The Wish Collector
Page 21
A sweeping joy raced through her, a hopefulness filled with awe that caused her to laugh out loud. “Do you see it? Is it weeping on your side as well?”
“Yes.” The place where her lips had just been pressed was suddenly shadowed and she saw the rosy tint of his mouth through the stony gap. Unbidden, she brought her finger to the spot and though the wall was too thick and the gap too thin for her to touch him, she felt the exhale of his warm breath and tingly goosebumps prickled every inch of her skin.
“Jonah . . . “ she whispered, the feeling dreamy and strange. She didn’t understand it and yet she wanted more of it. She dropped her hand, replacing her finger with her lips and breathing his name again, their breath mingling.
For a moment they only breathed together and she closed her eyes, picturing them as they must appear from above, their bodies in the same position, pressing toward each other, the barrier of the wall separating them. It was the most intimate moment Clara had ever experienced.
The wall’s tears ran over her cheeks and into the corners of her open mouth. She darted her tongue out to taste them and laughed. “It’s salty, Jonah.” Just like real tears. Angelina’s tears.
Sadness mingled with the joy coursing through Clara’s heart, the wonder of the sight of the wall weeping dampened by the memory that the legend said the wall would only stop weeping when Angelina was set free.
Perhaps Clara couldn’t set Angelina free. Perhaps the wall wept for reasons other than magic or legend that Clara couldn’t explain. But Jonah Chamberlain was very real, and maybe she could help set him free from his self-appointed isolation. Perhaps she could help do good here at Windisle Plantation after all.
“Meet me, Jonah,” she whispered through stone, over his lips.
“What?” he croaked. “Why?”
She drew back slightly so she could speak more easily, immediately missing the intimacy of their mouths being so close. A kiss, only not. “Because you can trust me. Because I’m your friend. I know you have scars. I know it’s . . . hard for you. I understand. I do. But if you take the first step, if you come out from behind this wall, just for a short time, I’ll be there to do it with you.”
Hope soared in Clara’s chest. She hadn't felt this type of overwhelming joy in years, not since before her dad got sick. Time is so precious. She had learned that it should never be wasted. Sometimes there wouldn’t be a second chance.
"Meet me. Come out from behind the wall and meet me,” she repeated.
He drew away too, and Clara could practically feel the tension and the indecision pouring off of him. “I can’t.”
“You can. Jonah, you can.” She thought about asking to go inside, but somehow Clara felt that it was more important that he come out. Maybe after that, he’d invite her inside of his personal sanctuary, maybe eventually she’d be allowed to see Windisle rather than only hear the description. But this was for him, and she believed if Jonah stepped outside, just once, he’d see that he didn’t have to live the life of a trapped monster. And maybe he could begin to forgive himself.
Angelina would never live again. But Clara’s wish collector could. And she would help him do it. “You can,” she whispered with all the conviction in her heart.
Clara stood and watched the shadows move through the cracks in the wall as Jonah stood too. They were pressed against opposite sides of the wall again, only this time, the entirety of their bodies.
A warm tingle moved over Clara’s skin and she swallowed. “I get out of rehearsal at nine this Thursday night. There's a park only about a mile from here with a fountain and a few benches. Do you know it?”
“Yes,” he said haltingly.
“Meet me there. I’ll wait by the fountain. There’s never anyone else there when I go by it on the way here. It’ll be late, and it’ll only be me.”
“Clara, I—"
“Please. I’ll be waiting for you. All you have to do is join me.”
He was silent for several long moments before he let out a loud whoosh of air. "Okay."
Clara grinned, such intense happiness rushing through her that it turned into a joyful laugh. "Yes? Okay," she said, backing away before he changed his mind. She’d order her Uber from down the block. "See you then. See you then, wish collector,” she called.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
November, 1860
The cool autumn breeze flowed over Angelina’s bare skin, causing her to shiver slightly, though her lips remained tipped upward in happiness. She felt John’s mouth on her shoulder, his lips warm and soft as he kissed her there, nipping softly as she laughed.
The old bed springs squeaked as she turned into the cradle of his arms, trailing one finger over his smooth jaw and then nuzzling her lips where her finger had been. Under the blankets she felt him stir again and smiled against his skin. “I have to get back,” she whispered.
He groaned, pulling her closer. “Just a few more minutes.”
She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of the day hidden away in that empty cabin with him, but knowing every minute she was away was a moment they were risking being caught. “I want to, John, but—”
“I know,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips and sitting up. She followed suit, turning and reaching for her dress where it lay discarded on the floor. One of the buttons was hanging loose. She’d need to repair it later.
My, but John had been in a hurry to get it off of me. She smiled again at the very recent memory of their lovemaking.
Behind her, John’s hand moved slowly down her back and when she glanced over her shoulder, the look on his face was reverent as though the feel of her mesmerized him. “Someday we’re going to have all the time in the world together,” he murmured. “Someday we’re not going to have to worry about who catches us, or who knows we’re together.” His voice was hushed, introspective as though he almost didn’t realize he was speaking aloud.
“That will be nice,” she answered, standing as his hand fell away. Nice? What an understatement. Glorious, more like.
She knew they were playing a game of what if, but it felt too good not to participate. What if . . . oh, what if he could be hers to fall asleep with and wake up to? To walk hand in hand down the street . . . to eat meals with and marry and— She cut off the thought as she pulled on her dress, turning back to him where he still sat on the bed, his bare golden skin shining in the dusky light filtering through the burlap curtains.
She was willing to play what if, but if her mind spun too far, the game became painful. Angelina knew very well how important limits were, though looking at John’s naked chest now reminded her she’d surpassed several already. A chill went down her spine, and this time it had nothing to do with the cool air flowing through the cabin.
“Come here,” he said, seeming to read her sudden melancholy. He pulled her to him and held her, stroking her back for a moment before letting her go and pulling on his own clothes.
He stood before her, taking her upper arms in his hands. “We are going to find a way. I don’t care if we have to travel to some other continent and live in a cave in the desert.”
She laughed and his eyes twinkled, but in truth, that might be their only true option. Still . . . a cave, with John, all to herself, day and night . . .
“Or a den under a massive oak tree.” She’d seen that once, watched a whole family of rabbits hop right down a hole in the ground. She’d been jealous of them, truth be told. How peaceful it must be down there. How utterly safe. “We’ll string a hammock from the roots to sleep in, and eat acorns for dinner.”
John laughed, but she perceived the note of sadness in his smile. He twisted a finger into one of her curls, pulling on it slightly and then watching as it sprang back. For a moment, his eyes filled with wonder as if her hair were some form of miracle he’d never known existed. “There’s a place for us, Angelina. Somewhere in this wide, wide world. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispered with all the conviction in her pure and gentle heart. “Yes.”
They kissed for long minutes, for centuries, for eons, and it wasn’t enough, but Angelina knew their time was ticking. She felt it in her blood as if she carried some sort of internal clock that was counting down the hours and moving toward some unknown ending. Please let it be a good one, she thought. Please, please.
“Yes.” The place where her lips had just been pressed was suddenly shadowed and she saw the rosy tint of his mouth through the stony gap. Unbidden, she brought her finger to the spot and though the wall was too thick and the gap too thin for her to touch him, she felt the exhale of his warm breath and tingly goosebumps prickled every inch of her skin.
“Jonah . . . “ she whispered, the feeling dreamy and strange. She didn’t understand it and yet she wanted more of it. She dropped her hand, replacing her finger with her lips and breathing his name again, their breath mingling.
For a moment they only breathed together and she closed her eyes, picturing them as they must appear from above, their bodies in the same position, pressing toward each other, the barrier of the wall separating them. It was the most intimate moment Clara had ever experienced.
The wall’s tears ran over her cheeks and into the corners of her open mouth. She darted her tongue out to taste them and laughed. “It’s salty, Jonah.” Just like real tears. Angelina’s tears.
Sadness mingled with the joy coursing through Clara’s heart, the wonder of the sight of the wall weeping dampened by the memory that the legend said the wall would only stop weeping when Angelina was set free.
Perhaps Clara couldn’t set Angelina free. Perhaps the wall wept for reasons other than magic or legend that Clara couldn’t explain. But Jonah Chamberlain was very real, and maybe she could help set him free from his self-appointed isolation. Perhaps she could help do good here at Windisle Plantation after all.
“Meet me, Jonah,” she whispered through stone, over his lips.
“What?” he croaked. “Why?”
She drew back slightly so she could speak more easily, immediately missing the intimacy of their mouths being so close. A kiss, only not. “Because you can trust me. Because I’m your friend. I know you have scars. I know it’s . . . hard for you. I understand. I do. But if you take the first step, if you come out from behind this wall, just for a short time, I’ll be there to do it with you.”
Hope soared in Clara’s chest. She hadn't felt this type of overwhelming joy in years, not since before her dad got sick. Time is so precious. She had learned that it should never be wasted. Sometimes there wouldn’t be a second chance.
"Meet me. Come out from behind the wall and meet me,” she repeated.
He drew away too, and Clara could practically feel the tension and the indecision pouring off of him. “I can’t.”
“You can. Jonah, you can.” She thought about asking to go inside, but somehow Clara felt that it was more important that he come out. Maybe after that, he’d invite her inside of his personal sanctuary, maybe eventually she’d be allowed to see Windisle rather than only hear the description. But this was for him, and she believed if Jonah stepped outside, just once, he’d see that he didn’t have to live the life of a trapped monster. And maybe he could begin to forgive himself.
Angelina would never live again. But Clara’s wish collector could. And she would help him do it. “You can,” she whispered with all the conviction in her heart.
Clara stood and watched the shadows move through the cracks in the wall as Jonah stood too. They were pressed against opposite sides of the wall again, only this time, the entirety of their bodies.
A warm tingle moved over Clara’s skin and she swallowed. “I get out of rehearsal at nine this Thursday night. There's a park only about a mile from here with a fountain and a few benches. Do you know it?”
“Yes,” he said haltingly.
“Meet me there. I’ll wait by the fountain. There’s never anyone else there when I go by it on the way here. It’ll be late, and it’ll only be me.”
“Clara, I—"
“Please. I’ll be waiting for you. All you have to do is join me.”
He was silent for several long moments before he let out a loud whoosh of air. "Okay."
Clara grinned, such intense happiness rushing through her that it turned into a joyful laugh. "Yes? Okay," she said, backing away before he changed his mind. She’d order her Uber from down the block. "See you then. See you then, wish collector,” she called.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
November, 1860
The cool autumn breeze flowed over Angelina’s bare skin, causing her to shiver slightly, though her lips remained tipped upward in happiness. She felt John’s mouth on her shoulder, his lips warm and soft as he kissed her there, nipping softly as she laughed.
The old bed springs squeaked as she turned into the cradle of his arms, trailing one finger over his smooth jaw and then nuzzling her lips where her finger had been. Under the blankets she felt him stir again and smiled against his skin. “I have to get back,” she whispered.
He groaned, pulling her closer. “Just a few more minutes.”
She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of the day hidden away in that empty cabin with him, but knowing every minute she was away was a moment they were risking being caught. “I want to, John, but—”
“I know,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips and sitting up. She followed suit, turning and reaching for her dress where it lay discarded on the floor. One of the buttons was hanging loose. She’d need to repair it later.
My, but John had been in a hurry to get it off of me. She smiled again at the very recent memory of their lovemaking.
Behind her, John’s hand moved slowly down her back and when she glanced over her shoulder, the look on his face was reverent as though the feel of her mesmerized him. “Someday we’re going to have all the time in the world together,” he murmured. “Someday we’re not going to have to worry about who catches us, or who knows we’re together.” His voice was hushed, introspective as though he almost didn’t realize he was speaking aloud.
“That will be nice,” she answered, standing as his hand fell away. Nice? What an understatement. Glorious, more like.
She knew they were playing a game of what if, but it felt too good not to participate. What if . . . oh, what if he could be hers to fall asleep with and wake up to? To walk hand in hand down the street . . . to eat meals with and marry and— She cut off the thought as she pulled on her dress, turning back to him where he still sat on the bed, his bare golden skin shining in the dusky light filtering through the burlap curtains.
She was willing to play what if, but if her mind spun too far, the game became painful. Angelina knew very well how important limits were, though looking at John’s naked chest now reminded her she’d surpassed several already. A chill went down her spine, and this time it had nothing to do with the cool air flowing through the cabin.
“Come here,” he said, seeming to read her sudden melancholy. He pulled her to him and held her, stroking her back for a moment before letting her go and pulling on his own clothes.
He stood before her, taking her upper arms in his hands. “We are going to find a way. I don’t care if we have to travel to some other continent and live in a cave in the desert.”
She laughed and his eyes twinkled, but in truth, that might be their only true option. Still . . . a cave, with John, all to herself, day and night . . .
“Or a den under a massive oak tree.” She’d seen that once, watched a whole family of rabbits hop right down a hole in the ground. She’d been jealous of them, truth be told. How peaceful it must be down there. How utterly safe. “We’ll string a hammock from the roots to sleep in, and eat acorns for dinner.”
John laughed, but she perceived the note of sadness in his smile. He twisted a finger into one of her curls, pulling on it slightly and then watching as it sprang back. For a moment, his eyes filled with wonder as if her hair were some form of miracle he’d never known existed. “There’s a place for us, Angelina. Somewhere in this wide, wide world. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispered with all the conviction in her pure and gentle heart. “Yes.”
They kissed for long minutes, for centuries, for eons, and it wasn’t enough, but Angelina knew their time was ticking. She felt it in her blood as if she carried some sort of internal clock that was counting down the hours and moving toward some unknown ending. Please let it be a good one, she thought. Please, please.
