The Immortal American

  ~*~

  I heard a door open and close. It had to be the kitchen door with Mrs. Jones coming to wake me for my wedding.

  “It is Mrs. Jones,” Jacque whispered.

  I breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Jacque’s always calm voice. What an awful dream I’d had.

  But the reality was I was to marry today. I would never have Jacque in my bed again. Or be encircled in his scent like I was at that moment—leather, pine, and what was that? Anxiety?

  I wanted to laugh. How could I smell anxiety?

  “Tu respirez.”

  Of course I was breathing, I wanted to say to Jacque, but I found that my mouth felt sticky. More than likely because I’d slept for so long.

  Jacque caressed my cheek, and I couldn’t help but smile. By God but I loved him.

  “Remercier Dieu.”

  Why was Jacque thanking God? Why was I so cold? Was I covered in sweat? Was I still under the quilt? Why couldn’t I open my eyes to check?

  Suddenly I thought I heard Bethany move about the kitchen. I could have sworn I heard her say to herself that she was going to let me sleep in, that I needed as much rest as I could get, that she would come up and get me in twenty minutes time. No thirty, she said.

  But she was a floor under me, and there was no way I could hear her that clearly. I never had before. Once my mother had yelled at my father in the kitchen. My sister and I had been in our chamber, and even then we’d only heard the muffled shouts that my father had spent too much money on tobacco yet again.

  “Violet, chér, I need you to wake up. Mrs. Jones is in the house. She’s going to come up soon to get you ready for your wedding. We must leave now.”

  Yes, he had to leave me, and I had to leave for my wedding.

  Jacque wrapped his hands around my arms and tried to gently shake me awake.

  I fought the glue in my eyelids, then they sprang open. Oh! How that hurt. I clumsily covered my eyes to shield them from the burn of the—of the colors. Only my arm felt too heavy and when I’d finally summoned the strength, I smacked my forehead maladroitly before I covered my eyes with my forearm. It wasn’t that my chamber was too bright, there was just too many colors. They were in such immense detail. Too much. The colors were too loud.

  “Ah, I’m sorry,” Jacque said. “I forgot how odd the transformation felt. Seeing more clearly, the better hearing, being faster, stronger . . .”

  What on earth was he talking about?

  I peeked at him. His face slowly came into focus. He was smiling, yet his countenance was smeared with worry. His hands around my arms softened into a caress. Lord, he was beautiful. His glossy black hair, light skin, and those glowing eyes. Dark, dark blue gazing down at me. I didn’t want to move from his stare.

  “There you are. Come back to me.” He smiled proudly, like a new parent. “Are you still in pain?”

  I sucked in a breath, realization dawning on me.

  I tried to ask why I might be in pain, but my mouth was curdled in mud and cotton.

  “Can you move, Violet?”

  I tried to lift my shoulder, to adjust my position, but I felt so heavy, as if I weighed the same as Bess. I tried to shake my head, but my head was still. My God, what was wrong with me? Did Jacque really poison me?

  I heard Bethany again mutter something about getting the eggs from the chickens being as much fun as sucking lye juice. But then the kitchen’s door opened and closed, and I guessed that she had gone to fetch the eggs anyway.

  I looked at Jacque, noticing that my breath felt pinched and with every fast gulp of air, my ribs felt as if they were healing from serious blows. I’d once fallen from the wagon and landed on my back, knocking the air out of me. My ribs had ached for weeks, like the bones themselves were too large for my skin and lungs. That was how I felt at that instant.

  Jacque smiled down at me comfortingly. “Violet, I’m going to have to carry you away now.”

  He had poisoned me! He’d made it so I was paralyzed to do his bidding.

  What bothered me the most at that moment was that somewhere in my mind or in my heart, I understood what he had done and why. Something in me wanted to run away with him, and to take the choice away would make it that much less guilt inducing. Somewhere in my soul I sympathized.

  As he leaned over me, gently cradling my head, then sliding an arm around my legs, something else in me screamed for my freedom. He’d poisoned me into paralysis. He’d taken my choice away, admitting that himself, and damn him to hell, but I wasn’t going to go with him. Not that way!

  He tried to lift me, but my head bobbed at what must have looked like an ugly angle. He stopped to adjust his hold, and I sprang from him.

  Surprised to be able to use my body again, as well as how I had suddenly jumped on top of my bureau, I struggled with the sheet covering me, trying for some kind of decorum while I glared down at him.

  He blinked. His arms still outstretched.

  He straightened slowly.

  “I’m not paralyzed anymore.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Dark Deeds