CHAPTER THREE: Portent of Danger Forgotten
Margaret Evans sat up in the antique four-poster bed in her room at Collinwood. She opened her eyes to the darkness and listened to the thunder of the storm. Maggie's lips opened and she let out a bloodcurdling scream.
"Maggie!" a voice shouted. The intricately carved wooden door to Maggie's room opened and the light from the hall flooded through the doorway. Maggie strained her eyes at the bright light. Then, the face of Roger Collins came into view.
"Ohhh," Maggie sighed, "Mr. Collins, I'm so sorry. I woke you!"
"No, you didn't," Roger said in his dry, rather emotionless voice, "I was just passing your room at the time." Maggie noticed the bottle of brandy under his arm and decided not to mention it.
"I had this terrible nightmare." She told him.
"Do you remember it?" Roger asked.
"Not clearly. I remember this face, I've never seen it before, but it was so familiar."
"Was it a man or a woman's face?" Roger knelt by her bedside.
Maggie's answer was interrupted by the figure of Elisabeth Collins Stoddard who appeared in the doorway. Elisabeth wore a demure, matronly robe of a dark color the same as that of the long, dark brown hair that hung halfway down her back.
"Are you alright, Maggie? I heard you scream." Elisabeth inquired.
"Yes, I'm fine, Mrs. Stoddard."
"No you're not," Roger said, "You look positively terrified. And look, Liz, she's absolutely drenched in sweat. Perhaps she's ill."
"Maybe Julia should have a look at her." Elisabeth suggested.
"I'll go get her." Roger said as he left for Julia's room.
However, Julia Hoffman was not in her room. She was awake and at the Old House, walking down the hall in an antique lace nightgown. Barnabas had gotten it for her in an old trunk in the attic that contained the belongings of Naomi Collins, his mother.
"That's how he thinks of me," Julia said to herself as she walked, "As a mother, as a sister, as a friend. He'll never think of me as anything else." Julia passed the door to Josette Collins's room. There was breathing inside. How odd. "Well, I'm sure that one little peek would be alright with Barnabas."
Julia reached out her thin, frail hand and grasped the doorknob. She turned it and pushed open the gilded white door. It was a beautiful room, the loveliest she had ever seen. Every object was delicate and perfect, just as Josette Collins herself was. A portrait of the 18th century woman hung over the fireplace. Josette's face was serene and yet very sad. She seemed to stare out from under the paint.
Barnabas was on the bed, in a silky robe, lost in slumber.
"How vulnerable he looks," Julia mused, "Like a child." She softly walked over to the bed and looked at his face. Barnabas was not a young man, his features bore the sorrows of the ages, etched into his soul.
"I love you." Julia whispered to the sleeping man. A single tear streaked down her face.
Julia rushed out of the room, away from the man she loved without hope.
Back at Collinwood, Roger returned to Maggie's room.
"Where's Dr. Hoffman?" Elisabeth asked.
"I can't find her. She's not in her room, Liz. The bed hasn't been slept in."
"Oh my God!" Maggie shouted, "Look, there's a face at the window!"
Roger and Elisabeth both turned around to face the window.
"I don't see anything." Roger said.
"Roxanne." Maggie said quietly under her breath.
"What did you say?"
"I don't know. It just slipped out. Who's Roxanne? I don't even know a Roxanne." Maggie admitted.
In the woods, through the pouring rain, Sarah Johnson walked back to Collinwood, clutching the collar of her black dress tightly to hide the bloody wounds on her throat.
Margaret Evans sat up in the antique four-poster bed in her room at Collinwood. She opened her eyes to the darkness and listened to the thunder of the storm. Maggie's lips opened and she let out a bloodcurdling scream.
"Maggie!" a voice shouted. The intricately carved wooden door to Maggie's room opened and the light from the hall flooded through the doorway. Maggie strained her eyes at the bright light. Then, the face of Roger Collins came into view.
"Ohhh," Maggie sighed, "Mr. Collins, I'm so sorry. I woke you!"
"No, you didn't," Roger said in his dry, rather emotionless voice, "I was just passing your room at the time." Maggie noticed the bottle of brandy under his arm and decided not to mention it.
"I had this terrible nightmare." She told him.
"Do you remember it?" Roger asked.
"Not clearly. I remember this face, I've never seen it before, but it was so familiar."
"Was it a man or a woman's face?" Roger knelt by her bedside.
Maggie's answer was interrupted by the figure of Elisabeth Collins Stoddard who appeared in the doorway. Elisabeth wore a demure, matronly robe of a dark color the same as that of the long, dark brown hair that hung halfway down her back.
"Are you alright, Maggie? I heard you scream." Elisabeth inquired.
"Yes, I'm fine, Mrs. Stoddard."
"No you're not," Roger said, "You look positively terrified. And look, Liz, she's absolutely drenched in sweat. Perhaps she's ill."
"Maybe Julia should have a look at her." Elisabeth suggested.
"I'll go get her." Roger said as he left for Julia's room.
However, Julia Hoffman was not in her room. She was awake and at the Old House, walking down the hall in an antique lace nightgown. Barnabas had gotten it for her in an old trunk in the attic that contained the belongings of Naomi Collins, his mother.
"That's how he thinks of me," Julia said to herself as she walked, "As a mother, as a sister, as a friend. He'll never think of me as anything else." Julia passed the door to Josette Collins's room. There was breathing inside. How odd. "Well, I'm sure that one little peek would be alright with Barnabas."
Julia reached out her thin, frail hand and grasped the doorknob. She turned it and pushed open the gilded white door. It was a beautiful room, the loveliest she had ever seen. Every object was delicate and perfect, just as Josette Collins herself was. A portrait of the 18th century woman hung over the fireplace. Josette's face was serene and yet very sad. She seemed to stare out from under the paint.
Barnabas was on the bed, in a silky robe, lost in slumber.
"How vulnerable he looks," Julia mused, "Like a child." She softly walked over to the bed and looked at his face. Barnabas was not a young man, his features bore the sorrows of the ages, etched into his soul.
"I love you." Julia whispered to the sleeping man. A single tear streaked down her face.
Julia rushed out of the room, away from the man she loved without hope.
Back at Collinwood, Roger returned to Maggie's room.
"Where's Dr. Hoffman?" Elisabeth asked.
"I can't find her. She's not in her room, Liz. The bed hasn't been slept in."
"Oh my God!" Maggie shouted, "Look, there's a face at the window!"
Roger and Elisabeth both turned around to face the window.
"I don't see anything." Roger said.
"Roxanne." Maggie said quietly under her breath.
"What did you say?"
"I don't know. It just slipped out. Who's Roxanne? I don't even know a Roxanne." Maggie admitted.
In the woods, through the pouring rain, Sarah Johnson walked back to Collinwood, clutching the collar of her black dress tightly to hide the bloody wounds on her throat.