Nine Steps to Sara (32 page)

“
L
et me,” Will scooped him up into his arms, Jack’s head lolling on his shoulder.  Once more Sara felt her heart give a little twist at seeing him be so gentle with her son, following him up the stairs until they reached the nursery.  Together they wrestled off his shoes and socks, folding him into the warmth of the bed.  “Guess there’s no story tonight, is there?” he smiled, adding another log to the fire and replacing the heavy grate. 

“Nope, once he’s asleep there’s no waking him until morning,” Sara smiled down at Jack, laying a kiss to his forehead. 

“He’s a good lad, smart as a whip and curious as anything.  You’ve done well.”

What she would have given to hear Peter say those same words…
  “Thanks,
but I can’t take all the credit
he came out awesome.  I’m just lucky to have him.”

“
I’m a fan of your mothering skills all the same; you should have a dozen more just like him,” he nudged her shoulder with his and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s a lot of kids, where do you suggest I get them all?”

“I’m a fan of traditional methods, but by all means, get creative.”

“Just because the house is this big, doesn’t mean I have a moral obligation to fill it.”

“What about an obligation to yourself?  Do you see yourself having more children someday?”

That was twice he’d asked her about that; a little odd for an unattached man, but a good sign, she supposed.  “I told you, I’m not opposed to the idea but I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me.”

“Then maybe it’s time to try a new game?
”
Will pulled her close for a lingering kiss and only the fact that they stood only a few feet away from her slumbering son kept her from getting completely swept up in it. 

“Maybe we should go check out the library?” she breathed when they came up for air. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” Will groaned, pulling the hall door open with a resigned smile. 

* * *

Only they didn’t find the bible in the library. 

Or in Gemma’s parlor. 

Finally, they decided to call it a night, Sara to read more of the diary and Will to get a good night’s sleep, since he’d be out helping his father at the crack of dawn.  Settling into bed with a glass of wine and the diary, she read until her eyes grew tired and bleary and the words became a jumble too difficult to decipher.  Even though there were only a few entries left, Sara
set
the diary aside to go brush her teeth and get ready for bed.  Being as quiet as possible so as not to disturb Will, she brushed and washed, turning off the lights on the way back to the bed. 

There on the coverlet sat a black leather bound book that hadn’t been there minutes before.  “Katie?” Sara called out softly, wondering if the maid had been in her room while she was in the bathroom, but the only sound that came back to her was the crackling of the fire.  Embossed on the front cover, in weathered gold were the words
Holy Bible
.  “Thanks, Gemma,” Sara murmured, picking up the bible with trembling fingers. 

A casual flip through the worn pages revealed the standard bible text, nothing out of the ordinary.  Turning to the front pages, Sara found neat entries of names and dates, just as Will mentioned, detailing the family’s history, going back all the way to
1797
.  But beyond names and dates, there wasn’t much of a history recorded there; there wasn’t even a cause of death listed by the names.  The closer Sara looked, the more a pattern began to emerge in the simple entries; children were listed in order of birth, no strange thing there, but they were numbered;
one
,
two
,
three
… etcetera.  All of the first born had the number one beside their name, and all of them died before any of the other children, without fail. 

While she knew infant mortality was high so long ago, it seemed an odd coincidence that every single first born would be the first to die in each generation.  And as the dates grew more recent, surely some of the deaths might have been preventable, shouldn’t they? 

The last entry was her own name and date of birth, with Jack’s below it, the number one written next to it. 

One.

All at once it clicked into place, that’s why Jack was in danger,
he was her first born!
 

“Will!” Sara tore into the adjoining bedroom without bothering to knock, getting halfway into the room before she realized it was empty.  The bedside light was on, but the bed was undisturbed.  “Will?” she checked the dressing room, but there was no sign of him, anywhere. 

Unable to settle down, she waited for him to return, figuring he might have gone down for a late night snack, or possibly a drink.  She could use one herself, if only to steady her nerves as she paced back and forth, clutching the family bible to her chest. 

A creak of the floor had her throwing open the bedroom door, eager to find Will out in the hallway, but the hall was dark outside the bedroom.  The creak sounded again, and her head canted up, trying to place the source of the sound.  Halfway down the hall, she knew where she was headed; quickening her pace as she took the stairs up to the third floor to check on Jack. 

Half afraid to open the door for fear of what she might find, Sara sucked in a deep breath, turning the knob as silently as possible.  Despite her best efforts, it squeaked loudly, making her wince as she stepped into the room, finding Jack fast asleep in his bed.  Letting out the pent up breath, she stood by his bedside, gently touching his face, reassuring herself that he was fine and healthy. 

The creak sounded again, louder this time, drawing Sara away from his bedside, back out into the hall to explore further down the corridor.  Regularly rhythmic, again it put her
in mind of an old rocking chair
sitting on a wooden
porch, but in the darkened hall
there was nothing soothing about it.  The sound seemed to be coming from
the room at the end of the hall.  T
he second her hand closed over the knob, it stopped, leaving only the sound of her harsh breath as Sara realized she was breathing harder than she had to and forced herself to relax. 

Heart pounding in her ears, she turned the knob, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved when it wouldn’t turn.  “Locked,” she breathed, trying again as if she might be able to suddenly jar it open by magic.  Standing in the deserted hallway in the dark in a nightgown with bare feet, Sara started to question what the heck she was doing up there, and turned to leave. 

Not three steps away, the creaking sounded again and Sara stopped with a s
nort
of disgust.  “Really?” she muttered, turning back to see the door swing open all by its lonesome.

“Hello?” Sara called out softly, frozen in place.  Was there someone in the room messing with her the whole time?  She didn’t put it past Mrs. Poole to have
a person
stashed up on the third floor out of the way, assuming she might never even know about it in a house so big.  The creaking sound continued, louder with the door open, leaving no doubt in her mind it originated from the room.
  “Is someone there?” she asked
a little louder, and the sound immediately ceased.

Approaching slowly, she stepped into the room,
l
it only by the moonlight streaming through the dirty windows.  Shadows crouched at every step, casting the room in murky gloom.  An old wrought iron bed sat pushed into the corner, the bed clothes
faded
and worn with age.  Other than the bed, a lady’s dressing table stood beside the barred window, the only other furniture a carved, wooden rocker in the center of the room.  Despite the fact that the room was completely deserted, Sara couldn’t help but feel a presence, or was it only her imagination?

Moving forward to inspect the window, she frowned at the ugly iron bars.  What were they for?  The creak of the rocker startled her, and she spun, hair flying in a dark cloud
,
to find the chair rocking steadily, completely empty.  “Gemma?” she breathed, taking a step closer, then another, hand outstretched to see if she could stop the motion.  Her hand reached a pocket of cold
air
as it slid over the center of the rocker, as though she was reaching into the freezer and Sara snatched it back, pressing it to her hot cheek.  “Gemma, is that you?” she asked nervously, voice barely above a whisper.  “You have to stop,” she pleaded, lips trembling as she reached forward again.  “Please stop…”

Her hand connected with the back of the rocker and the motion stopped.  Letting out a breath of relief, Sara froze as the room changed in a flash, and she found herself standing in the room as it was
a hundred
years ago. 
L
ight
spilled
soft and golden through the cheery yellow curtains which matched the bed
,
piled high with pillows.  The floor was immaculate and sported brightly colored rugs beside the bed and table which held an ornate silver hairbrush and a scatter of lady’s toiletries, the mirror polished to a bright sheen.

Only the bars remained unchanged, lending a stain of menace to the otherwise comfortable room.  The creak of the rocker drew Sara away from her study of the room and she saw a woman’s figure in the chair, lazily rocking as she sang a child’s lullaby, her arm curved protectively around her swollen belly. 

“Gemma…” Sara approached her slowly; unsure if what she was seeing was in any way real.  “Can you hear me?”  The woman gave no sign that she could see or hear Sara, continuing to rock until the door opened, and a grim faced woman came in, carrying a tray of food. 

“Please, take it away, Mrs. Poole.  I can’t eat until midday, you know that.” 

Stunned by the name, Sara watched in fascination as the scene played out before her.  Was the woman somehow related to her Mrs. Poole? 

“You have to eat; you’ll make yourself sick and the babe as well,” the maid insisted, setting the tray on the dressing table and fussing with putting away the scattered paraphernalia. 

“What difference does it make when you’ll only take the child away from me?” Gemma replied glumly, refusing to look at the food. 

“Don’t be daft, girl.  No one is about to do any such thing.” 

“Then why not let me go?” Gemma sat higher in the chair, turning to face her.  “If it’s truly as you say, then why keep me here?”

“You know why, you’re not to be trusted, you’ve proven that,” Mrs. Poole replied, busying herself with preparing a cup of tea. 

“People will talk, someone will find out you’re holding me here eventually.” 

“No, my Lady, you misunderstand.  There is no secret; everyone knows you’re being kept up here for your own safety.  There is no rescue at hand.  The sooner you leave off the melodramatics and take care of yourself, the sooner you’ll earn the master’s trust again.  That is the only way you’ll see outside these four walls again,” she held out the cup of tea, but Gemma refused to take it.

“I won’t eat; you can’t make me,” her chin thrust out pugnaciously. 

“No, I can’t,” Mrs. Poole sighed heavily.  “But do you really want me to bring him here?”

Gemma blanched, fingers trembling as she reached for the cup and saucer.  “I truly can’t manage anything more than tea and toast.  You know it’ll come right back up,” she said meekly. 

“No, don’t drink it,” Sara called out, having a bad feeling about the tea.  “Gemma…” Reaching for the cup, Sara’s fingers connected with the china saucer, sending it crashing to the floor with a splash of hot tea.

“Ugh, you clumsy girl…” Mrs. Poole scowled, catching up a cloth to wipe up the mess.  “I thought you were going to cooperate; now I’ll have to tell him about this.”