Thanks to Mary for the edit and for providing the lines I needed from It's a Gift.

Sorry it took so long for the new part, just got busy with other things. (I know, shame on me!)

Merry Christmas to everyone and a good new year.

Chapter 14

Gregg Road had been plowed and salted — for that she was grateful. She couldn't help but wonder if someone had gone over Claymore's head to accomplish the task, knowing he held the purse strings for the town; but then reasoned that if the children who lived along the ridge were going to get to school, he really hadn't had much choice.

She made her way to Priscilla's Antiques first, where the smells of coffee and cider greeted her at the door.

The woman took the bowl, admiring its beauty and said that if Carolyn had some other things to do, she could come back in about an hour. "I want some time to study it and see what we have here."

When Carolyn returned about forty-five minutes later, Priscilla was beaming from ear to ear. She invited Carolyn to sit down at her kitchen table and have a cup of tea.

"I looked it over carefully," she said picking up a book about crystal collectibles. "Unless I'm wrong, which doesn't happen often, this is a Waterford bowl and very rare. Only a few of this type were made in England. You may have yourself quite a find there, Mrs. Muir."

They chatted for a while of the many treasures that could be found at Gull Cottage. Priscilla told her about some that Claymore Gregg had brought in over the years. "I had a feeling he didn't have permission to sell them, so I paid him for them and then kept them. Do you suppose that Daniel Gregg might be interested in seeing them?"

"I don't "suppose"," Carolyn assured her. "I can promise you; he would love to."

After her time at Priscilla's ended, she went over to Deke's, but the man wasn't in. Judging the time to be only around one-thirty, she got in her car, prayed that it would start, and headed down the road to Keystone.

OOO

Angela's Antiques said they couldn't give an appraisal unless she left it there for about a week, which she wasn't wont to do. But the man at the counter did look at it with lust in his eyes and offered her one-hundred dollars for it.

"No, thank you." She shook her head in what she hoped was a warm gesture. "It's not for sale; I was just hoping to find out more about it."

The Keystone library was open and she found a quiet table near the Collectibles section after pulling out three books on Waterford Crystal.

George and William Penrose in Waterford, England had founded the company in 1783. They employed fifty to seventy-five people and produced a crystal of such clarity that not even the famed Irish crystal could rival it. Merchant ships had left every day laden with crystal items for Spain, The West Indies, New York, and New England. For almost a hundred years, the factory thrived; and then, due to lack of capital and excessive taxation, it closed. But the reputation of Waterford was still strong, with pieces selling much higher than their original market value.

The company was re-opened in 1947 and was once again the finest crafter of crystal in the world. The book showed several pieces that had been fashioned in both times and after several pages she found the very punch bowl that was sitting beside her. Yes, it had been commissioned in 1850 for an English seaman and was valued at around $500. The thing she thought strange was that it was reported to be missing. But it wasn't missing, she had it right there.

She visited one more antique shop — not sure why she was obsessed with the item and the woman there cast covetous eyes at the piece. She offered Carolyn $350 for it, but the blonde only smiled and thanked her for the help she had given her; which to tell the truth, was very little.

Settling it in its blanket on the car seat beside her, she made the trip back to Schooner Bay, arriving just in time to pick up the kids from school. Candy and Jonathan were delighted to see her; especially Jonathan who hated riding the bus, but didn't usually say so. He eagerly came running over to the car, carrying what looked like a parasol and it made Carolyn laugh to see it.

"What have you got that for?" she asked, taking the pink frilly thing from her son. "Have you ever seen anything so silly?" She giggled at Candy, who rolled her eyes and said she would like to see someone try to make her carry one.

"It's for a play at school," Jonathan told her. "I have to give it to a girl." He drew out the word girl, like it was a vile thing to say.

"Penelope," Candy smirked. "He's in love with her."

"Only in the play," Jonathan was quick to point out. "But honest, Mom; parasols are supremely feminine." Something in the way he said that, made Carolyn's heart start to race and she felt a cold shiver. "They are beautiful and delicate; just like women."

"Is that part of the play?" she asked, helping him into the back seat.

"No," he shook his head. "It's what Captain Gregg told me."

"Captain Gregg?" Carolyn said weakly, almost afraid to hear what her son might say.

"Mrs. Muir?" Miss Drew came running down the small slope towards the car. "Might I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course." Carolyn turned to the woman, smiling a smile she didn't feel. "How can I help you, Miss Drew?"

The principal went on to ask Carolyn if she would mind writing the contest rules for this year's eighth grade patriotic essay; and if she didn't mind, while she was at it, to maybe come up with a subject as well. "Miss Stoddard and I just can't think of anything original and I'm sure the kids aren't looking forward to writing to about George Washington or the Liberty Bell, like their older siblings have done in the past."

Carolyn nodded, inwardly rolling her eyes. Why was it that " writer" too often translated to professional gofer? "I will get that to you as soon as I can," she promised.

"Excellent. I don't suppose that would be tomorrow, by any chance?"

"When is the essay due, Miss Drew?"

"Well, not until the end of school, but I like to give them plenty of time to work on it. I mean it does carry a five-hundred dollar prize."

"I won't have it ready for you by tomorrow," Carolyn said firmly, "but..." she hoped, "...But I will try to have it for next Monday. I do have an article to get sent to Yankee Magazine that has to be in by Friday."

The women chatted for a few more minutes and then Carolyn finally made her escape. The parasol and Jonathan's comment was temporarily forgotten.

OOO

"Lovely and feminine." Every time she closed her eyes she heard those words. "Lovely and feminine." Rolling over in bed, Carolyn grabbed the spare pillow and held it tight against her body. She had talked to Daniel for two hours that night, not caring about the cost. She had told him about her day, mentioning the punch bowl and then in a manner of telling him the going ons about the family, Jonathan's part in the play and the parasol.

"They look so silly," she had told him, still remembering how she had laughed until she cried when her son had opened the monstrosity.

"I always thought they were lovely and feminine," her fiancé had countered.

"Because you never would have had to use one," she shot back, and then they had talked about more sensual things, making her ache for him. But she couldn't get the way he said those two words out of her mind. Why?

"Lovely and feminine," she said the words, hoping it would drive them out of her mind. She remembered reading in the Destiny's ship logs that Captain Gregg had gone to visit a "friend" in London who he had called "lovely and feminine."

Finally falling into a fretful sleep, her dreams seemed to take a course of their own. She relived the day they moved into Gull Cottage, again without Bobby. She woke up briefly, a flickering candle the only thought on her mind as she sat in bed, staring into the darkness. "Light the candle." She heard the words but couldn't see where they were coming from and then she did see something. A parasol lay before her and she was trying not to laugh, but why?

Suddenly Captain Gregg was before her, not her Daniel, but the one in the portrait. They were by the desk in the foyer and she was holding the parasol and they were talking. Apparently he had just given it to her, and he looked slightly, was it confused? Or maybe it was angry?

"What's the reason for the gift? What's the occasion?" she heard herself asking him, trying to search his eyes that he held away from her.

"Oh, no occasion, but many reasons. Interfering in Jonathan's homework needed some sort of explanation, I felt, so I decided on a gift, as a substitute for words."

"Words of apology?" She knew from reading letters, ships' logs, and journals that Captain Gregg did not apologize.

"Certainly not! Words of appreciation... for your being here in Gull Cottage. So, I decided to get something lovely, feminine and graceful... something suitable for you... who are all of those things, and more. Of course now, you spoilt the whole thing in your typically feminine way."

"How? What have I done?"

"Well, you've got me saying words that the blasted gift should have said for me! There... take it... use it."

Lovely and feminine. She sat up pushing back the covers, that cold chill invading her body once more. She looked around the bedroom as though she had never seen it before, everything new and mysterious. The clock over the mantel chimed; telling her it was almost three in the morning. The telescope beckoned to her and she reached out a hand to it, expecting it to be dusty but of course it wasn't. Martha would never allow a speck of dust in her house.

"Not a speck of dust," she whispered to the room, the silence more evident than it had been before. It had been very dusty the day she and Bobby had come into the room and he had agonized that such a wonderful treasure had been left to the elements. It had been the first thing he had cleaned. But now she saw herself coming into the room alone, except for Claymore Gregg, and this time when she reached out there was no dust.

"Words of appreciation... for your being here in Gull Cottage. So, I decided to get something lovely, feminine and graceful... something suitable for you... who are all of those things, and more."

She stopped stock-still, her hand still in mid-air. A stirring of memories was rushing through her and she wasn't sure what to do or how to understand it. But she knew one thing — she had to see Daniel.

000

Carolyn didn't take long to get ready. Frost on the windows told her that it was freezing outside so she took the sensible route of jeans, a turtleneck and a sweater. She found her purse and made sure that her billfold was inside, mourning the small amount of cash. But the car had a full tank, which would be more than enough to get to Boston, and maybe she could find some tall, handsome man to lend her some money to get more for the return trip. She found a good pair of sturdy shoes and warm socks, putting them on before heading downstairs. Once in the hallway she pulled out a piece of paper from the desk, leaving a note for Martha and the kids. She would call them first thing in the morning. The fact that the car might not make it to Boston or that she had never been to Daniel's apartment didn't faze her in the least. She knew she had to go.

Halfway to the interstate, she wished she had thought to bring Scruffy with her; she could have used someone to talk to. Memories were crowding into her mind, ones she didn't understand, but at the same time seemed familiar. She could remember seeing Captain Gregg for the first time, his haughty defiance of her being there, making her more determined than ever to stay.

She heard their conversation as he told her she could "stay on trial" and then she asking him when he would leave. But none of this made sense to her, because that wasn't how it had happened. Captain Gregg had only ever been there in her mind, not as a ghost. Yet, she kept having flashes of scenes with him, a physical ghost — if such a thing were possible.

The heater broke an hour outside of Boston, but she hardly noticed the cold. She was seeing her life, but not her life. A life she had never known, but yet was achingly familiar. And always somewhere in her thoughts was Daniel Gregg.

As she came to the outskirts of the city, she pulled over in a parking spot and tried to get her bearings. She knew that Daniel lived on Cambrige — a spelling that went against all sensibilities and that he was at number twelve. Seeing she was on the parkway, she headed north, soon passing the historic buildings of the city, each one of them holding a sweet memory for her. If indeed that life was still hers. She and Bobby had walked through the old city often, enjoying the summer weather and one another. It was odd that she should have met Daniel here, too.

She passed the apartment building that she and Sarah had lived in that summer of 1958 and then the townhouse where Sarah lived now. It would probably make more sense to stop there and ask her exactly how to get to Cambrige and maybe tell her some of what was going on, but she didn't want to. She only wanted to reach Daniel.

Finally as the gentle rays of the morning sun came shining over the city, she saw her street and turned on it. Number 12 was a proud old brownstone; it's covered walkway flapping in the breeze. She pulled up into a visitor's parking space, grabbed the keys from the ignition and headed for the door. The doorman smiled at her as she approached and she smiled back, hoping he would let her in. It didn't turn out to be an issue, as the front door opened and while the man who came out pointed out several things he would like done that day, she slipped into the vestibule. Daniel was in Number 3, which she could see was at the top of the flight of curved steps. More slowly then she wanted she climbed the stairs, noticing the fine woodwork of the hallway and the ancient carpet she walked on. Finally his door was in full sight and she had raised her hand to push the bell when the entrance was jerked open and she fell into his arms.

"Carolyn?" He looked slightly dazed as her saw her, noticing how cold she was. "What are you doing here?" He began rubbing her arms, trying to get some circulation into them. "Where is your coat?"

"I kind of forgot it," she managed to stammer, realizing that for the first time. "It's cold out there."

"It most certainly is." He shook his head in what he hoped he was annoyance but knew a smile was tugging at his lips. "Not that I care, darling, but why are you here?"

She started to answer him, but he silenced her with a touch of his lips on hers, then picked her up and carried her into the living room. Sitting her down gently on the couch, he told her he would be right back. "There's an afghan on the back, please use it," he instructed as he walked off.

He was still in his robe and slippers, she noticed, and also hadn't shaved yet. Glancing at the clock she saw it was six-thirty, he had just gotten up to get ready for his day.

Taking the afghan as he had said, she wrapped it around her body, feeling the chills build up around her, her teeth chattering. He came back in to the room a few minutes later with a heavy pair of socks and an old-fashioned wool nightshirt. Sitting down beside her, he took off her shoes and socks and rubbed her feet until they started to tingle. When the teakettle whistled, he excused himself for a moment, coming back with the largest mug of coffee she had ever seen. Smiling at him with gratitude, she took a big sip and let the hot liquid surge through her body. It was exactly what she needed.

He finished one foot, put one of the socks he had brought out and reached for the other one. "Damn woman, going out in this weather without a coat. What were you thinking?" His tone was gruff, but the look on his face was full of concern. "Is everything all right? Nothing has happened to the children or Martha — are your parents well?"

"They are all fine," she nodded, and his massage became more sensual than medicinal at that point. "I'm sorry, I should have called you, but I had to see you. And sometimes I don't think, I just act. It's very female of me, I know."

"Well, since you are a female..." he grinned, leaving the end of his sentence open. "There." He put on the other sock, noticing the way the look in her eyes had gone from thankfulness for his handiwork, to a dark emerald he knew was something else. "Go and put this on," he commanded her, holding out the nightshirt and pointing to the robe on the back of the bedroom door. "...And then come back out here. Would you like more coffee?"

"Yes, please."

When she came out, dressed in the warm softness of his night things, he had a plate of muffins on the coffee table and another mug of the steaming liquid waiting for her. He looked at her thoughtfully as she sat down and she gave him a shy smile. "Thank you, Daniel."

"My pleasure." He looked at her, his concern great. " Now, what is that brought you here in the middle of the night, in such freezing weather? Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

She took a long drink of coffee and then picked up one of the muffins and peeled the paper back. "I'm having two sets of memories." She said it like it was an announcement, and one that she expected him to laugh at it, but he only nodded.

"I've been having strange dreams ever since I started going through that sea chest in the attic. And you know, like I told you, they weren't scary, but they were quite strange and I wasn't real sure what to make of most of them. And it seemed the more things I found, the more bizarre the dreams were. I would relive moving into Gull Cottage, only circumstances were different and whatnot."

So far she hadn't told him anything he didn't know. She took another drink of coffee and a small bite of muffin and then continued. "Did I tell you what I found out about the punch bowl?"

"No," he shook his head, "You didn't." Was that what had opened her eyes? He wondered.

"I found a punch bowl, Waterford crystal, designed in 1850. It's in perfect shape. I had an antique dealer in Keystone..." She saw the panic in his face and squeezed his hand. "I didn't take it, I had no intention of selling it, and I just wanted to know more about it."

"How much did they want to give for it?" He WAS curious.

"Three hundred and fifty dollars," she smiled. "But the book at the library told me not to take less than five hundred. But anyway, I had found it a few days before that and I, well, I can't explain it, but I felt like I had seen it before." He nodded, his body relaxing somewhat. "But even though I had this feeling, I couldn't find anything to help me figure out why. So, yesterday when I came back from my antique excursion, I picked up the kids from school and Jonathan told me, or rather Candy did, that Jonathan had a part in the play and his prop was a parasol." She stopped, letting it sink in.

"The parasol?" Daniel couldn't help but say, his eyes wide in anticipation.

Carolyn placed her now-empty mug on the coffee table and the rest of her muffin and moved closer to him. He brought her into the warmth of his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder. "The parasol," she said softly. "Daniel..." and she lifted her head slightly so she could look in his eyes. "I've had two very different lives."

And with that, she burst into tears.