Heart & Soul Read online

  Her first errand of the day was to drop the rent check off at Holly’s office. Property Solutions Inc. looked on the up and up, as her mother would say. Her mother was the queen of cliches. She considered it conversational shorthand. Her mother also would have said, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” It was a nice house and it was a good price—“just do it.”

  Sharon walked into the office to find a nice lady with a helmet head of silver hair sitting behind the receptionist’s desk. She looked up at Sharon and smiled.

  “Does Holly work here?” Sharon said.

  “Why yes, dear, she certainly does,” the lady said.

  “I have a rent check for her. It’s for Fairhaven.”

  “Fairhaven? Mercy, I haven’t heard it called that in ages.”

  Sharon looked perplexed. “I don’t know why I called it that. It just popped out of my mouth.”

  The lady laughed. “The house was built even before my time,” she said, “But it was named Fairhaven by the original owners.”

  Sharon handed over the check. “Can you make sure Holly gets this?”

  “Of course. She said that you might want to look over the terms on the rent-to-own proposition on the house—that’s if everything went well last night?” the lady said, her voice raising on the word “everything.” She handed Sharon a thick envelope. “Holly said she hoped you’d find the terms very agreeable.”

  “That might be a little premature, but I’ll look it over,” Sharon said, accepting the envelope.

  “Just between us… the terms are very negotiable,” the lady said.

  “Thank you.” Sharon stopped at the door and turned back around. “Is there something wrong with the house?”

  “Wrong?”

  “Like it has termites or the foundation is going to fall in or something?”

  “The house inspection report in there as well. It’s safe and sound,” the lady said.

  Sharon nodded and left.

  *

  Two weeks passed and Ralph had done wonders with the house. He’d taken three personal days off from work at his interior design firm and devoted two weekends. He was in his element. Sharon was now the proud owner of a period canopy bed, desk, full dining room set, including the right dishes, a living room set and the library had a wardrobe that hid the flat screen television—Ralph had swished his arms at that. “You cannot have a T.V in a library. Or at least one that shows.” She put her books into the built bookcases and Ralph found two leather chairs that were perfectly arranged in front of the library fireplace. All in all, the transformation was amazing.

  “If Dave ever decides to pitch me out, I’m coming to live with you,” Ralph had said. “Now, we just need to find you the perfect lover.”

  The funny thing was Sharon wasn’t lonely. Each night she felt a presence spoon around her as she slept. She thought it must be the aura of the house, of finding a place that was home and having the house love you for it. She really couldn’t explain it, but she felt it.

  “No lovers for me, perfect or otherwise. It might ruin the good vibe I’m having with the house,” Sharon had said.

  She’d seen the woman in the hat a few more times about the neighborhood, but she always seemed to be just out of conversational reach. It didn’t matter so much. Sharon liked knowing she was still around. The woman always wore summer dresses and a big sun hat. She waved now when she saw Sharon at the coffee shop. There was something familiar about the woman. Not familiar as in at the bar, or at some rally but some other way. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  *

  Once Sharon’s Wi-Fi was connected, she wasted no time going online to research the house. She typed “Fairhaven” into the search box and immediately hit pay dirt. She eagerly read about her house. Funny, she was already thinking of it as her house!

  Fairhaven was built in 1892 by a wealthy businessman named Edward Togle. His wife died in child birth after giving him one daughter who grew up to be quite the beauty. She moved to Europe for awhile—meaning she did the Grand Tour—and returned home with a female companion. The father, daughter, and her companion lived together for several years until something happened and the companion left. Her father died two years later and the daughter, Esme Togle, lived in the house until she passed away in her late thirties of the influenza pandemic of 1918.

  Sharon had a healthy fear of the flu. It did kill and it obviously was the death of this woman. She homed in on Esme. Was Esme a lesbian? Why had her female companion left and never returned?

  Now she had more questions than ever. She plugged in her electric kettle and pondered the fate of Esme and her companion. How horrible it must have been to hide your love. To live in fear of being found out.

  Sharon took her tea back to the library. She loved sitting, sipping tea, and looking out the window at the garden below. This time, she hadn’t sat very long when she noticed something unusual. One of the books on the library shelf had toppled over. It wasn’t a book she recognized as one of her own.

  Curious, Sharon pulled it from the shelf. It was an old book. It had a dusty, worn cloth cover. Ralph must have found it on one of his junkets and placed it on the shelf for verisimilitude. Sharon sat down with the book and delicately opened its fragile cover.

  It was a diary. It was written in elegant cursive. The ink was faded in places but still legible. Sharon sipped her tea and began to read.

  Dear Diary. It is with a troubled heart that I set these words upon paper. Today my dear Helen left me. Papa caught us in an compromising position and forced her from the house. No amount of hysterics on my part would persuade him to let her stay. I am beyond tears. Beyond hope. I don’t know how I will live without my dearest Helen. How can it be that a love so pure can be wrong? Is God really so cruel as to give us desires that cannot be fulfilled? I think not.

  Sharon was soon so engrossed in the diary that she didn’t notice when dusk came and went. She took the diary to bed and read until her eyes were too heavy to stay open.

  *

  “You’ve found me,” a soft voice whispered.

  Sharon woke from a deep sleep. Had she dreamed the voice or had the voice woke her? She felt the familiar, loving arms wrap around her.

  “Don’t be afraid. It’s only me,” the voice said.

  Sharon knew who the woman was. It was Esme. The woman from the diary. “Esme,” Sharon whispered.

  “Yes, my love,” Esme answered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Sharon didn’t say anything. A part of her mind knew she was dreaming. Another part of her hoped she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Shhh, my darling,” Esme said. She caressed Sharon’s forehead, erasing her worry lines. “Don’t think. Relax. Enjoy.”

  How could Sharon resist such an ardent plea?

  Esme stroked Sharon’s cheek and then kissed her. It was a long, luxurious kiss. Sharon felt herself stir. It’d been a long time since someone moved her like this. A very long time.

  Esme ran her hands over Sharon’s belly. She leaned over and gently teased a nipple with her gentle caress. Sharon reached for Esme and lightly traced the outline of her hip and pulled her toward her. Their kisses grew more urgent. Esme reached for her and slipped her finger into Sharon’s cleft and across her sweet spot. She was so wet Esme slipped easily inside.

  Sharon gasped. Her hips reached up toward Esme, urging the fingers deeper inside.

  Esme buried her face in Sharon’s neck, her breath coming in short bursts of warmth that echoed the movement of her fingers inside Sharon. Esme used two fingers to fill Sharon’s need as her thumb pressed against the most sensitive of her spots.

  Sharon moaned. At first she moved with Esme’s thrusts, then as her need grew more insistent she moved against the thrusts. Her hips pounded into Esme’s hand, her clit throbbing. At the moment of release, Esme put her mouth over Sharon’s and their breath became one.

  Sharon clasped Esme to her. Her body rippled with ecstasy. It was a passion unlike any she
had ever felt before. It went beyond the pleasure of the flesh. This was an orgasm for the ages.

  *

  Sharon awoke with a start. She rolled over in bed expecting to find Esme. Nobody was there. Had she made love with her? Or was it only a dream? Some kind of dream, she thought. This must be what teenage boys felt like.

  She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. Maybe she would have another dream. She couldn’t, though. She had too much work to do. That was the bane of being self-employed—you were the boss and the employee and the payroll clerk. She made a deal with herself: If she got a good day’s writing done then she would treat herself to reading the rest of Esme’s diary.

  As she was brewing a pot of extra-strong coffee, her cell phone rang. It was her mother. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, sweetie, just checking in. You aren’t writing yet, are you?”

  “Just getting started.”

  “You sound good. How’s the new house? I can’t imagine rattling around in the big place all by my lonesome.”

  “I’m not lonesome,” Sharon said.

  “You’re sure? You would tell me, right?”

  “I’m actually quite content. But thank you for worrying about me.”

  “So the being alone part is okay?” her mother asked.

  “Being alone is certainly better than being with somebody you don’t want to be with,” Sharon said.

  “Well, that is the God’s honest truth.” Her mother had been living on her own for the last ten years after three marriages and several boyfriends.

  “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m a big girl,” Sharon said.

  “Well good, then. I won’t have to drive down and rescue you from the depths of despair.”

  “Isn’t this weekend the annual girls’ get-together?” Sharon said. Her mother and her college girlfriends got together and rented a luxury beach house on the coast and did girl things. They’d been doing this going on forty years. Sharon couldn’t keep track of old high school friends even with the advent of Facebook.

  “Yes. You know you could come along,” her mother said.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I know you don’t want to hang out with a bunch of oldsters but we can be quite entertaining. Especially after several bottles of wine.”

  “I bet. I might find out about some secrets of your past that are best left buried,” Sharon teased.

  “Well, you just never know. If you change your mind, you know where we are.”

  “I love you,” Sharon said.

  “Love you more,” her mother said.

  *

  Sharon wrote the entire morning without pause. The only reason she stopped at all was because her stomach was growling so loudly. She saved her writing onto a flash drive. She had written an entire chapter and outlined several more. An outstanding amount of work. It was like the floodgates had opened and the words had spilled out. She could barely type fast enough to keep up with her thoughts.

  She stood and stretched. Time for lunch. Actually it was closer to supper. If the combo of breakfast and lunch was called brunch, what was the combination of lunch and supper? Lupper?

  Her pantry was almost bare, but she didn’t feel like going grocery shopping—she wanted to get back to Esme’s diary. She opted for a quick latte and pita sandwich at the coffee shop. She walked down the coffee shop and ordered. The cute barista brought out her sandwich.

  “You must be new in the neighborhood,” the barista said.

  “How’d you know?” Sharon asked.

  The barista smiled. “I’d definitely remember you. I have a good memory for pretty faces.”

  Sharon blushed. She wasn’t used to being flirted with. Especially by a woman who was about ten years too young for her.

  “I moved in to the big Victorian down the street.”

  “The old Togle place?”

  Sharon nodded.

  “Whoa, no kidding? What’s it like?”

  “What do you mean?” Sharon asked.

  “That place is like seriously haunted. You didn’t know that?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah.” The barista glanced around, pulled out a chair and sat. “The two guys that own the place used to come in here all the time. They poured a bunch of money into it and everything was going great and then super weird shit started happening.”

  “Like what?” Sharon asked.

  “Like stuff of the paranormal variety. Horror movie stuff, you know, things went missing and reappeared, noises in the night, doors and windows opening and closing. They were super spooked. It was like whatever was in the house didn’t want them there. They put it up for sale but whenever someone came to look at the place the weirdness started up—so then they tried to rent it but nobody’s been brave enough. Until you.”

  A couple walked up to the counter and the barista got up. “But you’re doing okay?”

  “So far,” Sharon said. She wondered if some of the ‘super weird stuff’ had to do with dreams like the one she’d had last night. “Hey, have you ever seen a woman in here in a sun hat?”

  The barista raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Sharon felt herself blushing again, but forged ahead anyway. “She wears a yellow sundress. Long auburn hair and very beautiful.”

  The barista shook her head. “Nope. And I would’ve noticed,” she said with a knowing smile.

  *

  That evening Sharon took the diary out to the sun porch. She found a vase on the metal patio table with a dozen red roses in a glass vase. Judging by their looks and smell, they had just been cut.

  A shiver ran up her spine and she looked around nervously. Who would’ve done such a thing? She checked the back door. It was locked. How had they gotten inside? She could almost hear the barista’s voice saying the words, ‘super weird stuff’ and warning her of creepy happenings. But were a dozen red roses creepy?

  There had to be an explanation. Maybe it was Dave or Ralph. That had to be it. They were driving by and had found the back door unlocked. They put the roses on the porch and locked the door on the way out. With that settled in her mind, she felt much better. She’d call Dave in the morning and thank him.

  She opened the diary and began to read where she’d left off.

  Dear Diary,

  I have given up hope of ever seeing my dear Helen again. Matters here have worsened. Father refuses to speak to me. He doesn’t acknowledge me in the slightest, not even if I speak to him first. He treats me as if I were an abomination. I am thinking of leaving this life behind. I now understand the stories of lovers who die together. If I cannot be with my true love in the flesh then I wish nothing more than to be with her in spirit.

  Sharon felt her own heart breaking as she read. The two women were devastated when forced apart. But both women knew that Esme couldn’t leave her father. He controlled the purse strings and the purse strings controlled Esme.

  Esme thought perhaps Helen had been writing her, and her father had been intercepting the letters. She lived a miserable two years without word from Helen. Then her father died. After his death, Esme found the letters, unopened, in his desk. She read every word, weeping aloud.

  Esme began to make plans. She would sell the house and everything in it. She planned to move to New York City. A city where she had no past. Two spinsters sharing a house wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

  Then the worst thing that could ever happen, did happen. Esme took sick. She continued to write in her diary until the very end. Her last passage read:

  My fever worsens. My body grows weaker ever moment. At my most feverish I believe I see my love, Helen, sitting at the foot of my bed. She takes my hand in hers and tells me that we shall be together again. She promises that not even death can keep us apart. “My heart and soul is intertwined with yours,” she whispers. “Throughout eternity.”

  Oh, how I hope those words are true. I cannot bear the thought of a forever without her.

  Those were her last written words.


  *

  Sharon went inside bringing the roses with her. She arranged them on the kitchen counter so she could look at them while she made dinner. It was a lucky thing that Dave had surveyed her kitchenware before he left off with his decorating. She now had pots and pans and even a colander. She wouldn’t have thought of that until she needed one. And considering that pasta was one of her mainstay foods, having a colander was extremely helpful.

  While the pasta cooked she set the dining room table. On a whim she lighted candles and placed the roses in the middle of the table as a centerpiece. She opened a bottle of wine and set it out to breathe. She stood back and admired the romantic setting she had created. Sharon sighed. A romantic dinner for one? Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she was lonesome.

  She carried her pasta to the table and sat. “What’s wrong with me?” she said aloud, pouring a glass of wine.

  “We all desire love,” a voice said from the end of table.

  Sharon peered through the candlelight and saw a form materialize. It was the woman in the sun hat. Everything finally clicked for Sharon. She realized the woman in the hat was actually Esme.

  Esme said, “We all need love in our lives. When you love someone, really love them, you don’t ever want to be apart.”

  Esme wasn’t wearing a sundress this time. She was wearing a low-cut, frilly dress. The type of dress Sharon had always imagined Zelda Fitzgerald wore. Instead of a sun hat, the woman had her hair done up in an elaborate chignon.

  “You’re Esme,” Sharon said. It came out sounding more like a statement than a question.

  “In the flesh,” she said. “In a matter of speaking,” she amended.

  “What are you doing here?” Sharon said. She took a sip of wine.

  “I live here.”

  “But…you’re…”

  “And, yes, I died here,” Esme said.

  “But how…” Sharon didn’t know what she should say. The logistics of such things were beyond her.

  “Eat, my love, so we can start our evening together. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  “I would,” Sharon said before she could stop herself. She wondered if she’d gone crazy. She ate a bite of spaghetti, hoping that the tangible nature of food would remind her of the reality she hoped she was still a part of.