heart a few notches.
Wow.
The only word his brain could produce. Thin spaghetti straps enhanced her lovely breasts, and the soft cotton fell loosely from her waist to mid-thigh, magnifying her curvaceous body. Alarmed, he realized his mistake. She now stood out.